Serenity Engulfed

by Craig A. Hart

  “Now that I’m listening to it sitting across from you, it sounds a lot more ominous,” she said. “I wish I would have called you right away.”

  Shelby shook his head. “I would have done the same as you did. Guys behind bars do all kinds of things if they think it’ll cut their time or draw attention to their case. He was probably hoping to peddle some kind of information in return for publicity or early parole.”

  “Maybe…but still. The more I think about it, the more worried I am he knew something important.”

  A car door slammed outside.

  “That’s probably Mack,” Shelby said. “Now that his divorce is all said and done, he’s started spending more time up here than in Detroit. Not that I blame him. It’s nicer up here and there are a lot of memories for him down there.”

  The front door opened and Mack stepped inside, holding a brown paper bag.

  “I come bearing gifts,” he announced loudly. Then he saw Quinn. “Oh! I didn’t know you had company. How are you, Quinn?”

  “I’m fine, Mack, thank you. How was your drive up?”

  “Not bad. I think I actually drove on more road than potholes this time.”

  Shelby got up to give his friend a bear hug. “It’s awful to see you. What are these gifts you mentioned?”

  “Burgers and fries.” Mack looked at Quinn. “I would have brought extra if I’d known you’d be here, but I’m sure Shel would be happy to share. He doesn’t need all those calories anyway.”

  Shelby scoffed. “If you’re talking about my bay window, it’s still a sight smaller than yours.”

  “I don’t count,” Mack said. “You’re the one who does all the physical stuff, so you need to stay in shape. Me, as long as I can still shoot straight, I’m good to go.”

  “I ate on the way up,” Quinn said, laughing. “And I need to get out of here and check in at my motel.” She stood up and prepared to leave, then turned to Shelby. “Think about my proposal. I think it’ll be of benefit to us both.”

  Shelby stood up and walked her to the door, with Mack watching them, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. The bag of burgers hung precariously from one limp hand.

  Once Quinn had walked down the porch steps and turned for one final wave, Shelby shut the door and turned to his thunderstruck friend.

  “Relax, she wasn’t talking about sex.”

  The trance faded and Mack returned to earth. “Thank the good Baby Jesus for that. I mean, Carly was one thing. A guy can get lucky every now and then. But to strike gold twice—now that would have called for a serious punch in the nuts.”

  “Then I’m happy she resisted my charms.”

  Mack grinned. “Aw, I wouldn’t have done anything. Not on your birthday anyway.”

  “Oh my god, you’re right.” Shelby burst out laughing. “It is my birthday, isn’t it?”

  Mack reached into the burger bag and pulled out a poorly wrapped gift box. “Here, I brought you a stupid present.” He tossed the box onto the dining table. Then, without hesitation, he dropped the burger bag alongside the box and went to the refrigerator for a beer.

  Shelby regarded the gift with mild suspicion. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I thought it was the least I could do. Hell, we’ve been friends since Satan was a toddler.”

  “First of all, that’s redundant—all toddlers are Satan. And secondly, I mean you really shouldn’t have. You’re the worst gift-giver in the world.”

  “You’re welcome. Now open the damn thing so we can get past this lovey-dovey stuff and get back to hating each other.”

  Shelby grinned and picked up the box. “It’s pretty light. I’m guessing you skimped and didn’t go with gold bullion?”

  “I was going to, but it seemed gaudy. And I know you’re the simple type.”

  “I’ve been known to make exceptions.” Shelby examined the wrapping paper. It sported tiny penguins wearing top hats and waving pennants reading Happy Borthday! Shelby raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is a ‘borthday’?”

  “It’s a typo. Which means I got the paper for a quarter.”

  “Awful man,” Shelby muttered.

  “You’re going to rip it off anyway.”

  Shelby fulfilled the prediction by tearing off the paper to reveal a shoebox. He opened it and discovered a folded shoulder holster. He took it out and held it up for inspection.

  “You’re constantly running into dangerous situations without a firearm,” Mack said. “I know you prefer pounding people into submission, but it’s time to start using your head. For something other than pounding people into submission.”

  Shelby turned the holster to catch a stream of morning sunlight coming through a cabin window. “It looks...is this a used holster?”

  Mack shifted uncomfortably. “Yes...but it’s not what you think.”

  “You’re not a cheap bastard?”

  “Well, no, I’m definitely a cheap bastard. But in this case, it’s something else. That holster belonged to my first partner on the police force in Detroit.”

  Shelby paused. “The one who was killed?”

  Mack nodded. “His widow gave it to me at the funeral. Said he’d want me to have it, because I always had his back. You’ve had my back all throughout our friendship, but especially over the last year or two, with all this stuff with Gloria. And now that the divorce is final, I wanted to let you know how much the support has meant to me.”

  Shelby coughed to dispel the lump growing in his throat. “Anybody would have done it. But you’re welcome. And I take back the cheap bastard remark.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll earn it soon enough.”

  Shelby walked over and gave his friend a quick, masculine hug, the kind with awkward back slapping and the avoidance of all eye contact. Then he moved away and busied himself by grabbing a burger from the paper bag.

