by Jed Power
Chapter 41
Dan should've known better right from the beginning. That money came from the same crummy merry-go-round that had screwed him up in the first place, the same shit that lost him his business and his family. He didn't need to be a Rhodes Scholar to know that the thing that'd almost destroyed him wasn't likely to be the thing to turn it all around.
He glanced at the two men waiting for him on the jetty. One of those jerks was a foulmouthed character who'd called Dan in the middle of the night, making demands and topping the demands off with threats. This new guy wanted the gym bag and what was in it.
That's when Dan decided that the only way this nightmare was ever going to end was if he put an end to it.
It was low tide and he had about a hundred yards to go before he reached the jetty. It was a beautiful morning, one of those days you could actually see the Isle of Shoals twelve miles out, smell the salt air. There was a light breeze with a flock of squawking gulls circling overhead.
Out on the water a billowing sail caught his eye and he let himself dream for a moment that he was out there on that boat playing in the wind instead of walking toward the jetty and who knew what.
Dan glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Boar's Head and it actually took a few seconds before it dawned on him what was missing up there–Tony Peralta's mansion. There was just a big empty space like a jack-o'-lantern's smile where it used to be.
He'd taken care of that problem. He'd take care of this one, too.
Dan pressed his arm against the .38 tucked in his windbreaker pocket. He'd heard about the shootout on the radio. Two men and a cop dead, cocaine confiscated. At least the coke wouldn't be getting out on the street, that was something. But a cop dead? How responsible for that was he? That's what he'd been fretting over when he got the call.
Had to be a pal of the dead Hispanic. No one else knew he had the money.
The gym bag in his hand felt heavy, money heavy. Last night he'd realized that handing over two hundred grand wasn't going to protect anyone. Whoever was after the money couldn't let him leave this meet alive. No, the only way he was going to walk away from this was if he took action first. He had to take the chance; it was the only hope–for his family, for himself, for everybody.
Dan was about thirty feet away from the jetty when he stopped. He waited as the bigger of the two men, wearing a black leather car coat and sunglasses, got up and stepped forward. The other one, a skinny guy who looked like a real sleaze, followed close behind. Dan's heart lurched as the big man reached into the pocket of his coat. If a gun came out that fast, it'd queer everything. He wouldn't have a chance. His heart slowed a half beat when the big man's hand came out, flipped open what looked like a billfold, and flashed what looked like a badge.
"D.E.A., Marlowe. You're in deep shit here."
What the hell could he say? He'd never considered the whole thing might be a bust. Instead of worrying about shooting someone or being shot, he was suddenly in danger of going to prison.
"Put the bag down," D.E.A. said.
Dan slowly lowered the bag to the sand without saying a word.
"It's all there?"
Dan nodded.
"Come on, Buzz. Get the bag and let's get outta here," the skinny guy said in a whiney, high-pitched voice. He pulled at the big man's sleeve like a little kid. For a minute, it looked like the big man was going to clock the skinny guy. Instead, he shook his arm free. "Will you shut the fuck up before I give you one, too."
Give you one, too? Dan didn't like the sound of those words. If he bolted for the jetty, scrambled over the rocks, and dove into the ocean, would he make it? A more realistic question might be how many bullets would he have inside him before he hit the water and could he survive? But if this cop–if he was a cop– was going to shoot him, maybe Dan could get his gun out first.
He was just about to make his move when he saw two men running down the side of the dune. Both men had guns and they were headed straight towards him.
"Freeze. Police!" one of them shouted.
Dan didn't move. The skinny guy jumped behind the fed who spun around and pulled out a gun. He kept the gun at his side, waved the badge in the air. "Easy. I'm a federal agent."
The two men kept coming on fast, the one out in front screaming unintelligibly. The second man was shouting too. At the man in front of him?
As they got closer, Dan realized he knew these two crazies. Conover and Bartolo. The two state cops. Bartolo was out front, waving his gun like a madman.
"Look out. He's got a gun!" Bartolo shouted.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dan could see the fed waving his badge. Just then Bartolo fired two shots in quick succession. Both slugs caught the fed square in the chest, throwing him backwards into the skinny man's arms before he slid down onto the sand.
"Vinny, no!" Conover screamed.
Bartolo, teeth bared, swung the gun in Dan's direction. Dan didn't even have time to be scared. His whole body jerked when he heard the next gunshot, but he didn't fall. Instead, Bartolo collapsed like a sack of shit right at Dan's feet.
Conover stood just beyond Bartolo, his legs spread, his pistol still pointed at his downed partner. His face was as paper white as Dan imagined his probably was. One look at Conover's eyes told Dan he was going to live.
Dan took a deep breath and went over to the fed. He felt for a pulse.
Nothing. Conover did the same with Bartolo.
Looked like the cop was gone, too. The skinny guy just stood there whimpering and shaking like a leaf, a wet stain spreading down the front of his pants. No one moved as rusty red spread through the sand around the bodies.
Finally, Conover nodded at the blue gym bag. "How much is in there?"
"About a dozen."
"A dozen what?"
"Rocks."
"Where's the money?"
"What money?"
They both looked back at the bodies.
Dan could hear voices, like in a dream, coming closer. Someone close by shouted. Sirens sounded off in the distance. The tide was coming in, waves lapping closer and closer to the bodies. He wondered briefly if maybe he should pull the bodies out of the way. After all, they were both cops.
Instead, he watched the water come in, turn red, and swirl back out to sea.
