Last Exit in New Jersey (33 page)

It seemed like an eternity though in reality only eight days had passed since Hazel had last driven
RoadKill
. Shooter Jennings still looped in the stereo, ironically back to “4th of July.” Her eyes stung as she watched the dark highway unwind in the headlights. She felt bruised and drained, every fiber of her being hurt, but she had to go on, just a little longer. If all went right, by sunrise everything would be over and she could break down. That, or she’d be dead.

Her life had disintegrated, undeniably and irreparably. Micah was dead. She’d never have him tease her again, never hold his hand or listen to him crack jokes and butcher song lyrics. He wouldn’t be there to share the future they were supposed to have together. He was gone, and she’d never have the chance to tell him all he meant to her. And Joe…how could he turn against them? She rubbed the tears from her face and recalled Joe’s expression as she pulled the trigger; burned forever in her memory. Damn him. It was his own fault. He should have known better.

High beams flashed in her mirrors: a car coming up fast. Her heart went to her throat. She tried to stay calm; not everyone in the world was after her, it only seemed that way. But to her horror Stevenson’s yellow Chevelle pulled alongside her left door, horn blasting. The interior light switched on and Joe leaned across, waving for her to pull over. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing, though if there’d been any question left in her mind as to his betrayal, the bright yellow Chevelle he was driving settled it. And he may have known enough to wear body armor, but apparently Joe wasn’t smart enough to keep clear of
RoadKill
.

Hazel swung the wheel, crowding him into the median,
RoadKill
’s front wheel lugs jackhammering the car’s door. Joe gunned it, barely pulling ahead, and she rammed the car, pushing it sideways in front of
RoadKill’s
headlights. She jerked the wheel and sent the Chevelle into a spin, skidding down the shoulder, burrowing into the underbrush. She locked the brakes and fought the wheel as the trailer hopped and the cab shuddered, coming to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke.

She grabbed the Glock, watching the Chevelle for reverse lights or an opening door. This time, she resolved, she’d aim for the shine on his bare skull. A single taillight cast a dim red glow on the torn-up grass, otherwise all remained still.

What was he thinking? She would have figured Joe to shoot out her tires or pepper-spray her when he’d sprayed Atkins. It made no sense. Multiple times he’d broken the one rule he’d drummed into her since childhood: the safest defense was to stay out of range. Then again, nothing made sense anymore, and she was too numb to think straight.

Still there was no movement from the car. Was he trying to lure her into the open?

“Come on, Joe, get out where I can see you.”

Nothing. She’d have to flush him out. But there were lights approaching. She put
RoadKill
in gear and pulled away.

On the moonless night, it was easier to hide in plain sight than try to conceal the Kenworth. Parked beside the Sears Auto Center at the Paramus Park Mall,
RoadKill
’s silhouette blended with the other rigs and trailers. From the dark cab, Hazel had an unobstructed view of all approaches. At that hour the mall was vacant aside from a lone white sedan, labeled “SECURITY,” distinguished by a flashing amber light, slowly making a sweep of the lot.

A silver BMW convertible glided in and parked near the south Sears entrance. Valerie Nelson climbed out and looked around anxiously. It didn’t appear she’d been followed. Hazel fired up
RoadKill
, flipping on the high beams, and Valerie spun, eyes wide, as the truck approached. Hazel stretched across the cab, swinging the passenger door open. “Get in.”

“What’s this about?” Wariness tightened Valerie’s features. “What couldn’t you discuss over the phone?”

“What Keith told me. We had quite an interesting talk earlier this evening. It took some persuasion, but eventually he explained everything.”

Valerie’s face wilted. “Where’s Keith?”

“He’s waiting with Micah. I recorded the whole conversation, if you’d like to hear it. And if anything happens to me, you will. You, Tom, the police, the entire tristate area, tomorrow morning, when a digital copy gets e-mailed to every news network. So here’s the deal: our silence in exchange for half the money. Micah and I disappear along with your little secret, and Tom’s cash remains lost forever.”

It took a moment, but to her credit, Valerie regained some composure. “Sounds fair to me. But I don’t think Keith will agree…”

Despite herself, Hazel giggled, which she realized wasn’t exactly reassuring. She smiled. “Don’t worry, Keith’s very agreeable. Get in and we’ll talk.”

