The Dark Tide Free for a Limited Time

by Andrew Gross

  Then something happened that sent Hauck’s pulse into a frenzy.

  The fucking printer began to print.

  The pages Hauck had fed into the tray, they were suddenly going through. The hum of the machine was like an alarm bell.

  “Phil!”

  The footsteps got closer. Behind the door Hauck gripped his Sig, pressing the muzzle up against his cheek. The machine continued to print. He couldn’t stop it! Think, think, what to do?

  Hauck froze at the creak of a nearby floorboard as whoever it was came around the corner. He peeked inside the office. Hauck held, rigid as a board.

  “Phil, I didn’t know you were here….”

  The man paused, remaining in the doorway. The pages continued to feed into the machine one by one.

  Hauck held his breath. Shit…

  A second later the heavy office door slammed into his chest, taking him by surprise, the Sig flying out of his hand.

  Hauck’s eyes darted after the gun, the door barreling into him again, striking him in the side of the head, dazing him, the gun clattering across the floor.

  The man crashed the door into Hauck one more time, this time following it into the room, mashing Hauck’s right hand in the hinge. Hauck finally threw the brunt of his weight against it and rammed it back with all his might, sending the man reeling into the room.

  The man had close-cropped hair and a large nose, his cheek bloodied from the blow. He glared at Hauck. “What the hell are you doing here? Who the fuck are you?”

  Hauck stared back. He realized he had seen him before.

  The second witness. The guy in a warm-up jacket at AJ Raymond’s hit-and-run. A track coach or something.

  Hodges.

  Their eyes met in a stunned, glaring gaze.

  Hodges’s eyes were equally as wide. “You!”

  Hauck’s glance darted toward the gun on the floor, as Hodges took the nearest thing available, a decorative scrimshaw horn Dietz kept on a side table, and lunged in Hauck’s direction, slashing the sharp point of the horn through Hauck’s sweatshirt and tearing into his skin.

  Hauck cried out. The horn dug through his chest, his ribs on fire.

  Hodges slashed at him again, Hauck flailing desperately for the other man’s arm to block the blow, pinning it back, while Hodges pushed with all his might with his other hand against Hauck’s neck.

  He kneed Hauck sharply in the side of his chest, his wound.

  “Aaagh!”

  “What are you doing here?” Hodges screamed at him again.

  “I know,” Hauck grunted back. “I know what’s happened.” Blood seeped through the ripped, damp fabric of his sweatshirt. “It’s over, Hodges. I know about the hit-and-runs.”

  Straining, Hauck forced back his attacker’s fingers, reaching for the handle of the horn. It fell, skidding away.

  Hauck faced him, clutching his side. “I know they were set up. I know they were done to protect Charles Friedman and Dolphin Oil. The police are on the way.” He was still dazed from the first blows, short of breath. His neck was raw and throbbing where Hodges had squeezed it. “You’re done, man.”

  “Police…” Hodges echoed skeptically. “So who the fuck are you, the advance guard?”

  Eyes ablaze, he darted to the fireplace and grabbed an iron poker there and swung it at Hauck as hard as he could, narrowly missing his head by inches and striking into the wall behind him, shards of dug-out plaster splintering over the floor.

  Hauck dove headfirst into him, knocking Hodges back against the desk, heavy books and photos tumbling all over them, the printer crashing down from the shelf.

  They rolled onto the floor, Hodges coming up on top. He was strong. Maybe a few years back Hauck could’ve taken him, but he was still dazed from the body blows of the door and the gash on his side. Hodges fought like he had nothing to lose. He kneed Hauck deeply in the groin, sending the air rushing out of him, and grabbed the iron poker lengthwise with both hands, pinned it across Hauck’s chest like a vise, forcing it into the nook of his neck.

  Hauck gagged, sucking in a desperate breath.

  “You think we did it to protect him?” Hodges said, squeezing him, his face turning red. “You don’t know a fucking thing.” He continued to press the poker into the cavity of Hauck’s neck. Hauck felt his airway closing on him, a clawing tightness taking over his lungs. Intensifying. He tried to roll his attacker off, knee him, but he was pinned and the iron rod was squeezing the life out of him. He felt the blood rush into his face, his strength waning, his lungs about to burst.

