“Well, God must really have big plans for us.” He turned and offered Jim his hand. “Jonas Edwards, Reverend, First Crystal Coast Evangelical Church.”
Jim reached out and accepted the bony hand.
“Jim—” The grip felt warm, stronger than Jim had imagined, but the demanding face had been replaced by the tired wrinkled expression of an old man. His eyes were black as coal but they revealed undeniable warmth, the kind Jim knew he could trust. “I hope you don’t mind my being here, Reverend. I heard you speaking and—”
“Who did you think invited you?”
“You?”
“Of course.”
“You left that note? And the clothes?”
“I did.” The reverend pointed at Jim’s head. “What happened there?”
“Huh?” Jim touched his left temple and felt a prune-sized lump. “Ouch! Oh yeah. I almost forgot about that. It’s a…it’s a long story.”
“I should say. Do you need an ambulance?”
“No, what I really need is coffee. Do you have any?”
“Coffee? No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Look, Reverend—”
“Jonas. Please just call me Jonas.”
“Okay, Jonas, sir, in your sermon you mentioned, I mean, you said…look, tell me how you know Sid Drake.”
“Sid? Well…” Jonas paused and wiped his eyes. “Sid Drake was an astounding man, wasn’t he?”
“He was my best friend.”
“Your best friend?” Jonas’s face brightened. “Wait a minute! Are you—”
“I’m Jim Stockbridge.”
Jonas’s eyes beamed. “So you’re Jim! Oh my, oh my,” Jonas said, clapping his hands together. “Our God is good.”
“He is?”
“Oh, Jim.” Jonas sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Sid and I have been praying for you for months. Don’t you see? Your being here is an answer to our prayers.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t even know how I got here.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jonas shook his head. “God planned this meeting, not us.”
“But why?” Jim glanced at his mud-dried hands. His sneakers. His borrowed clothes. “Why now? Why me? Who was the old man that left me here?”
“I suppose we’ll have to find that out, won’t we?”
“But you still haven’t told me how you know Sid.”
“I met Sid at our revival last year. He came forward during the altar call. What a remarkable testimony.”
“Huh?”
“Well of course,” Jonas exclaimed. “He told us what a coward he’d been all of his life, afraid to talk about Jesus, to tell others what he knew.”
Jim felt a sudden need to run.
He glanced about the room nervously, but still, somehow, for some reason he felt compelled to stay. The old man knew something he needed to know. He pushed aside the thoughts of running and eased back into the pew. Jonas continued.
“But then nine-eleven happened.”
“9/11?”
“Yes, of course, Jim. That terrible tragedy made Sid realize he’d been a coward, and that for the rest of his life he wanted to tell other people about his relationship with Jesus Christ.”
Jim recalled the strange change that had come over his friend in the wake of 9/11. Suddenly quoting scriptures, praying, and even telling his patients that Jesus loved them and stuff like that. He thought of his own change, his increasing anger and depression, his need for anti-depressants and booze. He pushed the thought away.
“How did that make you feel, Jim?”
“Angry.” Jim scratched his chin. “I was dealing with my own ghosts, but he started in on me—” Jim looked at Jonas as if for an answer. “—I guess I just got sick of hearing all his preaching. Jesus this, Jesus that. But now—”
“Now you’d give anything to hear him again, right? Let me tell you something, Jim. There’s no one Sid cared for more than he cared for you. He talked about you all the time, and you’ll never know how many hours we spent praying for you. Of this I am absolutely certain, son, God used Sid Drake to bring about a revival in your life. I believe he has big plans for you.”
“He must. People keep telling me that.” Jim looked around the theater and shook his head in amazement. “This is too much. I used to come here to watch movies as a kid.”
“God works in strange ways.”
“No kidding.”
Jim stood up and ambled down the aisle. He thought about Sid and all of their deep conversations about God and Jesus. He thought of Valerie, and Linda, and Bagwell, and the fight with the bikers, and Sonny’s advice, and of all of the other strange events of the past two days. He turned around and looked at Jonas. The old man smiled. His eyes twinkled. Jim walked back up the aisle and sat down beside him. Jonas nodded expectantly.
“So, what am I supposed to do now?”
