Last Exit in New Jersey (14 page)
Read Last Exit in New Jersey Online
Authors: C.E. Grundler
It was pointless trying to reason with Gary. Hammon understood what he was saying about Annabel, deep down inside he sort of half knew. But he also knew he’d seen her driving the Viper. Or had he?
“What are we doing?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“Looking for your boat,” Gary replied with strained patience.
“So
Revenge
is real. I was just checking.” He studied Gary. “How do I know you are?”
Gary smacked him across the back of the head.
“Ow!” Hammon whined. “It was a valid question!”
“And that’s my answer. Put it this way. In all these years, did you ever actually touch Annabel?”
Only when he was dreaming or dead. Hammon squeezed his pounding skull. His brain hurt from trying to sort out what was and wasn’t real. He liked it better just accepting everything at face value. It was easier and way more fun. If Annabel wasn’t real, then neither was what had been, up to that point, a workable existence. She was his guidance, his happiness, his love, and if she didn’t exist, neither did any of that. He turned to Gary in desperation.
“So
Revenge
is gone, right? What if I docked somewhere else and forgot? I’ve done that, but when I did, Annabel…” His voice trailed off. Annabel told him where he left the boat. And where he parked. And where he left his keys, and his glasses, and…“How did Annabel always know things I forgot?”
“Maybe that’s the part of your subconscious that remembers whatever your conscious brain blocks.”
That sort of made sense. But he had bigger problems, and now Annabel wasn’t there to help sort things out. “Someone took
Revenge
, for real. Somebody who knew about Stevenson and about me. That’s really not good.”
Gary rubbed his face. “Really?”
“Really what?”
“Never mind. Forget I said anything. You’re good at that.”
“Good at what?”
Gary shook his head. “Nothing.”
Hazel counted four seconds between the green flashes in the darkness and listened for the melodic gong of G19, marking Ambrose Channel. At nine knots on a heading of 200 degrees it was eight minutes to G17. She checked her watch, noted the time, and swung to a heading of 206 degrees. A pale glow appeared beside the chart, softly buzzing: Stevenson’s phone with an incoming call from Joe’s shop. She grabbed it and flipped it open.
“Dad?”
“Haze?” her father said, his voice hoarse.
“Dad! Is everyone okay? I’ve been calling all night! Stevenson has
Tuition
!”
Her father didn’t reply. In the background, Micah shouted something to Joe.
“Did you hear me? Stevenson has
Tuition
; he was talking on the phone, telling them to get rid of
Witch
! I’m not making this up! You have to believe me! He had a file on all of us from before he hired us, with pictures of
Tuition
taken yesterday. He said he was going to take me somewhere and he’d drug me if I gave him any problems, but I got away.”
“Oh, Christ. Hon, where are you?”
“Headed to Lou’s place.” Her father would know that meant Forelli’s boatyard, and they both knew the Forelli family would keep her safe, no questions asked.
“Haze, what did you do to Stevenson?”
“I didn’t kill him. I wanted to, but I didn’t.”
“Hon, listen to me. I’ll come get you, but you’ve got to stay out of sight until then. Understand?”
“Yeah, but you and Micah…”
“We’ll be fine. Just do as I say. Stay put, wait for me. And don’t ‘yes’ me. I’m serious this time.”
“I promise, Dad. I will.”
Hammon watched the slow-motion video game play out on the displays. There was the little boat shape on the chart plotter, that was
Temperance
, and there was the red dot on the laptop, that was
Revenge
. Hammon stared at the screens, sick to his stomach. Ironically, the concept of a tracker aboard
Revenge
, which should have been freaking him out, was the least of his concerns. It was the last link to the only part of his existence that actually existed.
“This tracker,” Hammon said. “How long’s it been there?”
“Since we first launched that barge, what’s that, three years? In case you got into trouble, I’d know where to find you. You had some serious problems back then.”
He still did. He’d just gotten better at hiding them. “Anyone else got access to this?”
“You mean like Stevenson?” Gary shook his head. “No. Just me. It’s buried in the engine room, disguised as an inverter, with a rechargeable backup battery. We find the boat, I’ll show you. How do you think I found you whenever you went missing?”
