Minus Tide

by Dennis Yates

  As she turned off the highway into the boat ramp parking lot, she noticed that the lights there had also been knocked out by the storm. The place was definitely showing its years of neglect. The small concrete building that used to cater to the salmon fishermen and anyone else passing by on the highway when she was a kid, was all boarded up. The old man who’d run it had died years ago and no one had wanted to take over after he was gone. Ann still remembered the perpetual tang of propane, the big steaming pots he’d cook crabs in and the smoke of hotdogs barbequing. Practically every inch of the structure was covered now with anti-cop graffiti, and only just before salmon season came would the city pay someone to come out and give it a hasty whitewash.

  She hadn’t gone fishing since high school, never cared for the crowds that turned the bay into something resembling city gridlock. Late on Friday and Saturday nights she and James would sometimes go to the boat ramp to party with friends. Nothing too serious. Someone with a pickup rigged with stereo speakers blasting from the tailgate, a pony keg hidden under tarp. Everyone seemed to get along, even with the visitors from Buoy City who occasionally got swept up in a migrating party of their own. Then Sheriff Dawkins began to crack down, made some minor-in-possession arrests and got everyone too paranoid to do much of anything on weekend nights except hang out at the 101 or go to the movies in Buoy City.

  Ann parked next to the staircase that led down from the top of the bank to a floating wooden dock below. She put the gun in her pocket and grabbed the flashlight from the glove box before she got out of her car. Stopping for a moment to look out over the bay, she saw that the dark mouths of small streams she used to explore in her kayak during high tide now stood above the bay like drained aqueducts. There was a network of these canals that led through the tall grass, secret places where Ann often found solitude. Now hours before dawn, the water seemed heavier than usual as it returned to the sea. She recalled it was that time of the year when it filled up with plankton and in the sunlight looked as if it had been silted with copper dust.

  When she got down the two flights of wooden staircase, she noticed a small boat tied up next to the dock. There was no sign of anyone around. The parking lot above had been empty. She drew her gun and stepped closer to the boat, wondering if someone might be lying inside, but all she saw were some life preservers and a ragged crab ring. She smelled gasoline coming from the boat, felt a puff of warmth that had drifted from its motor.

  “Ann?” said a voice from behind her.

  She spun around, aimed her flashlight up into a face and made sure it saw the gun in her hand.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  Chapter 21

  “It’s me Ann. It’s James.” The figure backed beneath the ridge of concrete seawall and was swallowed by thicker shadow. His voice had sounded familiar.

  “Let me see your hands,” Ann ordered. As James raised them into the beam of her flashlight she began to recognize them. He’d always bitten his nails down to the quick. And there were the same chicken-scratch scars where he’d accidently cut himself while fishing. It occurred to Ann that something was missing.

  “James wears a class ring. I don’t see one on your left hand.”

  “I traded it for two bottles of tequila,” James said.

  “You traded it for booze?”

  “It’s a long story. Jesus Ann, it’s me. Put the gun down before something happens.”

  Ann brought the flashlight up into his face again and made him squint. She took a few steps forward and noticed the pale welt next to the corner of his right eye, the scar he’d received back when they’d lived in Portland. It has to be him, she thought. Already feels like another lifetime ago. When she shoved the pistol into her coat pocket she could hear him sigh deeply.

  “What are you doing here?” Ann said. She felt short of breath, floaty. For a few moments she wondered if she were talking to a ghost, if she’d truly begun to lose her mind. He seemed to sway a little, as if he’d been drinking.

  James relaxed and moved closer. “I got your letter that Duane was dead… The navy finally forwarded it to me.”

  Before she had time to resist, he opened his arms and Ann fell into them. Once they touched she felt herself wrapping up close. It was like her body was rushing ahead of her, anxious to return to a place it had been to hundreds of times. She buried her face under his chin and smelled his neck, the whiskey coming from his breath. It was him. The last person in the world I’d expected to see tonight. They held each other on the creaking dock, listened to the roar of a semi truck as it vanished around each new bend in the highway like a dying tuning fork.

  “God I’ve missed you Ann,” James said. “I thought this day would never come.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “I was discharged. They couldn’t get my shoulder fixed so they cut me loose. I get a small disability check and a chance to go back to school.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Back in March.”

  “You’ve been out since March? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “I was feeling sorry for myself and needed time to think. So I went to Mexico and stayed drunk until I almost ran out of money.”

  “Did you figure things out?” Ann said. She felt tears trickling down her cheek, and when James discovered them under his palm he smoothed them away.

  “Some of it I guess. I decided I needed to come back home and face a few things, that if I didn’t do something about it now they’d be pulling me down forever. Then when I got your letter, it all seemed to come together, that the time was right. I thought I was coming back to something I knew. But I was wrong. Everything here is totally screwed up.”

  “Tell me about it,” Ann said. She took his hands in hers and they both sat down on a bench. The wood was cold and sparkled with fish scales. It reminded her of the sequined dress she’d worn to her senior prom, of James introducing her to cocaine.

