The Last Night at Tremore Beach

by Mikel Santiago

  “Frank . . . The woman’s not here. Search the perimeter of the house. And watch your back.”

  She crouched back down over me. This time I watched her pull out a stiletto, the blade glinting between her fingers, and bring the point within inches of my eye.

  “Tell me where the woman is—or I’ll carve out your eyes, one by one.”

  “I don’t know,” I managed to say, even though the blade floated over my right eye.

  “I’m going to gouge out your right eye, first. How’s that sound? And then I’ll make you eat it.”

  “I swear, I don’t know! Leo was alone when I got here.”

  I felt the tip of the knife press beneath my right eye, and I closed them both. I felt the pressure increase. For a split second, I thought losing an eye wasn’t so bad as long as she didn’t touch my fingers. They make glass eyes. I can still play the piano blind.

  “How did you know who we were?” she asked. I’d managed to stump them. I was glad. I smiled again. I felt another blow to my face, and my head rebounded off the floor.

  Tom came back in from the garage saying he hadn’t found anyone though someone might have been able to slip from the kitchen to the garage and out to the beach if they’d wanted to.

  “Door’s unlocked.”

  Manon stood up and walked to the couch.

  “Wake up grandpa, here,” she said, and then spoke into the walkie-talkie again. “Frank! The woman might be on the beach. Go take a look.”

  Looked like my eye surgery had been postponed. Tom grabbed me under my arms, picked up all two hundred pounds of me like he was lifting a carton of milk, and tossed me onto the couch.

  Randy smacked Leo across the cheek. He was bleeding profusely out of a gash on one side of his face, but still he managed to open his eyes. With Leo awake, Randy sat back down, pulled his pistol out, and aimed it at us.

  “Okay, Mr. Blanchard,” Manon said, standing behind the couch. “Can you hear me?”

  It took a moment for Leo’s eyes to focus on her.

  “My name is Leonard Kogan,” he said. “You’ve got the wrong man.”

  “We know who you are, Leonard Blanchard. And you know why we’re here. So let’s stop playing games and wasting time, shall we? Where’s your wife?”

  “I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy,” Leo insisted. “My name is Kogan not Blanchard. You’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m just an American tourist. . . .”

  Manon simply put her hand on Randy’s shoulder.

  “Right knee.”

  Before any of us could move, Randy aimed the gun and squeezed the trigger. A deafening bang rang out, and Leo lurched forward. He grabbed his right knee and fell forward on top of the coffee table. I rushed to grab him and laid him back on the couch. Leo was clenching his teeth so hard I thought he’d crack a molar.

  “Let’s see if we understand one another now, Mr. Blanchard,” Manon said. “We can end this quickly.”

  A torrent of blood spurted from between Leo’s fingers and soaked his pant leg.

  “Goddamn bitch,” Leo said through gritted teeth. “Marie is visiting a friend in London and won’t be back for a week. You’ve wasted a trip.”

  “He’s lying,” Randy said. “Other knee?”

  “Wait,” Manon said. “We don’t want him to bleed out. What do you say, Tom?”

  “The woman was here. I’m sure of it. Maybe this other guy warned her. Or maybe she ran when she heard us come in.”

  Manon grabbed her walkie-talkie. You could hear the roar of the wind on the other end.

  “Frank?”

  “Nothing yet,” he said, the storm howling behind him. “I’ll keep heading down the beach.”

  I watched Manon’s eyes scan the room and land on me.

  “All right, friend. We really don’t have to kill you. But we will if you don’t tell us what we need to know. Where’s the woman?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t seen her. I swear. Leo must be telling the truth.”

  Randy pointed the gun at my head. He was leisurely leaning back on the couch with his legs crossed like a gentleman and the pistol held casually, like a glass of wine. He was itching to kill me.

  “Waste him?” he asked Manon.

  Manon didn’t seem in such a rush to see more blood run. Instead, she spoke into the walkie-talkie again. Frank had walked around the entire house and found nothing.

  Randy brought the pistol sights up and aimed at my head.

  “What do you say, Manon?”

