“No.” Micah closed his hand around hers, lifting the blade, pulling her away. “I won’t let you do this.”
It didn’t matter. His heart would seize first from the horrible, crushing anguish.
“Go back to the truck,” Micah said. “I’ll deal with Hammon.”
“But…” she protested. “You…you can’t.”
Micah handed her the backpack. “Go.”
Hammon heard a door open, then close. He twisted sideways, trying to catch the edge of the tape, hoping to scrape it off. He struggled to figure a way out of the tape, out of the trunk, and out of a terrible misunderstanding rapidly approaching an unpleasant conclusion.
“You look uncomfortable,” Micah said.
Hammon bobbed his head frantically, wondering why that would matter. Micah rolled him forward, pulled the shovel out from under him, and straightened his glasses.
“I warned you not to hurt her. She actually trusted you, and you broke that trust.”
Micah looked around, then raised the shovel over his head like an axe.
21:57 THURSDAY, JULY 1
40°53’02.67”N/74°03’28.47”W
HACKENSACK, NJ
Hazel watched, barely able to breathe. Just one swing, then Micah surveyed the results with grim satisfaction. He returned the shovel to the trunk, slammed it closed, and tossed the tire iron into the bed of the yard truck.
“Well, that’s that.” He climbed in and started the engine, pulling out.
For several miles neither spoke. Hazel wanted to break down but she couldn’t. Not yet, maybe not ever. She curled up, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.
Micah sighed, breaking the silence. “On the bright side, things can’t get much worse.”
“You keep saying that, but they do.”
“I’m just trying to cheer you up. Your dad’s got Nurse Chris watching over him so he’s probably safer than any of us. He’ll be back to his mean old self in no time. Witch’ll get fixed…”
“And now you’re killing people.”
He switched on the radio and flipped through stations, stopping on a Chili Peppers tune. “Your point?”
Her throat was tight and she felt sick. This was what they’d come to? “You’re not a killer.”
“I guess all the video-game violence must’ve desensitized me. You shouldn’t let it bother you; you’re just tired. And I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry.”
Hazel stared at Micah, stunned. “How can you eat after…?”
“Hammon?” He shrugged. “I did what I had to. You wanted him dead, right?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I never would’ve figured him for a hired thug. He seemed like a nice kid.”
“With an emergency roadside burial kit.” Had that been meant for them? She shuddered at the thought. Why did she let Hammon get so close? It was a careless, dangerous mistake. She’d lowered her guard, put their lives at risk, and turned Micah into a murderer as a result. “Can we not talk about this right now?”
“I’ll give you, that stuff in the trunk was pretty creepy. Still, something doesn’t fit. Like, why didn’t he call for help instead of just staring at you like a lost puppy?”
“I don’t know and I really don’t want to discuss it.”
“It’s like he didn’t even try to defend himself. I don’t get it.”
“You mind telling me what you’re driving at?”
“That diner there.” Micah pointed toward the lights up ahead. “I’m just trying to figure it out. You trusted him, and that’s not like you.”
Was he deliberately trying to upset her? “You don’t get the concept of ‘drop it,’ do you?”
Micah pulled into the diner’s nearly vacant parking lot. “You actually liked him, didn’t you?”
“Will that shut you up? Yeah, fine. I fell for the shy little boy-scout act. But he’s dead and so is the horse. Stop beating it.” Hazel stared out at the neon lit windows. “And I said I’m not hungry.”
Micah chuckled. “Relax, hon, I didn’t kill your boyfriend.”
“What? I saw you.”
“Scare the piss out of him. I hit the spare tire. I said I’d take care of things. You were angry, not like I blame you. But it messed up your judgment. First off, I don’t think he shot your father and neither do you, or that swing you took would’ve been at his skull. Alive, he’s leverage and potential information. We’ve got his phone. Let’s see who he’s dealing with and what they know. Second, I might know where Tuition is. And lastly, I’ve got a feeling Hammon’s part of something he doesn’t understand any more than us. Let’s eat. We’ve got a busy night ahead.”
