Read Last Exit in New Jersey Online
Authors: C.E. Grundler
Last Exit in New Jersey (29 page)
Hammon opened his eyes to excruciating, blurry misery. Every breath was laced with shattered glass. Every old fracture, every pin, every screw inside him screamed with fresh agony. Even blinking hurt.
He tried to call out, coughing as needles stabbed through him, but no answer came. Glasses missing, soaked, he stared up at nothing. Even if he managed to get up and walk, he’d likely step straight off the wharf. He’d drown and no one would know or care.
Best he could determine he was still in one piece. Nothing major seemed broken, but he was blind, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no idea what happened to Hazel and Micah and no prospect of finding out. He’d just lie on that pavement until he rotted.
“That’s your plan?” Annabel asked.
Hammon shrugged, regretting it as waves of pain rippled through him. “Got any better ideas?”
“Not really.”
“Did we win?”
“Wish I knew.”
Hammon only wished he knew how Hazel was. She wasn’t there beside him. He hoped that was a good sign.
“That, or a really bad one.”
Not only did she have him and Stevenson after her, but now she had 350 as well. Could things get any worse?
A deep rumble carried through the air, approaching fast.
“If that’s a GTO, I’d say yes,” Annabel said.
He heard a door open then slam.
“What the fuck’d you do to my truck?”
“You’re in trouble now,” chanted Annabel.
“Gary?” Hammon moaned. “I can’t see.”
“And apparently you drove that way.” A shadow moved in the fog. “I should leave you like this. You might live longer.”
Hammon didn’t move. What was the point? He couldn’t blame Gary. “Why’re you even here?”
“Hazel called me. She said you did something stupid, she wouldn’t say what, only that you got beat up pretty bad. She told me where you are and asked me to make sure you’re okay. She said to tell you she ever sees you again, she’ll kill you herself. Then she asked me to keep an eye on you. She was afraid you might ‘hurt’ yourself. She actually said please. Explain to me, if she’s so set on getting rid of you, why does she give a damn?”
Soaked to the skin, shivering, Hazel sat at the helm, cell phone to her ear, waiting.
The storm had cleared, pushed through by a cold front. Brilliant stars dotted the sky above
Mardi,
chugging steadily along, alone and safe in the darkness. She and Micah had already discussed what she would say. On the eighth ring, Keith answered.
“Hello, Keith.”
“Hazel? Is everything all right? Where are you?”
She took a deep breath, fighting the tightness in her throat, letting the silence hang. She had to sound calm, and she wanted him to sweat.
“Hazel?”
“The time for repentance is at hand,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Micah and I know what you did, Keith. So here’s the deal. Fifty percent, we disappear. You don’t comply, our next call is to Tom Nelson. This isn’t open to negotiation. Understand?”
“I don’t…I…” He began to stammer and cough. Micah was right. Threatening him with Nelson was more effective than her original idea, saying they’d call the police.
“Fine, Keith. That’s how you want it, we call Nelson right now. I’m sure for a fifty percent recovery fee he’d love to learn who screwed him over. Care to gamble? Oh, right, you don’t believe in gambling. The Good Lord wouldn’t approve. Yet you stole our truck, sat back, and watched the fallout from a safe distance. That’s okay with Jesus?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It was supposed to be Atkins driving that night.”
“And that makes it right? Maybe I’ll just save us the trouble, call Tom now, and let you two sort things out.”
“I’ll get your money,” he said, his voice weak.
“I thought so. Listen carefully. I hear the stripers are running at Sandy Hook, off North Beach, up past the old Nike missile base. Grab your surf caster, get yourself a little GPS, and learn how to use it. You got a pen and paper?”
For a moment he didn’t answer, and Hazel wondered if she’d lost the connection. Then she heard shuffling. “Uh, yeah…”
“Take down these coordinates,” she instructed. “Forty degrees twenty-eight minutes nine seconds north, seventy-three degrees fifty-nine minutes forty-three seconds west. You got that?”
