by Jed Power
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Epilogue
It was a couple of weeks after the shootings at the jetty, the second Sunday in September and the last day of the Hampton Beach Seafood Festival. Dan never missed the Festival no matter what happened. It was his favorite weekend of the year. The crowd was the same size as the crowd on a hot summer Saturday in July, but the people weren't the same. Different people. New people. Good for people-watching people.
Ocean Boulevard was closed to traffic starting at H Street which was fine with him. A day like today was made for walking. When Dan reached the festival entrance, he held up his arm to show a volunteer the plastic wristband allowing him entrance and was waved through.
Nice to be able to strut down the middle of the boulevard without having to worry about being clipped by some joyriding kid. A lot of other people must have felt the same way because Ocean Boulevard was packed. The weather was picture perfect–endless blue sky mirrored by the ocean below, temperatures like a warm fall day, sun just warm enough to take the chill off the air. Most everyone was gorging on something. As people strolled by, Dan made a game out of telling what people were eating without even looking at them. The air was filled with the aromas of seafood of all kinds, sausage subs, BBQ chicken, chili, Chinese food, and other aromas he couldn't quite put a finger on.
Beyond the Chamber of Commerce building Dan could see more than a half dozen large tents set up in the street for the food purveyors. His copy of the Seafood Festival magazine told him there were about fifty seacoast restaurants participating this year, plus the usual Arts & Crafts tents, and the beer tent. There was also a lot of entertainment, just as there was every year.
Dan strolled along, checking out the food and weaving around people. The Seafood Festival drew a different kind of crowd than the beach got during summer weekends. The people here today were older. Made him feel almost young in comparison. And there were a lot more good-looking women in his age bracket too. Teenagers weren't the dominant age group on Ocean Boulevard. At least not this weekend.
Dan rounded the last tent and started down the other side with the ocean on his left. When he got to Tent #4 he stopped at the High Tide's tables. He hadn't worked at the restaurant since just before the incident at the jetty. Dianne was there, wearing a large white chef's hat and apron and overseeing a big pot of clam chowder along with a display filled with fat lobster rolls.
Dianne looked up from stirring the chowder, caught his eye, and smiled. She grabbed two lobster rolls and handed them across the table. When he offered money, she reached over, took his hand, and pulled him close.
"Dan, what we talked about?" she said in his ear. "You managing the Tide? Maybe buying it back eventually? You decide anything?"
Dan shook his head. "To tell you the truth, Dianne, I don't feel up to being the boss of anything right now. Not even the Tide. Thanks though."
Dianne smiled and nodded. "Just remember–another summer like this, and I might end up in a looney bin and it'll be your fault."
A tall man behind Dan yelled for lobster rolls. Dianne squeezed Dan's hand, pulled away slowly, and got back to business. Dan watched her for a moment, then turned and walked away.
He headed for the gray railing that ran the length of the beach, looking for a spot free of people where he could stand and demolish the lobster rolls. The Hampton Police were pushing fried clams at their stand. A couple of cops watched him pass by. He had no idea how they felt about what had transpired on the beach recently and he didn't really care.
He finally found a little free space on the railing to lean his butt against, a spot just opposite Tent #3, the Gladys and Louie Pub. He had no idea who Gladys and Louie were, probably fictional. The smell of fresh beer wasn't though. He recognized one of the kitchen people from the High Tide checking ID's at the Pub's entrance. She looked up, saw Dan, and jokingly called to him that she was going to check his ID if he tried to come in. He smiled and gave her a wave in return. It was good to see some people were acting, or at least trying to act, as if nothing unusual had happened to him recently.
As Dan munched on one of the rolls he started to wonder again if he'd done the right thing–walking down to the jetty like he was on a Sunday stroll. The media had played the incident up big. No surprise there.
The whole story had come out: how the fed, Buzz Craven, had ripped off a load of cocaine belonging to Boston mobster Dominic Carpucci, and murdered the two men transporting the coke; how Shamrock Kelly had seen Craven and his associate stash the coke in a local cottage, then broken in and transferred it to the High Tide cellar where Dan had eventually found it; how Jorge Rivera, a Carpucci lieutenant, had killed Carpucci in an attempt to take over Carpucci's racket only to be killed himself by police who confiscated the cocaine; how Vincent Bartolo, the state cop, apparently went loopy with the thought of all that coke and money floating around and had to be shot dead like a mad dog, but not before he killed the fed and gave Dan a quick mental review of his own life.
