GARDEN STATE PARKWAY SOUTHBOUND, NEPTUNE, NJ
“That’s the fifth time in the last mile you checked the mirrors.” Micah glanced out the rear window.
“That damned Suburban rides our tail whenever the road’s straight, then falls back for curves. I doubt he’s following us: he’s just a lousy driver.”
The rain passed, but in the distance the clouds flashed ominously. Hazel sped up slightly. She wanted more air between them and the Suburban, and she wanted to reach the boat and be underway before the next storm. It was possible Hammon was still where they’d left him or maybe waiting aboard Mardi. She checked the mirror, filled with grill of Chevy.
“The hammer lane’s wide open. He could pass any time, but no, he’s using us as a pace car.” She tapped the brakes, and the Suburban fell back.
“How do these things work?”
“What things?” She glanced over to see Micah playing with the darts. “Leave them alone. We need them.”
“They’re cool.” He held one up in the beam of the Suburban’s headlights, studying it. “They have pressurized air to push the plunger. The needle hits, this little sleeve here pushes back, and…”
A fine mist sprayed her arm.
“Oops.”
“Get it off me!” Hazel dug around the messy car for a napkin. “What if it’s absorbed through the skin? You had to play with it, didn’t you? Now we’re down to six.”
He wiped her arm with a waded-up flannel shirt then packed the darts away. “Sheesh. Don’t go all PMS-y just cause your prom date didn’t show.”
“Give it a rest already. It’s not funny.”
“But it’s true.” He flipped the radio back to alternative. The Talking Heads cheerfully proclaimed they were on the Road to Nowhere, and Micah sang along. Hazel liked the song but switched back to the country station for spite. Micah flipped back to Talking Heads.
“Admit it. If Hammon wasn’t after us, you’d be after him.”
She wasn’t admitting anything.
“I think he really likes you.”
“And nothing says that like a tranquilizer dart.” Hazel fought back a yawn. It had been a long night, and it wasn’t over yet. She flipped on the turn signal and exited the Parkway. “Home stretch.”
“Maybe Stevenson hired Hammon but he’s so charmed by you he changed his mind. It could happen.”
“In the movies maybe.”
“No. It’s a time-tested truth, guys do the stupidest, most irrational things just to get laid…including fall in love. We can’t help it; it’s the way we’re wired. I’m telling you, the poor deluded bastard’s hopelessly in love with you. And whether you want to admit it or not, it’s mutual. I just wish I’d meet someone who looks at me the way you look at him.”
“Can we change the subject?” And the station; from Rancid to the Mavericks, soulfully covering “Blue Moon.”
Micah groaned and rolled his eyes. “Okay. New subject. What if Mardi’s gone?”
Hazel considered. “We need her for this. We find her and borrow her back.”
“And if your boyfriend’s aboard?”
Hazel glanced in the rearview mirror. “He isn’t…aboard, I mean. And he is NOT my boyfriend.”
“What makes you so sure? That he’s not aboard, I mean.”
Hazel fought a smile. “He’s right behind us.”
Micah looked back at the crumbled grill and single misaligned headlight closing in on them, high-beam flashing. “Isn’t that Gary’s little pickup? I don’t remember it all smashed up like that.”
The Dakota pulled alongside, window down, Hammon blasting the horn, shouting and waving.
Micah said, “I think he wants us to stop.”
Hazel glanced over, the corner of her mouth curling up as her eyes met Hammon’s. “Like hell. First one to the boat wins.” She downshifted, flooring it, and the Fairmont shot away.
I HOPE THIS WORKS
Hammon watched with relief as the Fairmont’s taillights shrank.
For miles he’d hung back, headlights off, hoping the maniac in the 350 wouldn’t notice him. Where were the police when you needed them? But as Hazel exited the Parkway, vanishing into the looping curve leading toward Route 34 South, and the 350, half a dozen cars back, followed and began to close in, Hammon knew it was time for more drastic measures.
The 350 outweighed the Dakota roughly two to one. Still, Hammon knew if he caught the Ford just right he could swing it out of control. He’d pulled that maneuver off successfully in demolition derbies but never at that speed, and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t lose control in the process.
