Getaway

by Lisa Brackmann

  “I don’t think so.”

  They emerged into the light, into the open patio of a crumbling restaurant, abandoned by the look of it.

  “Kosovo,” Daniel said, taking her arm. “Watch your step.”

  The concrete deck had rotted in places, exposing twisted, rusting iron rebar, the sand and kelp and water beneath.

  “I think it’s shallow enough for us to cross,” he said. Michelle looked to the right. There was the river that bisected the town and fed into the bay, a narrow channel that spread on the exposed sand of the low tide. Farther up, the river was broad and shallow; she could see riders on horseback crossing it, the water not reaching the horses’ knees. Beyond that the river narrowed again, disappearing into the mountains and the browning jungle that waited for the summer rains.

  She wanted him to talk, to say something that might explain who he really was, but he didn’t. They climbed off the deck and onto the sand.

  “When did you leave the air force?” she finally asked.

  “In 2000.” He shrugged. “Private-sector opportunity came up. I took it. Figured I’d get more flying time that way.” Now he snorted. “Sometimes I’m kind of a dumbfuck. Who knew there’d be all these wars?”

  Michelle wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  Sandals in one hand, bag slung over her shoulder, she followed him through the river water and onto the sands of the big beach on the other side.

  “And you’re Jink?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Yeah.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you later,” he said.

  The hotel was a series of cabanas, with thatched-palm roofs like the palapas back on the beach in Vallarta, its reception counter in an open bungalow that looked like one of the guest rooms.

  “Make sure you put on shoes if you get up in the middle of the night,” the woman at the counter told them. “And check inside your shoes for scorpions before you put them on.”

  They went to their cabin, past the saltwater pool, by the stone walkway above the sea, just below the pier.

  “It’s a little rustic,” Daniel said.

  There was a gap between the palm fronds of the roof and the walls, mosquito netting surrounding the beds like a loose cocoon. The floors were cracked cement, patched and painted a reddish brown. There was no air conditioner, only a floor fan and shuttered windows across the front of the bungalow that could be opened up to let in whatever breeze there might be.

  “So,” Daniel said. “You wanna unpack, maybe hit the beach for a while before dinner?”

  “I don’t really have much to unpack.”

  “Change into your bathing suit, then? It’s too hot to stay in here.”

  He laid his duffel bag on the luggage cart, unzipped it, and started taking out his things. Swim trunks. Shaving kit. Tshirts.

  “I …” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are we going to talk about any of this?”

  He put his Tshirts and extra shorts in the dresser drawer, carried his shaving kit into the bathroom.

  “There’s nothing much I can tell you,” he said when he returned.

  “Why are we here? Can you tell me that?”

  “I already did. It’s not a good time for either of us to be in PV.”

  “Because of … because of what’s going on with Oscar, and …?

  “Yeah,” he said shortly. “The best thing we can do is stay out of it. Let them fight it out till it’s settled.”

  “And … then what?”

  He shrugged. “I still have a job to do.”

  “Are you going to tell me what that is?” He shook his head.

  “Danny, I don’t even care anymore. If you’re … if you’re some kind of smuggler or whatever, I don’t care. Just tell me, so I know.”

  He sat down on the bed next to her. “I’m not a bad guy,” he said. He rested his arm on her shoulder. Cupped her neck. “Sometimes I’ve done stuff I haven’t liked doing.”

  She felt his hand on her neck, his fingers outlining her jaw, and it felt good. But you can’t trust that, she told herself. The hand could tighten, and he was stronger than she was.

  “You have to tell me something,” she said.

  The fingers on her neck gripped for a moment, then moved down, massaging the tense muscles of her shoulder.

  “Okay. ‘Jink’ means a quick turn. An evasive maneuver.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear.

  She laughed. “Great,” she said.

  He eased her down to the bed. “I’ll show you a few.”

