Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One

by Perry P. Perkins

  "Jack," he said.

  Cassie smiled, “Never met anyone named just Jackbefore."

  “Touché,” he laughed. “I’m Jack Leland. Nice to meet you, Cassie. You’re quick, I like that."

  "Thanks." Cassie replied, "So, what's with quoting all the Shakespeare, Jack Leland?”

  “Oh that,” he said, “well, first off I’m not particularly stuck on the Bard, he just happened to be fitting in this case. Occupational hazard, I guess.”

  “Are you an actor?”

  “Hardly,” Jack snorted, choking on a swallow of coffee, spraying it back into the thick ceramic mug with a gargling laugh, “I own a bookstore just outside Long Beach.”

  There was a pause, and when Cassie looked at him, she noticed something strange. Jack had stopped eating and was staring at something over her left shoulder. Cassie started to turn, when Jack quietly said, "Don't."

  He spoke the single word with such command that she froze in her seat.

  Jack began to tell Cassie about how he was on his way back from a book auction in Texas, and had just stopped off to get a break from the highway and a couple of cups of coffee. While he was talking to her, Jack's eyes never moved from whatever, or whoever, he was watching. Slowly and casually, he reached into his jacket, lying on the seat next to him, and pulled out an apple and an odd, wood handled knife. A leather sheath, which Jack removed, covered the short, crescent shaped blade. Though the pine handle looked old and worn, the blade was bright. Its concave edge looked razor sharp as Jack held it in front of his face and slowly began to peel the apple.

  Jack kept talking, telling her how this was sort of a working vacation and he was planning on taking Interstate-8 down to San Diego, then follow Highway 101 all the way up the coast to Long Beach.

  Finally, whoever had gotten his attention must have looked away, and Jack glanced back to Cassie, laying the knife down beside his plate, in plain sight. Cassie glanced from the knife to Jack and back, before leaning over the table and whispering, "What was that all about?” Jack gave a slight shake of his head, looking back up and Cassie realized that whoever it was, was coming towards them. She could smell the flat stink of stale cigarette smoke before he passed. From her vantage point, all she saw was the back of a lanky frame, a dirty leather biker jacket, and a long, greasy ponytail, as the figure quickly passed their table and headed for the door. The other thing that caught her eye were the dark green tattoos scrolling out from under each sleeve and across the backs of his hands.

  Then the stranger was gone.

  Cassie looked questioningly at Jack, who had wiped the blade of his knife clean and was returning it to his pocket.

  "He seemed to have taken an unhealthy interest in our conversation," Jack replied to her unspoken question. "I'm sure he was willing to offer you a ride if I had turned you down."

  Cassie felt her mouth go dry at the thought. She tried to imagine being alone in the cab of one of those big trucks, surrounded by that stink, those tattooed hands somewhere nearby in the dark, and shuddered.

  Jack reached for his pie once more as the waitress returned with another piece for Cassie.

  Without thinking, she clasped her hands against the edge of the table and, bowing her head, said a quick prayer for the food. Jack watched, amused by the complete lack of self-consciousness the young woman showed, praying in front of a room full of truck drivers.

  Cassie glanced up and caught Jack's gaze, misunderstanding his look.

  "Do you have something against praying?" she asked.

  "Nope," he replied, unruffled, "Stick with what works for ya, that’s what I say. I’ve just never had it do me much good is all."

  Cassie frowned but couldn't think of anything to say to that, so they ate together in silence for a few moments.

  Finishing her pie, which wasn't a shadow of Grace William's apple creations; she glanced up at Jack, who was once again watching her with a speculative look on his face.

  "Well," he said, at last, "I guess I could move some boxes around and make some space."

  Cassie held her breath.

  "Problem is," he continued, "I'm not headed straight across. Like I said, I'm planning to head back up 101, the long way."

  "That's fine," Cassie said quickly, "I don't mind…"

  Jack's eyes narrowed slightly, "I thought you were in a big, all-fired hurry?"