  “No, not yet,” she said. “Let’s see who’s hiding in the other house. Maybe he really does have a family, and he is throwing a party.” She fixed her cold, malevolent eyes on mine. I couldn’t stop my eyes, my face, from flinching. Manon read me immediately. “Yes, I think there is some truth to this story. And maybe he won’t be quite as brave after he sees what we do to his loved ones. We’ll drag them over here and play with them awhile, until he tells us where Marie is.”

  “No!” Leo yelled.

  I was so terrified, so desperate, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

  “You’re screwed. We already called the cops over the radio. They’ll be here any minute,” I said.

  “Not a chance. You didn’t have time,” Randy said.

  But Manon just stood quietly, mulling over that scenario. She still seemed worried about how quickly I’d figured them out. If one of us had gotten to a cell phone, the cops would be on their way as we spoke.

  “Tom, find the radio.”

  “It’s upstairs, but it’s off,” he said. “There’s no way they had time to . . .”

  “I’ll decide that!” she yelled. “Go upstairs and search the place again. See if someone might have slipped out an open window. And trash the fucking radio while you’re at it.”

  Tom ran up the stairs. Meanwhile, Manon started talking over the plan with Randy right in front of us—I figured we were dead men right then and there. They had to move fast, she said. Randy would stay behind and watch us while Frank acted as the lookout with his walkie-talkie on. She and Tom would drive over to the house to have a look. She doubted there was any party planned, but they had to be careful. Maybe Marie had made it over there by now.

  In a way, I was thinking the same thing they were: Could a sixty-five-year-old woman have run two miles across the beach in this driving wind and rain in less than fifteen minutes? I doubted it. But if she had managed to (and I prayed she had), Judie and the kids still had a chance.

  Tom and Manon went out, leaving Randy and Frank standing guard. We heard the van start up and watched the lights pull away. The engine soon faded into the distance. I pictured the van headed toward Bill’s Peak and racing at full throttle toward my house. The sequence hadn’t changed so much after all.

  RANDY SAT across from us, the pistol in his hand resting on his lap. Leo, lying next to me, writhed in pain. The blood wasn’t gushing anymore, but now he was shaking. His teeth chattered.

  “I have to tie a tourniquet or I’ll bleed to death.”

  “Shut up!” Randy screamed.

  “He’s right,” I said.

  “Both of you, shut the fuck up,” he said pointing the gun at us.

  “What the hell’s going on in there?” I heard Frank say from the other side of the door.

  “The old man’s bleeding out,” Randy yelled back.

  “Well do something, for Chrissake.”

  Randy rolled his eyes at me and gestured with the gun.

  “Go ahead, do what you have to do. But don’t fucking move from that couch.”

  “But how am I supposed to . . . ?” I started to ask.

  “Use your shirt, Pete,” Leo said, his voice sounding rushed. “Take it off and use one of the sleeves to tie off my leg. It should work.”

  Randy got up and walked toward the door, the gun still trained on us. He said something to Frank, who was on the porch, smoking a cigarette.

  “Shit, man. Can’t you wait until we’re done here?” I heard
Frank tell him.

  I tore off my shirt and was about start tying off Leo’s thigh. But he waved me off with his hands.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “You hold the pillows.”

  It didn’t make sense to me, at first, but then I saw the look in Leo’s eyes and knew he had something else in mind. I wrapped one of the throw pillows around his leg and held it in place while he started to tie the tourniquet. Our faces were nearly next to each other’s, and Randy was out of earshot, while Frank fished for a cigarette and matches from his jacket pocket.

  “I’ve got a revolver,” Leo whispered while he tied the tourniquet. “It’s strapped to my right ankle, in a holster. Grab it. He can’t see you from where he is. It’s our only chance.”

  I looked at him in shock. You didn’t write me off, after all, you stubborn old goat.

  Randy was still by the door. It was hard to hear anything over the wind and the crash of the ocean. Plus, he probably figured he had nothing to worry about from some sixty-something-year-old man with a gunshot wound in one leg and a skinny, pale forty-year-old.

  I was leaning slightly toward Leo, holding the pillow, and Randy was standing at such an angle where he couldn’t see my hands. I reached one hand slowly down Leo’s right leg, feeling for something beneath the hem of his pants. I finally felt a lump by his ankle.

  “Hurry up!” he whispered.