“Uh, yeah. Forty, twenty-eight, nine north, seventy-three, fifty-nine, forty-three west,” he recited back, his voice faltering. “But you know I don’t understand that boat stuff. Can’t we just meet somewhere and we’ll talk?”
“We are meeting and we will talk, but you’ll do it on our terms. Follow those coordinates. There’ll be a beach chair and a flashlight in a bucket. Have the money in a backpack, and wear the backpack. No briefcases, no grocery bags. Nothing around you. We don’t want you carrying anything but that rod. Nine forty-five tonight, you walk out, sit down, pick up the flashlight, and shine it on your face. Nine forty-five. No earlier, no later, no exceptions. Come alone or the deal is off. Sit nice and polite on that chair with the light on your face, or the deal is off. You sit and you wait, and when Micah and I feel safe, then we talk. We’re only doing this once, and if anything makes us think you’re trying to be clever, which you aren’t, you’ll never even see us, but we’ll be phoning the appliance king. Understand?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice faint.
“How’s it feel, Keith? Tell you what…we’ll cut you ten percent discount just for a picture of your face at this very moment.”
July 4 dawned crisp and bright. The previous night’s rain had scrubbed the world clean, leaving a sharp, high-contrast morning, and the water sparkled like scattered diamonds. The humidity was gone, replaced by a light west wind and excellent visibility. Along the Jersey shore, the waters teemed with boats of every shape and size, making it easy for Gary, Hammon, and the canine crew to blend with the masses as they followed
Revenge
in a borrowed twenty-four-foot Sea Ray. They hung back a mile, guided by the signal, which, for a change, remained constant.
“Why?” Gary said. “I can only figure they’d been disconnecting the batteries. Why not this time?”
“Maybe it’s a trap,” Annabel suggested.
Hammon lifted binoculars to watch Hazel, who sat alone on the bridge. Every so often she scanned the water, likely for
Temperance
. He hadn’t seen Micah all morning and that worried him.
Gary said, “Why don’t you talk to Stevenson? See what he knows.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Hammon dug around the boat, discovering half a bag of stale Cheetos in the cuddy cabin. “When hell freezes over.” The dogs sat up, watching expectantly as he popped a cheese curl in his mouth. It was rubbery but edible.
“Maybe you could ‘talk’ to him with a baseball bat,” Annabel said.
Hammon chewed his Cheetos. “Tempting but risky. It’s better he doesn’t know I know she exists.”
Gary raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Annabel?”
She smiled brightly. “Yes?”
Hammon squeezed his eyes shut. “Yup.”
“You mean, even with that one,” Gary pointed toward the horizon, “clubbing you like a baby seal, you’re still seeing Annabel?”
Hammon shrugged, sipping cold coffee. “Pretty much.” He tossed each dog a Cheeto. Charger caught his in midair while Yodel scrambled after the orange curl. Charger chewed for a moment, then dropped it to the deck. Yodel wouldn’t even pick his up.
“Christ, Zap. Even the dogs won’t eat that. No wonder you look like shit. When’s the last time you got any rest?”
“Counting unconsciousness?” Hammon stared ahead at
Revenge
. “I’m fine.”
“Seriously? You’ve been popping NoDoz like they’re Tic-Tacs. You look like you’ve been run over. You need sleep.”
“He’s right,” Annabel said.
“I said I’m fine.”
Just before nine Hazel docked in Belmar. She tied up then disappeared into the cabin, reappearing with Hammon’s backpack over her shoulder. She stood for a moment, looking strangely uncertain, then locked up and headed ashore. Gary circled back and docked farther down the fairway while Hammon watched Hazel enter the chandlery. As Gary shut the Sea Ray, Hammon rose, starting for the dock. Gary grabbed his shirt.
“You don’t learn, do you? You won’t be happy till she kills you.”