Valerie hesitated, weighing her already limited options, then climbed up, glancing into the empty sleeper as she closed the door. Hazel pulled
RoadKill
onto the service road and turned to Valerie.

“To be honest, woman to woman, I’m impressed. You really screwed over your scumbag husband. Still, I’m curious: how’d you know enough about the operation to pull this off?”

Valerie sat watching the road pass by, her shoulders tight, and her fingers drummed on the door. Finally she leaned back in the seat.

“It’s his own fault. Tom brought it on himself; if he’d just kept his fly zipped, none of this would’ve happened. I’ve known Tom was cheating for years; it only goes to figure, the prick cheated on his first wife with me. What goes around comes around, but I had a feeling he was getting ready to trade me in. Every night he’s down at Hooters, shopping for a newer model. I’m too old to go back to working at that place, and I’ll be damned if after the twelve years I’ve put in I’m going to wind up in some crappy apartment, eating mac-n-cheese while Tom’s latest piece of ass moves into the house I remodeled, drives my car, and swims in my pool.”

Valerie’s words came louder and faster. “If he wanted a divorce, I’d make sure it cost him. Catching him with his pants down was easy; I bought some cell-phone spyware right off the Internet, well worth every cent. I heard a few bimbo calls; I knew where he’d be and when, and I kept records of it all. Then one night I heard Tom arguing with Kessler.”

Hazel wove
RoadKill
through local roads running parallel to Route 17 while Valerie clutched her Coach bag and stared at the passing streetlights. Her voice was steady, but she picked unconsciously at her manicured nails. “Kessler was furious, screaming about Tom wasting money and coming up short. From what I heard, they were moving something with appliance shipments, using the stores to make the money—
lots
of money—look legitimate. At least that’s how it sounded. I wasn’t sure, it was rather cryptic.”

So where did Stevenson figure in, Hazel wondered, and why the decoy truck? She’d ask him when his turn came. Valerie continued, looking somewhat pleased.

“All I knew was that Kessler said if Tom ever came up short again, he was dead, and Kessler made it clear he meant that literally. So I watched and waited and listened for more details. And polished the furniture.” She grinned. “Lucky thing.”

Hazel glanced over. “I don’t follow.”

“Tom’s a slob. You think it’d kill him to put a cup in the dishwasher or use a placemat.” Valeria gave a snort of contempt. “He’s ruined more furniture with scratches and water rings…One day I’m cleaning up some plates and beer bottles he’d left on the dining room table, and I see faint marks in the finish. He must have written on a sheet of paper, and it transferred straight through. Locations, times, everything.” She laughed derisively. “It was just what I needed; a front-row seat to watch Tom crash and burn, not to mention a nice pile of cash. They had Wayne Atkins driving the delivery. I always wondered why Tom ever hired that disgusting man, but I suppose you need someone like that for these sorts of tasks. I just needed someone to intercept the shipment.”

“Keith,” Hazel said. Or Micah, but she didn’t imagine Valerie would mention that.

“That should have been the simple part. Keith could drive the truck, and he was easy enough to persuade. I told him we’d split the money; I had no idea he had his own agenda.”

Hazel nodded. “Ah, yes. Keith’s agenda. Praise God.”

Valerie fussed with her hair like an anxious cat grooming. “It’s the Lord’s money now,” she said, imitating Keith’s tone quite well. “He’s
sick
. You were smart—that, or just plain lucky—steering clear of him. He said back before he was Born Again he killed a woman. They met at a club and left together, they were drunk and ended up fighting. He started hitting her, and he didn’t stop until she was dead. He said even though police never knew he did it, the guilt was unbearable. And that’s when he found Jesus.”

Valerie shook her head. “He said Christ forgave him for killing the harlot, and he vowed he’d serve Him from that day forward. I didn’t know whether he was confessing or trying to scare me, but either way…” She shuddered.

“Psychos for Jesus.” Hazel downshifted, swinging
RoadKill
onto 17 north.

“I was in over my head and I knew it, but I didn’t know what to do anymore. Keith made it clear I’d never see one cent; he said he’d make sure that money was used righteously, and I could see he was starting to think I didn’t fit into those plans anymore.”