  In one quick motion, I lifted the cuff of his pant leg and felt the revolver, felt the texture of the gun’s grip between my fingers. I grabbed it the very moment Randy walked back over to us. I looked up at Leo, and he looked back down at me without being able to say a word. What should I do? Turn and shoot right now?

  But I didn’t. I could feel the barrel of Randy’s gun trained on us. He’d be a hundred times faster on the trigger than I would be. So instead, I tucked the gun under one of the couch cushions between Leo’s legs. Leo just stared at me. One slip of my finger, and I might have accidentally shot his balls off.

  As Randy sat back down, Leo quickly and slyly shook his pant leg to cover the holster strapped to his ankle.

  “How’s it look?” Randy asked as he blew out a puff a smoke, suddenly a picture of easygoing relaxation.

  “Good,” I said. “It should hold.”

  Randy jammed the cigarette into one corner of his mouth, threw his feet up onto a side table, and grabbed one of the picture frames that sat on it.

  He whistled.

  “So this is Mrs. Blanchard, huh? She looks pretty damn good in this picture,” he said, flicking his ashes onto the carpet. “Although she’s probably got another forty years on her by now, right? Either way, that’s a beautiful woman. Maybe I can get a little alone time with her.”

  “You piece of shit,” Leo spat.

  “Hey, don’t get all bent out of shape. We’ll let her decide. Maybe when I put this gun in her ear, she’ll feel better about going down and giving me a little satisfaction. What about you, neighbor friend? Got any hot little daughters?”

  “You’re a dead man, Randy,” I spat. “I swear to God, you’re going to die tonight.”

  I glanced at Leo and realized that with Randy sitting directly across from us, there was no way he was going to be able to get to his gun—unless we distracted him somehow. There had to be a way. . . .

  “That’s a nice fairy tale ending,” he said. “Good conclusion to a novel. But the only ones who are going to die here tonight—slowly and painfully—are you two. And I guarantee you before it’s all said and done, I’m gonna have a nice time with your wives and daughters. Frank, too. Isn’t that right, Frank?” he called out, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and giving a dirty cackle.

  Frank didn’t answer.

  “You and your wife shouldn’t have done what you did. Now you’re going to pay, Blanchard. And so is your neighbor’s family.”

  “What the hell is he talking about, Leo?” I said, giving him an icy stare. “What did you do?”

  Leo glanced at me, eyebrows raised.

  “Oh, you didn’t tell your neighbor, did you?” Randy said. “Your friends here probably spun you a nice little tale. Made themselves out to be a sweet little old couple. But they’re just thieves. I’m going to love putting a hole in their heads.”

  “Shut up, you fucking snake. . . .” Leo hissed.

  “No, I want to hear this!” I yelled. “About time I knew what the hell is going on. You put my whole family in danger. Right now, they’re probably about to . . .”

  “Better you don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Leo bit back. “This is none of your business, Peter.”

  Leo had figured out my plan. Or maybe he didn’t; maybe he was totally serious. Either way, it was just the distraction we needed.

  “None of my business, you old fuck?” I shouted. “You gave me this whole story about how you were a retired hotel security officer, and now we’re all dead because of you!” I yelled.

  Randy delighted in watching us argue.

  “Shut your filthy mouth, or I’ll shut it for you,” Leo said.

  “Oh, yeah?” I yelled back.

  I lunged at him. I knew it might hurt his injured knee, but I tried not to land on it as I grabbed him by the shirt, standing right between him and Randy. He hollered in real pain. I could hear Randy laughing behind me but soon he half-heartedly said to get off of Leo. We heard Frank yell from outside, too. I watched as Leo slipped his hand between the cushions, grabbed the gun, and aimed it where my stomach was. This was the moment. I dropped to the floor and heard a terrible explosion over my head followed by a muffled cry of pain.

  For the next few seconds, I lay pinned to the floor. There were two more shots. I heard glass shatter. Only later would I learn it was the window that overlooked the front yard.

  I saw Randy’s feet under the coffee table, saw them crumple underneath him as he rolled off the couch and then landed on the floor next to me, his round glasses slipping off to reveal his now-lifeless eyes, the burning cigarette falling from his lips.