  4

  Grant Bachmann rolled the joint with shaky fingers. The woman in bed beside him slid sideways on the silky sheets and gently took it from him.

  “Let me do that. You’ll spill and waste it.”

  “I can do it.”

  Grant made a feeble attempt to reclaim the joint, but the woman easily evaded his grasp. His vision was blurry and his brain felt like a seized, rusted engine. It just...wouldn’t...work. He looked over at the woman. She, too, was a blur, but he could tell she was naked, with dark hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He couldn’t make out her features and didn’t remember her name. He wasn’t sure he’d ever known her name. He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to clear the vision. Stumbling to his feet, he staggered to the bathroom and stuck his face under the faucet. The cold stream was shocking, causing him to start and knock his forehead against the metal faucet. He cursed but forced himself to remain stationary. He held the lids open and allowed the water direct access to his eyes. Then he turned off the tap, groped for a towel, and pressed it against his face.

  Water dripped from his head and ran down his body. It was then he realized he was also naked. Feeling suddenly and uncharacteristically shy, he wrapped the towel around his waist before walking back out into the bedroom.

  The woman was where he’d left her. She had lit the joint and sat there, smiling at him with a lungful of smoke. Then she slowly exhaled, her eyes never leaving his.

  “That was quite a night,” she said.

  “Was it?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “It’ll come back to you. And if it doesn’t, that will give me an excuse to remind you.”

  Grant sat down heavily on the bed. He felt short of breath and on the edge of a panic attack.

  The woman moved closer, tugged at the towel, and purred, “You weren’t this shy last night.” She got up on all fours and made clawing motion toward him. Her full breasts swayed and her butt arched upward. She tugged the towel away to reveal Grant’s dick. “Meeeow,” she said.

  Grant retreated toward the headboard, taking the towel with him.

  “Aw,
now you’ve hurt kitty’s feelings,” the woman said.

  “Let it go. I...I don’t feel so good.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder with all you took last night. I was sure I’d wake up to you choking on your own vomit. That’s why I stick with the soft stuff.” The woman waved the joint in the air. “You need crappy fast food. That’ll fix you right up.”

  Grant’s stomach turned at the thought of food.

  “Or maybe you just need a little sexy time,” the woman said.

  Grant frowned and pressed his thumb hard between his eyes. “So…who are you?”

  “My name’s Angel.”

  Grant would have rolled his eyes, had his head not been pounding. “Your real name, not the one you use on stage.”

  The woman’s voice took on an edge. “That is my real name. And I don’t work on stage. You’re not being nice to an angel who worked so hard getting you to heaven. You were so high I thought you’d never finish.”

  “If you’re not a stripper, where’d we meet, then?”

  “Broadmoor and Elm.”

  Grant’s crotch immediately felt like it was on fire. He glanced around, hoping to see a used condom on the bed or the floor, but there was nothing in sight. Shit—there was no telling what he’d picked up. If he’d been as out of it as it seemed and as Angel claimed, the odds he’d worn protection were slim to none.

  “How’d we do it?” he said, his voice cracking a little.

  Angel laughed. “How didn’t we do it? You want me to name positions?”

  “No, I mean...were you riding bareback?”

  “I had one ready, but you refused, even after I said it would cost extra. Speaking of which, if we’re not going again, you think I could get my money?”

  Grant squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the burning away.

  “It’s not that I’m in a hurry. It’s just that I’m still on the clock and if we’re—”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Grant said. He reached over the bed and grabbed his jeans, the movement initiating a wave of nausea. He pulled a wallet from the back pocket and opened it. “How much?”

  “Six hundred.”

  Grant gulped. “Dollars?”

  “We did a lot of stuff last night. I gave you a running tally, but you said it didn’t matter. You’re not broke, are you?”

  Grant shook his head. “No, I—I don’t have that much on me, is all.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “About three hundred.”

  “Are you trying to stiff me? I have my own bills to pay, you know.”

  Grant gathered the towel and eased to his feet. He worked the money from the wallet with one hand and dropped it on the bed. He shrugged apologetically. “That’s all I have. There isn’t any more.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Grant felt a flush of temper rise inside. The pounding in his head increased and all he wanted was to take a million pain pills and go someplace dark and quiet. “Take what you can get and be happy you got it. Three hundred bucks isn’t nothing.”

  “It’s not what I’m worth either.” Angel swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood and walked around the foot of the bed.

  Grant braced himself. “That’s hardly the issue.”

  “And what is the issue?”

  Angel’s entire naked body was shaking with anger and, although Grant couldn’t be sure, something else entirely. Fear, perhaps? What was she afraid of? If she was afraid of him, he might get out of this yet.

  “The issue is I don’t have any more money.”

  The skin on Angel’s face tightened, and all at once, she was much less attractive than she had been moments earlier.

  “If you don’t pay me what you owe, I can’t pay what I owe. I have expenses that if I don’t pay—well, I just need the money.”

  “I don’t have it, lady. I’m between jobs, okay?”

  Angel looked disgusted. “And people give prostitutes shit. At least I’m working for a living.”

  “Will you just go? I can’t pay you.”

  Angel shook her head and dropped into an armchair occupying one corner of the room. “I’m not leaving until I get the rest of my money. I don’t dare.”