What surprised Dan the most was that Ray Conover hadn't even tried to whitewash what his partner had done down there at the jetty. He'd told it straight, even on TV when a camera crew had caught up with him although he didn't look any too happy about it. He'd looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. But still, he'd told it straight and Dan had to admire the man for that.
He'd even backed Dan up when D. E. A. agents and another bunch from the Attorney General's office had questioned him. Although Dan wasn't sure he'd actually needed the help. It seemed that everyone wanted to bury the case as fast as possible and get it off the front pages. Dan had been informed that no charges would be brought against him and that had been that. Within days, the Attorney General held a press conference saying that the investigation was complete, and he was satisfied that all guilty parties had been accounted for in what he called, "this unfortunate incident." What the Attorney General implied though, and what the media and public loved, was that all the bad guys had killed each other off and gotten their just rewards.
Dan glanced to his right as a group of people walked down one of the concrete stairways onto the sand.
"Which way is it?" one of them asked. A man pointed south towards the jetty. The spot had become a real tourist attraction. Hopefully, the attraction would die off. The beach there was a favorite spot to a lot of people, himself included. Christ, the people who lived in that area might forgive him for being involved in this whole mess, but they'd never forgive him if that end of the beach became a little Graceland.
Dan was swallowing the last bite of his second lobster roll when Ray Conover suddenly materialized out of the crowd and walked up to him. Conover was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, something Dan had never seen him in before.
He squeezed in beside Dan and hopped up on the railing. For a while neither of them said anything.
"Looks a lot different without the mansion there anymore." Conover nodded toward Boar's Head.
Dan looked at the empty space sitting high on the cliffs. "Yeah, it does. But I'm getting used to it."
"Peralta probably isn't." Conover kicked his feet against the lower rail. "He wouldn't have been able to enjoy it much longer anyhow. I heard he's going to be indicted on some serious drug charges soon."
"Too bad," Dan said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm.
"Yeah, isn't it."
"What about Shamrock?"
"I don't think they'll bother charging him. No one can prove that he actually had the coke in his possession. Besides, what happened to him was probably punishment enough."
"I know he's well on his way to becoming a Hampton Beach legend."
"Yeah. They got Peralta's hammerhead gorilla for assault plus dope. Heavy record. He'll be decrepit by the time he gets out."
"The skinny guy? Halliday?"
"There wasn't anyone left for him to give up, but they still had to slap him to shut him up. He told the Buzz and Sk
inny story from beginning to end, over and over and over again."
Both men sat there for a few minutes watching people stuff their faces as they passed by. For some reason, none of that food smelled as good to Dan as it had a bit earlier.
He wanted to say something to Conover, but he wasn't sure exactly what or how. He hadn't seen the man in person since the day at the jetty and had no idea how Conover felt about what went down. Only one way to find out. "I want to thank you for what you did at the jetty."
"I had to do it." Conover stared straight ahead, although Dan got the feeling he wasn't really looking at anything or anyone. "I didn't have much of a choice."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd known for a while that something was wrong with my partner, but I'd never thought it was serious. It may sound a bit naive. The way the news puts it all together, cops crack every day. Maybe they do, but I'm telling you I didn't see it coming."
Conover let out a deep sigh. "Vinny Bartolo? He was like my brother, we worked so close for so long. When Vinny started acting strange, I just figured it was Vinny kidding around or something. Later, I thought it was the stress from the job and that it would pass. You have to remember–he was like my flesh and blood. I never really believed that Vinny could go bad. Not until he swung that gun on you. Christ, if he hadn't done that, he probably could've gotten away with telling me he shot Craven because he thought he was going to shoot us. I probably would've bought it. That's how much I believed in the guy. But when I saw you just standing there and Vinny drawing down on you, I knew the truth in a heartbeat. So I killed him. I have to live with that. And no, you don't owe me any thanks. Like I said, I had to do it. It's not something I want or deserve thanks for."