  "A bird in the hand, and all that," she replied, "Who knows how long I'd have to wait for someone else headed that way? It's taken me the better part of two days just to get here. I'm willing to change the plan if it means riding instead of walking, and I can pay for gas…"

  "Nah," Jack shook his head, "Keep your money, I was driving anyway. Pay for your own grub and that'll be enough. You're set on this, aren't you?"

  Cassie nodded.

  "Awfully foolish, if you ask me." He grumbled, "The next guy you asked might not have been the harmless old fool that I am. Might just be safer all around if you don’t have to ask again."

  "So, you'll give me a ride?" she asked.

  Jack paused, chewing on his lip, then sighed, "Well, I guess we can give it a try. I suppose if you start getting under my skin I can always leave you on the side of the road somewhere."

  Cassie nodded enthusiastically, "That sounds fair!"

  "Just one thing," Jack said, pointing a finger at her across the table, "No drugs, or any of that nonsense. I mean it! I think anything funny is going on, I pull over and you're walking again, we understand each other?"

  Cassie nodded again, "Don't worry, I don't do drugs."

  "Good girl," Jack said, "I didn't think you seemed like the type, but it's just best to have the understanding out in the open, just in case."

  "Understood," Cassie replied quickly.

  Jack continued. "I'm warning you too, right up front, I'm a grouchy old bear when I'm tired. I don't like people chattering away at me all day long,” Jack paused, swallowing the last of his coffee, “and I have it on the best of authority that I can be a pain in the posterior on a long drive."

  Cassie grinned in spite of herself, "Wife?" she asked.

  "Good Lord, no!" Jack exclaimed, "Just a friend."

  "A girl though?" Cassie pressed.

  "You’re startin' already…” Jack growled.

  "So," Cassie asked brightly, "How's your pie?"

  At that, Jack chuckled and dug back in. Soon the pie was gone, along with another cup of coffee. “The road isn’t getting any shorter just sitting here,” Jack said, gathering his coat. “Let me settle this bill and we’ll go.”

  Cassie dug quickly into her pocket and pulled out a couple of dollar bills.

  “I’ll leave a tip,” she said.

  “Fair enough and good manners,” he answered, nodding. “Why don’t you meet me out front? I need to talk to a man about a horse.” Cassie stared at him, not having the slightest idea what he was talking about.

  Jack shook his head and jerked his thumb towards an overhead sign that read Men’s Room.

  “Oh,” said Cassie, blushing, “Okay.”

  Jacked walked toward the cash register, chuckling, as Cassie escaped into the lobby.

  Chapter Five

  Cassie glanced through the scarred plastic windows of the newspaper boxes, but the headlines held nothing that caught her interest. Bored, she decided to meet Jack at the van and, stepping back out into the cooling night air, she started across the parking lot.

  Recovering her duffel bag and whistling tunelessly, she headed for the van. Cassie was thinking of what an answer to prayer it was, meeting Jack like this, when from the shadow of a big semi, a hand suddenly clamped down on her arm. Cassie uttered a brief shriek, and then froze. Dark, scrolling tattoos covered the hand that held her upper arm in a viselike grip.

  “Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” a soft voice drawled from the darkness, “I heard you asking that old fella for a ride. Just happens that I’m headed that way myself.”

  Cassie was suddenly cold and numb with fear; she c
ould feel herself starting to shake, as the pressure of the man’s hand on her arm slowly pulled her back into the shadows.

  "It’s…uh…it’s okay,” Cassie stammered, “I’ve got a ride already, thanks."

  "Oh?" the stranger replied in a whispering sneer, the stench of stale smoke clinging to him like a thick, bitter smog, forcing Cassie to fight to keep from gagging.

  “Don’t you worry honey, my truck is muchmore comfortable than his, and I promise ya, I’m better company…”

  She felt panic beginning to gnaw at the edges of her mind, as the hand pulled her further back into the dark canyon between the trailers. Cassie knew she should fight, she should cry out, but she couldn’t make her limbs move or will her mouth to open, all she could think of was the blackness of the shadows behind her.

  As those shadows closed in, she bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the sudden pain helped her pull her whirling mind back under control.