  Grant looked at her and saw she meant what she said. She was clearly frightened of something—her pimp, in all probability—which meant all Grant had to do was scare her a little bit more than her pimp did. He cracked the knuckles of one hand against the other palm. He’d give her a little bit of the business. Then she’d get the hell out of his room.

  5

  The fishing spot was deserted when Shelby and Mack pulled up in the old Jeep. Shelby got out, stretched, and looked around at the trees. The leaves moved restlessly in a soft, eddying breeze. Birds chirped and hopped from branch to branch, occasionally swooping down after a buzzing insect.

  Shelby reached into the back of the Jeep and grabbed his rod. He slapped on his old fishing hat, and then waited while Mack gathered his rod and tackle box.

  Mack looked at Shelby. “You look a right old coot in that hat.”

  “I gave up caring what I looked like a long time ago.”

  “Not that long ago. I’d say just since Carly left for New York City.”

  “You’re delusional.” Shelby began walking toward the lake, with Mack following close behind.

  After a couple of minutes, they came through the trees and the inaccurately named Mosquito Bay opened before them. Although correct concerning the mosquito population, at least during wet spells, it was not technically a bay, being contained on all sides by land. But the name, given long ago by settlers who apparently possessed little knowledge of such things, had stuck with the locals. The tourism committee had been attempting to convince everyone to refer to it by its new and official name, Pine Lake, and were slowly winning the battle. Within a generation or two, the name Mosquito Bay would be all but forgotten.

  Shelby approached a rickety old pier that jutted into the water. He tested its strength with one foot and then stepped out. He stood for a moment, feeling a slight sway—but it held. There was no cracking of wood or screeching of rusty nails. He went farther out, stopping twice more to test the pier’s strength. Then he was at the end. He sat down and began prepping his line.

  Mack followed suit, and the pier held him as well. “I can’t believe this thing is still standing,” he said. “Whoever built this should be put in charge of our national bridge system.”

  Shelby chuckled. “Every year, I expect to either find it collapsed or get dropped into the drink. I keep meaning to shore it up but haven’t found the time.”

  Mack settled into a spot at the end of the pier. “How long have you been coming here?”

  “Since I was a kid.”

  “How’d you find it?”

  “I didn’t, actually. It was shown to me. Bequeathed, you might say.”

  “Someone willed you a fishing spot?”

  “Not officially. He didn’t have a will. After his death, his family told me he wanted me to keep fishing this spot.”

  Mack opened his tackle box and began sorting through the contents. “And who is this mysterious benefactor?”

  “I’ve never told you about Old Tom?”

  “Nope. I’d have remembered.”

  Shelby fell silent, lost in thought. He tossed his line into the air and watched as it dropped into the water with a light plop. Water rings radiated outward, mesmerizing him, and he had to shake his head to ground himself. To Shelby, fishing was a spiritual experience. Even though he enjoyed a good fish dinner, it was less about catching the fish and more about the routine and communing with nature.

  “Who’s Old Tom?” Mack said, obviously tired of waiting for Shelby to make contact with his inner self.

  “What?”

  “Old Tom.”

  “Right, sorry. I spaced out there for a second.”

  “More like a minute. Are you okay? Maybe you should go see the doc.”

  “I’m sure Leslie will ask about
that when she’s here.”

  “Your daughter’s coming up?”

  “Can you believe it? Not just for me, though. She has a friend or two in Traverse City. She’s leaving the grandkid with Helen.”

  “Well, how do you like that. You don’t even get a grandkid hug out of it.”

  Shelby smiled. “I know. Although I’m looking forward to spending some time with Leslie, even if it’s just a couple of hours on her way to see someone else.”

  “You need me to get a motel room?”

  “It’s that or the couch, I’m afraid. Once Leslie’s gone, you can move into the guest room.”

  “No problem. I’ll go for the motel. Your couch has more springs than a pogo stick convention.”

  Shelby shook his head in disbelief. “Your jokes get worse every time I see you.”

  “Bad news, pal. That was my best one. It’s all downhill from here. But seriously, I’m glad to hear you and Leslie will get some quality time. I know you two have had your ups and downs.”

  “Indeed we have. Having the kid seems to have mellowed her a bit, though.”

  “Ah, kids. Can’t live with them, can’t get a good tax deduction without them.”

  Shelby’s smile turned into a genuine chuckle. “You’re so sentimental. Now come on. Let’s fish.”

  Shelby and Mack stayed out most of the day, until Mack decided it was time to head back so he could find a room in town. Shelby had kept his phone close and ready, hoping to hear from Leslie, but by that evening, there was still no sign of her.

  As hard as he tried, Shelby couldn’t help but feel the cold fingers of anxiety creep into his thoughts. Why was she so late? Where was she? What was she doing? Was she in a ditch somewhere? Did she get sideswiped by a semi? He knew the odds were good that she was completely okay and simply took a detour or stopped at a winery on the way. Children, even the grown-up variety, didn’t always think to let a waiting parent know they would be later than usual. Even though a parent herself, Leslie was still too new on the job to understand the workings of a parent’s mind.