by Lois Carroll
And scared that it never would.
With his thumb Mac rubbed along the beer can label to clear a stripe in the condensation. He rotated the can slightly and drew his thumb down another stripe. Water collected in large drops on the bottom of the can and then dropped to his thigh where they darkened his jeans.
“It should have been ended before we came here,” Mac said softly. “Hell, maybe I left too soon. If I’d stayed there, near where it happened, this all might have been over by now because I would have remembered what I saw.”
“The judge said he’d hand down the sentence by the end of the month. We got the guilty verdict for the one collar we did manage to make that night. There’s nothing more you can do to trigger your memory about the rest of what happened. You just have to wait. It’ll all come back. Doc said there was no way to rush it that you haven’t tried already.”
“Hmph.”
“Hey man, enjoy the time you have. Hell, you can live a normal life here for a change.”
“Yeah. Yeah. A normal life, huh? That’ll take some getting used to. Like going to bed at fairly decent hours instead of staying up all night, parked in a dingy car somewhere on a stakeout.”
“Oh, I see. You miss that life, huh? The cold coffee and greasy burgers.”
“And Sam.”
At the mention of Mac’s dead partner, both men lost the smiles on their faces. Mac drained his beer can and leaned his head back against the couch.
“You can’t bring him back, Mac. Worrying about it won’t help his wife or kids, and it isn’t going to solve your problem. You’re here to relax and recuperate. With me to keep you company,” Hines said with a short-lived grin. Serious again, he added, “It’ll all come back to you, man. Just give it more time.”
Mac ran his hand through his hair and slapped it down on his thigh. He’d heard that too often and he didn’t need to hear it again. If only he could remember what happened after the first few minutes of that night on the dock.
Partial amnesia brought on by shock or from the fall he took after he was shot, the doc had said. Or it could be from the anesthetic during the surgery to put his shoulder back together. Any number of reasons. Mac had learned enough to know that that kind of lost memory usually came back within two or three weeks–or not at all.
Mac flatly refused to accept the ‘not at all’ verdict.
He rose from the couch and stretched. “I’m going to turn in. Night.” He’d said it that way on purpose. There were few ‘good’ nights anymore. The shooting that left Mac with enough metal in his shoulder to set off an airport metal detector would not leave him in peace.
He thought about that night over and over, always frustrated that there might have been something he could have done differently. Something that would have helped Sam. After seeing Sam shot and feeling his shoulder explode, he could remember nothing. Nothing at all.
He stood under a hot shower, but couldn’t rinse away the pain of that night. Nothing would ever take away the long scars where they’d opened him up to put his shoulder back together. His fingers ran along one of the ugly, raised pink ridges.
What would Carolyn say when she saw them?
He toweled dry, pushed back the top sheet and blanket, and sat on the narrow bed, his elbows on his knees. How did Carolyn get into his head? Again.
The towel sailed across the bedroom into the bathroom, and Mac pulled on his pajama bottoms. Here was one more reason to find a house on the lake in a hurry. He wouldn’t have to wear pajamas anymore. He lay down on his good shoulder and pulled the sheet and blanket to his bare chest.
An image of Carolyn standing at her door with her hand around her daughter’s shoulders floated into his mind. For the first time since that terrible night, Mac fell asleep thinking about something other than the bloody scene at the docks and the cop killer he was trying so hard to remember. His body relaxed in sleep but not for long.
His thoughts about the evening with Carolyn couldn’t stop the inevitable. His pleasant visions of her soon turned into the nightmare that returned him, as it did almost nightly to that dock.
Mac’s nightmare skimmed past the fact the special force had been working on this case for almost a year. Deep undercover, Mac and Sam had worked their way up in the crime organization from different entry points to positions of trust. They relayed the information concerning when the merchandise was to come in and when it was to be exchanged for the case of bills.
Using a prearranged signal, the message was to be sent to Bob Morris, who was hidden within radio range and would have the dock surrounded in seconds. When the money changed hands, the police would enter the warehouse and cut off the exits so the arrests could be made. Hines and his partner would lead in the pack. Mac felt good about the plan, confident it would work.
It should have worked. But it didn’t.
The late spring night had felt cold. Clouds had covered the moon and the ever-present nighttime fog blurred the few lights on the dock. The intermittent mournful drone of a foghorn somewhere put nerves of steel on edge.
Mac stood outside the warehouse where he’d been dispatched as one of the lookouts. As he left to take up his position, he glanced at Sam to see a stern but confident look on his face.
In position in the darkness, Mac crouched on top of a stack of crates beyond the cones of light shining from the broad-shaded fixtures high on the side of the building. He checked the gun in his shoulder holster and adjusted his jacket so he would have an easy draw if he needed it. He slid his hand over the outside of his calf to be sure his second one was in place, too. Inhaling the damp fishy air, he listened to the muted sounds of the night.
He wished Sam was outside so they would be better able to protect each other’s backs, but he’d been ordered to stay inside as a backup bodyguard for the seller. Mac hadn’t dared object without arousing suspicion.
