40°28’17.43”N/73°59’34.76”W
SANDY HOOK, NJ
Hazel sat alone on Revenge’s unlit bridge and watched the beach. The moon was a thin crescent, barely visible in the dark sky. From her vantage point, she scanned the empty length of Sandy Hook, spotting the approaching headlights. Through the night scope, she could clearly see Keith park, looking around anxiously as he stepped from the Jeep. She switched on the digital recorder, the tiny LED flickering as it picked up Revenge’s quietly burbling engine, and dialed the cell phone. She set the phone to speaker, tucking it and the recorder in her pocket.
“Okay, Micah,” she said softly. “Here goes. Let’s see what we catch.”
Meeting Keith was risky; there could be someone else in the shadows, ready to gun her down on sight. It was naive to expect anything less. Walking onto an isolated pier would be suicide. Meeting somewhere public and crowded might have been safer, but it wouldn’t work for her plans. She was sticking with a lesson Joe taught her long ago. The safest defense was to stay out of range.
Inches above the high-tide line, a folding beach chair waited in the sand, a colorful towel draped across the back and a yellow plastic bucket to the side. An innocent arrangement, as though merely forgotten at day’s end. Hazel watched Keith trudge across the sand, guided by the glowing display on his handheld GPS, head swiveling like a frightened rabbit in an open field.
The stretch of beach left no spot for hiding, not for her and Micah or anyone else. And though the chair faced the ocean, as he hesitantly dropped into the low fabric seat, Keith watched over his shoulder. Due to the height of the chair, getting to his feet would be awkward; he leaned forward, visibly nervous as he scanned the surrounding beach. For a moment he turned toward the empty darkness of the ocean. The surf masked Revenge’s softly idling diesel, and her unlit black transom blended seamlessly into the night. Keith removed the flashlight from the bucket, following Hazel’s instructions, shining it on his face, identifying himself, signaling Hazel and effectively cancelling any night vision he had.
Hazel smiled coldly. This was it. This was for her father and Micah.
She yanked up on the line leading down to the cockpit, which pulled free a screwdriver serving as the pin securing two toggle hitches together. Simultaneously the two anchor lines which had held Revenge with her stern facing the beach were released. Hazel pegged the throttle; Revenge surged forward, drawing tight the three hundred feet of line trailing from the three game-fish rods. Each line, weighted along the bottom and buried under a foot of wet sand on shore, formed a large, sliding loop, the outer edge taped smooth against the frame of the chair, hidden by the towel and the darkness. In the simplest sense it was a giant snare, with Keith perfectly positioned as the loops closed at his chest, waist, and knees, jerking him from his seat and into the breaking surf, leaving only a tilted chair and a flashlight in the sand. A perfect ten-point catch. Hazel only wished Micah could have seen it.
She flipped on the spreader lights and went below, easing the throttle at the cockpit station, giving Keith a chance to catch some air as she dragged him out to sea. He immediately began screaming sputtering threats, and Hazel pushed the throttle until the wake covered his face, forcing him to shut up or drown. That silenced him, but she knew if he was dead he’d be no use to her, so she put Revenge into neutral, reeling him alongside, then brought in the line snaring his legs. Ignoring his thrashing, she swung the boom over the water and pulled the heavier line down, tossing a loop around his tangled feet, then powered the winch and hauled him up, dangling head-down like a flailing game fish.
“Hello, Keith.”
It took every bit of willpower she could muster to suppress her loathing at the sight of him, but she knew it was vital she stay with the script. Only, without Micah there, she wasn’t sure whether to play good cop or bad cop.
“Micah!” he bellowed, untangling fishing line from his arms and twisting to reach a pistol secured in a holster beneath his shirt, hanging halfway over his face. “Where is that bastard?” He managed to unclip the gun and search for his target while the boat rolled, alternately swinging him through the air and plunging him headfirst underwater. She gave him credit; he never dropped the gun.
“Please, Keith, lose the gun,” Hazel advised. “Don’t force me to do something you don’t want me doing.”
Through two more rolls and dips he refused, his face contorted with rage each time he came up for another gasping mouthful of air.
