“I’m okay, you big suck,” Jess said, pulling Lucy closer to her, into a pile on her lap. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”
Lucy looked thinner, though she wasn’t cut or injured anywhere that Jess could tell. She knew Bryce Whitmer had probably been mean to her, kicked her around some, but safe in this motel room, Lucy didn’t seem to care. She seemed entirely concerned about Jess’s well-being and not at all about her own.
And maybe that was the worst part about owning a dog, wasn’t it, the most wrenching thing.
“I’m okay, baby,” Jess said again, and she reached down to scratch between Lucy’s ears, watched the dog’s eyes close in contentment, and she wished that peace and security came that easy for humans, too.
Burke came back a short while later. He knocked on the door, soft, and she brought the shotgun with her to the door and waited until she heard him say “pineapple” before she let him in. He was carrying a plastic bag, looked like from the gas station.
The rain outside had stopped, but the parking lot was wet, and Burke’s hair was damp where it wasn’t matted with blood. He’d had his ass kicked a couple of times, by the look of his face, and his hands were scratched up and cut. There was a decent slice through his jeans and the calf of his left leg, too—from Bryce Whitmer’s razor wire, she surmised.
“You probably need a tetanus shot, at the absolute least,” she said, watching as he tried and failed to slip out of his oilskin slicker without wincing.
“No time for that,” Burke replied. He dumped out the plastic bag: energy bars and some bottles of water, chocolate bars and a sad-looking banana. A Slim Jim, some rubbing alcohol, and a box of Band-Aids. “We can’t hang around here for long.”
“At least let me see to those cuts on your hands. There’s no telling what kind of nastiness lives on that Whitmer farm.”
“You mean besides Whitmer himself?” Burke picked up the Slim Jim, tossed it to her. “For Lucy. She isn’t looking like she’s been eating too good as of late.”
Jess smiled despite herself. “Oh, she’s going to love you forever.” She opened the package, peeled back the plastic. Lucy was already on her feet on the bed, tail going ballistic and nose insinuating itself toward the source of the sound, the smell of the pepperoni.
“Yeah, you big goof, this is for you,” Jess said, petting her head. “Try and at least have the decency to chew.”
But Lucy fairly inhaled the pepperoni stick, no thought to savoring the meal. She polished it off and licked her lips and looked from Jess to Burke and back again, like she was ready for round two.
Jess and Burke met eyes, and Burke laughed and Jess did too. “She always was kind of a pig,” he said.
He pulled off his woolen Stanfield’s sweater and draped it over a chair, stood by the table in his ripped jeans and a T-shirt. He must have taken care of his body in prison, fifteen years with nothing to do but lift weights; his arms were thick and powerful looking, his shoulders broad. Jess found herself trying not to look too long.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever given any thought to relocation,” he said. Cleared his throat. “I mean, moving out of that little town, starting somewhere new.”
“What, and let those boys run me out of my home?” It came out angrier than she’d wanted, but to hell with it.
“They aren’t going to stop until they get what they’re after. The way I see it, we can either leave them to their game, or try and play it better than them.”
“I’m not running away,” she said. “Those deputies stole my dog, and they probably killed my husband, too. I’m not just going to forget that. Not after all this.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. Just stood there and looked at her and the dog and looked around the room like he was thinking things over.
“We’re going to need a new vehicle,” he said finally. “If we’re ever going to get out of here and get past those deputies, I mean. If we’re going to see this thing through.”
She nodded. Felt that familiar tension start to take hold of her body, like she was wrapped up in a blanket and it was steadily getting tighter and tighter. See this thing through. She knew what that meant.
“I have about five hundred dollars left,” he continued. “First thing tomorrow we start looking for something. Doesn’t have to be pretty, so long as it runs.”
She said, “That’s fine,” and Burke stood there a little longer, like he was waiting for something else, and then he nodded once more with some kind of finality and disappeared into the bathroom, and she heard the shower start up.
She called Hank Moss while Burke was in the bathroom. The motel owner picked up on the fourth ring.
“It’s Jess Winslow,” she said. “You have a minute to talk?”
“Of course I do.” Moss sounded wide awake immediately. “Everything all right?”
“We got the dog back,” she said. “Me and Burke. But Kirby won’t be happy about it.”
Moss processed this a beat. “Yeah, I guess not.”
“You see him around? Like, has he come by your place or anything?”
“Not yet. But I expect he will, if he knows Burke was involved.”
“He does.”
“Best if Burke doesn’t come back, then. You, either, for a little while. You have any idea what you’re going to do now?”
She paused. “We’re going to fight them,” she said. “Find out what Ty was into, and why it got him killed. Figure out what those deputies are trying to get after.”
“You sure that’s a good idea, Jess? Those boys—”
“Aren’t scaring me off, Hank,” she said. “I have nothing left but what I have in Deception Cove, and I won’t let Kirby Harwood take it away.” She gave it a beat, but Hank didn’t say anything.
“We’re holed up in Neah Bay for the night,” she continued. “I think we’re good to the morning, but we’ll need new wheels if we want to get down that highway again. You still have that cousin has the body shop out this way, all those junkers parked in front?”
