by Jack Hardin
“Thank you,” he said. “May life be kind to you.”
She stepped in and gave him a long hug. It was the kind of hug he imagined his mother might give him were she still alive. He heard her sniffle and then she let go. With a final, teared-stained glance at him, Sharla Potter disappeared into the trees.
Chewy sat back down. He was in no hurry to leave. In fact, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want all this to be over. He knew what he should tell himself. It was what all his prophets of personal power said to do in times of great loss. But Jared “Chewy” Robinson didn’t want to say that tonight. He didn’t even want to think it. He would never work with Ringo again, or Andrés, or Sharla, and the millions of dollars that they gave every year to help cancer-ridden children would be missed.
And then, a thought crossed his mind.
____________________
“Reardon’s dead?” Ellie said. “He killed himself?”
“No. He was assassinated.”
She felt rush of pleasure and relief at that. “Do we know who did it?”
Frank reached a hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “I was asked to give you this.” He slipped something hard and cold into his daughter’s hand.
Ellie squinted through the lack of light and quickly recognized the 7.62×51mm shell casing. Her fingertips went to the base, and when she felt where a cross had been scratched into the brass she gasped. It was his marking. She looked up, dumbfounded. “You’ve been working with Brian? Brian took out Reardon?”
“Yes. Once Reardon gave me access to his files, we could see that he was the one eliminating everyone from your old team. Brian didn’t tell me his plans.”
“But you knew he would. You didn’t stop him.”
“Reardon came after my daughter.”
Their father was alive, and Ellie realized that she and Katie were the lucky ones. That all the hard was unraveling, spinning into something good again. “I’ve missed you with everything I am.”
“Me too, Ellie.”
“How is he?” she asked. “Brian?”
“He’s seen some personal tragedy, but he’s getting through it. He got caught up in Reardon’s collateral damage too.”
She caught the vagueness of his reply and chose not to press. “You had Ryan Wilcox give me the picture?”
“I couldn’t have you and Katie believing a lie any longer. It had all gone on far longer than I had anticipated. Reardon was exceptional at compartmentalizing. Hanson assigned Ryan over to my team. When he went to Panama to speak with Virgil, it was against my recommendation. That may be what got him into their crosshairs.”
“Their? Who else was working with Reardon?”
“Mortimer, for one. As soon as your team dissolved, he went into hiding. From everything I can tell he’s been working alongside Reardon ever since. Brian is on a personal mission to track him down next.”
No sooner had he let off speaking than a gloomy revelation came to Ellie the way an awful dream surfaces after you wake up. The truth had been here the last twenty minutes. They were sitting in the dark. Her father was wearing a hoodie, something she had never seen on him before. A sad smile crossed her lips. “You’re not staying, are you?”
“I have more to do, Ellie.”
She looked down at her hands. “Are you telling Major?”
“No. The less who know, the better. But I’m stopping at the house to see Katie after I leave here.”
Being here with him was like listening to John Denver or James Taylor while a salty breeze tossed your hair and a generous sun warmed your skin; where somewhere in the distance children could be heard playing in the water, giggling, laughing, splashing. It made you feel like you were home, that, at least for this moment, all was right in a crazy world. “How long?” She braced herself.
“A year. Maybe two. I can’t be sure.”
“Wasn’t it you who told me once not to be gone for very long?”
“Yes. I believe it was.”
She leaned in and set her hand over his. “Don’t be gone much longer, Daddy. We need you around here.”
They stood and reached for each other. When they embraced, Ellie breathed in and the smells of her youth rolled over her. Smells that were just...him. He let her go and took her hand in his.
“You come back to me. To us.”
“I promise, Ellie. I’ll come back.”
And then, against everything inside her she let his hand slip from hers. He blinked and a tear escaped and disappeared into his beard. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “So very proud of you.” Then he walked to the back door and was gone.
Ellie wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh or cry or both. Instead, she headed for the garage to flip the living room breaker.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Ellie parked her father’s El Camino in the crushed shell parking lot at the southern end of Henley Canal. As she walked up the ramp to the bar, she saw Tyler on a ladder, paintbrush in hand, alternating his brush between a can of paint and the outer edge of the new fascia.
His red, sun-faded Hornady hat was backward on his head. He wore a gray T-shirt that fit snugly around his arms. The only thing missing was a dab of paint on his cheek, or shirt, or something. Maybe that would be too cliché, she thought. He did a double take when he saw her. “What are you doing down here?” he asked. “It might not be safe.”
She looked around to make sure they were alone. “My dad. He came to see me last night.”
“What?” Tyler set his paint brush into a jar of paint thinner and looked down at her.
“It turns out he’s been working undercover for the good guys.”
“You’re kidding, Ellie. So he’s back for good?”
“No. He has some loose ends to tie up. Soon enough, I hope.”
He stepped off the ladder, and when he turned fully toward her she saw where a thin dollop of paint had grazed his cheek. She grinned.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” he said.
“Okay, it’s not nothing. But I’m not going to tell you.”