“I asked nicely.” Hazel lowered the boom, keeping Keith below the waves. He used all those well-defined muscles to raise his upper body, fumbling and dropping the gun as he struggled to remain above sea level.
“Where’s…Micah…”
“You’ll see him soon enough. First you talk to me.” Hazel began reeling in the now slack wire lines. She didn’t want them fouling the prop. “It seems you’ve broken a whole lot of those commandments you were teaching me. Thou shalt not steal, adultery, and I’m pretty sure you mentioned one about killing. I’m not one to judge; only why else did you have a gun? It’s truly disappointing.”
The backpack had slipped down, dangling behind his head. Hazel leaned out with a boathook and snagged it. Keith clung to one strap and Hazel submerged him further, waiting until he let go. He tried the impressive curl with less vigor, splashing down like a bag of sand. Hazel hauled the backpack into the cockpit, giving Keith another moment to contemplate his situation, watching while his arms flailed wildly before raising him into the air. Coughing violently, he vomited saltwater while she opened the backpack, peeling apart soggy sections of the Sunday Bergen Record, stuffed with flyers and advertisements.
“Oh, look. There’s a Fourth of July sale at Nelson Appliance.” Hazel sighed, shaking her head. “Micah said you might try something like this. I hoped you wouldn’t. You know, I wanted to be forgiving and give you a chance to redeem yourself, but you’re not making it easy.”
Keith retched in spasms, struggling to speak.
Hazel leaned against the transom. “I didn’t want to do this.” No, she wanted to use treble hooks on the lines and drag him over some oyster beds first, then question him. “But you’re leaving me no choice. Will you just talk to me?”
He gagged, strings of phlegm trailing from his mouth.
“I’ll take that as a yes. You know, I didn’t even want the money, just the truth. You told me I must seek the truth. But now I’m not sure I can trust you. Can I trust you, Keith?”
“Where’s Micah?” he choked.
“I already told you, first you talk to me. You’re going to tell me where you fit in this whole mess and who else is involved. Then I confirm facts. Wrong information results in more unpleasantness. You decide just how bad this gets.”
“Let me aboard and we can talk,” he pleaded.
“After you showed up with the Sunday paper and a gun? I don’t think so.”
“I wasn’t going to shoot you.”
“Who, then?” she asked, her voice tight. “Micah?”
“He’s a sinner, Hazel. I know you don’t see it, but he is.”
And down he went. Hazel eased Revenge into gear, gunning the engine. The sound of the prop biting water would send a clear message: he was dangling beside a diesel-powered Cuisinart. Hazel dropped the boat back to idle and shifted to neutral, hauling Keith up, waiting as he expelled more of the Atlantic. She took a moment to admire the terror in his face.
“Here’s your options, Keith. You start talking, or I test reverse. I’ve heard confession is good for the soul. Who else was involved?”
“It’s Nelson’s operation,” Keith admitted. “They moved drugs. Him, Kessler, and Atkins, polluting the world with their evil, profiting on the weaknesses of others. I was going to purify the money by using it for the Lord’s work. Atkins was supposed to be driving,” he insisted. “He’s a sinner and a blasphemer. He’s damned anyways. They’re all damned, and their greed would be their downfall.”
“Who else?”
“That was it. Nelson kept it small: Kessler handled the dealers, Atkins drove.” Keith coughed. “I heard Nelson and Kessler talking. I knew if the money never arrived, they’d turn on each other. I’d use the money for good and let the evil be punished at their own hands. This was my chance to truly serve the Lord and prove my faith to Him. I followed the truck; when Micah stopped, I took it. You have to understand, it was supposed to be Atkins. But Micah was knowingly associating with sinners.”
“Did you even consider that stealing the truck was a sin? Or does that not apply if you do it for God?”
“I knew Christ would forgive me. I told you, if we confess our sins, He is just and will forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
Hazel’s hand hovered over the winch switch. His twisted zealousness infuriated her, but she restrained herself from submerging him. “Look, Keith, I know you didn’t pull this off alone. I know there’s others involved. Just tell me who.”