“Davis? Sure,” Moss said. “I don’t know what he—”
“Give him a call, would you please, Hank?” Jess said. “Tell him we’ll come by first thing in the morning. Tell him we’re bringing cash.”
A pause. “Yeah, okay,” Moss said at last. “Okay, Jess.”
“Thanks, Hank.”
“You be careful, all right? You have Burke with you?”
She glanced toward the bathroom, the door closed but for a crack, steam pouring out. “Yeah, he’s here.”
“All right,” Moss said.
“Do you think I can trust him, Hank? I mean, am I going to be safe?”
Moss sucked his teeth. “That boy looked me in the eye and told me his story straight,” he replied. “And I can’t see as he gave me any reason not to trust him.”
“He told you his story? Like, why he went to jail?”
“I didn’t ask for specifics,” Moss said. “But I believe if you wanted to know, he’d tell you the truth.”
Jess didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what to say to that. But the shower shut off before she could pursue it any further anyhow. “Shit, Hank, I gotta go.”
“I’ll call my cousin,” Moss promised. “You be careful.”
“I will.”
“The both of you, Jess.”
“Yes, sir,” Jess said. “We will.”
Twenty-Three
Jess had a funny look on her face when Mason came out of the bathroom, fresh scrubbed and changed into clean clothes, applying a Band-Aid to the cut on his palm. Lucy lay curled up on the bed beside her; the dog didn’t look up when Mason entered the room, but her tail thump-thump-thumped on the blanket Jess had laid down for her, giving the game away.
Mason chuckled. “What a little shit,” he said. “Pretends she don’t care to see you, but as soon as you look her way, that tail just fires up, doesn’t it?”
He scratched the top of the dog’s head and she closed her eyes and sighed, long
and low. Jess smiled a little bit, but not much.
“I got a lead on a car,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Hank Moss at the motel? His cousin runs a body shop over on the reservation. Hank’s going to set something up for us for first thing tomorrow.”
She still had that look on her face, studying him like she didn’t quite know what to make of what she saw, like when you come across an animal in the wild and you’re not sure it isn’t dangerous. Mason figured he knew the reason why.
“You talked to Hank just now,” he said.
She nodded.
“He tell you about me? What I did?”
“He told me I could trust you,” she said. “And he told me if I asked you, you’d probably tell me yourself.”
“You want to know?”
She met his eyes. “I think I have a right to, being as we’re sharing this crummy motel room and all.”
Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.
“Yeah,” Mason said. “I suppose you do.”
* * *
Jess watched Burke pull a chair across to the end of the bed, to where Lucy lay with her snout just hanging over the edge of the blanket. He scratched Lucy’s head again, and the dog wagged her tail, and Jess felt a pang of jealousy at how familiar Burke was with the animal.
She’s mine, she thought. She’s mine, and you’re not going to take her from me.
Burke sat forward. Rested his elbows on his legs and clasped his hands together. Looked at her, earnest, right in the eye.
“It was first-degree murder,” he told her. “That’s what I went in for.”
Jess burst out laughing. “God help me,” she said. “Of course it was.”
Burke studied her. He didn’t say anything. She kept laughing, wasn’t sure if she’d ever stop. Just her luck, the one man in her life who seemed a little bit decent and he was a convicted murderer; why the hell not?
Then she thought of something. “You said you never fired a gun.”
“I haven’t,” he said.
So, what, did you stab a guy to death? Beat him? Shit, first-degree murder’s the worst of the worst. What the hell did you do, Burke?
He caught her expression. “It was nothing like that,” he said. “What it was, there was this guy I used to hang out with—Dev, everyone called him—a couple years older than me. He was like my big brother, my best friend, and my dad all rolled into one. My dad was never around much, so I guess Dev kind of filled that void.”
He sat back in his chair a little bit. Rubbed his chin. “We got into whatever trouble you could think of, me and Dev, drinking and drugs and whatever else. I was a pretty angry kid back then, and so was Dev, too, and we kind of fed off each other. I always wanted to impress him, show him I was cool enough to spend time with, you know?”
Burke wasn’t looking at her anymore. Wasn’t really looking anywhere, down at the floor, lost in his memories.
Then he shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Anyway,” he said, looking up. “Sorry. You asked what I did.”
“It’s okay,” Jess said.
“Yeah, well. There was this liquor store Dev wanted to rob. I don’t even think it was for any good reason, just for the hell of it. I was going to wait in the car for him to come out, you know, the getaway driver.”
Jess nodded.
He laughed, but there wasn’t any joy in it. “I remember pulling up outside the store, and you know, feeling kind of excited and nervous and whatever, and then Dev pulls out this pistol. And I don’t know where it came from, or how he got it, but I’d never seen it before. But anyway, he told me he was going to use it to scare the shit out of the guy inside.”
Burke met her eyes. “The guy’s name was Faraz Karim. He was an immigrant from Pakistan, father to a little boy. Dev told me Karim made a move on him, pulled his own gun from under the counter, told me it was self-defense. But they showed me the security tapes later, and it didn’t look like the guy did much that required defending.”
