Storm Surge

by Rhoades, J. D.

  Sharon nodded. Glory looked at her slyly. “He’s cute,” she said. Sharon glared at her. “Not for me, Mom,” Glory said, rolling her eyes. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s been a while since you…”

  “Be quiet now,” Sharon whispered fiercely.

  “Hey,” Max said, “you ready to go?”

  “Sure.” Sharon picked up her bag. Max nodded and stepped up on the wall. He jumped off and started up the slope towards the road that led to the marina. Glory pointed at his ass and gave Sharon an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle, as if to say Nice, huh?

  Stop it, Sharon mouthed back, then giggled softly. This was the girl Sharon hadn’t seen in a long time, goofy and irreverent. Lately that girl had been buried beneath layers of resentment and attitude. For a brief moment, Sharon felt more relaxed than she had for a long time. She gave Max a second glance as they walked, then looked back at Glory and nodded. This time it was Glory’s turn to chuckle.

  They made the boat just as the second whistle blew. The wind was picking up, blowing a fine spray across the decks, so they went into the large passenger compartment on the main deck. The compartment was spacious and well-appointed, with mahogany paneling up to the large glass windows that circled the compartment and gave a good view of the water.

  An aisle ran down the middle, with long bench-like seats to either side, next to the windows. Almost every one was taken by people carrying large suitcases or duffles. A few of the residents eyed them distastefully as they searched for seats. Finally, one older man shifted a large expensive looking suitcase off the bench next to him, looking grumpy as he did it.

  “Thanks,” Sharon said. The man looked away. Sharon and Glory wedged themselves uncomfortably into the narrow space. Max stood in the aisle, his hand braced on the back of the bench against the boat’s slight rocking.

  “We’ve got to come back and pick up checks tomorrow,” Max said. ”You need a ride then, too?”

  “I couldn’t impose,” Sharon said. “I can call a friend.”

  “You’re not imposing,” Max said. “I’ve got to come out here too.”

  “God, that Coyne is such a bastard.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I could use a ride.”

  “8:30 okay? Only one ferry running, and that’s at 9:00.”

  She nodded.

  “You going to be able to get your car back?” he said.

  “I hope. What’s wrong, baby?”

  Glory was rummaging frantically through her beach bag. She looked up with a stricken look on her face. “I can’t find my iPod,” she said.

  “Oh, no. Did you leave it on the beach?”

  “No,” she said. “I mean…” her face went blank. “Yeah. Maybe. At one of the cabanas.”

  Sharon felt uneasy. The mask was back over Glory’s eyes. There was something the girl wasn’t telling her.

  “Well, you can come back with me tomorrow,” she said. “And see if anyone’s turned it in at Lost and Found.”

  Glory nodded miserably. Sharon felt like reminding her that she needed to be more careful with expensive gifts; the iPod had been a real stretch as a Christmas gift on Sharon’s salary. But she really didn’t want to have another scene with her daughter in front of all these people. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said, “you’ll get it back.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “These kids today,” Barstow said. He had the pink iPod in one hand, with the headphone wires dangling from his ears. With the phones in he apparently didn’t realize how loudly he was speaking. Worth reached over and pulled one of the buds out of his ear.

  “Quiet,” he said. Barstow looked ready to make an issue of it, then realized what he had been doing and nodded sheepishly.

  “Man,” he said in a lowered voice. “This thing is full of absolute crap.”

  “So you’ve got different taste in music than a teenaged girl,” Phillips said from where he was seated on the floor across the room. “Imagine that.”

  They had taken some of the plywood from the building site and nailed it up onto the bare studs, creating an enclosed space inside. The room was apparently intended to be a living or dining area and was roomy enough to hold them all as well as the heavy crates they had offloaded from the truck.

  Storch and Moon had taken the truck back to the mainland, leaving the four men--Blake, Worth, Phillips and Barstow—and Montrose to wait. Phillips was seated on the floor, near the brick fireplace, reading a book. On the cover was a picture of a blonde woman in high heeled boots and leather, holding up a gun. Blake and Montrose were hunched over a laptop computer set on top of one of the crates.