Micah killed the headlights and pulled onto the shoulder, just down the road from Turner Speed. Floodlights shined across the lot surrounding the drab cinder block building. Massive roll-up doors covered a pair of service bays. On the second floor, the blue flicker of a television danced.
“Tell me that’s not a perfect place to stash a rig,” Micah said.
Hazel nodded. “Unfortunately it looks like someone’s home.”
“Watch and learn.” Micah set Hammon’s cell phone to speaker and pushed the speed dial for “Gary.”
“Zap? Where the hell are you?” grumbled an aggravated voice.
In an official tone Micah said, “We’re sorry. Hammon can’t come to the phone right now, he’s a bit tied up at the moment. And gagged, so he wouldn’t have much to say anyways.”
“Who is this? You’re the one who beat up Stevenson and took his goddamned boat. Where’s Hammon? What’d you do to him?”
“He’s okay, for the time being at least. You tell him, next time he crosses us he won’t be so lucky.”
“Tell him how? Where is he?”
“At the hospital. Go to Hackensack. When you get there, call me back.”
“Look, you got issues with Stevenson, that’s your business. Leave the kid out of it. He’s fucked up enough already, he doesn’t need this. I don’t need this.”
“Neither do we.”
Micah shut the phone. Hazel said, “And that accomplished what?”
The TV blinked off and a figure rushed outside, climbing into a black Dakota pickup. “I’m guessing that’s Gary.”
“Ever seen him before?” Hazel asked as the Dakota screeched out. “No, but now we’ve got roughly two hours, and we’ve got keys.”
They waited as the taillights moved down the road, heading toward the Parkway, then they stalked closer. Aside from a cat with part of its left ear missing, no one took notice. A second cat, also sporting a tipped ear, appeared as they approached the boat racks.
“Damn,” Micah commented as he looked over the storage racks, occupied by an assortment of sleek fiberglass speedboats, each gaudier than the next, with tacky graphics and names like Liquid Assets and The Dominator. There was one exception: a stodgy battleship-gray twenty-eight-foot plumb-bowed cruiser with a flush deck and round bronze ports, resting on a custom cradle.
Micah said, “What’s this relic doing here?”
Hazel read the name, Temperance, and smiled. “She’s a Sea Bright skiff. Tough, stable, and very popular with rum runners during Prohibition. They could launch and land in beach surf and outrun the Coast Guard cutters. I’ll bet this thing’s got some serious balls.”
They moved toward the buildings, hanging in the shadows. Three more cats appeared.
“Guard cats?” Micah mused. “Weird…they’re all missing part of their left ear.”
“They’re feral. Otto said his friend Gary feeds the local strays. The tipped ears mean they’re part of a maintained colony and they’ve already been captured, neutered, and released.”
“Clearly we’re dealing with some bad-ass hardened criminals.”
A sign outside the door warned the premises were protected by Smith & Wesson, though the length of heavy chain and an oversized, slobber-stained water bowl were far more ominous. Inside, they could hear
nails clicking on cement and noses snuffling at the door.
“Otto told me Gary’s dogs are mushes.” Hazel held up crackers she’d brought and jingled Hammon’s keys as she unlocked the door, hoping to elicit a friendly response. A massive mutt sized her up and eagerly accepted her offerings as they entered. “The big one’s Charger, and the little one was some kind of snack food…Twinkie or Ring Ding…”
“Yodel!” Micah petted the black-and-white dachshund. The whole dog wagged enthusiastically, then rushed to grab a grungy tennis ball. From then on searching presented no problem so long as they tossed squeaky toys and tennis balls as fast as the dogs brought them. Under observation of several cats, they entered the rear shop, which housed assorted automotive and marine projects in various states of completion.
“Nice toys.” Hazel inspected an ’89 Mustang Coupe, hood off to reveal a spotless 351. “But no Tuition.”