He timed it as they moved through the exit; he downshifted and cut inside the curve, ramming into the 350 behind the right rear tire. The Ford careened sideways, spinning off the wet road into the bushes as Hammon fought to keep Gary’s Dakota pointed forward.
“YES!” Annabel cheered.
Seconds dragged by in freeze-frame as the Dakota lost traction, threatening to tumble off the road and join the Ford. Finally, inches from leaving the pavement, the tires grabbed, allowing him to head off in pursuit of the Fairmont.
He was counting on Hazel to react as she did when she saw him. It was late and the roads were clear. His hit to the 350 would slow it down, but it wasn’t a crippling blow. His only hope was to chase her far enough ahead. With any luck she and Micah would get Revenge underway before he or anyone else caught up.
00:14 SUNDAY, JULY 4
40°7’58.51”N/74°05’19.87”W
NJ-34 SOUTH, MANASQUAN, NJ
“You better hope we don’t pass a cop.” Micah looked out the back window. “He’s gaining again.”
“Not for long.” Hazel floored it and the Fairmont responded with seemingly limitless acceleration. She refused to glance at the speedometer as scenery blurred past, certain that knowing their actual velocity would unnerve her. “I’ll lose him in the turns for sure.”
There was little traffic on the road at that hour, and she easily slipped around the other cars, blasting through a yellow light. Behind her, Hammon ran the red.
“I can’t believe we’re having a high-speed chase and you’re listening to ‘Blue Moon.’ This is so not car chase music!”
“Micah, shut up.”
“Next chase, I’m driving.”
“Would you be quiet?”
He did, at least until the next song came on. Hazel winced.
“Yes!” Micah raised the volume and held up an imaginary CB. “Breaker Six-Nine, this here’s Rubber Chicken. You copy? Mercy snakes alive, I think we got us a con-voy.” He looked back at the Dakota. “By the way, how many vehicles do we need to qualify for ‘convoy’ status?”
The light ahead was red. With no cross-traffic in sight, Hazel shot through as lightning crackled overhead, illuminating the wet road. In her mirror, Hammon never even slowed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to drive.”
“And doing a fine job. Keep up the good work.” Micah held his hand to his mouth, making static sounds. “Was a new moon, on the third of July, in a Kenworth, haulin’ boats. ’Bout a mile outta the Parkway, we’re about to put the hammer on down. ‘Cause we gotta little ol’ convoy, rockin’ through the night, yeah we gotta little ol’ convoy, ain’t she a real fine sight? C’mon join our convoy, ain’t nothin’ goin’ our way…We’re gonna roll this freakin’ convoy, cross the Garden State. Con-voy…Con-voy…”
Hazel tried not to grin. Micah didn’t need any encouragement. “Did I ever mention you’re real annoying?”
“All the time. Hey, Bandit, you wanna give me a ten-nine on that POS Dakota?”
Another flash of lightning split the darkness, followed by a loud crack that shook the car.
“Still on our back door. I’ve got some distance, but he’ll catch up fast when we stop.”
“Well, put the pedal to the metal. Heh-heh…they just said something about getting laid at the Jersey Shore…” Micah resumed his off-key singing. “An I sez, this here’s the Rub
ber Chicken an I got my EZpass. So we’ll blow through the high-speed lane…and keep the darts off our ass!”
“I’m going to waste one on your ass in a minute.”
“That song’s messed up. They say there’s a toll to get into Jersey. That’s wrong. Everyone knows you get into Jersey for free. You got to pay to leave.”
Thick raindrops smacked the windshield. “It’s just a song.”
“And a movie, right?”
“Yeah. And in the end the hero drove off the bridge in flames.”
“But he lived, right? Everyone thought he was dead but he wasn’t. So who’s the hero? Us, or Hammon?”
Ahead, the road crossed the Manasquan River. Micah beamed.
“Dang it, Cousin Daisy, I think the bridge’s out. You’re gonna hafta jump it.”