“I’m going to
Revenge
; I got to talk to Micah. I got a feeling he got hurt last night or he’d be with her. You see anyone bother her or she starts back, call me.”
Gary drained his coffee. “You know what you’re doing?”
“Nope.”
“And I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”
“Nope.” Hammon fished through his pockets. He knew he had the boat keys; they were with his car keys, which Hazel had left dangling in the Fairmont’s ignition.
“You know you’re insane.”
Hammon shrugged. “Was that ever in question?”
“I’d say it’s been nice knowing you,” Gary called as Hammon hobbled toward
Revenge
with Annabel by his side. “But I’d be lying.”
Revenge
sat peaceful and serene, sunlight reflecting blazes of light across the dark hull. Hammon hesitated, feeling strangely uncomfortable.
“She’s still our boat,” Annabel said. “It’s not like you’re stealing her or anything.”
Still, it felt like he was trespassing as he climbed aboard and knocked on the salon door. “Hey, Micah. It’s me, Otto. Look, man, we got to talk.”
The freezer compressor kicked on. He knocked again, burping coffee, Cheetos, and Munchkins as his stomach churned.
“That’s it. I’m coming in.” He reached for the door.
“The boat is locked,”
Revenge
announced, and Hammon smiled. Beneath the cosmetic alterations, the mechanical systems, including the locks, remained unchanged. He glanced back, took a deep breath, unlocked the cabin, and stepped inside, braced for a blow to the head or a bullet to the chest.
Or not.
“You sure we’re on the right boat?” Annabel said.
Hammon looked around the salon, baffled. Daylight filtered through curtains, softly lighting the tidy cabin. Polished wood and bronze gleamed. Hammon’s throat tightened and he slid the door closed.
“Micah? Look, I just want to talk.”
Other than the hum of the cockpit freezer compressor and water gently lapping against the hull, there was silence. A latch held the head door open. The mildew smell was gone, and the mildew as well. The sink shined and a new seashell-print shower curtain was neatly tucked aside. In place of the black rectangle, his reflection stared back, perplexed. He reached up, touching his face, his scarred fingers tracing across his scarred cheek. Was
that
what he really looked like?
“Step away from the mirror,” Annabel ordered. “Now’s not the time.”
Hammon backed out to the spotless galley. His microwave had vanished, leaving the counter clear aside from two coffee mugs and two plates drying on a dishtowel. On the dinette, his non-skid travel mug contained an arrangement of daylilies, shriveled dandelions, and wilted loosestrife: the flowers he’d given Hazel right before he shot her. The forward cabin, like everything else, was clean, with clothing folded in small stacks.
“So where’s Micah?” Annabel said.
Hammon didn’t have an answer, only a bad feeling. His phone buzzed, the screen reading “haze rtng get out.”
No. He’d stay, and he’d talk to her.
“Gary’s right,” Annabel said. “You’ll never learn. This isn’t the place or the time.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Of course I do.”
With the gear stowed, Hazel headed out, watching for
Temperance
. Close to shore an armada of boats of crowded the waters, but none looked familiar or troubling. She decided to run further offshore where there was less traffic and anyone approaching would be clearly visible long in advance. The air was clear and the water smooth; under different circumstances it would have been a perfect day, and Hazel wished Micah was beside her on
Revenge
’s bridge. For a moment she smiled darkly. Despite the name across the transom, the boat’s true name seemed more fitting, especially for the work ahead.
At slack low tide, she reached Sandy Hook, positioning
Revenge
and dropping anchor. She was surprised and slightly concerned that Hammon hadn’t materialized. Maybe Micah was right; Hammon had been hurt worse than she realized when she left him lying in that lot. Or maybe he’d finally gotten the message, if not from her then Gary, and taken her warning to heart. Her chest tightened at the thought of never seeing him again, but it was for the best, for his sake as well as hers. The farther he was from her the better off he’d be, and she had to stay focused, blocking all else out. It was the only way she’d get through.