by Fobes, Tracy
He hugged her, then held her back at arm’s length so he could look at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Jake,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Something happened near Rowdy Ray’s. Outside the Guardians’ clubhouse. Something bad. It must have happened a while ago, but I just saw it.” She was talking so quickly that Jake could hardly understand her.
“Hey, slow down. What do you mean by ‘something bad?’”
“I saw blood,” she replied, and drew in a great, hiccupping breath. “A lot of it. Smearing the white lines in the road. Luke’s there. He told me to get you.”
Jake’s heart thumped in his chest. “Luke’s hurt?”
“No, not Luke.”
“Then who?”
“His dad, I think.”
Jake groaned. He pulled away from her and pressed a hand against his suddenly aching forehead. “An accident?”
“No. His head. It was bashed in. Like someone went at him with a baseball bat.”
Jake had heard enough. “Let’s go.”
They hurried out the door and ran toward the garage, with Jake in the lead. He mounted his bike, and then realized that as a café racer, it had only enough room for one rider.
“We can take my car,” Sophia said urgently. They raced over to her VW Beetle. She got behind the steering wheel, he took the passenger seat, and then they were speeding through the streets toward Rowdy Ray’s.
The drive took less than five minutes. Blue and red emergency lights lit the buildings and trees near the roadhouse. Sophia pulled up slowly and parked near two police cars. They both jumped out of the car and hurried toward the motorcycle clubhouse, whose driveway was currently cordoned off with yellow police tape.
Kat, Sophia’s mom, had her arms around Luke, who was standing near the police cars. Further on, an ambulance sat with its rear doors open, displaying medical equipment, but the men who tended to the figure on the stretcher had no urgency to their movements. Two police officers were marking the road, taking measurements and recording various facts into tablets.
Jake and Sophia walked over to Luke and stood a few respectful feet away.
“Luke, I’m so sorry, man,” Jake said softly.
Luke heard him and looked up with dull eyes. “He’s dead. My dad is dead.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. He’s gone.”
Jake sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What happened?”
Luke dragged off the bandana he’d been wearing, revealing sandy blond hair that was matted down with sweat. His voice was high-pitched, on the edge of breaking down. “Don’t know. No one saw anything.”
Her face etched with worry and grief, Sophia put a hand on Luke’s arm. “Who can I call for you, Luke?”
“My aunt.” Luke’s chest heaved with his breathing. He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “I don’t know how to tell her.”
Sophia took the phone from him. “I’ll call her, hon. Is her number in your contacts?”
“Yeah. Aunt Marion,” he wheezed.
While Sophia started looking through Luke’s phone call for the phone number, Jake pulled Luke to the side. His attention fell on the two police officers who were interviewing a couple who’d just exited the roadhouse. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I wish I’d been here to stop whatever happened. I’m gonna miss him.”
“Me too, Jake.” Luke had his hands fisted by his sides. “Goddamn cops better get whoever did this.”
“Do you have any idea? Why would someone want to hurt him?” Jake didn’t understand it. Ray Morris had been a decent guy, the kind who had always helped others in times of trouble. It made no sense to suggest that someone would bash his head in.
At that moment, Sophia connected with Luke’s aunt and began to deliver the bad news. Luke glanced over at her, then refocused on Jake. “Everyone loved my dad.” He paused and took a deep breath. Then, suddenly, his shoulders slumped. “But he was bankrupt.”
Jake stiffened with surprise. “How is that possible? The roadhouse, it’s in great shape, lots of people go there—”
“He owed money,” Luke cut in. “A lot of it.”
“To who?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” Luke’s jaw tightened.
“So your dad borrowed money in order to renovate Rowdy Ray’s.” Jake had a slow, sinking feeling deep inside. He remembered his mother’s black eye. “Is it possible that he borrowed the money from a guy named Will Hansen?”
Luke shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
Just then, Sophia clicked off the cell phone and returned to Luke’s side. “Your aunt’s coming down from Connecticut. She’ll be here in a few hours.”
“Thanks, Sof.” Luke took his cell phone back.
“Luke, you need to look through your dad’s records,” Jake urged. “Find out who loaned him the money. See if it’s Will Hansen.”
Sophia shot Jake a warning look. “Right now, Luke has to see to his dad.”
Jake nodded. “Of course.”
The emergency workers finished loading the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. The ambulance doors closed with a final, echoing sound, and a sob broke from Luke. Sophia immediately put her arms around him. Jake felt like putting his fist through a wall—he hated feeling so damned helpless.
A man dressed in a chinos and a button-d0wn shirt walked over to them. With his short blonde hair cut close to his head and gun in the holster at his waist, he had the unmistakable air of someone in charge. He stood in front of Luke and assessed the younger man closely. “Hi, Luke. I’m Detective Fielding. Very sorry for your loss.”
Luke wiped at his eyes. “Thank you.”
“I need to ask you a few questions, if you’re up for it.”
The ambulance pulled away. Luke followed it with his gaze. “Where are they taking my dad? To Franklin General?”
