I waited until she had swallowed her pill and downed a glass of water. I stepped toward her, and grabbed her hand. “Okay, Laura, I’m on notice. But you don’t have to threaten me. I’ve got a safe place to go and other resources. We’ll get this whole thing worked out so that both of us are satisfied.”
“What do you mean ‘both of us are satisfied’?” Her voice had softened and she looked into my eyes with a tiny glimmer of trust.
I dropped her hand and moved back. “Uh, well, I mean safe. We’ll be safe. Let’s go.”
*
Depositing the scrapbook and voice recorder in a safe deposit box at my bank downtown was uneventful. When we were free of the items, we both remarked at how much better it felt to have them off our hands and in a safe place. Then we took a downtown exit to I-5 north and headed to Anacortes. We were aiming for the ferry that would take us to Lopez Island and our final destination, Tranquility.
The ninety-minute drive gave us an opportunity to talk to each other like two grown-ups who weren’t trying to escape precarious circumstances. Laura was especially interested in my profession.
“Is it a religion with you?” Laura asked.
“Religion? No, I’m Jewish, remember? No, it’s not a religion, it’s a technology.” Laura gave a disbelieving tsk. “It is. It’s a method of contacting the wisdom of the unconscious and something else.”
“Something else?”
“The Others. Those who live outside this realm but care about it…tend it, I guess. They are willing to send information, but only in the language of symbols and numbers. It’s up to the reader of cards to interpret them. Some readers are better than others, but frankly, I’m the best.” I knew that sounded arrogant. It was arrogant, but it was the truth.
She was shaking her head. “Look, Dev, you have to understand the world I come from. I traffic in logical arguments built from an enormous volume of words. I spend my days arranging and interpreting words to win legal battles. There is no room for something like tarot. It’s too squishy for me, not concrete enough. You can’t expect me to understand, nor accept, that access to the other side of existence is possible via a pack of cards comprised of symbols and numbers. The one time I was your client was a gift to me from Margaret. It didn’t mean I bought your paradigm.”
I understood her argument, but I wanted to make my point. “And you think the manipulation of words is not squishy? Isn’t legalese just another form of symbols and numbers?”
A light rain had started and covered the windows in shimmering vertical streaks. The patter on the car was soothing. Both of us remained silent for a few minutes to absorb each other’s viewpoints.
I glanced at her, taking my eyes off the road for a few seconds. I expected her eyes to project derision for my profession. Instead, she was watching me with a fondness that fluttered my heart. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I was getting uneasy under her gaze.
“Well, you have to admit, you are nice to look at. With enough exotic in your looks to make you more than interesting. But that’s not all. I’m impressed with your bravery.”
“My what?” This was going in a direction I hadn’t prepared for.
“Bravery.” She turned more fully toward me. “Look at what I’ve become. An attorney. A safe and respectable profession. But you, you’ve taken on work that’s controversial at best. It’s edgy. You don’t even have ‘Tarot Reader’ on your business cards because it’s not something everyone understands. But that’s what you are.”
“There are plenty of professional tarot readers who are up front about what they do. They don’t have the enhanced services that I offer. I’m the only one. I can afford to be more discreet about my work.” I worried about the direction the rest of the conversation would take.
“Aren’t you worried about the ethics of what you do?” There it was, the scorching conundrum about my work.
“To tell the truth, sometimes I am. Other times, it’s clear that I’m helping someone who really needs and deserves my help. And lately it’s been made clear to me that I’m doing what I was meant to do, no matter how problematic the ethics.” That was the first time I’d acknowledged what Pento had been telling me. I was born to be a meddler, and my meddling was even sanctioned by those in charge, whoever they were.
Laura turned and faced the highway again. “I’m feeling a little woozy. I think I’ll lay my head back and close my eyes for a few minutes. That okay with you?” She pushed the button on the side of her seat, and it hummed her into a more prone position.
“You relax. We’ll be at the ferry in another forty-five minutes.” I was glad she needed to rest. I needed to think without her distracting me.