Escorted by the dogs, they opened the office. Invoices and bills blanketed the desk, and a quick jiggle of the mouse woke the computer from its screensaver. Micah double-clicked the QuickBooks icon and grinned when he saw it set to “Remember password” box. A quick search under “Stevenson” revealed large deposits starting five years earlier, funding the property purchase and business incorporation. Tools and equipment, jobs in progress and completed, inventory, payroll, insurances, utilities; all standard business expenses, nothing suspicious or alarming. They headed upstairs with the dogs right behind. Hazel liked having them along: they’d be the first to know if anyone was returning.
Aside from the stacks of car magazines and catalogs, the apartment was tidy. Laundry in the hamper, clothes folded in drawers. No weird drugs. A reasonably clean kitchen. Dishes in the dishwasher, some beer, milk, and leftovers in the fridge. Hazel dug through the cabinets, and the dogs perked up, hoping for handouts.
Micah checked inside the hall closet, stepping on a squeaky alligator. “Hammon uses this address, but I’d venture he doesn’t live here. It’s too neat.” He flung the toy and Yodel bounded after it. Charger picked up the alligator with a ferociously growling Yodel still dangling.
Hazel looked as Micah searched around the TV. “You see anything?”
“Star Trek, Terminator, a whole bunch of Marvel movies. If they weren’t the bad guys, they’d be cool to hang with.”
Micah bounced a soggy tennis ball down the stairs, wiping his hands on his pants as Yodel raced after it. Charger had it figured out; he’d let Yodel do all the hyper scrambling then claim the toy after Yodel retrieved it.
“This was a waste of time.” Hazel sat on the floor and scratched Charger’s head. Yodel pushed in and climbed onto her lap.
“No. We just established one more place Tuition isn’t.”
I’M PRETTY SURE I’M DEAD
From the velvety blackness, blinding light appeared. This was it. Hammon knew the drill. Go to the light.
Only this time he wasn’t going anywhere. He was still lying on that stinking tarp in the trunk of his car, and he still felt like shit. That wasn’t right.
The light moved closer, burning his eyes.
“Zap? Oh shit.”
“That sounds like Gary,” Annabel said.
The flashlight beam swept across him, but Hammon couldn’t move. “Jeez.” Gary poked his shoulder, then slumped back, shaking his head. “Christ, kid.”
Hammon blinked.
“JESUS!” Gary jumped backwards. He leaned over cautiously. “I thought you were dead. You look dead.” He yanked the tape off Hammon’s mouth, along with some hair and skin. “You smell dead.”
Hammon sucked in fresh air, coughing.
Gary peeled the tape off Hammon’s hands. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Reality.”
Agonizingly Hammon propped himself up on his elbows, feeling like a voodoo doll as stabs of pain shot through his stiff body. With Gary’s help he hauled himself out, balancing against the bumper and repositioning his damaged leg. Gary cringed and looked toward the glowing emergency room entrance. “At least you’re in the right place.”
“It’s just broken. I’m not going in there. What’re you doing here?”
“Some kid called. He said to tell you the next time you cross ‘them’ you won’t be so lucky.”
Hammon brightened. They didn’t want him dead…at least Micah didn’t.
Gary said, “And ten minutes ago, the signal went live again. Care to explain?”
“You mean THE signal? Revenge?” Hammon grinned. Hazel and Micah were on the move again, and he could track them. “You have to show me!” He started toward the driver’s door, his leg buckled, and he landed in a twisted pile.
Gary looked ill. “You seriously need a doctor.”
“I’m fine. Just give me a hand, I’m sure I can jury-rig it.” Hammon pulled himself upright, balancing on one leg. Holding the Fairmont, he hobbled around to the door, dragging his damaged limb. His backpack was gone but they’d left the duct tape. He eased himself into the car and grabbed his leg, propping it straight.
Gary winced. “You need that looked at, and you need to explain what the fuck’s going on.”
“We need to get moving, dear,” Annabel said. “Now.”