Hazel concentrated on the road ahead and the misaligned headlight behind, ignoring Micah. At the rise of the bridge, the car lifted, momentarily catching air.
“Yeeeee-haaaww!!!” Micah said.
Hazel downshifted, drifting through the turns, leaving Hammon further behind. “You better hope the boat’s still there, or we’ll see who’s laughing. Grab our stuff.”
Micah collected the backpack from the floor. “Shit!” He began searching frantically around the seat.
“What?”
“My lucky shark’s tooth…I can’t find it!”
Ahead, Hazel spotted Mardi, illuminated as an arc of blue-white light shot across the darkness.
“We don’t have time!” Hazel shouted as thunder rumbled through. She skidded to a stop beside the boat.
The wind was building, holding Mardi against the dock, fretting in the rising chop. Warm drops pelted them as Hazel dropped the stern line and climbed to the bridge, starting the engine. Micah dropped the bow lines, jumping aboard. Hazel pushed the throttle forward, guiding the boat clear as the Dakota screeched to a stop and Hammon spilled out.
“Go!” He screamed across the water. Lightning cut the sky, and he ducked in terror as thunder cracked. “Get out of here!”
For a moment Hazel froze, confused. In the flash of lightning, she watched Hammon dodge between parked cars as the 350 skidded in, ramming the Dakota.
“That’s not good.” Micah climbed to the bridge as they moved toward the inlet.
Lighting cracked overhead and the figure from the 350 lunged, knocking Hammon to the ground.
“Why do I get a horrible feeling he was trying to warn us,” Micah said as Hammon curled into a ball, attempting to shield himself from the assault.
“He doesn’t even have his gun.”
Micah pulled the colorful gun from the backpack. “But I do. Go back.”
I’M SCREWED
Hammon struggled to stand, but the wind was still knocked out of him. He had to get up, he had to stop this maniac, but the ground refused to stay level, and he collapsed back to the pavement. Mr. 350 dragged him to his feet by his hair, supporting him with the hard pressure of a gun muzzle to his throat, smiling a flawless white smile as Hammon gasped and coughed and Annabel looked on helplessly.
“The freak from the rest stop,” said 350, still smiling.
He dropped Hammon and kicked him in the chest, patting him down as he retched. Breathing was excruciating, and his vision swam with tears of pain and frustration. Lightning flashed and the ground shook with the thunderclap. Fury burned inside him, fueling Hammon past the agony, and he launched himself at the infuriating smile.
Mr. 350 spun, his expression never wavering, and kicked him back down. Hammon wrapped his arms over his head, trying to block the assault. Through the pelting rain, he saw Revenge emerge from the darkness, bearing down on the dock at full throttle. No! Why weren’t they leaving? He tried to stand, failing.
“Stop!” Micah slammed into 350, knocking him backwards. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked like gunfire. Through the steady hiss of rain, Hammon heard a truck speeding away. He tried to move but couldn’t.
“Otto?” Hazel leaned over him, her face soaked and hair dripping.
“Go…” Hammon said, his voice lost in the storm. “Leave now…”
00:27 SUNDAY, JULY 4
40°06’07.91”N/74°02’43.27”W
POINT PLEASANT, NJ
Micah climbed back aboard Mardi, slumping against the freezer as the rain pelted down.
“HA!” He beamed, out of breath. “Take that, you son of a bitch!” He reached around, lifted the lid, and pulled a Popsicle from the freezer, unwrapping it. “Tom fuckin’ Nelson! We should’ve known.” He took a bite. “And I shot that bastard!”
Lightning flashed overhead and Hazel saw a dark smear on Micah’s rain-soaked shirt. She knelt beside him as he lay back across the deck, gazing at the flashing clouds.
“Some storm.” He grinned. “We should get going. You think we should bring Hammon?”
There was a small hole in his shirt, just above his belt. Gently Hazel lifted the edge, her chest tight. “You’ve been shot!”