His expression clouded and he shook his head. “No one…”
“Wrong answer.” The winch whined as he descended. She lowered him until waves smacked his head and each roll of the boat dipped him briefly.
“I want names…now!”
Keith twisted frantically, whimpering.
Hazel’s hand hovered over the throttle. “You’re not going to make me go backwards, are you?”
She waited for his reply, and through that pause came a faint squeak, almost like a mouse. Or a hiccup.
“Do me a favor,” she told Keith. “Just hang there a minute.” She stepped into the cabin, closing the door.
Hammon was right where she’d deposited him, taped up and sprawled across the cabin sole. She wasn’t happy about leaving him like that, but she was certain he’d get in the way or get hurt if she didn’t. He blinked with the sluggish, disoriented look of a sedated puppy.
“Annabel.” He gazed up helplessly. “Hazel’s gone again, isn’t she?”
She said nothing. It was impossible to imagine the effect ketamine had on a damaged brain like his.
“She hates me,” he moaned.
Hazel sighed. “She doesn’t hate you.”
“But she shot me.”
“You shot her first.”
“To protect her.”
“Exactly.”
“I have to help her. I’d die for her.”
“And that’s precisely what we’d like to avoid.” She knelt down, brushed the hair back from his face and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. His eyes grew wide, and he smiled a trusting, childlike smile.
“Hazel? You stayed! I don’t feel so good. My head feels weird.”
“I’m sorry.” She ripped off a strip of duct tape, covering his mouth. “Trust me. It’s for your own good.” She returned to the cockpit, shut the door, and regarded Keith, swinging like a pendulum with each roll of the boat.
“So, what to do with you? No offense, Keith. It’s not that I don’t trust you…No, actually that’s exactly it: I don’t, and I can’t. There’s something you’re not telling me. But if you’re not going to, there’s not much I can do.”
“You’re going to kill me,” he choked.
“Do I have to? Personally, I’d rather not. I’m not the devout Christian you are, but I do know killing is wrong. Then again, you said I’m going to burn in hell anyways, so I might as well just run this boat back and forth till you’re chum.” She reached for the winch. “You’ve already got your reservations booked in heaven so you’ve got no worries, and we’ll certainly make the striped bass happy.”
“No!” Keith sputtered.
Hand on the switch, she paused. “Why not?”
“I can get you the money, it’s in a storage center!” he shrieked between waves. “I know where, but I don’t have the key.”
Now she was getting somewhere. “And what trusting soul does?”
“Valerie,” he said, his voice awash in humiliation.
That wasn’t the answer she’d expected, though in hindsight it did connect a number of dots. “I’m listening.”
“She told me about Nelson’s operation. She had a copy of the route Atkins was supposed to drive. She said if I took the truck we’d have their money and it would destroy Nelson.” Keith stared across at Hazel, ashamed. “She came to me after you rejected me. She’d learned her husband was unfaithful, she was crying, and…” His voice faded.
Hazel sighed. “Let me guess. She wanted to get even with Nelson, and she put her hand down your pants.”
“I was weak,” he sobbed.
“No.” Hazel grumbled, furious with herself for not seeing it sooner. “Valerie needed a driver and she used you. You were set up. She tried the same act with Micah, but he didn’t go for it. All she wanted was the money. We don’t. It’s caused nothing but pain. All Micah and I want is to set things right and be safe again.”
Her hand dropped from the winch and she turned away. She knew what she had to do and it wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant. It was Micah’s idea; he insisted she could pull it off. She turned back to Keith.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to do this, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been so scared. Everyone is trying to hurt us. I didn’t know where to turn anymore. And when I came to you…hoping you could help me, protect me…needing you…” Her voice wavered, and she wiped imaginary tears.
“You were with…with her.” She looked to him in anguish. “I want to trust you, Keith, but I’m so scared. I need you, I realize that now. You told me once if I open my heart to Jesus, he’d forgive me. But can you? Is it too late for us? Could you show me the way of the Lord? Can you be like Jesus?”