  When he went into the bathroom, she got out her iPhone. She didn’t want to, but she should at least text Gary, let him know that she hadn’t tried to run, that she was “keeping an eye on Danny,” like he wanted her to do. Even though she wasn’t sure if that was true.

  She didn’t know what she was doing anymore.

  No signal.

  He came out, wearing his swim trunks. “You ready for the beach?”

  “Sure.” She held up her phone. “Is it just me? I’m not getting any reception.”

  “Nope. No cell service here.” He grinned. “One of the reasons I like this town. Why? Somebody you need to call?”

  “Not really,” she said, putting the phone back into her tote.

  [CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE]

  It was still light when they crossed the river, but the tide had risen, the water nearly up to their knees.

  “Are we going to have trouble on the way back?” Michelle asked.

  “Maybe. But we can always hire a boat to take us across.”

  They started to climb the stairs that led from the beach to the road into town. The remnants of the day’s light barely penetrated here, and the steps were slick with moss.

  Her foot slipped, and she rested her hand on the pitted concrete wall.

  Behind her, Daniel put a steadying hand on her waist.

  “Watch it,” he said.

  “Why do you need to talk to Rick?” she asked.

  “He’s an old friend.”

  “What do you have to talk to him about?”

  He was silent. They stood there, in the near twilight, his hand on her waist. She heard birds and cicadas and the lap of waves from the bay.

  “Getting out,” he finally said.

  • • •

  They were meeting Rick and Marissa at a restaurant in the pueblo. The place was an open patio that jutted out over the bay, supported by stilts, roofed by tin.

  By the time they got to the restaurant, Rick and Marissa already sat at a table pushed up against the wooden railing that circled the seating area, along with another man, a stranger. Younger than Daniel. Buzzed hair, cut build.

  “Hey, Jink!” he shouted out as they approached.

  Daniel raised his hand.

  “Hey, Bagger. This is my friend Michelle.”

  Bagger rose. “Pleasure,” he said. Then belched and sat. A beer and an empty shotglass in front of him. “What are you drinking?” he asked.

  Daniel shrugged. “What you’re having.”

  Marissa patted the seat next to her. “Sit next to me,” she said to Michelle. “Otherwise, believe me, all you’re gonna hear about is flying and titty jokes.”

  “Sure,” Michelle said. “Thanks.” She sat.

  They ordered drinks and quesadillas, platters of chicken and fish, beans, rice, and guacamole. Towering clouds had begun to stack up over the water, illuminated by the last rays of the falling sun.

  “It’s going to rain soon,” Rick said.

  “So,” Marissa said, “tell me about your life in Los Angeles.”

  Michelle smiled and thought about what version of the truth she’d tell this time.

  The standard version, she decided. That her husband had died. How she was between things. Trying to figure out her next move.

  How great Danny had been.

  “He’s a special guy,” Marissa said with a narr
ow-eyed smile.

  The music got louder as the sun went down, eighties hits, mostly, competing with low rumbles of thunder echoing from the mountains up the river. More drinks came.

  “So what got you off your ass to come down here?” Daniel said to Bagger.

  Bagger grinned. “A chance to hang with my old bubbas.”

  “You on leave?”

  “Kind of. Changed my line of work. Thought I’d come play in your sandbox.”

  Daniel was good at covering, she’d learned, but she still caught the ripple of dismay, maybe of anger, before his expression settled into its familiar grin.

  “Dude, why’d you go in that direction?”

  Bagger shrugged. “Jocks like me, we’re fucking dinosaurs. In a couple of years, we’ll all be sitting in front of a computer in Nevada, joysticking drones. Kiss the wife in the morning, drive to your cubicle, deliver a few smart bombs to hajji wedding parties, and you’re home for dinner.”

  Lovely, Michelle thought.

  Daniel lifted his hands. “Hey, there’s worse ways to make a living. Right, Punch?”

  “Yeah,” Rick said, gazing out over the water. “Yeah, there are.”

  The waitress brought another round of beers and shots.