She quickly turned her attention to the restaurant. “You did a great job with this.”
“Thanks. I see what you just did,” he said.
“And how is your mama these days?”
“You just did it again.”
She wrinkled her nose at him.
He set his brush into a jar of paint thinner. “Follow me.” He led her inside the covered seating area and put his hands on his hips. “Everything’s all done in here. Just finished painting.”
“It looks great.”
Tyler nodded around the room, thinking that he very much agreed with her. “Yeah, so...how’s your head feeling?”
“Still tender. Fine other than that.” She looked up at him and when their eyes met a flutter passed through her stomach. “Thanks again for getting Deneford for me.”
“Glad to.” He scratched at his chin. “So...this thing,” he waved his fingers between them, “between us. What do you say we quit playing around like a couple teenagers and make it official?”
A chair stood between them. “You want to make the chair official? I don’t even know what that means.”
He sent an eyebrow toward a rafter. She stepped around the chair and moved closer to him until she could feel the warmth of his chest and smell the musky scent of his sweat. She lifted her chin, then brought her mouth onto his. They lingered before she broke away just enough to say, “I love you.”
His voice was soft and confidential. “And I love you, Ellie.” He rested his strong hands on her hips. “I feel like there should be a fireworks show over the water right now,” he said. “At least a Texas size laser show.”
“There are fireworks,” she said, and raised up and kissed him again. She slid a hand around to the back of his head and opened her mouth to him. When they finally broke the kiss, she said, “Just not over the water.”
“Indeed.”
<
br /> “Heyyy.” They both turned and looked in the direction of the heavily accented voice. Fu Wang was standing outside on the deck. The rain flaps were raised, giving him a clear view inside. He smiled large, his eyes nearly squinting shut, and gave them a double thumbs up. He puckered his lips and made a kissing sound. “Good, Tyler. Good, good.”
“Oh boy,” Ellie whispered. Fu bobbed back to the bar. “Within thirty seconds Gloria will have everyone at the bar hearing about this,” she said.
“You ashamed of me?” Tyler asked.
“No, but I would have liked to have told people on our own terms.” She looked up and searched his face. “Tyler, if you do something stupid and screw this thing up I’m going to—”
“Ellie, you used to kill people for a living. You think I’m going to mess this up?”
She traced the line of his jaw with her finger and then ran it lightly across his lips. “I’m glad you know about that.”
“Come on then,” he said. He slid his fingers into hers. “Let’s get out there before Fu tells Gloria that I’m a better kisser than you.”
“That’s debatable.”
“And I’m happy to debate it.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
He had always liked the smell of gasoline. Not in a sniff and get high kind of way, but in the way someone will say they love the smell of fresh cut grass, new tires, or sawdust. After today, Andrés Salamanca knew that he would hate the smell of gasoline for the rest of his life.
Late last night, after he and Chewy moved Ringo’s books into a climate controlled storage facility in Cape Coral, they returned to the mansion and spent the next five hours wiping everything down to ensure no fingerprints were left behind. Just in case.
They left the front door open and as they walked around the fountain and down the long driveway they freely spilled the gas behind them. The Malibu and an old Ford Focus were parked at the end of the driveway at the road that snaked through the neighborhood. They stopped pouring fifty feet from the door, then capped the gas cans and set them into the trunk of the Focus.
Andrés brought out a lighter. Both men leaned back against the car and looked at the house, each reviewing their own personal memories. Chewy broke the silence. “Andrés?”
“Yes, my friend.”
“You’re a good man.”
Andrés’s chest rose and fell as he took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Life has not given me many friends. You are a friend, Chewy.”
“So I’ll see you when you get back from Mexico?” Chewy said. “Are sure you’re on board?”
“I am, my friend. You know I am.” With that, he clapped Chewy on the shoulder and stepped over to where the shiny slick of gasoline stopped. He leaned down and flicked the lighter at the edge of the gas. He moved back as the liquid ignited with a muffled fhmmp and orange and blue flames raced toward the front door as if late for a family reunion. The two men watched the flame whip around the fountain and enter the front door, a pyromaniac’s final fantasy.
Then they quickly got into their cars and sped down the road as an orange glow began to flicker across the sleeping neighborhood.
____________________
The late morning sun warmed Ellie’s back as she sat at the bar, enjoying an early beer. Jack Johnson was flowing from the speakers above the bar, his soft vocals singing about how life is always better when we’re together. Every barstool was taken, and many stood behind her and flowed onto the boardwalk. Major had opened The Salty Mangrove a half hour early, having invited friends and business owners from all over the island for an announcement. Members of the Chamber of Commerce and the Rotary Club were present, Jean Oglesby and Sharla and Gary Potter among them.
Gloria slurped down some of her daiquiri and turned to Ellie. “It sure is nice to have you back down here, Ellie. It’s been strange not having you around. They get those drug people?”
“If they haven’t,” she said, “they’re well on their way.”
“I just can’t believe that about Quinton.”