The low guttural growl of an inboard motor grew louder as it approached. From his position on the dock, he watched the launch stop and tie up next to the ladder to the dock. The running lights were cut and then two men strode into the warehouse. Two others took places where they could see the door and the launch and a fifth stayed at the wheel with the motor idling.
After a short time the door opened, one of the buyers stepped out and signaled to the boat with a wave of his hand. One of the lookouts climbed onto the dock and went in the warehouse with the boxes of merchandise.
Mac wiped his palms on his jeans-clad thighs. His fingers touched the butt of his shoulder arm for a final check. The time had come. The goods and the payment, the buyers and the sellers were all in one place.
Mac pressed the button on the cigarette lighter in his pocket that would transmit the signal for the police cars to move in. He allowed himself a tiny smile, but it disappeared in seconds when he heard nothing. No police cars. Nothing.
He scoured the road approaching the dock. There should have been police cars racing down, but he saw nothing. Where the hell were those guys? He held the lighter up over his head to increase the likelihood of a distant transmission and pushed the signal button again. And again. Come on. Come on. The deal wouldn’t take much longer.
A ship’s horn blared a signal in the distance. Risking being seen by the men from the launch, Mac rose on his knees to get a better look at the road. Still nothing.
The second lookout on the dock by the launch dropped a cigarette. His foot grinding it out on the cement echoed in the dark silence.
Suddenly the door to the warehouse squeaked open on rusty hinges and men appeared with the suitcase of money. They jogged quickly toward the launch. Sam followed them out through the door, but Mac saw his hands were up over his head as if someone with a gun was pointing it at him.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Mac pressed the lighter again. The damp silence exploded with gunfire. He ducked down and pulled out his automatic. The safety flipped off, he raised his head far enough over the top crate to get a better view of who was doing the
shooting. Just as Mac looked down at the front of the warehouse, Sam twisted in what seemed like a slow motion ballet, his arms flying out. He ended the dance by falling prostrate on the cement.
A captive audience, Mac was almost surprised when a sharp pain pierced his shoulder. The impact threw him backwards against the wooden crates with a clatter. Another pain burned into his side. His body jackknifed just before a third bullet whizzed by his head.
“Backup,” he mumbled. “Where’s the backup?”
Mac began falling, not only from the crates on which he lay, but into darkness that seemed to wrap around him like a fog rising from the black water below. He fought to stay awake to identify the shooter. He yelled, “No-o-o!” at the darkness as much as at the shooter. He tried to reach out and fought for purchase from his precariously balanced position. He knew he had to hang on and fight the coming darkness.
The deal was going down all wrong. He should have gotten help by now, but it wasn’t help he saw over him. It was only spots in the darkness. His fingers, ripped and bloody from clutching the rough-cut wood, slid from their hold and he tumbled to the cement below.
Sirens wailed in the distance. “No-o-o!” he groaned as cold fog enveloped him and the spots above him disappeared into the darkness.
Each night since then, Mac reached out again for help. If he just could have reached far enough, Sam would not have died. The men on the launch would not have escaped.
All they had was the punk who’d bought the goods–a small part of the whole operation. All those months of work led only to one cop dead and one wounded. They did get a conviction, but it wasn’t for murder. The bullets in the dealer’s gun didn’t match the ones in Sam or Mac.
Now after falling asleep with such sweet thoughts of Carolyn, Mac reached out in the darkness of his unconsciousness. Swirling red and blue lights flashed through the darkness. He yelled in an effort to stop the black fog overcoming him.
“No-o-o!” His voice shot through the silence of the small shared apartment. Mac awoke tangled in sheets he’d thoroughly soaked with sweat from his struggle with his memory.
He knew Hines had heard him cry out, but he stayed in bed. Hines knew he could do nothing for Mac. He had to remember it all–all that his mind was trying to keep hidden for some reason Mac would not know until he remembered. He was the only one alive who knew all of what happened that night. He had to remember. Despite how many months had passed, he wanted to believe it was too early for him to give up hope. It had to be.
If Mac remembered–no, when he remembered–he and Hines could bring the case to a conclusion. Then they both could get on with their lives.
Over an hour later, after taking another shower and remaking the bed, Mac finally surrendered to a restless but thankfully dreamless sleep.
Dressed in a conservative charcoal wool suit with a lighter gray silk blouse, Carolyn readied her notes for the Lakehaven Merchants Association officers meeting. This was the first meeting for the newly elected officers. No longer secretary, she now had the responsibilities of Programs Chairperson–to enlist willing speakers or make other program plans for the monthly meetings.
At first, being secretary and keeping the minutes and records in order seemed easier. Then with the months off for major holidays, the election meeting, and most of the summer ones off, she only had to plan seven programs. She’d only found one person in the group willing to be on a committee to help her. The goal didn’t appear to be an impossible task, and right now, the work would take her mind off the burglary.
She put up the ‘Open at One O’clock’ sign to explain her absence over the noon hour. Thankfully her customers seemed happy to put up with her occasional time off if it meant keeping such a unique shop in the area.
She looked around the shop again before closing and locking the door. She wondered if she would ever get over the feeling that someone had invaded…no, violated her space. No matter how angry she felt, it didn’t take away the feeling of fear and helplessness. She hated the feeling and the unhappy memories.