She wasn’t sure whether it was too much inhaled seawater and prolonged upside-down dangling affecting his brain, or, as Micah theorized, Keith was genuinely obsessed with winning her undefiled body and heathen soul. She never believed she’d pull it off with a straight face, and she never figured Keith would buy it, but as Micah predicted he took the bait, hook, line and sinker. His face glowed with rapturous delight. “Yes!”
“Truly?”
“Yes! Do you know how long I’ve prayed to hear you say those words?”
“Oh, Keith! You can’t imagine how much that means to me!” She removed the phone from her pocket. “Did you hear that, Micah? You were right! Everything’s going to work out just fine!”
With everyone at the beach or anchored on the water to watch the miles of fireworks shows visible from the bay, the Leonardo docks were all but vacant. RoadKill waited, reassuring in its offensiveness, and Hazel smiled when she read the side of the trailer, where reflective red letters stated: “SAFETY IS MY GOAL.”
“Is that Micah?” Keith’s clothes were beginning to dry, but he was still shaky and his voice hoarse from his ordeal, which included a bout of seasickness on the way in.
“It looks that way.” Hazel guided Revenge alongside, snubbing off the spring line. She secured the other lines, shut the engine, and went ashore, opening the trailer. The light from the docks slanted into the empty interior. Perfect. But where was Atkins?
In the distance, the sky flashed green. A whistle shrieked and the air shook with the deep thumps of reports.
“Keith,” she called sweetly, climbing up into the trailer. “Come give me a hand with this.”
Outside the truck, the sky crackled magnesium-white. Keith climbed up beside Hazel and looked around the trailer in confusion.
“There’s nothing here.” He backed up nervously as the wrecked Dakota pulled up, a single misaligned headlight flooding the trailer. Hazel cursed under her breath; she’d been so distracted, she totally forgot about the damned tracker in the boat. Gary stepped out, looking from her to Revenge.
“Where’s Hammon?”
Uneasy, Keith looked from Gary to Hazel, eyes widening as he spotted the pistol and a dart struck his thigh. He yanked it out, holding it up. “What’s going on?”
“It’s called Karma.” Hazel stepped back as he staggered to
ward her. “We’ve been hunted, my dad nearly died, and the whole time you stood by and did nothing. Far as I know, Jesus never said ‘screw onto others.’”
Keith crumbled to his knees, fury building in his eyes. “You…lied…”
“Casting stones? I really don’t think you’re qualified, and I’m pretty sure salvation isn’t a license to sin.” Hazel pulled duct tape from her backpack, wrapping his wrists, ankles, and mouth as he stared up, eyes glazing. “Christ may forgive you, Keith, but I don’t.”
She jumped down, her attention turning to Gary, who scrambled backwards.
“Relax,” she told him. “I’m running low on darts. I’d rather not waste any on you if I don’t have to.”
He glanced nervously at Keith. “Who’s that?”
“My ex-boyfriend. What are you doing here?”
“Zap texted me, sort of. He said ‘hekp.’ Where is he?”
“Safe and sound aboard Revenge.” She peaked into RoadKill’s cab. Keys hung in the ignition but Atkins wasn’t there. The back of her neck prickled as she scanned the shadows while Gary watched her warily.
“Zap just wants to help you.”
“And he’s going to get himself killed in the process.”
She walked past, and Gary’s protest fell silent as he turned to find Atkins’s discolored eye fixed on him and a rifle aimed at his skull. Behind them, the air rumbled with thudding explosions, triggering distant car alarms. Atkins remained rock-steady.
“You want I shoot him, kid?”
Hazel shook her head. “This poor guy’s just an innocent bystander. He won’t cause trouble.” She glared at Gary. “Right?”
Atkins lowered the rifle, and Gary scrambled aboard Revenge. Hazel looked to Atkins. “Where were you?”
“Watering the bushes. Looks like you had things under control.” Atkins peered into the trailer. “Preacher Keith, eh? Never did trust that holier-than-thou jackass.” He glanced at the pistol in her hand. “You killed him?”
“No.” She held the tranquilizer gun up to the light for Atkins to examine. “He’s more useful alive.” Hazel jumped down to the dock and climbed aboard Revenge as bursts of light filled the sky.
Last Exit in New Jersey Page 30