Hazel nodded. “Yeah, Keith told me something similar. I guess he figures if Christ paid for our sins, He might as well get His money’s worth. He said he realized you manipulated him for your own greed, that you were a whore sent by Satan to lead him astray.”

Valerie laughed darkly. “Ah, yes. Whore. He was using that term more and more to describe me, especially after that night you showed up. Until then he was sure you were dead. He was obsessed with you; he’d talk about you constantly, how pure you were, just misguided. And once he knew you were still alive…let’s just say our little honeymoon was over. But he’s not going to just give up,” she warned. “Not with me, not with you, and not with the money.”

“Don’t worry,” Hazel assured her. “The less you know the better, but here’s how this works: I take Keith’s share, you keep yours, I tell Micah we’re all set, and no more Keith problems. Nice and simple. The way I see it, it’s a win for everyone. Oh, except for Keith, that is.”

“That sounds fair.” Even in the darkness of the cab, Valerie’s expression visibly brightened. “You know, if anything unfortunate happens to my dear husband, he’s got five million in life insurance.”

“Your point?”

“Just that if Tom had some sort of accident and I had no more Tom problems, I’d happily share the wealth. Think about it. I can’t think of any problem money like that won’t solve.”

Hazel’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I know one.”

Valerie laughed bitterly. “Right. Love. Trust me, it’s way overrated.”

Hazel downshifted and pulled onto the shoulder outside the entrance to a self-storage facility. It was exactly as Keith had described it and would work perfectly for her plans. She set the brakes. “Give me your gate key and wait here,” she told Valerie. “Keith said there’s only cameras, no guards, but I’d rather not end up on the security tape.”

Hazel scouted the front of the building, then slipped out the paintball gun and blinded each security camera. She swiped Valerie’s pass card and disabled the rest of the cameras, then returned to Valerie and
RoadKill
and pulled the truck through the gate.

“Right down that row,” Valerie directed. “Number seventy-one. There.”

Hazel parked beside the unit and killed the engine. She grabbed the backpack and followed as Valerie dug out her keys, unlocked the padlocked unit, rolled up the door, and switched on a fluorescent light. Random appliances were stacked inside and foam fragments littered the floor. A plastic Home Depot bag sat beside
Tuition
’s emergency roadside kit. Hazel opened one of the refrigerators but it was empty.

“Don’t worry, it’s here.” Valerie rolled the refrigerator around, taking a screwdriver from the roadside kit. She pried away the back panel then hacked at the foam insulation beneath. “They hid the money inside the insulation then resealed them with spray foam. I think that’s how they moved whatever they were selling as well. Originally, Keith and I planned to leave this all here until after things cooled down or Tom wound up as landfill in the Meadowlands.” Valerie removed ten ziplocked bricks of cash, lining them up on top of the refrigerator. “Each one’s fifty thousand. Not bad for one night’s work.”

Five more minifridges and eight air-conditioners lined the back wall. Hazel stared at the stacks of drab green paper, revulsion rising. That miserable space could have been filled to the ceiling and she’d still never hear Micah’s laugh or see his grin again.

“And you’ll get rid of Keith and Tom?” Valerie turned, gasping as the dart hit her thigh. “What are you doing?” She yanked it out, confused. “But we agreed…” she stammered, panic rising in her voice.

“I never agreed to anything.” Hazel put the pistol away, pulled out the recorder, and shut it off. “But don’t worry. I’m not taking the money.”

Valerie sank to the floor.

“You thought it all out, didn’t you?” Hazel said. “Did you ever consider what would happen to Micah when the truck vanished? Or would that mess up your plans?”

“It was supposed to be Atkins,” Valerie slurred.

“So I’ve been told.” Hazel reloaded the dart gun, slipping the last two capped darts into her pocket. She picked up the Home Depot bag. Six cans of spray foam, two still full. “But you really didn’t care either way, did you? So here’s how this works: I’m leaving now, and,” she held up the recorder, “I’m calling Tom.”

Valerie’s lips twitched as she made a futile attempt to speak.

“Oh, one last thing,” Hazel said. “You know what all the money in the world can’t do?”

She stepped over Valerie’s limp body and stared into her semi-conscious, slowly blinking eyes. “It can’t bring back the dead.”

Hazel rolled the door down and locked it.