I was in a mental snarl. I had discussed some aspects of my work with Laura, but I didn’t tell her about the Theater, Pento, or the High Priestess. Somehow, it didn’t feel appropriate yet. What was worse, though, was that I didn’t say a word about my connection to Elizabeth Stratton. That was a piece of information I didn’t want to share, not only because of the $125,000 check still in the drawer at Tranquility, but because I didn’t want to lose Laura’s trust. I was beginning to feel her trust was more important than any promise I’d made Stratton. So how could I manage Stratton and retain Laura’s belief in me? She’d said I was brave. Nobody had ever said that about me. I didn’t want to disillusion her. She was beginning to mean something to me. That was dangerous.
I pondered the meeting I’d had with Stratton only a few days previously. She didn’t seem threatening, not in the physical sense anyway. However, her people were running a rampage on Laura. My guess is they were out of Stratton’s control. Maybe they were answering to Jerry Greenfield, because I couldn’t see a presidential contender using blatant thugs to win the office. That would be dynamite in the hands of her political foes. No, Stratton hadn’t hired the skinheads.
My guess was whoever had hired the cutthroats had lost control of them. Trying to kill an old lesbian lover was way over the top. It didn’t warrant murder. Discrediting anything Laura said was an effective political response that would quell the Stratton as lesbian questions. Then what did warrant murder? What was I missing?
I looked at Laura sleeping in the seat next to me. Her mouth barely open, facial muscles relaxed, golden hair spread against the headrest. What do you know, Laura Bishop, I thought. What are you not telling me?
*
I was puzzling over all that when we pulled into the ferry line. I woke Laura, who sat up and fiddled with her arm splint for a moment. She didn’t say a word as we sat in the car while waiting in the boarding line. When the ferry personnel finally directed our car to its parking spot aboard the ferry, I turned off the ignition. As soon as I did, Laura reached across her casted hand and clutched mine.
“He’s here,” Laura said.
“What? Who?” My danger instinct ignited.
“The skinhead guy. The one in my office. I saw him. On the upper deck, but he wasn’t looking at us. He was doing something with his phone.” Laura was whispering.
I looked around. Nobody. “Get out of the car. Now.” She didn’t move; she just looked at me in hopeless fear. “Laura, you can’t seize up on me. We have to be a team or we’re in big trouble. Grab your purse. Are the pain pills in there?” She nodded. “Good, we might have to abandon the car. But I can get us help on the other side if we need it.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Well, they know we’re together. They possibly know about my house on Lopez.” Guilt nagged me because I hadn’t told her Stratton had already been to Tranquility, escorted by the marauding skinheads who terrorized Fitch. “I hope they don’t know how much I invested in security there. I have a priceless collection of mystical items, from books to goblets to amulets. They’re of great value to some collectors. I’m a collector too, and my collection is extensive and well-guarded.”
The other drivers and passengers were leaving their cars to climb to the upper decks and enjoy their scenic ferry ride
to the San Juan Islands. The fragrance of ocean and car fumes filled our car. The plum bruise on Laura’s cheek looked like it was impossibly darker under the bandage.
“So we have to become a part of your collection. Guarded and scared,” Laura said. “I don’t like it, Dev. Being trapped on an island. We should just go back to Seattle, get the scrapbook and tape recorder, and call the press. It’s the only safe way out.”
“No!” My adamancy surprised her. “I mean, listen, there’s more…uh.”
“More? What?” The grip of her hand on my arm was probably leaving marks.
“Hey, let go. That hurts. Okay?” She loosened her grasp on my arm. “There has to be more that they’re afraid of. Something you have will expose more than Stratton’s affair with you. I’m beginning to think Stratton might be a puppet, whether she knows it or not. And they are extremely invested in keeping her under their control. And part of that is information control.”
Laura was panting from her mounting fear. It wasn’t clear to me if she could hear what I was saying. I had to calm her, or we’d never get out of that ferry alive.