  Hodges was going to kill him.

  Straining, he tried with everything he had to push the poker back. His breath was desperate, his lungs clutching for blocked air. The blood was almost bursting through his head.

  That’s when he felt the hard mound of the gun pressing sharply into his back. Hodges had him pinned, but somehow Hauck forced a shoulder up and reached, one arm dangling back, the other vainly trying to pry Hodges’s grip away from his throat. Fingers grasping, Hauck found the warm steel of the muzzle, spun it around under his body for the grip.

  “Stop,” he gasped, “lemme talk. Stop.”

  “How did you get here?” Hodges shouted at him. “How did you find out?” It was as if an iron hoe were being clawed inside Hauck’s throat. Finally he managed to wrap his fingers around the Sig’s handle. With the gun still underneath his body, he maneuvered it around.

  “How?” Hodges demanded, pinning Hauck’s legs with his thighs and pressing the last gulps of air out of his chest.

  All Hauck could do was raise himself ever so slightly, creating the tiniest space for him to slide his gun hand around, as Hodges now saw what he was attempting. And so, exerting himself even harder, he pinned Hauck’s arm back with his knee, jamming the poker tighter into his larynx.

  Hauck’s lungs were about to explode.

  His shoulder was pressed back so tightly there was no way he could aim. He managed to wrap his finger around the trigger, but the muzzle was jammed in against his body. He had no idea where it was even pointed, only that his strength was waning, his air disappearing…. No more time.

  He braced for the explosion in his side.

  And fired—a muffled, close-in pop.

  Hauck felt a jolt. The concussive shock seemed to reverberate inside both of their bodies. He tensed, expecting the rush of pain.

  None came.

  On top of him, Hodges grimaced. The iron rod was still pressed into Hauck’s neck.

  There was a sharp smell of cordite in Hauck’s nostrils. Slowly, the pressure on his throat released.

  Hodges’s eyes went to his side. Hauck saw an enlarging flower of red oozing from under his shirt there. Hodges straightened, his hand reaching to his side, and drew it back, smeared with blood.

  “Sonofafucking bitch…” he groaned.

  Hauck pushed his legs, and, glazy-eyed, Hodges rolled off him. Heaving, Hauck gulped precious, needed air deep into his lungs. His side felt on fire. There was blood all over him—whose, he wasn’t sure. Hodges crawled his way to the door.

  “It’s over,” Hauck gasped, staring over at him, barely able to point his gun.

  Clumsily, Hodges dragged himself up. A damp scarlet blotch seeped out of his shirt. He clamped it with his hand. “You don’t have a fucking clue,” he said, coughing back a heavy laugh.

  He winced. Stood there, waiting for Hauck to pull the trigger. Exhausted, Hauck could barely raise the gun.

  “You’re dead! You don’t know it yet, but you’re dead.” Hodges glared at him. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with!”

  Hunched over, he staggered out of the room. Hauck could do nothing to stop him. It took everything he had just to pull himself up, coughing air back into his obstructed air pipe, his clothes drenched in sweat. He lurched outside after Hodges, clutching his ribs. Everything had gone wrong. He heard the sound of Hodges’s truck starting up, spotted droplets of blood leading off the porch to the driveway.


  “Hodges!” Hauck came down the steps and leveled his gun at the truck. It backed out of the driveway and sped off down the road. Hauck took aim at the rear tires, his finger pulsed. “Stop!” he called after him. Stop. He didn’t even hear his own voice.

  But he just held there, watching the truck ramble down the road, his gun aimed into the retreating cloud of dust.

  It took everything Hauck had to focus on a single thought.

  That he was involved in something—something that had blown up in his face.

  And that he was no longer representing anything. Not all the oaths, not the truth, not even Karen.

  Only his own base desire to know where it led.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  His side was on fire.

  His neck was swollen twice its size. He could barely swallow.

  Every time he breathed, his ribs ached like he’d been through ten rounds with a heavy weight. His chest was covered with a bright red welt.

  He didn’t know what he had done.