Hammon nodded. “I know, but I can’t drive like this.”
Gary’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t say drive.”
“I was talking to Annabel.”
“Annabel?” Gary rubbed his face.
“Just cause she’s not real doesn’t mean she’s gone. That’s not important. I’ve got to follow that signal.”
It took a round of show-and-tell to convince Gary he didn’t require medical attention, at least not for his leg. His head was another matter. Finally Gary gave up, locking his truck and heading the Fairmont toward the Turnpike. “So you don’t remember why you were at the hospital or how you wound up in your trunk.”
Hammon shook his head. “Nope. Not a clue. My brain must be shorting out again.”
“And you don’t know who called me.”
“Nope.” Hammon hiccupped.
“And you’re not gonna tell me why you’re lying through your pointy teeth.”
“Nope.”
He was operating on Annabel’s advice. Don’t explain, not that he could even if he wanted to. He had no idea what was going on.
Gary glanced into the backseat at the gear from Nepenthe. “Should I even ask why you got a carload of sailboat shit?”
“Nope.”
“And the fact that the signal came on in the middle of this all, just coincidence?”
Hazel’s words still echoed in his head. “She said nothing is coincidence.”
“Annabel?”
Hammon nodded. “Yeah, Annabel.”
“No,” she snapped. “I said, ‘Shut up, already.’”
Gary watched the monitor on his laptop. Revenge was underway, heading south. The plan was to switch over to Temperance and follow by water.
“How far you think they’re going?” Annabel said.
“Damned if I know.” Hammon rolled his pants leg up, assessing the damage, past and present. The prosthetic began midthigh; Hazel’s shot was lower, mangling the knee joint. He rigged a splint with sail battens and duct tape. It would hold, but he’d walk with a nasty limp until he got it fixed. A horn sounded and Gary swerved back into his lane.
“Watch the road,” Hammon said. For years he’d been obsessively self-conscious of his physical condition. Time in the trunk gave him a new perspective about what really mattered.
“You never mentioned…that.”
“Never came up.” Hammon wrapped more tape around his repair. “I’ll need a hand with this. The foot and socket look okay but the knee’s history. That sucks; I just got this one three months ago. German engineered, state-of-the-art microprocessor controls, but I got a feeling assault by tire iron isn’t under warranty. Good thing she hit this side.”
“Brilliant,” Annabel grumbled.
Gary’s eyes narrowed. “She?”
Hammon blinked. “Who?”
“You said…” Gary tapped his fingers on the wheel. “I wish I had a better idea what I’m dealing with.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I meant you. Five years, I got no more idea who or what you are than when I found you holed up on that freakin’ boat.”
“I figured you were happier not asking. I know I was.” Hammon tested his leg, wrapping it a few more times. Satisfied, he pulled the pants leg down.
Gary stared ahead. “And I’m not supposed to ask what the hell’s going on.”
He had to find her. She needed him. He’d make her see. The tracking system showed them running along the outer shore, passing Rumson. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’ve got that right.” Gary swung onto the shoulder and snapped the laptop shut. “I’ve put up with lots of weird shit over the years, and I’ve tried to roll with it. Either you start talking or you can kiss finding your boat good-bye.”
“But…” Revenge was his last link to Hazel. Reluctantly Hammon related everything up to the present, the whole while glancing anxiously at the computer. “She’s in trouble,” he insisted.
“You sure she didn’t take a swing or two at your head? Wake the fuck up. She’s not in trouble, you are. You’ve been set up. The question is, why?”
“She couldn’t kill me.”
“She only tried to cripple you. How touching.”
“Someone’s after them and they think it’s me. But they don’t understand, whoever’s after them is using them to get to me.”
“Let me guess: the people with the tracking microchips.” Gary eyed him skeptically. “If I hadn’t got that call and found you like I did, I’d think you lost it completely. Seriously, what’s anyone want with you?”
Last Exit in New Jersey Page 22