  James was shivering. He hadn’t had time to grab his jacket, was lucky he’d slept with his shoes on.

  “You’re freezing,” Ann said.

  “I’m okay,” James said.

  Ann took her jacket off and threw it around them both like a shawl. She rubbed his arms with her hands, kneaded his tight muscles to bring the blood back.

  “Where have you been staying?”

  “Over at dad’s fishing shack. Until tonight that is. A van showed up with a hanging front bumper and crushed headlight. It looked like it had been in an accident. I could see where a tree limb had gouged the side. Some guys with guns got out and one of them smashed the bulb above the shack. I was barely out the window before they kicked in the door.”

  “Who were they?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first. All I knew was they weren’t a bunch of kids looking for a place to party. Luckily dad still keeps this boat stashed under the dock. I would have started the motor but I was afraid of drawing attention. Later on they walked out on the bank looking for me, but by then I’d already paddled too far out on the bay for them to see me. I just drifted in the dark for a long time afraid of making too much noise. Then I saw them get into the van and drive away. When it got quiet again I started to hear other voices coming from the shack. Unless I’ve gone completely crazy I’m sure it was Tammy, Mitch and the sheriff. And it didn’t sound like they were just getting ready for a fun day of fishing either.”

  Ann felt an icy chill spread up the back of her neck and into her scalp. “Are you sure it was them?”

  “It had to be, Ann. You don’t forget people you’ve grown up around that fast. Now tell me what’s going on.”

  “All I know is that I’ve been up all night looking for them, ever since I went by to visit Tammy after closing the store. From what I could tell there’d been a struggle, and some blood was left on the sink. But no Tammy. And then later when I tried to find Mitch and the sheriff I found their wrecked patrol at the edge of Dead Man’s Point. Something horrible has happened, James. Now after what you’v
e said I think they could have been kidnapped. If it’s really them, then we need to go help.”

  “Are you sure we should get involved?”

  “What are you talking about? Tammy and Mitch are my friends, our friends.”

  “All I’m saying is it’s not safe. Those guys could come back any time and then we might become their prisoners-hostages or whatever. Haven’t you tried calling anyone else for help?”

  “There’s no way to reach anyone. The storm even knocked out cell phones. A guy working for the power company told me a landslide has closed 101 above Buoy, and just south of Traitor Bay it’s buried by downed trees. He said no one is going to be able to get through until late this afternoon, and that’s only if another crew can make it over the old road.”

  “Then I guess we don’t have much of a choice,” James said, lighting a cigarette. “I just hope we have time.”

  They climbed into the boat and James started the motor. Ann leaned in close so she could keep him warm with her body heat. She wanted to ask him when he’d taken up smoking but she didn’t want him to think she was a nag.

  “What do you think this is all about?” Ann said. “No one who lives here is rich.”

  “I couldn’t imagine there’d be a ransom involved. But it wouldn’t surprise me if this was somehow Dawkins fault.”

  “I know he’s weird, but why would he be behind something like this?”

  “I think you know-just like the whole town has always has known for years. And it’s not because I’ve never liked him. This town has cut him too much slack and now the birds are finally coming home to roost. I saw him out here this morning with some scary Russian dudes. He looked really nervous too, like maybe he was in way over his head.”

  “Did you say the sheriff was looking in the bay for something?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Janet at the 101. She knows about everything that goes on.”

  “Did she know I was back too?”

  “I don’t think so. But I saw Chad and he said that one of his brothers might have spotted you a few days ago.”

  James shook his head. “And I thought I was being so careful. It’s amazing Ann. Nothing like being in a place like San Diego where you can disappear, where your only connection to the past becomes a post office box that’s empty most of the time.”

  As the boat glided across the bay the outline of the shack began to slowly take shape, the scent of wood smoke its only hint of life inside.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” James said.

  “We can’t just leave them there.”

  “Then I guess what we have to talk about will have to wait until later. You do remember, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. And we will… I promise.”

  “That’s good,” James said, lowering his eyes to the gun back in Ann’s hand. “Have you been practicing with that thing much?”

  “Enough,” Ann said.

  Chapter 22

  Before water struck his face, Sheriff Dawkins was thinking about when he’d bought his first car. The cold briny water only brought him back long enough to hear a strange whisper near his face, a man’s voice, with burned vocal chords that hissed out after each word. The man’s breath was foul, stung his eyes like mace. He could feel the light beam sweep across the surface of his burning retinas, watched the show of tracers with disinterest. All he wanted to do was go back to before the water had hit. Was it too much to ask?

  “Wake up, Sheriff.”

  It had happened so fast. Overnight he’d gone from a shy kid with an acne problem to the summer-date guy. While most boys had to work hard in the summer tarring roofs or pumping gas for the tourists, Dawkins only worked three ten hour shifts a week at the mill and then he’d have the rest of the week to play. It had helped that his uncle was higher up in the union, and Dawkins often repaid the favor by helping him with construction projects or driving to Portland to pick up supplies. It hadn’t concerned him when he’d found out his uncle was screwing his mother. Dawkin’s father had been dead for years and Aunt Polly was always running off with some guy she’d met at her AA meetings.