For a moment the only sounds were the waves against the sand, people passing by, and gulls squawking overhead.
"You must've heard about that Boston lawyer setting up a trust fund for Shamrock Kelly's rehab," Conover finally said. "Expensive. It'll be a long haul."
"Yeah."
"Anonymous donor, I heard. Strange though."
"Yeah?"
"There were big donations to funds for the families of Vinny Bartolo and Bumpers, the Saugus cop, too. All anonymous."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. For shits and giggles, I poked around a little. Seems the same lawyer that set up the Kelly trust also fronted for the Bartolo and Bumpers donations."
"Hmm."
"The whole ball of wax ended up being around a couple hundred grand. Should do a lot of good."
The loudspeakers squawked, announcing discounted foods at various booths. Every year, near the end of the festival, any purveyor with food still left dropped the price, hoping to dump any excess offerings before the crowd departed so they didn't get stuck with it.
Dan looked at Conover. "A lot of people got hurt." And he suddenly got a string of unpleasant visuals, one right after the other.
"Yeah, they did, but that doesn't surprise me," Conover said bitterly. "All that coke and money. It did its dirty work on all of them. Most people don't stand a chance with that crap. They don't know what they're getting into until it's too late."
Dan could attest to that. Surprised him that Conover could see the big picture. Not everyone did. The big picture wasn't something Dan dared to dwell on. If he thought about that shit too long, he'd scare himself good. He'd come close–too close. Only an ironic twist of fate had allowed him to extricate himself from what had taken all those others down. He would think about it someday, couldn't escape that. But it wouldn't be today.
"And that means my partner and Bumpers died for nothing," Conover said bitterly.
"They all died for nothing." Dan sounded just as bitter, even to himself.
"Yeah, but the others were punks and scumbags." Conover turned and stared at Dan.
Dan stared right back, thinking of Shamrock in the ice machine, Captain McGee and his crewman, McGee's brother, and himself even, how close he'd come. And others he'd known too, other times, other places. They weren't all punks and scumbags. "I know some damn good people that shit has brought down."
That was all they said about it. They weren't going to change each other's minds. Seemed Conover knew that too.
"I've put in for retirement."
Didn't surprise Dan. He kind of felt like he'd retire too–if he could. "What are you going to do with yourself?"
"Try to find something I enjoy doing for a change, like I did with police work a long time ago."
Dan understood completely. Even though Conover sounded discouraged, like Dan had felt himself for a long time now, the man would bounce back. At least Dan hoped he would.
"Maybe I'll move down here to the beach like you. That must be the life." Conover smiled wistfully.
Dan didn't answer that. The man had saved his life, after all. Why spoil his illusion? Instead, he just nodded.
Conover hopped off the railing and extended his hand. "Good luck, Dan."
Dan studied Conover's face as he shook his hand. The man looked older than the first time Dan had seen him. More tired. Kind of like Dan felt every day when he looked in the mirror. "Take care of yourself, Ray."
Conover turned and walked away, disappearing into the dwindling crowd. It was past six and the tents were closing. The Seafood Festival was over for another year.
A heavy feeling came over Dan, the slight depression he got every year at this time. And that down feeling got him thinking in a direction he didn't want to go–cocaine. He tried to get rid of the thought before it grew into something strong and demanding and the only way to do that was to swap the thought out with something just as strong. He started thinking about his family, a process that had always helped in the past. This time, though, it was a little different. This time he knew if he didn't get his family back, he'd be lucky to make it through another Hampton Beach winter.
Because there was nothing as lonely and desolate as a summer resort in winter.
Hampton Beach was no exception.
The setting sun draped red wisps across the horizon. The day and the summer were both over. You couldn't stop the sun from going down and the seasons from changing, just like you couldn't stop death from knocking at your door when it was your turn.
Dan Marlowe dragged himself off the railing and headed down Ocean Boulevard, past the High Tide Restaurant toward his part of Hampton Beach and home.
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About The Author
JED POWER is a Hampton Beach, NH-based writer and author of numerous short stories. Boss is his first foray into the crime novel world. The second novel in the Dan Marlowe crime series, Hampton Beach Homicide, will be published in the fall of 2012.
Find out more at www.darkjettypublishing.com.
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