“You always said I called you. I didn’t?”
“Nope. What’s that tell you?”
Hammon nodded. “So now what?”
“I figure we get close, hang back, and do some fishing while we see where they’re headed, then wait till they run out of fuel or tie up, whichever comes first.”
“And then?” Hammon swallowed. He hadn’t been seasick in years, but the urge to stick his head over the side was overwhelming. His world had been okay up to that point. It might have been built on illusions and delusions but it worked. Now it was shattered, his sanctuary violated and stolen from him. There was nowhere safe anymore, not even inside his brain. The only thing he had left was that tiny digital blip on the…
Hammon hiccupped.
Gary turned. “What?”
Hammon pointed at the screen. A pop-up stated: SIGNAL LOST.
“I didn’t do it.”
Gary leaned over, examining the display. “It’s…wha’d you touch?” He hit refresh. A window came up reading: NO SIGNAL RECEIVED.
“I didn’t do it!”
Dead ahead, flashing red and green buoys flanked the entrance to Cheesequake Creek. Hazel guided the boat through the inlet, taking care to keep the submerged portions of the east breakwater at a respectable distance. Three bridges lay ahead. The first, with a clearance of twenty-five feet, wasn’t a concern. The second, a railroad bridge, had a clearance of three feet, but as far as Hazel recalled, it remained open unless a train was due. And the third, where the Garden State Parkway crossed the creek, marked the end of the navigable waters. But she wasn’t going any further; to starboard the fuel dock at Forelli’s Boatyard came into sight, a single light shining on the closed dock house. A slim shape bounded from the shadows, blue curls blowing across his face as he waved.
“Micah?” Hazel blinked back tears of relief. She edged the boat along the dock and he jumped aboard, climbed to the bridge, and lifted her off the deck in a bone-cracking hug. His hair and clothes smelled like a campfire.
“Hey, brat,” he said. “Took you long enough getting here. I was starting to worry.”
She buried her face against his shoulder. It seemed as though they’d been apart for years, and she’d started to feel like she’d never see him again. She looked to shore. “Where’s Dad?”
“Head into the pit.” Micah pointed toward the Travelift, rumbling to life. “We want to haul this thing before anyone’s up and around.”
Hazel spotted Tony Forelli at the controls, his stocky, barrel-chested shape a welcome sight. He waved a hairy arm, directing her in.
“Drop the straps low,” she called over the lift’s engine, pointing down and moving her hand in a horizontal circle: the standard signal for lower. “She’s deeper than she looks.”
Tony nodded and the motor whined, dropping the slings.
“We’ll stick it in the east shed,” Tony’s father, Lou, directed. Still in his bathrobe, he looked around, scowling. “Tony, where the hell’s your brother? I want Nicky out here now!”
Guided by Tony’s signals, Hazel eased the boat into the lift, gave a quick goose in reverse, then dropped into neutral, bringing it to a stop. Nicky jogged barefoot and bare-chested from the clapboard cape overlooking the yard. He pulled on a sweatshirt as he ran, waving to Hazel. At fourteen, he shared the family tendency toward a broad build and thick black hair, though so far it remained isolated to his head and not covering the rest of him like a sweater.
“Nicky, get the shed open,” Lou snapped. “And get some shoes on, damnit.”
“Where’s Dad?” Hazel said.
Micah studied her soberly. “You’re okay?” He lifted her chin. “What’d that guy do? Your dad wouldn’t tell me anything.”
Hazel shut down the boat’s engine. “Don’t worry; you don’t have to avenge my honor if that’s what you mean. Where’s Dad?”
“I broke your record for unlock and hotwire,” Micah said proudly as he and Tony positioned the straps. “You’d think people would learn not to park in front of the lift. There’s enough signs warning them not to block it.”
Motors whined and slings tightened, hoisting the boat from the water. It swayed, suspended in the creaking straps, and the lift began to motor across the yard. Lou certainly wasn’t wasting a second moving the boat out of sight, and still Hazel didn’t see her father anywhere. She turned to Micah, uneasiness growing.
