The sheriff threw his smoke on the ground and crushed it out. What’s taking Cuke so fucking long, he wondered.
“I appreciate you trying to be honest with me, James. But it doesn’t suit you. Because you and I both know that you’re just another confused white boy badass wannabe.”
“Do you have to insult me?”
“Yeah. Because it makes me feel good dammit. And I won’t believe a word until I get Cuke to search you and the trunk.”
“Why didn’t you do it in the first place, instead of sending Cuke into the house?”
“I wanted to make sure you hadn’t done anything wrong in there. There’s nobody hurt in there or anything?
“Jesus, Sheriff. You know me better than that. You just said I didn’t have it in me. What’s taking Coach so long? He must be using the can or something. Or making himself a sandwich…”
The sheriff kept silent and lit another cigarette. The thought of food made him feel suddenly starved. How long had it been since he’d eaten? All he’d thought about was Cuke’s whiskey. He hadn’t even asked him for something to eat.
They should’ve just ignored him, not even stopped. Who cares if he steals the dentist’s car? Probably insured the hell out of the thing anyway. If there’s nothing on him or in the trunk, you might as well not waste your time on the punk.
James tilted his head so he could see into the sheriff’s face. “You okay Dawkins?”
“I’d like to know what in the hell is taking Cuke so long. I should have told him that he was too old for this shit.”
“Well it was you who deputized him, wasn’t it?”
“No. I only asked if I could borrow his car. And a few guns.”
It would have been too easy to keep screwing with the Sheriff, but James decided to let it ride. At first he’d wanted to mix it up for old times, that if he was indeed going down he might as well have a good time on the way. But the feeling had passed and he’d lost the taste for it. He saw a shadow move next to the dentist’s house and soon a figure emerged into the moonlight.
Coach Cuke appeared much older than James remembered him. His hips had gone to hell, making it hard for him to walk very fast. He held a rifle James had seen him carrying during elk season.
“Cuke,” said the sheriff, turning. “What the hell happened?
“Nobody in there Sheriff. Doesn’t look like he stole nothing either except some candy bars and a drink. A few clothes maybe.”
The sheriff turned around and brought up the pistol. “Why did you need clothes? What’s wrong with your old ones, James?’
“I told you. I was down near the jetty and got hit by a sneaker wave. I was completely soaked and freezing to death.”
“Or maybe your old clothes got blood on them?”
“Give me a break dude. You think I enjoy wearing his clothes? They smell like booze, man. Booze and ass. Listen, I knew I was doing wrong, but I did it anyway. We’re all in kind of survivor mode right now, aren’t we? And when I saw this car I heard a voice inside that told me I needed to drive this car. It told me it would change my life.”
Cuke stepped up beside the sheriff. He seemed to be enjoying himself. He glanced at the sheriff’s cigarette and shook his head. The sheriff dropped it on the ground and crushed it out with his shoe.
“What do we do next, sheriff? I thought we were going after Russians, not punks like home slice over there.”
“I don’t know what to do. I see a whole lot of things I could nail him for. Breaking and entering, grand larceny. But what if he says he’ll never come back to my county ever again? What if I make him write it in his own blood?”
Cuke’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m only joking, Cuke. What do you say James? Let us have a quick look and we’ll be on our way?’
James palmed the.38 through the hoodie. He’d managed to shift it forward. Could he get it out fast? He’d smelled alcohol when the sheriff lit his smoke. All he had to do was watch for those drunken gazes at nothing and he’d have a few seconds or more to make a move.
“Did you hear me James?” Dawkins asked.
“Where do you want to start?”
“You can start by popping the trunk and keeping your hands on the dash where I can see them. Cuke, you go on and check it.”
They all heard it, the van’s engine angry with spit and sand, then a dark form roaring up the tree-lined road like a ghost.
It skidded to a stop and a light came on inside. Cuke and Dawkins backed up next to Cuke’s Mercury in a hurry. James watched the driver’s window move down. As the smoky glass dipped further, he saw that the side of the man’s face was raw and bleeding. It’s from the shrapnel, he thought. When Ann had shot at him, he’d been hit by pieces of exploded mussel shell.
The van’s headlights were off and any red lights that may have existed had been smashed. A clear sign of desperation. James recognized the sound of the engine. It had gone by the dentist’s house several times while he’d been inside.
The Russian got out of the van and walked up to the Skylark, let his eyes drift briefly over it. He raised the sawed-off and smiled.
“Your car?” he asked politely.
Chapter 38
The boat had broken free and drifted into a small cove that lay before the jetty, the last stop before crushing waves spat out whatever escaped to the open sea.
At low tide there was a crescent shaped beach where the sea lions sometimes came to sleep off a successful lunch. Black waves now lapped against a rocky slope. The beach was gone. When Ann was younger she would spend hours watching sea lions slog around on their bellies. Belching and barking, trading stories and frequently acting out slapstick scenes. Like the elk, they also had a presence about them that drew her in, although to entirely different places. She’d decided long ago that they must have given us their sense of humor.
As she got to the end of the bank she noticed the boat was being circled by driftwood and plastic bottles. From a distance it had looked much closer to shore.
You can’t get back in the water again. You just got dry.
She combed the shore for anything that might be useful, couldn’t find any rope or wire to make a catch-line. It was looking hopeless. Either she waded out into the cold water or she walked back the way she’d just come.
What are you going to do now?
She sat on a rock and studied the boat for several minutes, noticing how it had come closer to shore and then circled back around along the edge of a ridge-backed current moving swiftly past. While she watched, several driftwood logs spun off from the boat-nucleus and got swept up by a stronger current, the bay’s conduit to the open sea. It would only be a matter of time, she realized, before the boat would also complete a final circuit in the cove before escaping.
If she made it inside the boat, there wouldn’t be a lot of time for her get the motor started. Assuming that the motor would start. She never trusted gas engines much, had never developed a knack for them.
Because her leg burned so much from the saltwater, she almost welcomed the cold. She waded out toward the boat, afraid the next step could be a drop off into far deeper water. Her breath quickened and she began to shiver. She thought she saw some seals raise their heads to watch her.
This is suicide and you know it.
When the water reached chest height, she could no longer feel her feet, didn’t even know if she was drifting over deeper water or not. Then all of a sudden she felt as if something were pulling her straight out to the main current.
This is it. This is how you’re going to die. You’ll become one of those fog ghosts for sure.
The boat was behind her now, closer to shore than she was. She breast stroked as hard as she could to go back, but her arms went numb. And then she remembered she wasn’t alone, that she was accompanied by an entourage of circling drift wood. When she kicked toward one log to grab hold of it, her eddy sent it out into the main current where it abruptly turned and floated out of sight.