“Laura, look at me. Look. At. Me.” She forced herself to look into my eyes, and I forced myself not to project the lava of fear that was coursing through me. “If we stay calm and focused, we can get out of here safely. I need for you to follow me. I know this ferry. I ride it all the time. That’s our advantage along with this.” I reached under my seat and pulled out the tire iron I’d hidden there earlier. I hadn’t wanted Laura to know I was preparing for danger. Besides, if I had told her about the tire iron, my fear would be as obvious as hers. One frightened chicken is annoying; two frightened chickens will topple the henhouse.
Laura nodded and worked at controlling her breathing. “What should we do?”
“I’ll put the iron up my sleeve. Then we’ll exit the car and do the one thing he will least expect.”
“And that is?” Her voice shook.
“We’ll go after him.”
“And do what?” She was squeezing my wrist again.
“I…I guess we’ll have to take him out.” When I saw her astonished face, I said, “I don’t mean kill him, exactly, I guess. We’ll just incapacitate him somehow. Laura, he’s the guy who attacked you. You saw him, remember? You have every right now to protect yourself. Don’t get all doubtful here. We have to go for it.”
“Okay, okay. Your logic makes sense, sort of. But first I think we need to isolate him, you know, so it doesn’t look like we attacked him.” Now she was getting into it. She had no idea how relieved I was to have her agreement. I heard the bubbling rumble of the engines and felt the ferry sway as it left the dock.
We made our plan within a few minutes. Given the lack of time to think things through, I’m sure Laura felt as unconfident as I did. But we both crawled out of the car like a couple of cocky butches that we weren’t. We wound our way through the empty cars to the stairway. The wind tunneling through the car deck carried enough sea chill that we were grateful to open the weighty door leading to the warmer upper decks.
Washington State ferries were built as a series of decks. Each deck sat atop the other and diminished in size the higher the deck, like a cigar-shaped wedding cake. The bottom two decks held vehicles that varied in size from semi-truck to bicycles. The bicycles and motorcycles rode at the very front on the lowest deck. It was a wonderful view from there but usually too windy and frigid for anyone to stay there long.
Above the two vehicle decks were the two decks where passengers lounged after leaving their cars. There was always a cafeteria or food vending area on one of those decks. They also held the restrooms and outdoor promenades where people enjoyed the fresh air. A semi-protected smoking area allowed smokers to, theoretically, avoid offending the clean-air breathers.
Laura and I attempted to act casually. Never mind that she looked like a war casualty and I had a tire iron stiffening my left arm. In fact, we were so noticeable that all the passengers pretended they weren’t staring at us. We edged into one of the empty booths that lined the outside walls of the largest passenger cabin and sat opposite each other.
“See him?” I asked in a lowered voice.
“Not yet, but everyone else sees us. That can’t be good,” Laura said mimicking my voice level. She rested her casted wrist on the table in front of us. I noticed her thumb had lost most of its swelling.
“If they can see us, they can see him. We’re safe right here. Let’s wait a little longer until we’re closer to the Islands. It’s a short ride.” I had no idea why I suggested that and apparently, Laura didn’t either.
“I don’t think I can wait.” She was almost whispering now. “I’ll go crazy if we do. Let’s just take a moment and think over our plan again, see if it still holds. Okay?”
I nodded and thought about the plan while scanning the room. We no longer interested anybody. Everyone was busy fiddling with phones and cameras. One boothful of passengers had a deck of cards and cribbage board. A few booths were occupied by twentysomethings with their backpacks. Their tanned, strong bodies nestled down for naps because gorgeous scenery meant nothing at their age. Getting to the destination while listening to their entire music library was their goal.
Just as I was convinced that nobody was paying attention to us, I saw him. He had positioned himself toward the front of the ferry, his back toward us. Like other passengers, he was occupied with what looked like a cell phone. He was a walking cliché. His bulk filled the army green T-shirt so that the sleeves wrapped tightly around his solid biceps. He even had camouflage fatigues of the desert variety. His head was shaved, except a two-inch band down the center where a fuzz of blond was allowed to sprout.