Ellie couldn’t believe a lot of things right now, and, before she could find a reply, Major came out of the kitchen with a couple food baskets filled with blue crab cakes. “Ralphie made these special,” he said. “You guys eat up.”
Hands went for the food, and Gloria said, “Warren, I was telling Fu that I think you should let your hair grow out.” She eyed his head, his graying auburn hair that was buzzed close to the scalp. “I’ll bet you’d look handsome if you let it grow out.”
“I’ll have you know that I already look handsome.” He came out from the bar and rubbed his hands together. “All right, you guys. I have little announcement.” He waited as everyone stepped in closer and gave him their attention. “You all will know that Kyle Armstrong, the owner of the Wild Palm, had a bad accident of sorts several weeks ago.” Everyone nodded. “Well, after some conversation and looking at the books, he and I have decided to join hands in the distillery. He and I will be partners from now on.”
Everyone cheered in some form or fashion, and Fu could be heard chanting “free...free...free” although it sounded more like fee. “And yes, Fu,” Major said, “everyone will leave here today with a bottle.” For the next half hour people clapped him on the back, congratulated him, and told him how happy they were that the Wild Palm would remain well managed.
Eventually he got back behind the bar.
Ellie looked to Major. “You want to go for a walk?” she asked.
“With you, always.” He filled a glass with Miller Lite, and slid it to someone at the end of the bar. He wiped his hands on a dish towel. When he stepped back into the sunlight, his gold watch dazzled across his wrist. “Let’s go.”
____________________
Ellie slipped her sandals off at the bar and strolled barefoot next to Major. They made their way across the boardwalk to the Norma Jean pier. “Tyler did a great job helping with the restaurant repairs,” he said. “He’s a good man.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“You two—”
“I think so.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Major. I’m...sorry about Quinton. I know how much he meant to you.”
Major was silent for some time, while the water lapped at the pilings beneath them and a gull drifted over. “He was. He’s with his little girl now. He and Katrina are finally together. I’m not sure I’m in a place to talk about it any more than that.”
“Okay.”
“Something else is on your mind,” he said.
“Garrett,” she said. “I just can’t believe he…” She couldn’t bring herself to say “betrayal.” It wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t strong enough. She shook her head. “And he hung himself. What a coward.”
“Yes,” Major spoke slowly. “He was that.”
“I didn't know Garrett was a distant cousin to Quinton. Did you?”
“I’m guessing now that there were several things Quinton never told me. How’s your head?” he asked.
“Sore. The doctors said I’m not allowed to let anyone try to burn me alive for the next few weeks.”
“I’m sorry, kiddo. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
“Major, I—”
“You know,” he interrupted. “I don’t think I ever told you about the time my grandfather saved my life.”
“No, I don’t guess you ever did.”
He put his hands on the railing and looked out over the water. “I was eight, almost nine years old. At the time, I lived in Minnesota. Bemidji, to be precise. Fall had just turned to winter, and it being my first year there I was aching to get out on the ice.”
“My grandfather was a special man. He was tall and wide would always let me run my fingers through his white beard. I used to call him Santa Claus, and there were times as a young boy I actually thought he might be. On this particular afternoon my grandfather was coming back in from a pheasant hunt. His gun was slung ac
ross his back, and three or four birds were hanging from a game strap at his side. He was walking along a snowy trail that hugged the edge of the pond and waved me down. I had skipped out on my chores and had run out to the lake. By the time I saw my grandfather passing by, I had been sliding over the ice with my shoes on for over half an hour. He started to call out to me, but I couldn’t hear from where I was. As I got closer he began making urgent gestures with his arms.”
“He wanted you off the ice,” Ellie said.
“I was too stupid to know that. I kept coming closer until I finally heard him saying something about the wind and the trees and the ice. He had been trying to tell me that I was on an area of the pond that had not fully frozen. But I ended up walking further into it. I stopped when I got close enough to hear him. When I did, the ice cracked. My legs shot down, and it was my arms that kept me from going all the way under.”
Major ran the flat of his hand across his head. “My grandfather threw off the birds and his gun and ran over to the edge of the pond. He couldn’t get to me from there, so he stomped hard on the ice. His big feet went through like heavy boulders and found the bottom of the pond. He kept that up until he couldn’t get his feet above the ice. But by then I was able to reach for him. He pulled my wrist and I scrambled up out of the water. He grabbed me and started plodding his way back through the water. By this time my teeth were chattering and I couldn’t feel anything below my waist.” Major shook his head. “We weren’t ten feet from the snowy grass when my grandfather yelled out and let me go. I fell into the water but found my footing on the bottom. When I looked back on him, his eyes had grown wide with what was clearly intense pain. He was clutching at his chest and trying to stand up. I watched him helplessly for a full minute before he fell face down in the dark water, dead.” Major paused, his voice now thick with emotion. “I stood chest high in freezing water, pulling on his arm, trying in vain to move him out of the water. I just couldn’t do it. A neighbor who had a cabin down the way finally heard my screams and grabbed him up. I had pneumonia for two weeks after that. Had to miss his funeral.”