Fielding spoke gently. “He’s being taken to the Monmouth County medical examiner’s office. We need to perform an autopsy.”
“When will he be released for funeral services?” Sophia asked.
“Within the week.” Fielding put his hand on Luke’s arm. “May I ask you some questions?”
“Yeah, why not.” Luke’s voice was now monotone.
Fielding pointed toward the roadhouse. “Why don’t we go inside and sit down?”
Luke didn’t answer, but instead allowed the detective lead him to the roadhouse. Jake watched them go, grief for both Rowdy Ray and Luke eating at him like acid. Then he turned to Sophia, who had tears running down her cheeks. He slung an arm around her shoulder. “Wanna get a coffee or something?”
She shook her head no and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Better not, Jake. I just get into trouble around you.”
“But you came to me,” he pointed out. “When you knew there was trouble.”
She ducked her head and blew her nose. “Luke’s your friend. I knew that you’d want to be there.”
He pulled her a little closer, and she didn’t resist. “Where’s Alex?”
“He’s staying in Asbury Park overnight with a few friends.”
“Did you call him?”
“Didn’t have a chance. I will later.”
As Jake digested this information, they started walking toward her car. Sophia tossed him the keys when they reached it. “You mind driving? I feel too unsteady to drive.”
“No.”
A few minutes later, they were on their way back to Jake’s house. He was still stunned by the last few days’ events. “I’m shocked,” he stated baldly, as he turned down Ocean Drive and headed toward the Salt Key Beach Homes development. “I feel like I’m back on the battlefield.”
Sophia glanced out toward the ocean. Although daybreak was still a while away, the first hint of grays and pinks had appeared on the horizon. “Our hometown’s gone to Hell,” she agreed. “It wasn’t so apparent before, but lately...”
“There’s some kind of loan sharking going on here,” he muttered. “Ray apparently owed money, and maybe that got him killed.” He paused, swallowed, and then continued, “Earlier tonight, I found out that my mom owes money, too.”
She sighed heavily and refocused her attention on him. “Jake, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He gripped the steering wheel harder. She didn’t seem surprised at all. “What’s going on here? What do you know?”
“You just got home,” she pointed out. I’ve been here a lot longer than you. I’ve seen things. And I’ve heard things. There are a lot of people who owe money in this town. Most of those loans are coming due right about now. We’re going to see some more trouble, I’m sure of it.”
He pulled the car to an abrupt stop on the side of the road. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Hurricane Sandy ripped this town to shreds.” She frowned and glanced out at the ocean, clearly searching for the right words, before looking back at him. “It left behind nothing but wrecked houses, destroyed businesses and shattered dreams. When folks didn’t get enough cash from the insurance companies or the government, they borrowed from Will Hansen.”
“Will Hansen,” he repeated angrily. “Not the first time I’ve heard his name.”
“Yeah, he’s supposedly the most benevolent businessman in town. But he’s really a front for organized crime. “
“Jesus Christ.”
“Religion has nothing to do with it,” she told him dourly. “Anyone who borrowed from Will Hansen now owes the organization. Including your mom.”
“How do you know these things?”
She shrugged. “I hear them.”
“How? You have phone taps set up?” he asked sarcastically.
“While waitressing,” she clarified. “People don’t always notice me...I’m just the waitress. So they talk. Say lots of things.”
He thought something in her tone rang false. “So you think organized crime is now running Rockport Grove.”
“I do. It’s a Russian-based syndicate. I can tell by the accents and the Russian words they use here and there.”
He nodded. He recalled that Alex and Sophia both had relatives in the Ukraine. “And my mom...”
“She’s gonna have to find the cash, if she wants out,” she replied.
He felt his heart give a giant thump in his chest. “Fuck that. I’m going to the cops.”
“Don’t,” she urged, and put a hand on his arm. “They’re corrupt. Puppets. They belong to the organization.”
“How do you know that?”
“I told you. I hear things.”
“This is all bullshit,” he said angrily. “What the fuck did I serve in Afghanistan for? Why was I fighting for their freedom if we don’t have any freedom here in my hometown?”
She flinched at his words. “I know. It sucks.”
“I’m going to the cops.”
She pulled in a deep breath, then let out it. “Please. Reconsider.”
“Unless you can give me more evidence than ‘I hear things,’ I’m going to the cops.” He started the car, threw it in drive, and started back toward his house. His gut was churning. He felt trapped. “What happens if my mom doesn’t pay off her loan?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose there are other ways she could pay them back...”
“What other ways?”
“Help them launder money, maybe, through the salon? Or even deal prescription drugs?”
“My mom would never do that. I wouldn’t let her.” He felt shocked over how much she seemed to know about ‘the organization’ and its workings. Suddenly he recalled how she’d been a junkie once, hooked on drugs; and a new, terrible thought occurred to him. Had she somehow gotten herself mixed up with the organization? Was she still hooked, and dealing for them now, too? A hollow feeling began to grow deep inside him, and along with a deep-seated fear for her. “You know a lot about this, Sophia. More than a waitress ought to know, in my opinion.”