She’d been surprised to find nothing stolen or ruined. It appeared someone had just wanted to mess the place up and break some glass. Why? Try as she may, Carolyn couldn’t imagine even one person who could dislike (she didn’t want to think in terms of hate) her enough to want to hurt her that way.
For the first time since she’d opened the shop, she thought about giving it all up and getting a job elsewhere. This town had been home for half her life. She hated to leave, but if she didn’t run the shop, that was her only choice. What could she do here to earn a living? Where else could she and Terri go? She managed to convince herself she was overreacting.
Thinking as positively as she could, she concentrated on the one good thing that had resulted from the breakin: Charlie had installed a new metal door. Without a battering ram or explosives, she didn’t think anyone could break through it. She knew she would feel a lot safer working there late at night during her busy seasons.
Though Carolyn tried not to admit it to herself, another good had come from it all. Mac.
The door be hanged, she thought, smiling at her unintentional pun. Meeting Mac was definitely the best part. He’d been so sweet to come back with the pizza merely because he wanted to be there for her. Of course she would have to be certain that she confined her feelings to only those of appreciation.
Carolyn started her car and was backing out into the alley when she suddenly braked hard as a thought occurred to her. Mac was there as a friend, and not to check to see if she was involved with her own breakin, wasn’t he? She didn’t like the new unsettling feeling she got from that question. Although completely unfamiliar with police procedure, she didn’t like thinking Mac would be that two-faced with her. Or was that the kind of thing the police did nowadays?
How could Mac suspect her? She’d already reported nothing missing. If she’d faked a breakin, wouldn’t she have claimed a lot of money and goods had been stolen?
She groaned and shook her head to clear it. Making an effort to devote her attention to her driving and her thoughts to her meeting, she pulled into traffic and headed toward the motel coffee shop where the merchants met.
Harry, stocky and pasty-complexioned with dark hair and beady dark eyes, chuckled at the morning radio personalities as he pulled his gray sedan around the corner and trailed Carolyn to the coffee shop. After she went in, he drove down the block and parked where he could keep an eye on the entrance. When she came out, he planned to see where she went next.
He pulled out a cheap pay-as-you-go cell phone and keyed in some numbers. Time to report what he’d seen over the past twenty-four hours.
He spoke into the phone for a few moments, detailing Mac’s movements.
“Then he brought pizza to this woman’s store. And when they left later, he drove right behind her. I couldn’t follow for long ‘cause nobody was around and I didn’t know if he would spot me. I looked up where she lives. She must be somethin’ hot, taking him home on the first date.” He barked a laugh that quickly died as he listened. “Yeah. I’m on her now. She’s at a restaurant.”
Harry glanced around to see if anyone was watching him.
“No, he ain’t with her and I ain’t gonna lose her neither. Hell, I can only watch one of them at a time, but if you send someone else, he’ll pick us out. This place is so dinky I try to stay out of town at the dump where I’m staying as much as possible. Okay, if she goes back to the store where she works, I’ll go back to tailing him. But it’s not like there’s a lot for him to do around here.”
He listened, ploughing a rough hand through his hair and across his face. “Yeah. Yeah. I don’t understand why you don’t just end it now instead of taking this chance. How much longer do I got to stay in this burg?”
Harry nodded as he listened and then disconnected the call with a snap. Why wouldn’t they just let him end it now?
Angry at being stuck in the tiny town, Harry sighed and settled down for the wait.
Chapter Five
Mac entered the small police station after yet another restless night. He greeted Ellie at the communications board with as cheery a ‘good morning’ as he could manage and listened as she gave him the overnight news from the Sheriff’s Office. Not much happening. Good. He took the mail she held out to him and started toward his office, but stopped.
“Ellie, Hines hasn’t come up with much on the breakin. Why don’t you see what you can learn about White Properties this morning? See what people will tell you, since you’ve worked and lived here longer–things they might not say to Hines, for whatever reason, if he asked.”
Mac knew how tight-lipped small-town people could be about their own community members when they were talking to someone they considered an outsider. While he hated to think it, the fact that Hines was black and one of a very small minority in this town might have something to do with it, too. Made him wish he could change some minds about that in the short time they would be here.
“Right away,” Ellie said. “I stopped by county records this morning, but Mavis wasn’t her old organized self. I let her know that learning White’s recent real estate dealings was important.”
Mac shook his head at the way things were done in small towns. “Good, and when Hines gets in, tell him I want to see him.” At the sound of the entrance door swinging open, he looked up and added, “Speak of the devil.”
Hines pushed in the door with his backside while he steadied a box of doughnuts with three big Styrofoam cups of coffee balanced on top. He looked up to find the two of them staring at him. “What? Whatever it was, man, I didn’t do it!”
Mac and Ellie laughed.
“I don’t know what it is you didn’t do, but if I can have one of those coffees, I’ll forgive you anything,” Ellie announced as she rose to help him set the cups down without spilling. “Today’s your day to make the coffee, Hines, and I’ll take the Donut Dugout coffee over yours any time.”