I was sure anyone who noticed him thought he was a soldier on leave from one of the Middle East entanglements. For all they knew, he was a hero. That bought him clueless allies. We really did need to isolate him.
“He’s behind you, Laura. Don’t turn around. Just look out the window for a while and wait for the rest of the passengers to empty their bladders. He’s playing with his cell phone. At least I hope that’s what it is. Let’s pray he won’t detonate something even though he’s on this boat. I don’t think he’s the martyr brigade type.”
Laura’s eyes widened. She started to touch the bandage on her cheek but stopped herself. “What makes you think he won’t destroy all of us for his cause, whatever that is?”
“Two reasons. First, I suspect he’s too valuable to his handlers. He’s their golem, the monster they’ve created. Second, he wouldn’t spend all those hours in the gym only to spatter his rock hard abs over the Strait of Juan de Fuca.”
“Glad you feel so sure, but I don’t. Plus, he probably isn’t working alone. Where are the others? And there is one more thing I wanted to tell you. I think my pill popping is making my memory sluggish, but it started working as we climbed the stairs a few minutes ago. I think I know who that guy is. I just need to take one more glance at him to be sure. What’s he doing now?” She sat up a little straighter.
“Looks like he’s texting, not sure. I think you can look now. I’ll count to three. Ready?” She nodded and I began counting. “One, two…not now. He’s looking up.” I closed my eyes as if dozing. The rumble from the ferry engines and the murmurs from other passengers were so mundane that, with my eyes closed, I could almost believe the world was normal again. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. “Shit. Laura, he’s gone. We need to move. Now.”
“Okay.” She was taking deep breaths, cradling her broken wrist, and looking in my eyes. “We follow the plan?”
“Yeah, we follow the plan. Ready? Go.”
I watched as she stood and said in a clear voice, “I need to go to the bathroom. Could you get me a cup of coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you back here. Cream or sugar?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, then said, “Cream,” and marched toward the restrooms.
I waited exactly one minute, then made my way t
o the cafeteria. The tire iron in my sleeve made me look disabled; I was sure of that. Using only my right hand, I poured the largest cup of steaming coffee that they sold from the dispenser. I skipped the cream and waited in an excruciating line before I paid for it without waiting for change. I walked toward the entrance to the women’s bathroom. It had been about four and a half minutes since Laura and I split up.
When I paused outside the bathroom, I worked the tire iron into my pants so it stuck out of my waistband. I prayed it wouldn’t fall down my pant leg before I had a chance to clobber someone. After I removed the lid to the coffee, I slid into the bathroom entrance grateful there was no heavy door to push open. A stall door banged so hard the wall shook. Turning the corner, I was faced with our stalker holding a knife under Laura’s throat. She was bleeding where the blade touched her throat. Her terror-drenched eyes met mine in the mirror. The back of his neck was at least seven inches in diameter. A swastika tattoo peeked from under his T-shirt collar and was within my reach.
“What’s up?” I tried to sound clueless. Before he could move, I pulled open the back of his T-shirt and poured the blazing-hot coffee down his bare back.
He barked once and threw Laura against the sink. The sight of her blood on the porcelain was all I needed. I jerked the tire iron out of my pants just as he turned to face me. I swung the tire iron at the brute. My blow glanced off his forehead. Enraged, he stepped toward me but didn’t see the puddle of coffee on the floor. He lost his footing and crashed forward. While he was on his knees, I hit him again on the back of his muscle-dense neck. He wasn’t out, but he was down.
I jerked the lever on the paper towel dispenser and ripped off a few lengths of towel. I handed the towel to Laura, grabbed her upper arm, and pulled her toward the bathroom door. “Cover your neck,” I said. Then I went back and hit the back of the brute’s head. The splat sound it made was revolting. I almost dropped the tire iron but remembered to hang on to it. I pushed it back into my pants, blood and all, and pulled my shirt over it.
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