“So you didn’t actually kill anyone,” Jess said. “You weren’t actually guilty.”
“No, I’m guilty. The law doesn’t distinguish between who pulls the trigger, not in robbery/homicide. I was there. I took part. I knew Dev had a gun, and I didn’t stop him. And because I didn’t do anything, Faraz Karim’s little boy lost his father. I’m guilty as it gets. I’ve never argued I wasn’t.”
“But you were outside. You weren’t even in the store when it happened.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He sat forward. “Listen to me: it doesn’t matter a bit. I was there; I played my role. The law says what I did was murder, and as far as I’m concerned, the law’s right.”
She didn’t have any answer. After a beat he continued.
“They caught up to us pretty quick,” he said. “Dev knew a girl with a place out in the county, and we went over and got hammered on Boone’s Farm and raised hell. The neighbors called the law, on account of Dev shooting his gun off, and when the sheriff’s deputies arrived, they matched the plates on the car in the driveway to the car at the robbery.” He paused. “It was my mom’s car, an Olds 88. She never really forgave me for that.
“I knew I was finished as soon as they arrested us,” he said. “There was no point in fighting it. They had security tape and my mom’s car at the scene, and a witness across the street who swore he could identify the both of us. I copped to what I did and kept my mouth shut about Dev, and they gave me my time, and I served it.”
“And what?” Jess asked, suddenly angry at the calm in his voice. “You think that absolves you for what happened that night?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied. “I could do good my whole life and not be absolved for what I did to that man and his family. But I don’t know that trying to pretend it never happened will ever change anything.”
Jess stood. She walked to the window, went to pull open the shade, the room suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Then she thought better of it, kept the shade drawn.
He was still watching her; she could feel his eyes on her. Didn’t turn around, didn’t look at him. Didn’t know what she’d say if she did.
“Let me ask you something,” Burke said. “Why is it you think I came here?”
She didn’t turn around. Fiddled with the edge of the shade, just for something to do.
“You have to be pretty crazy to come two thousand miles just to see after a dog, right?” he continued. “I mean, it ain’t exactly normal behavior; I can admit that.”
“I’m glad you said it,” she said. “Because it isn’t.”
“But see, training one little runt dog to help out a wounded marine is about the only good thing I ever did with my life, and that’s hardly an exaggeration. I’ve got a lot of bad things I’ve done that I can’t change, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the one good thing get wiped away.”
She turned around finally. He was sitting as she’d left him, leaned forward, his hands clasped together, staring down at the floor again. He didn’t look like the big, rough ex-convict who’d showed up at her house unexpected, the tough guy who’d smirked at her from in front of her shotgun. He looked like someone else now, someone less—and at the same time, someone more. He looked vulnerable for the first time she could remember.
He lifted his head, caught her looking at him. Seemed to read her mind; he went red, a little bit, and turned his eyes away.
She watched him a little longer, tried to think of something to say, and then Lucy rolled over on the bed, snorted loud, and started snoring, and it broke the moment and they both laughed.
“Like trucks downshifting on the highway,” Burke said, rubbing his forehead. “She ain’t exactly a lady, is she?”
The dog was sprawled out, took up half the bed, the night’s trauma clearly forgotten, and Jess couldn’t help but smile.
“We should get some rest,” Burke said. “If you can spare a pillow
, I’m just fine bunking down on the floor.”
Jess started to protest. “That’s not—”
“No, I insist,” he said. “Someone comes in here, they’ll trip over my big ass, and you pick ’em off with the shotgun.”
She realized she’d feel more comfortable with Burke on the floor, realized she was grateful he’d made the suggestion. Crossed to the bed and nudged the dog aside a little bit.
“There’s your pillow,” she said, chucking him one. “I think we can probably spare you a blanket as well.”
* * *
Mason woke up, sat up, his heart beating sixteenth notes. Something had roused him, but he couldn’t say what.
On the bed above him, Lucy shifted. Whimpered a little bit. Jess had the shotgun up there, lying in its soft case beside her pillow. Mason wondered if she was awake too.
He pushed himself to his feet, pushed the blanket off. Stood and walked to the window and pulled the shade to the side and looked out into the parking lot.
It was late. Or early. It was four thirty in the morning. By rights, Mason should have been awake, wide awake, given the time difference with back home, and how prison had made him an early riser. He was beat, though, exhausted. He wanted to sleep. He needed some time before the deputies found them, before the next round began. He looked out into the parking lot, searched the shadows for Kirby Harwood’s fancy truck, for either of the Whitmer boys, for Cole Sweeney.
But the lot was empty. Nothing moved. Mason gave it a minute, waited it out. Still nothing.
Then Jess cried out behind him, and Mason spun, half expecting to see Bryce Whitmer on the bed with her, choking her out. But Jess was alone, tangled in her blanket, arms flailing and legs twisted, Lucy tucked in close to her, licking at Jess’s face and whimpering too.
A bad dream.
Mason crossed to the bed. Sat down beside Jess and touched her arm. “Hey.”
Deception Cove Page 12