  He’d gone back in and grabbed the papers he’d copied out of the copier. Then he headed to his car.

  As he drove back, Hauck’s first thoughts centered on Jessica—how lucky he was just to be alive.

  Stupid, Ty, just plain stupid. He tried to size up the situation. Everything he’d done had been outside his jurisdiction. Breaking into Dietz’s house. Taking in his gun. Not informing the local authorities. And Hodges…he would live. But, Hauck realized, that wouldn’t be the half of it. Dietz would know—and so would whoever he worked for. This thing could explode. Of course, they had no way to know he was doing this on his own. Or, the thought calmed him slightly, that Karen was in any way involved.

  That was the only fucking thing about any of this that was good.

  It took him over three hours to drive back home. He got back in the early afternoon. He threw himself on his couch in exhaustion and examined his side, his head rolled back, trying to make sense of what he had done. He had broken laws. A shitload of them. He had put Karen in danger. The oaths he had taken in his life, to uphold the law, to do the right thing, they were all pretty much shattered now.

  Hauck peeled off his bloodstained clothes and tossed them in a ball in the pantry. Just lifting his arms made him feel incredibly sore. The gash on his side had caked with blood, the skin torn where Hodges had slashed him. Bright red welts were all over his neck and chest. He looked in the mirror and winced. He didn’t know if he needed medical attention. His head was heavy. He just wanted to sleep. He felt alone. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do.

  He eased himself back onto the couch. There was just one person he could think of to call.

  “Ty…?”

  “Karen, listen, I need you,” he huffed. “Up here.” It was more of a plea than a statement. He caught his breath and sucked in air.

  “Ty, are you all right?” Karen’s voice was alarmed. “I was worried. I tried calling you. You didn’t answer.”

  “Karen, something happened…. Just come on up. Please.” In close to a daze, he told her where he lived.

  “I’m on my way. You don’t sound good, Ty. You’re scaring me. Just tell me, is there anything you need?”

  “Yeah.” He exhaled, his head falling back. “Disinfectant. And a whole lot of gauze.”

  HAUCK STAGGERED TO the door when he heard her knock. In a pair of gym shorts and a robe to conceal his wounds. He grinned, pale, his expression saying something like, I’m really sorry for getting you into this. Then he sort of leaned into her.

  She looked at him, horrified. “What the hell’s happened, Ty?”

  “I found Dietz’s place. I staked it out all night. I didn’t think anyone was there. This morning I went in.”

  “He was there?”

  “No.” Hauck took the bag of medical supplies he’d requested out of her hands—disinfectant, tape, and gauze. He stepped back over to the couch with a bit of a limp, eased himself down. “Hodges was, though.”

  Her eyes screwed up. “Hodges?”

  “He was the other witness at AJ Raymond’s hit-and-run. I guess they were in this together. Partners.”

  “Together in what?”

  That was when Karen’s gaze focused on the welts on Hauck’s neck, and she gasped. “My God, Ty, what have you done?” She drew back the collar of his terry robe, eyes wide, gently running her fingers across the bruised skin, inspecting the torn knuckles, aghast, carefully taking his hands in hers.

  “This side’s worse.” Hauck shrugged, guiltily, letting his robe fall open to reveal the matted blood and tracks of torn flesh underneath his arm.

  “Oh, my God!”

  “It was all set up,” he said, trying to explain. “Abel Raymond. Lauer. Those accidents, they were hits. Dietz and Hodges killed them both. To cover it all up.”

  “What!?” There was a pall of confusion on Karen’s face, but also something deeper—fear, knowing that somehow what he wasn’t totally divulging related back to her. That Charlie was involved.

  “What happened to Hodges?” she asked, grabbing the disinfectant and ripping open the box of gauze.

  His expression was stonelike. “Hodges was shot, Karen.”

  “Shot?” She put the things back down, the color draining from her face. “Dead…?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so.”

  He told her everything. How he had gone inside the house figuring it was safe, and how Hodges came in, surprising him, in Dietz’s office. How they’d struggled, Hodges slashing him with the horn, clamping the iron poker across his neck, how Hauck thought he was dying. How he’d shot Hodges.