  Now that he could finally get them to go out with him, Dawkins quickly tired of the available high school girls and their teasing ways. As soon as he saw that the chance of sex was clearly off the table he’d move on to another, until he ran low on who he could ask out and his reputation got routed through the bubblegum grapevine. After he’d tapped out Traitor Bay girls, he began driving over to Buoy City, but the girls there seemed to always be semi-involved with some guy who’d dropped out of high school to chase down big money cutting trees or catching salmon and such young men were likely to be ill-tempered and well known by the police.

  By the end of July Dawkin’s fortunes changed and he’d lost his virginity and taken up smoking all in the same night. He’d been seeing an older woman from Phoenix who he’d picked up in Portland during one of his uncle’s errands. It had been late at night and she’d been running from somebody on the street and Dawkin’s had opened the door for her and told her to get in. She’d cried for awhile and Dawkins turned on the heat when he saw she was shaking. She hardly had on any clothes. What am I doing he’d thought, nervously checking the rearview mirror for any signs of police. Did I just pick up a hooker?

  Keri was trouble and everyone in Traitor Bay had sensed it, but she’d managed to take up residence above the local tavern where she’d found a job cocktailing. To this day Dawkins associated her with the August heat wave which caused raging forest fires and burned homes. It was as if she’d drifted into his life on an ember from one of those glowing mountains he’d watched in the distance every night after his shift-some spirit that had chosen to inhabit the talented body of a strangely beautiful woman who wrapped herself around him in ways he could have never imagined. He couldn’t believe she’d wanted anything to do with him after the night he’d driven her home and let her sleep on the couch. His mother hadn’t said a word against it either, was mostly out with his uncle somewhere anyway. Dawkins assumed Keri would hook up with some older guy out of his league and he’d never see her again. But to his surprise she said she only wanted to be with him, that she’d never met such a sweet boy before and couldn’t imagine anyone nicer. She then went on to explain what she was up against while her hand somehow ended up pressing his thigh. There were people back in Portland who’d be looking for her, she’d said. And they won’t stop until they have proof I’m dead or they get their money. The next morning he lent her two thousand dollars from his savings account.

  They’d spent as many nights as they could up in the remote cabin that Dawkin’s father and uncle had built during their elk hunting days. For the first time in his life Dawkins found himself truly giddy in love. He could think of nothing else except when he’d see Keri again, what new lessons he might receive or be tested on. Would she like the cheerleader outfit he’d bought for her at the secondhand shop? It was practically brand new. His friends had tried to warn him that she might break his heart but he just wouldn’t listen, and yet on a crisp October night it happened without warning. Keri had been last seen hitching a ride with a trucker she’d met at the 101, a parking lot heavyweight named Skunk who was well known for his golden vocal chords and big hands. She needed to get back to the desert, Keri had said in a note he’d found left in his truck. She needed to get back to the sun.

  He couldn’t let her go so easily. At first he’d holed up in his room and cried himself dry. When he knew his mom wasn’t coming home for the night, he got up and dressed, took his father’s hunting rifle and headed for the highway.

  It had turned out to be easier to find them than he’d thought.

  He’d only had to drive seventy miles south before he’d spotted Skunk’s semi outside a sagging motel in Colton. He’d pressed his ear to their room door and listened to the mattress music until he could no longer stand it before going back into the trees and shooting out Skunk’s tires. Skunk had come running na
ked at him and he’d shot him in the knee and the big man just crumbled to the ground with a sharp yelp. Sing me a song now you asshole, he’d said as the man quickly triaged his skinned penis before sliding under his truck like a translucent grub. Keri emerged from the doorway shrieking and for a few seconds Dawkins put her face in the cross-hairs before lights from other units began to flicker on and he had to turn and run for the truck before he got caught.

  “Sheriff. I know you can hear me.”

  Another wave of water sloshed against his face and this time some got up his nose and caused him to sneeze. “Are you trying to blind me?” he asked the flashlight bearer.

  “Sorry,” said the voice of the man who’d been trying to wake him. The beam moved away from his eyes and resettled somewhere on his forehead. He realized then how bad of a headache he had, that he could taste blood. His hands were still bound behind his back-at least he thought he still had hands. He couldn’t feel a damn thing.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “You’re still in the shack where the others left you. You have a wound to your head-a big bump. Do you remember anything about what happened?”

  “Yeah. Bitch kicked me in the head.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the man said.

  Dawkins listened to the man laughing softly and he felt his anger rise. “I really need a cigarette. Unless you’re planning to free me you’ll find them in my front pocket.”

  “Fair enough, Sheriff. But I think we should leave your hands as they are for now.”

  Rough fingers that smelled of liver found his pack and lighter and fumbled a cigarette into his mouth. When it thumbed the lighter he saw the face of Cyclops flash before him and his heart skipped. What the hell is happening? I know I was hard on those hippies I caught sleeping on the beach, but I never thought it would come to this. Whatever you do, don’t show this one-eyed Manson wannabe you’re afraid.