  “Peter . . .” I heard behind me.

  It was Leo. He was lying on the floor, too.

  “Did you get the other guy?”

  “I think so, but I’m not sure. I saw him go down, but he got a shot off. He might be alive. Look, I can’t move. You’re going to have to check,” he whispered, handing me the revolver.

  With the cold metal in my hands, I felt an immediate rush of power. If I’d had my way, I’d much rather stay cowering between those two couches. But right about now, Judie and my kids would be getting an unwelcome visit from Manon and the fat guy. It might even be too late. But if God saw fit to give us this one chance, I had to make the most of it—and fast.

  I eased my head up with the gun pointed out in front of me. Frank wasn’t out there. At least, I couldn’t see him from where I was. The front door was open, and you could see only part of the porch, and beyond that, sheets of falling rain. Where was he?

  He might be hiding against the outside wall. There was no way to get to him, unless these bullets could fire through the wall. I lay there for another couple seconds, thinking: There was no time to waste; my kids’ lives were in danger. Maybe in a rush of adrenaline—or a suicidal lack of self-awareness—I hopped up and ran toward the door in one motion. I blindly poked the barrel of the gun around the edge of the door and fired twice. It filled the night with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. I peeked out the door. There was no one there.

  “Look out, Pete!” Leo yelled.

  I turned around and saw Frank stumbling in through the kitchen door. He must have looped around to catch us by surprise. He fired at Leo, who had started to pick himself up off the floor, and hit him. Leo fell behind the couch with a thud. I fired back at the same time, pulling the trigger three times, although only two bullets fired. The gun was out of ammunition.

  But I got lucky. From the fresh wound in Frank’s neck, dark blood sprayed the doorframe and across the pink living room wall. Frank managed to stand another
couple of seconds before keeling over and landing heavily by the kitchen door, his gun tumbling to the ground.

  I ran over and picked it up. Frank was trembling and twitching like a toy whose batteries were about to run out. Blood was pooling on the floor beneath him. He stared right at me. I thought about pulling the trigger again and putting him out of his misery, but I couldn’t do it. I turned to Leo. Frank had managed to shoot him in one arm and he winced as he held it.

  “Leo!”

  “You’ve got to get out of here. The keys to my car are in my jacket. Run! I’ll call the police.”

  I didn’t think twice. Leo’s jacket was by the door, and the keys were inside, like he’d said. I ran outside and remembered their car in the garage. I looked down and noticed Frank’s walkie-talkie lying on the ground by the door. Had he had time to tip off Manon?

  I opened the garage and hopped in Leo’s four-by-four. I started it up and shot out of there into the stormy night.

  NINE

  AT THE WHEEL of Leo’s SUV, I felt a stab in my abdomen, as if someone had stuck me with a switchblade. I didn’t know it then, but Tom had cracked one of my ribs when he kicked me. My shoulder was still pulsating, and I felt dizzy from that fat bastard nearly crushing my head under his foot. But none of it mattered. Not even the fact I’d just killed a man. Maybe some might have reservations about what I did. But not me. It was something that had to be done. I replayed it all: the recoil in my hands, the violent gunshot ringing in my ears, the sight of his body falling to the floor in a heap. Better you than me, Frank.

  No, the only thing that mattered now was getting to my house in time.

  The storm seemed to be reaching its peak. This mother of all storms had come ashore, a titanic thunderhead that seemed miles high and wide. Within its crevices, lightning snaked and crashed into the ocean below and nearby cliffs. The sea roiled beneath it, punished by the devastating wind and rain.

  Amid all this, the Land Rover belonging to Leo Kogan—or Leo Blanchard—came barreling over Bill’s Peak, took flight, and crashed back down as I kept speeding ahead. At this speed, in the Land Rover’s four thousand pounds of steel, I’d have killed anyone that accidentally crossed my path. An unfortunate human being would burst like so many water balloons. Any car coming the other way would turn us both into one mangled block of twisted metal. But none of that crossed my mind at the time, as I kept the steering wheel trained on the road and my foot on the pedal. Still, I couldn’t help wishing this was a hallucination, that I’d find the house safe and sound when I got there. That it was just another goddamn trick of the mind. Even if it meant I was crazy after all.