  “You had the right idea, Jink. Getting out,” Bagger said, lifting his shot. “I’m just following in your footsteps.”

  “Oh, yeah? That why you came down here? So you could catch up?” Daniel still smiled, but now he wasn’t trying to hide the anger. “Maybe work my hop?”

  “Hey.” Bagger had tensed up in his chair. Like he was expecting a fight. “Look, man. I’m just here to back you up. Sounds like you got a little bit of the leans.”

  The leans?

  “You tell him that, Punch?” Daniel asked. “You tell him I need backup?”

  Rick frowned, as if he were trying to remember. “I don’t know. I might have.”

  Marissa put her hand on Michelle’s arm. “They talk like this all the time once they start drinking,” she said, like she was sharing a secret. “It doesn’t really mean much.”

  “ ’Scuse me,” Rick said, pushing his chair back. He stood up, swaying slightly. “I gotta find the head.”

  Thunder cracked like an explosion, and a bolt of lightning shot across the bay.

  Bagger flinched, then lifted his shot glass and pounded the tequila. “Check out the light show,” he said.

  Spiderwebs of lightning lit up the sky above the water, turning the clouds white and then purple and indigo as they faded. A few fat drops of rain spattered on the rail, blown by a cooling breeze. The lightning was so spectacular that Michelle thought it seemed almost unreal, like some kind of special effect in a movie.

  Then there was a series of loud pops, and the lights went out and the music stopped.

  “Must’ve hit a transformer.”

  Several wobbly flashlight beams crisscrossed the restaurant—from a waitress and Daniel and another customer over by the bar. Bagger stood and looked around. “Shit, it’s the whole town.”

  “The grid here’s so shaky it doesn’t take much to bring it down,” Daniel said.

  “The hotel’s got power,” Bagger said, peering across the bay.

  “Backup generator.”

  “So let’s go over there,” he said. “They got a bar, right?”

  “Shit,” Marissa said in a low voice. “Rick isn’t back.”

  “He said he was going to the restroom,” Michelle said.

  “That was at least ten minutes ago.” Marissa stood, the tendons in her sculpted arms standing out like wires. She looked like she was about to cry.

  Daniel frowned. “What’s up with Rick?”

  “Nothing,” Marissa said quickly. “With the power off … he just … he gets confused sometimes.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Michelle said. “I need to use the restroom anyway.” She turned to Daniel. “Can I borrow your flashlight?”

  “Sure.” He handed it to her—a little metal flashlight with a bright halogen beam. He looked uncertain. Unmoored.

  • • •

  The bathroom was around the back of the kitchen, down an uneven path with tipped cement slabs for pavers.

  “Thanks,” Marissa said. “Thanks for … He doesn’t want the guys to know he’s having problems.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Oh, just … Really, he’s fine most of the time. Especially someplace like this, that’s familiar. You know, comfortable. But if things are confusing, or if he drinks …”

  Marissa knocked on the wobbly door of the men’s room. “Rick? You in there, hon?”

  No answer.

  Marissa opened the door, and Michelle aimed her flashlight inside. A urinal, a tiny sink, a screened widow up high on the wall. Empty.

  “Could he have gone back to where you’re staying?”

  “Maybe … maybe he just got tired.” Marissa wiped tears from her eyes. “You know, a lot of the time he’s fine. They’re not even sure what’s wrong. TIAs, mini-strokes, maybe. He’s in and out.”

  Marissa rummaged around in her purse. “I have a flashlight,” she said. “Maybe I should go to our place. I’ll let you know if he’s there.” She smiled shakily. “No cell phones, so I’ll have to come back.”

  She started up a steep path behind the restaurant. “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes,” she said.

  Michelle nodded and watched her go.

  If Rick was confused, where might he go? she wondered. The path to the left, up the hill, where Marissa had gone? Or to the right, a gentle incline that curved down toward the water?