  “Where’d you get this?” Montrose said. “I’d heard they were working on something like this, but…damn.”

  “Like I said,” Blake answered, “friends in high places.”

  “No shit. This is military grade software.”

  “You think you can figure it out?”

  Montrose smiled for the first time. “Not a problem.”

  Blake just nodded. “Okay. Let’s run over the plan again. Barstow.”

  Barstow shut off the iPod. “When the last boat leaves, Worth and I hike down to the junction where the power and phone cables from the mainland come in. We make sure the power and phone lines are cut.”

  Worth spoke up. “I hope you’re right that those power lines won’t be live.”

  “That’s what our friend in the front office tells me,” Blake said. “The power company cuts the juice as soon as the last boat clears the dock. We’ll be monitoring communications to make sure.”

  Phillips put down his book and spoke up. “I egress to the lighthouse and provide overwatch. Anyone approaches the island, I notify Blake as mission commander.”

  Blake nodded. “I make the call on whether to abort or to have Phillips neutralize the intrusion. Montrose and I move the gear to the Senator’s house and begin work on the safe.”

  “What do we use for power?” Montrose asked.

  “The house has a generator,” Blake said. “A big one.” He grinned. “Man that important can’t let his beer get warm if the power goes out.”

  “It better be a big one. If this little toy of yours doesn’t work, I’m going to need to use the plasma cutter.”

  “It’ll work,” Blake said. “Worth. What happens after you and Barstow do your thing with the cable?”

  “I fall back to the house, Barstow joins Phillips at the lighthouse and keeps an eye on the weather.”

  “Ah yes,” Phillips said. “The weather. You’ve heard the latest I assume? We’re looking at a bloody Category Five hurricane? Wrath of fucking God and all that? And please don’t say, ‘not a problem’ again, because it fucking well is.”

  “How about if I just say ‘don’t worry’? Look, that lighthouse has been here over a hundred years. It’s been through worse storms than this. By the time it gets really bad, we’ll have what we came for and all be snug and dry.” He grinned. “All we need’s a deck of cards to keep us entertained until the pickup.”

  “Which reminds me,” Worth said. “What exactly is in this damn safe that’s so important?”

  Blake’s smile vanished. “Need to know basis, Worth.”

  Worth’s gaze didn’t waver. “If I’m going to be risking my life for it, I think I need to know.”

  “You’re not risking your life for what’s in that safe, Worth,” Barstow said. “You’re risking it for the money. A payday like this one, I can do without knowing what the package is.”

  “Some people’s money I can do without.”

  “Christ, not this again,” Blake said. “I already told you, it’s no one working against American interests. I can tell you this much. Our employer’s always been a friend to people like us. And besides,” he went on, “the risk is minimal. Sure, it’ll be hairy for a while. But that lighthouse is solid. It’ll keep us safe.”

  Worth muttered something under his breath.

  “What was that?” B
lake snapped. “I didn’t hear it.”

  Worth looked up. “I said, famous last words.”

  Phillips grunted and picked up his book again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They were crammed awkwardly together in the front seat of Max’s small truck. “Sorry,” he’d said, “I don’t usually have company.”

  “So,” Sharon said as they drove away from the ferry parking lot, “where are you from, Max?”

  He hesitated. “Chicago.”

  “Really?” Sharon said, wondering a bit at his reluctance. “Wow. You’re a long way from home.”

  “Yeah.” There was obvious tension in his voice. She tried to keep the mood light. “So, what brings you all the way down south?”

  “I didn’t like the weather,” he said. Glory, wedged in the seat between them, turned and raised an eyebrow at her. Sharon shrugged. The rest of the ride was short, but the silence made it seem interminable. Finally, they pulled up in the drive of the small trailer Sharon rented in the coastal scrubland a few miles from the beach. “Well, here it is,” she said with a brittle cheerfulness. “Home sweet home.”