  Cassie tensed herself, ready to spin and lash out; planting a knee where she thought it would do the most damage.

  She drew a great breath of air to scream as she felt the man behind her fumbling with the driver’s door of the cab. Suddenly he stiffened and Cassie heard a hissing gasp of surprise and then the clutching hand was gone and, with it, her terrified paralysis.

  With a sob of relief, she leaped forward, out of that horrible shadow and smell and toward the light. She started for the café, but something made her turn, some curiosity that would not be satisfied until she had seen what was happening there in the shadows.

  In the dim place between the two trucks, Cassie could just make out the lean, frozen form of her attacker, just behind him stood another figure, slightly shorter and stockier.

  As her eyes adjusted, she saw that it was Jack standing behind the malodorous stranger. One arm curled across the taller man’s chest and the other…Cassie saw a dull glint at the man’s throat and realized that Jack’s other hand held that oddly shaped knife that he had used to peel the apple.

  Now it rested firmly beneath the truckers left jaw.

  Above the soft hum of the overhead lamps, Cassie could hear Jack whispering softly into the man’s ear. There was a pause and the stranger suddenly flinched and with a gasp, began to nod his head rapidly.

  Jack began to whisper again, through clenched teeth, and her attacker stuttered something in reply. Jack lowered the arm that was crossing the taller man’s chest and reached his hand beneath the leather jacket, pulling a small automatic pistol from the man’s belt. After another brief whisper, the trucker reached slowly into his pocket and retrieved a ring of keys, which jingled sharply in his quaking grip. These he tossed toward Cassie, who jumped back in surprise as the rattling keys hit the pavement at her feet.

  “Kid,” Jack called softly, “are you okay?”

  “I think so…” Cassie replied, her voice quavering a bit.

  “Good girl, here’s what I want you to do. Pick up those keys and go around the far side of this truck, the one to your right. We’re going to meet you at the back end of the trailer. Can you do that?”

  “I think so…yeah.”

  “Good girl,” he said again, his soothing voice belying the tension in the air, “hurry up now, kid.”

  Cassie bent and picked up the keys, almost pitching forward as her head swam with vertigo. On the third try, her sweeping fingers managed to catch the heavy silver ring and she scooped up the keys and straightened, taking a deep ragged breath. When Cassie reached the far end of the trailer, Jack was standing there waiting. In his hand was the shiny automatic he had pulled from the stranger’s belt. The trucker was leaning against the huge double-doors, his bony, tattooed arms sticking out from the sleeves of his jacket and his hands resting against the dusty back of the trailer.

  Cassie saw that he wore a greasy pair of blue jeans and worn black cowboy boots as well. Jack stood several feet behind the man, with the pistol aimed at his back; he took the key ring from Cassie and tossed it onto the wide bumper of the trailer.

  Wordlessly the truck driver picked up the keys and, selecting one, reached up with a shaking hand and opened the heavy padlock that held the door.

  This done he swung the door wide and climbed up inside. As soon as he was in the back of the empty trailer, Jack stepped up and quickly relocked the padlock, sealing the driver inside his own trailer.

  Jack turned to Cassie, searching her eyes for panic, and then nodded crisply.

  Okay,” he said, “time to move along.”

  They walked quickly to the van, where Jack unlocked Cassie’s door and then climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine started easily, idling into a soft smooth hum confirming Cassie’s first assessment that, despite the van’s road-weary appearance, it was well maintained.

  Jack pulled out of the parking spot and drove slowly back towards the café.

  “First things first,” he said, and removed the trucker’s pistol from his pocket. Pressing a small button on the grip, he popped the magazine out into his hand. Then, pulling back on the slide, Jack checked the chamber thoroughly to be sure the gun was unloaded.

  Setting the pistol down carefully between the seats, he quickly unloaded the clip, stuffing the bullets into his jacket pocket. Then, with rapid efficiency, he disassembled the slide, spring, and barrel until he held an awkward handful of gun parts in his lap. These he slipped into an empty burger bag from the floor.

  Next, he pulled a battered denim wallet from another pocket and showed it to Cassie.