  She followed the path to the right, between the restaurant and several tall houses that looked as though they hadn’t been built to any plan, just added onto when the owners had the time, money, and inspiration. Cicadas and grasshoppers chirped and buzzed beneath the cracks of thunder; it was utterly dark between flashes of lighting, and the only human noises were occasional snatches of conversation and laughter.

  Ahead of her was the pier.

  She could see the dark shapes of two men sitting on a bench at the pier’s foot, one smoking a cigar, the other drinking from a bottle of beer. Not Rick. On the pier itself were another man and a woman, sitting close to each other, holding hands, watching the storm. And at the very end of the pier, a lone man standing at the edge.

  “Rick?”

  He turned as she approached, blinking in the flashlight’s bluish beam. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Michelle. Danny’s friend.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  She was next to him now. Dark as it was, she didn’t want to aim the light at his face, so she held it up like a candle.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Tears ran down his cheeks, but his expression was strangely calm. As if the tears were just water, something external.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” he said. “Just wanted to …” He frowned and gestured vaguely at the bay. “Get some air.”

  “We were wondering where you went. Maybe we should go back.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Probably should.”

  They started walking up the pier.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” Rick said.

  “What are the leans?”

  He chuckled. “Happens when you’re flying sometimes. When you can’t see the horizon. You don’t know you’re in a turn, you’re in it for a while, and then, when you’re flying straight, you think you’re banking the other way. It’s, uh … what do you call it? Not a mirage.” Suddenly he smiled and closed his fist, as if he’d caught the word he wanted. “It’s an illusion.”

  “So why did Bagger say that Danny … that he had the leans?”

  “Danny’s trying to change direction. It’s tough to do when you’ve been going the same way a long time.”

  “And … he came to you, right? To help him.”

  Rick nodded.

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t know
if I can. I don’t have the juice I used to.”

  “Rick, I’d like to help Danny. Tell me what to do. How to help him.”

  Rick shook his head. “You can’t. Unless there’s something about you I don’t know.”

  There it was again, awareness cutting through the fog, and she realized she might have assumed too much, that Rick wasn’t as far gone as he’d seemed.

  “No,” she said. “But he told me he wants out.”

  “Yeah. And I guess I owe him.”

  She had to risk it. If he was already suspicious of her, then asking more questions couldn’t make it that much worse.

  “Why, Rick? Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I hooked him up.”

  They’d reached the path that led back to the restaurant. Rick paused there, head swiveling, like he was trying to get oriented.

  “I worked with the boys, in Vietnam,” he said. “In Laos. Did mission support.”

  “The boys?”

  He grinned. “You know.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Sure you do. The cowboys. Spook stuff. Black ops.” He patted her on the back. Started walking again. She caught up.

  “Anyway, we stayed connected, after. They came looking for recruits, and I recommended Danny.”

  She couldn’t tell whether it was a chuckle or a sob, the sound he made in his throat. “I thought I was doing him a favor. I know Danny. He wasn’t gonna be happy being an IP or a bus driver.”

  “A bus driver?”

  “Yeah. He’d hate it. He’d get so bored. He needs to be out booming. Doing something fun.”

  Suddenly he stopped and took Michelle’s hand. He stared at her, though she could barely see his face in the dark.

  “I should’ve been a better teacher. I should’ve told him not to.”

  She guided Rick back to the restaurant, steadying him when he stumbled on the uneven slabs. Once they got there, she could make out Daniel and Bagger sitting at the table, illuminated by a Coleman lantern, Bagger hunched over the table, Daniel leaning back in his chair in a pose that seemed like a parody of relaxation.

  “Hey,” Daniel said, rising. “Shit, Punch, you trying to get out of buying the next round?”

  “No, no. Just stretching my legs.” He looked around. “Where’s Marissa?”

  “Here I am, sweetie.” Marissa crossed to the table and gathered Rick up in her muscled arms. Even in this dim light, Michelle could see the puffiness of her eyelids, her reddened nose. “Thanks,” she mouthed to Michelle.