Micah sat up, poking his finger through the fabric. He lifted it, regarding the pea-sized hole beneath. “I’ll be damned. Shit, I didn’t even feel it.” He looked at Hazel and laughed. “Hon, relax. It’s just a little hole…see? I’ve had worse paper cuts. It doesn’t even hurt. You should go back and check on your boyfriend. Poor guy got the crap beat out of him. He’s got to be way worse than me.”
Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the cockpit for a frozen moment. Hazel slid her hands under Micah’s back, trying to lift him.
“Micah, get up…let’s get to the car.”
He grinned and squeezed her hand. “Relax. I’m fine, just tired.”
“No, now,” she insisted, tugging his hand. “Micah, please.”
“Haze, go check on Hammon first. I’m okay. Really. Just do me a favor. Tomorrow, let me sleep late.”
I’M HURTING
Hammon opened his eyes to excruciating, blurry misery. Every breath was laced with shattered glass. Every old fracture, every pin, every screw inside him screamed with fresh agony. Even blinking hurt.
He tried to call out, coughing as needles stabbed through him, but no answer came. Glasses missing, soaked, he stared up at nothing. Even if he managed to get up and walk, he’d likely step straight off the wharf. He’d drown and no one would know or care.
Best he could determine he was still in one piece. Nothing major seemed broken, but he was blind, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no idea what happened to Hazel and Micah and no prospect of finding out. He’d just lie on that pavement until he rotted.
“That’s your plan?” Annabel asked.
Hammon shrugged, regretting it as waves of pain rippled through him. “Got any better ideas?”
“Not really.”
“Did we win?”
“Wish I knew.”
Hammon only wished he knew how Hazel was. She wasn’t there beside him. He hoped that was a good sign.
“That, or a really bad one.”
Not only did she have him and Stevenson after her, but now she had 350 as well. Could things get any worse?
A deep rumble carried through the air, approaching fast.
“If that’s a GTO, I’d say yes,” Annabel said.
He heard a door open then slam.
“What the fuck’d you do to my truck?”
“You’re in trouble now,” chanted Annabel.
“Gary?” Hammon moaned. “I can’t see.”
“And apparently you drove that way.” A shadow moved in the fog. “I should leave you like this. You might live longer.”
Hammon didn’t move. What was the point? He couldn’t blame Gary. “Why’re you even here?”
“Hazel called me. She said you did something stupid, she wouldn’t say what, only that you got beat up pretty bad. She told me where you are and asked me to make sure you’re okay. She said to tell you she ever sees you again, she’ll kill you herself. Then she asked me to keep an eye on you. She was afraid you might ‘hurt’ yourself. She a
ctually said please. Explain to me, if she’s so set on getting rid of you, why does she give a damn?”
03:56 SUNDAY, JULY 4
40°07’40.54”N/73°59’06.70”W
NORTH ATLANTIC, 2 NM EAST OF SEA GIRT, NJ
Soaked to the skin, shivering, Hazel sat at the helm, cell phone to her ear, waiting.
The storm had cleared, pushed through by a cold front. Brilliant stars dotted the sky above Mardi, chugging steadily along, alone and safe in the darkness. She and Micah had already discussed what she would say. On the eighth ring, Keith answered.
“Hello, Keith.”
“Hazel? Is everything all right? Where are you?”
She took a deep breath, fighting the tightness in her throat, letting the silence hang. She had to sound calm, and she wanted him to sweat.
“Hazel?”
“The time for repentance is at hand,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Micah and I know what you did, Keith. So here’s the deal. Fifty percent, we disappear. You don’t comply, our next call is to Tom Nelson. This isn’t open to negotiation. Understand?”
“I don’t…I…” He began to stammer and cough. Micah was right. Threatening him with Nelson was more effective than her original idea, saying they’d call the police.
“Fine, Keith. That’s how you want it, we call Nelson right now. I’m sure for a fifty percent recovery fee he’d love to learn who screwed him over. Care to gamble? Oh, right, you don’t believe in gambling. The Good Lord wouldn’t approve. Yet you stole our truck, sat back, and watched the fallout from a safe distance. That’s okay with Jesus?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It was supposed to be Atkins driving that night.”
Last Exit in New Jersey Page 27