  “Let’s see,” he growled, grinning evilly in the dimness, “what the Baggins had in his nasty little pocketses!” He opened the wallet, thumbing through it and slipping the driver's license out. A small wad of cash was folded into one corner, and Jack left it there, sliding the license into his shirt pocket. The wallet then joined the gun parts in the bag.

  “Be right back,” Jack said, opening the door.

  Cassie watched him walk over to a mailbox on the sidewalk next to the café. Looking quickly to his right and left, Jack opened the slot and dumped the contents of the bag down into the box. The bag he crumpled and tossed in a nearby trashcan. Starting back toward the van, he paused and, kneeling over a rusty gutter grate, he dumped the handful of ammunition down the sewer. Moments later they were heading west with the flow of traffic on Interstate 10. Jack checked his mirrors periodically and finally leaned back in the driver’s seat and sighed heavily.

  “Well,” he said, “that was a little more than the pie and coffee I had bargained for.”

  Cassie started to speak, but felt her throat constrict, she could still feel the iron grip of the truckers hand on her arm, and smell his stink in her nostrils, she began to shake once more.

  Jack, his voice still soft and reassuring, sounded concerned, “Are you going to be okay?” Cassie nodded, and in a hitching teary voice replied, “Yeah, it’s getting better…”

  “You’re starting to get some color back, anyway," he said. "I thought we were going to lose you for a minute there.”

  “It was pretty close,” Cassie replied, her breathing returning to normal as her reaction to the stress of the last few minutes began to pass. “If I could just stop shaking.”

  “Adrenaline. Fight or flight response. You’ll be okay in a few minutes. You did good.”

  “I did?”

  “Yup. Tell me something, if I hadn’t shown up, what were you going to do next?”

  “I’m not sure,” Cassie said, closing her eyes and then quickly snapping them back open as the image of those tattooed hands floated before her.

  “I was so scared I couldn’t move," she said, "all I could think of was if he got me back into those shadows I was going to start screaming and kicking.”

  “Good girl, where?”

  “Where?”

  “Where were you going to kick him?”

  Cassie blushed and glanced away, looking at the rush of nighttime traffic along the interstate.

  “Good,” Jack nodded, �
�that’s exactlywhere. Don’t let anyone fool you, kid, there’s no such thing as a fair fight!”

  There was a long pause as the traffic hummed around them and they flashed from one circle of light to the next along the thoroughfare. Finally, when Cassie could stand the silence no longer, she glanced back over at Jack.

  “Would you…” she asked, swallowing hard, "would you have cut him, or…or…?”

  “Or shot him, if he’d turned on us?” Jack finished.

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  There was another long pause and Cassie began to think that Jack wasn’t going to answer her question.

  “I’ve never killed a man before,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the road, “Not even in the war…”

  Cassie waited, holding her breath.

  “I’ve seen enough good people hurt by bad people, though, that I think I could do what I had to, to keep it from happening right in front of me. So, if it was going to be him or us… I guess it was going to be him.”

  This time it was Cassie’s turn to pause before replying.

  “Good,” she said finally.

  “Why don’t you try to get some shut-eye,” Jack advised. “I was going to find a place to sleep in Phoenix, but I think we’d better put a few miles and a couple of turns between us and Mr. Wexler--"

  "Who?"

  "Mark Wexler," Jack replied, slipping the driver's license, the one he had taken from the wallet before throwing it away, from his pocket and handing it to her, "of Phoenix, Arizona. He must have just gotten back from a run, that would explain why his truck was empty," Jack smirked. "I took the liberty of mugging your assailant while we were waiting for you to bring the keys around.” Jack smiled grimly, "I wanted him to know that weknow who he is."

  Cassie glanced at the license, and there was that narrow, pinched face, sneering into the camera. "Ugh!" she said, and handed the card back to Jack.

  "I’m going to try to get us onto I-8" he said, "and then find a rest stop. I’ve been driving for better than twelve hours today, and I’d rather not nod off at the wheel.”

  Okay,” Cassie replied.