“Micah, where the hell is my dad?”
By his sheepish expression she knew she wouldn’t like his answer. “He figured we’d be safe here and I could keep an eye on you.” He paused, his dark eyes clouding. “Him and Joe went to see what’s left of Stevenson.”
“No! Damnit!” she cried in frustration. “He told someone to get rid of
Witch
! Why won’t anyone ever listen to me? They have to move her!”
“Haze, it’s just a boat,” Micah said, his voice wavering.
Hazel stared at him, stunned. How could he say that?
Witch
was her home. That boat had been in the family for generations. She was irreplaceable! Micah turned away, and through her shock Hazel realized he was wiping his eyes.
“Micah?”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I really fucked up.”
Her grip on the wheel tightened as uneasiness gave way to dread. “Micah, what happened?”
He pulled a piece of damp, singed fabric from his pocket; Hazel unfolded it, her chest tightening as she studied the “NO WAKE ZONE” needlepoint that had hung outside her cabin door.
“We were pulling into the yard when we saw the flames. Your dad took an axe to the hull and sank her before she burned to the waterline. She’s in one piece on the bottom until we can raise her. I dove down to…check…I…” His voice trailed off. “I…I’m so sorry.”
Hazel blinked back tears and stared down at her hands, not knowing what to say.
“No one got hurt?” she mumbled finally.
“You mean your dad? Him hurt? Seriously?”
That was the most important thing, everyone was safe. Hazel didn’t want to think beyond that. She realized she was unconsciously piloting the boat, turning the wheel as they approached the entrance to the shed at the far end of the yard.
The lift stopped and Tony lowered the boat until the keel settled on blocks Nicky had scrambled to set in place. He and Tony propped stands beneath the dripping hull, releasing the straps, then Tony pulled the Travelift back out to the yard while Nicky rolled the shed doors closed. Still Hazel sat there at the helm, frozen.
Micah put his hand on hers. “C’mon, hon. Ride’s over.”
“Where do we go now?” She looked around the brightly lit, windowless shed, feeling trapped. “It was safer out there…in the dark.”
“We’re safe here.”
“Are we?”
Micah gave a weak smile. “Look at it this way. I lost
Tuition
, your car’s history,
Kindling
’s gone, and
Witch
…well, she’s gonna need some major work…and let’s not mention your offerings to the Atlantic. The way I see it, things can’t get much worse.”
“Don’t say that. Fate has a sick sense of humor.”
Lou propped a ladder against the transom and they climbed down.
“Weird.” Micah looked the boat over in the light. In contrast to the sleek, modern lines above the waterline, it carried a deep, ballasted keel, full skeg, and massive rudder.
Nicky bounded over, gazing at Hazel speechlessly while Lou knelt, inspecting the huge prop. He thumped on the hull. “Wood?” He flipped his Motorola open. “Tony? Call your uncle; tell Sal to send over an empty truck…not a Dumpster. A compactor. And tell him grab a dozen bagels on the way.” He snapped the phone shut. “Nicky, quit mooning at Hazel and go make some coffee.”
Color rose in Nicky’s face, and he scrambled out the side door. Micah winked at Hazel. “Guess who hit puberty.”
Lou stepped back, staring up, rubbing his chin. “Your dad says you two’re in deep shit, and the less I know, the better. He said keep you out of sight until he gets here. This,” he motioned toward the boat, arms spread, “is a problem.”
Hazel studied the gracefully curved hull. “I had to get away. I figured I’d beach her somewhere. There might be some sort of tracker aboard, so I disconnected the batteries.”
Lou’s phone beep-beeped.
“There’s no coffee filters in the break room,” Nicky said.
“Then use a paint strainer.” Lou turned to Hazel. “Your dad’s instructions were very clear. He said make however you got here disappear. We strip anything of value; tomorrow night we tow what’s left out and sink it.”
Hazel looked up at the boat in dismay. “Couldn’t we just hide her?”
Lou shook his head. “This thing’s custom. We’re talking big money. Sooner or later someone’s gonna come looking for it. It’s got to go. It was never here, no one ever saw it, no one knows nothing.”