  Max just nodded and put the truck in Park. Sharon took a deep breath. “Ah, Max?” she said. She hated what she was about to do. She hated the thought of being so dependent, especially on this near-stranger.

  “Yeah?” he seemed a lot less tense.

  “I kind of need a ride somewhere tonight. Me and Glory.”

  Max took out a cigarette, popped the truck’s lighter in. “Where?”

  “Glory’s school orientation. It won’t be long. But we have to be there.”

  Something about that seemed to amuse Max. Sharon felt a flash of anger. If he was laughing at her… she bit it back. She couldn’t afford it now.

  “When?” was all Max said.

  Sharon looked at her watch. It was later than she’d thought. “Ahh…as soon as I can get changed.”

  The lighter popped out. Max took it and lit the cigarette. He took a drag as he thought it over.

  “Sure,” he said. “You want me to wait for you here?”

  “What, in the truck?” Sharon said. “No. Of course not. Come on in.” Glory looked at her quizzically. Sharon gave back a little, almost imperceptible shrug. In truth, she had her doubts about inviting this odd stranger in, but leaving him cooling his heels in the truck seemed unimaginably rude.

  He paused, as if trying to process the fact that he was being invited in. “Okay,” he said at last. He followed them inside.

  Max looked around the living room. “Nice place,” he said. She examined his tone carefully for irony or sarcasm and to her surprise, found neither.

  “Thanks,” she said. “It’s not much, but it’s home. You want something to drink? Tea, soda?”

  “Water’ll be fine,” he said.

  She got him a glass from the tap, with ice. When she got back he was on the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion. “Okay,” she said awkwardly. “We’ll just be a minute.”

  When she came out after changing, he was still there, perched on the edge of the couch. He looked up at her. “You look nice,” he said. He looked so unsure of himself that she almost laughed. Maybe he’s not weird, she thought, maybe he’s just shy.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Glory came out of her tiny bedroom. She’d dressed in tight low-rise jeans and a midriff-baring top. “Glory Angel Brennan,” Sharon said in exasperation. “you are not wearing that to your orientation!”

  “Mom!” Sharon said.

  “Don’t ‘mom’ me! Get in there and…” but Glory had already slammed the door behind her. She turned to Max. “Kids,” she said. “You know how…” she stopped. A weird blank look had come over his face.

  “No,” he said softly. “I don’t reckon I do.” Even his accent had changed. Before, he’d sounded generically Midwestern. This was a voice straight out of the Tennessee hills. The voice, and the blankness of his eyes, sent a chill down her spine. Then something changed and she was looking at Max’s by now familiar amiable expression. He smiled. “Actually,” he said, “Well. Yeah.”

  Sharon didn’t have time to process the strangeness of it all. Glory stomped out of her room, looking sulky. She was dressed in a white blouse that was buttoned ostentatiously up to the neck.

  “Better?” she said, nearly sneering.

  “Much,” Sharon said. “Now come on. We’re going to be late.”

  On the drive to St. Anthony’s Day School, Sharon mulled over what she’d seen in Max’s face. Just when she thought she was getting to know him, another person would surface briefly. She made up her mind that, once she got her car back, she’d keep a distance between them. It was hard to totally avoid someone in a place as small as Pass Island, so she’d be civil to him. But that was all.

  St. Anthony’s was regarded as one of the better church-run private schools in the state, and the immaculate condition of the grounds and the ivy-covered stone buildings scattered across them was impressive. The place looked more like a small private college than a high school. Max parked the truck in the lot next to the only building on campus that seemed to be open, a large brightly lit structure that looked like a small cathedral.

  “I guess I ought to wait here,” Max said. “I’m not exactly dressed for this.”

  Once again, Sharon was torn. He was right. In his jeans, work shirt, and ball cap, Max would stick out like a sore thumb among the well-dressed people she saw filing into the building. For that matter, she felt underdressed herself, even though she was wearing one of her best conservative dresses. But again, something in her rebelled at treating a co-worker like a servant, even if she couldn’t quite figure him out.