She tensed, and looked out the window. “I would rather not know, honestly.”
“You want to talk about anything?” he asked, as he pulled up the driveway to his home.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
He parked the car, took the keys out of the ignition and handed them to her. Something inside was urging him to put his arms around her and hold her close, but he fought the impulse off. She didn’t want him that way anymore—she’d made that clear. “You sure?”
“I am.” She took the keys and looked at him with those deep green eyes of hers, eyes that he’d seen smolder with desire, and blaze with anger. At the moment, they were dark and shrouded with secrets. “Just don’t go to the cops. Promise me you won’t.”
“I’m not promising anything,” he replied, and stepped out of the car.
She slid over to the driver’s seat, started the car, and gave him one last pleading look as she put it in reverse and backed out of the driveway. He watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest.
Chapter Nine
In just a few hours after Sophia had dropped him off, the new day had dawned gray and cold, reminding Jake that winter was only a few months away. He didn’t mind the winter, usually; he enjoyed several different snow sports and was looking forward to seeing snow again, having spent most of the last ten years in the desert or in various army bases that fell south of the Mason-Dixon line. At the moment, though, he felt cold inside, chilled to the bone, and he would have appreciated some summer heat to warm him up.
His mom owed money to the mob.
And Sophia, the woman who refused to leave his dreams, seemed to be involved with organized crime in a way that couldn’t be good for her health.
He was up and waiting for Laurie when she came down in her bathrobe to make coffee. He let her pour herself a cup, drink a few sips and remark on how he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and then told her about Ray Morris.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, once he’d finished. “What am I going to do?”
“What are we going to do,” he corrected her.
She gave him a grateful look. “Jake, it’s my problem—”
“It’s our problem. And we’re going to pay them back.”
“Pay them back? How?”
“I’ll find the money, somehow,” he vowed. He already had a few ideas as to where he could go to ask for a temporary loan. “I want you to consider leaving town for a while. Go up north and live with Uncle Joe.”
Laurie shook her head no. “I can’t leave Beach Waves.”
“Screw the salon,” he said. “Your life is more important.”
She stuck her chin out. “I won’t let them ruin my life.”
“Goddamnit, mom—”
“No!” She stood up so quickly that her coffee sloshed all over her bathrobe. “I’m not leaving, and that’s that. I won’t let them bully me and destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to build.”
“But—”
“That’s the end of it,” she barked, leaving Jake no choice but to glare at her.
“So what are you going to do?” he barked. “Stay here and wait for them to come back and bash your skull in, too?”
“Martin’s moving in tomorrow,” she told him.
“Uncle Martin can’t watch out for you twenty-four hours a day.”
“He’s got the Guardians behind him.”
He snorted with disgust. “All right, mom, you go see Uncle Martin and the Guardians. And while you’re wasting your time with that, I’ll go down to the police station and file a report.” He nodded once, firmly, and headed toward the back door.
“No police, Jake,” she insisted loudly.
He paid her no attention. Rather, he pushed his way out of the house and strode over to his bike.
When he reached the Rockport Grove Police Station, the captain in charge listened to Jake’s brief recital of the events leading up to his mother’s black eye, took some basic information, and then
directed him into a waiting room. He cooled his heels a good two hours in the waiting room before a junior officer brought him before a computer workstation, to take his statement.
“Explain to me what your complaint is,” the officer said, his fingers poised over the workstation’s keyboard. He looked extremely young, with a smattering of acne across his cheeks and peach fuzz on his chin that didn’t appear to need shaving yet. “Missing person, harassment, you witnessed a crime, what?”
“Harassment,” he supplied. “I explained the complaint to the captain in charge when I came in.”
“The captain doesn’t take complaints,” Junior said.
“Fine. I’m here to report harassment.”
“What kind of harassment?”
Jake went on to explain how his mother had borrowed money from Will Hansen, and that Hansen had sent two goons to rough her up when she didn’t pay on time. As he told the story, Junior’s eyebrows crept upward, and his typing slowed. Junior’s eyes suddenly narrowed as Jake related his theory that perhaps certain criminal elements had decided to make Rockport Grove their hunting ground, and he stopped typing altogether.
“Were you present when this event occurred?” the officer asked.
“No, I wasn’t. I was over at Rowdy Ray’s Roadhouse,” he admitted.
“So you didn’t witness this attack at all.”
“No.”
“Mr. Gallent, you’re wasting my time. We’re going to need your mother to file this report, not you,” the officer said in bored tones, as he methodically began to click keys on the keyboard again. “As you weren’t present, anything that you report is hearsay. We can’t do anything with that.”
“You don’t even want to know what happened?” Jake couldn’t believe the officer was dismissing him so abruptly.
Junior hesitated. “Did your mother go to the hospital?”
“No,” Jake conceded. “She didn’t think her black eye was bad enough to for her to sit in the emergency room for hours.”
“Did she visit a doctor?”
“No.”
“Did you take pictures of her injuries?”
“No.” Jake slouched a little further into his seat.