  “Oh, my God, Ty…” Karen’s eyes were wide and empathetic. The consternation on her face had turned to real fear. “What did the police say? It has to be self-defense, right? He was trying to kill you, Ty.”

  Hauck kept his gaze trained on her. “I didn’t call in the police, Karen.”

  She blinked. “What…?”

  “I had no right to be there, Karen. The whole thing was illegal from the start. I didn’t have a warrant. There isn’t an open case against them. I’m not even on goddamn duty, Karen.”

  “Ty…” Karen’s hand shot to her mouth as she started to realize the situation. “You can’t just pretend this didn’t happen. You shot someone.”

  “This man tried to kill me, Karen! You want me to call the police? Don’t you understand? Your husband was in bed with these people, Karen. Dietz, Hodges. When Charlie left Grand Central that morning, he made his way up to Greenwich. He stole the credit card off of someone who died on the tracks. There was a call to AJ Raymond, Karen, from the diner across the street. Charlie made that call, Karen. Your husband. Either he was directly involved in the murder of AJ Raymond or he damn well helped set it up.”

  “Charlie…?” Karen shook her head. “You can’t think Charlie’s some kind of killer, Ty. No. Why?”

  “To cover up what Raymond’s father stumbled onto in Pensacola. That they were falsifying shipments of oil in one of the companies Charlie controlled.”

  Karen shook her head again defiantly.

  “It’s true. Have you ever heard of Dolphin Oil, Karen? Or something called Falcon Partners?”

  “No.”

  “They’re subsidiaries, owned by his company. Harbor. Offshore. You want me to call in the police, Karen? If I do, they’re going to issue an immediate warrant for his arrest. There are ample grounds—fraud, money laundering, conspiracy to commit murder. Is that what you want me to do, Karen? To you and your family? Call in the police? Because that’s what’s going to happen.”

  Karen put a hand to her forehead and shook her head reflexively. “I don’t know.”

  “Charlie was tied to them. Through the investment companies he controlled. Through Dietz. He’s tied in to both murders, Karen—”

  “I don’t believe it! You can’t expect me to believe my husband’s a murderer, Ty!”

  “Look!” Hauck reached over and grabbed the papers
he had taken from Dietz’s office and put them in front of her face. “His name is all over the place. Two people are dead, Karen. And now you have to listen to me and make a decision, because there may be more. This guy Dietz, he’s looking for Charlie, too. I don’t know who the hell he is or who he’s working for, but he’s out there, Karen, and somehow he knows Charlie’s alive, just like we do, and he’s searching for him, too—I found the trail! Maybe they’re trying to shut him up, I don’t know. But I guarantee you if he finds him, Karen, before we do, it won’t be to tearfully look him in the eyes and ask how he could’ve possibly done this to you.”

  Karen nodded haltingly, a tremor of confusion rattling her. Hauck reached over and took her hand. He wrapped his fingers around her tightened fist.

  “So you tell me, Karen, is that what you really want me to do? Call in the police? Because the police are involved. I’m involved. And after today, with what’s happened, I can’t just reverse the clock and go back empty-handed anymore.”

  Her eyes were filled, tears reflecting in them. “He’s the father of my kids. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to kill him myself, but what you’re telling me…a murderer? No, I won’t believe it till I hear it from him.”

  “I’ll find him for you, Karen. I promise I will. But just be sure that with what’s happened now, these people know I’m onto them. We’re in it now. If that’s something you don’t think you can face—and I’d understand it if it was—now’s the time to say so.”

  Karen looked down. Hauck felt a finger wrap around his hand, her pinkie, cautious and tremulous. It squeezed. There was a frightened look in her eyes, but behind it something deeper, a twinkling of resolve. She looked at him and shook her head again.

  “I want you to find him, Ty.”

  Her face dipped, ever so slightly, close to his, her hair tumbling against his cheek. Her breath was close and halting. Their knees touched. Hauck felt his blood spark alive as the side of her breast brushed his arm. Their lips could have touched right there. It would have taken only a nudge, and she would have folded into him—and a part of him wanted her to, a strong part, but another part said no. The hair on his arms tingled as he listened to her breathe.