  “No way,” she said. She didn’t have to look; she could almost feel Glory looking daggers at her. “Come on.”

  The initial orientation was a long series of boring speeches in the school’s chapel, most of which Glory fidgeted and sighed her way through. Max sat calmly, hat on his lap, looking straight ahead. Sharon tried to pay attention, but found that her thoughts kept drifting away.

  After the speeches, there was a reception in the hall behind the chapel. The place was crowded and noisy, and Sharon lost track of Max as she met and chatted with the teachers who Glory would have in the upcoming year. Glory slouched beside her and answered their bright, cheerful questions in monosyllables. The teachers seemed to take it in stride, for which Sharon was grateful. She was brought up short, however, when the art teacher, a bubbly redhead, gushed how interesting it must be for Sharon to be in the restaurant business.

  “What?” Sharon asked.

  “Your friend. Mr. Chase. He said you were in the restaurant business. Which restaurant?”

  “Ahhh…the Pass Island Resort,” Sharon said. She caught a glimpse of Max as the art teacher babbled on. He was in the middle of a group of perfectly coiffed and made-up women, smiling and chatting easily. Well, he certainly got over being shy, she thought with a stab of irritation.

  Finally, the reception ended. She took Glory in tow and caught up with Max at the door. She didn’t speak to him, but walked right past him out the door. She heard him fall in behind her, his long legs catching him up easily.

  “Why did you tell people that?” she asked when they were out of earshot.

  “Tell them what?”

  “That I owned a restaurant?”

  Max chuckled. “I didn’t tell them you owned a restaurant. I told them you were in the restaurant business. They assumed the rest.”

  “You think it’s funny?” she demanded. He didn’t answer.

  “I’m not ashamed of what I do, Max,” she said. “I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

  His smile vanished. “Neither am I,” he said.

  They passed the ride home in silence, with Sharon fuming, Glory sulking, and Max driving. The first time they spoke was when they got to the trailer.

  “Still need a ride tomorrow?” Max said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ferry leav
es at 9:00. I’ll pick you up at 8:30.”

  “Okay.” She almost slammed the door, then stopped herself. He was being nice, and right now, she couldn’t afford to alienate anyone who was being nice to her. Those were few and far between. “Max,” she said, “thanks.”

  He smiled at her. It was a nice smile, she noticed again. “Don’t mention it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Max put the truck in gear and pulled out of the driveway.

  “That place sucks,” Glory announced. “I’m not going.”

  “Yes you are,” Sharon said wearily. “And I’m not going to argue about it now.” She turned away and took the sheaf of mail out of the box, sorting through it as she walked towards the house. Suddenly she stopped.

  “What?” Glory said as she noticed the look on her mother’s face.

  “Nothing,” Sharon said. “Nothing.”

  Glory looked at her curiously for a minute, then went inside, Sharon behind her. “I’m going to go change for bed,” Sharon said. She closed the bedroom door behind her and looked at the flimsy sheet of paper in her hand. Printed across the top in large red letters were words that had become all too familiar to her: NOTICE OF INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. It was the check for Glory’s tuition. Sharon leaned her back against the door, slid down slowly to the floor. Silently, so Glory couldn’t hear her, she started to cry.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sealed in their plywood cocoon, the only way they knew that night had fallen was by their watches. “Phillips. Worth,” Blake ordered. “Reconnoiter the immediate area. See if we can start unpacking.” They were back a few minutes later. No one was about. The bulk of the residents had left, and the few waiting for the last ferry were far enough away that the team’s presence wouldn’t be noticed so long as they kept to themselves.

  Blake produced a pair of crowbars and they began prying open the crates. In a few minutes, Blake, Worth and Barstow were each equipped with their weapons of choice: Blake and Barstow with a stubby little Heckler & Koch MP5, Worth with the newer HK416, which had the reputation of being able to fire even after being submerged in water.