Chapter 18
Jump headfirst into the deep end of a swimming pool wearing full combat gear and boots with no air in your lungs except what you inhaled just before hitting the water, and survive. A tried and true method of weeding out the weak and undedicated. Jim knew it. He’d survived rescue swimmer training in the Coast Guard, but as he walked away from the Village Theater he got the feeling he’d just jumped in again, and this time he was in way over his head. Christianity, salvation, prayer, all those other hard to grasp concepts that Sid had always talked so much about suddenly seemed more realistic, as if Sid’s death had suddenly sharpened his senses…had somehow been his salvation. Jim heard the crunching sound of tiny pebbles against asphalt. He glanced to his left. A forest green Chevrolet Caprice pulled to the curb a few feet ahead of him and stopped. The passenger window came down.
“Pardon me, sir.”
Jim stopped, startled by the soft, decidedly British accent. The man sounded lost, out of place in the culturally unrefined environment of downtown East Beach.
“Yeah,” he said. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but may I speak with you for a moment?”
Jim leaned over cautiously and glanced inside the car. The driver’s face was strong and bright, with sharp hazel eyes and a prominent nose with nostrils that flared. He dressed casually—blue jeans, black windbreaker jacket, and a plain navy-blue ball cap that partially concealed his crew-cut hair—but Jim could tell right away that he was a cop, by his gun, by his badge, and by his cool, businesslike demeanor. Jim nodded.
“What can I do for you, officer?”
“Are you Jim Stockbridge?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“How do you do? I’m Sergeant Lance Albright.”
“Oh. Sure. You work with Rico, don’t you?”
“That’s right. We’ve been looking for you all night. Hop in?”
Jim opened the passenger door and climbed into the front seat.
“How are you doing?”
“Well—” Jim touched the swollen lump on the side of his head. “I’m still in one piece.”
“We heard you were stabbed. Are you hurt?”
“No—” Jim shook his head as he touched his abdomen. The wound stung a little, but the muscles were tight. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Any idea who did it to you?”
“A bunch of fat redneck bikers is all I know. I don’t know who they were.”
“Well, Rico and I think we do. Standby a moment.” Lance keyed his mike. “Two fifty-three to two twenty-two…”
“Go ahead,” Rico responded his voice tired. Short.
“Right.” Lance glanced at Jim. “I have that package you’ve been looking for, sir.”
“Ask him if he’s moved his boat.”
Jim frowned and shook his head. He could tell by Rico’s tone that he wasn’t pleased. Lance keyed the mike.
“Negative on the move, sir.”
“Okay then. Meet me at the East Beach Harbor. And don’t let him out of your sight, Lance. Not for nothing!”
“Ten-four.” Lance chuckled and set
the microphone in its cradle. “Not to worry, Mr. Stockbridge. He’s been rather concerned about you that’s all.”
“Yeah.” Jim closed the car door and leaned back in the seat for the short ride to the harbor. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Rico was waiting in the parking lot of East Beach Harbor when they arrived, his arms folded across his chest, his chin down. Jim sighed and climbed out of the car. “Rico, before you say anything, let me explain.”
“Explain?” Rico unfolded his arms and marched over. “I have a good mind to wrap that boat anchor around your neck and toss you into the sound. We’ve been looking for you for hours!”
“It wasn’t my fault this time, Rico.”
“If you’d done what I said and gone back to your boat—”
“All I did was stop for a drink.”
“Right. A drink, and look what happened, lug head. You were almost killed, and there’s two men lying in the hospital with their faces broken!”
“Good! I was minding my own business until that redneck started pushing me around!”
“The bartender said you started it.”
“And you believed him? Come on, Rico, you know better than that.”
“All right, all right, all right, enough! Where’s your boat?”
Jim pointed at the rusted Exxon sign hanging on the post at the end of the dock. “I’m tied up at the end.”
“Well let’s go. You’re on it and out of here in five minutes.”
“Fair enough.”
Jim started toward the dock with his police escort in tow. “Who were they, Rico? Those bikers?”
“An outlaw motorcycle gang from Havelock.”
“What do you know about them?”
“None of your business.”
Jim felt ridiculous. Cold. Hungry. Embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to get home, take a hot shower, drink a pot of coffee and put on his own clothes. He walked to the end of the dock and stepped onto Shoal Survivor. Her deck glistened with dew. Her bow dipped gently beneath his feet. He walked astern and started the diesel, revving the throttle until the pistons caught and the metallic clack-clack-clack of the engine sounded.
“Guys?” Jim pointed toward the bow and spring lines. “Do me a favor and drop those lines please.”
Rico walked forward. Lance knelt by the spring line and began untying it. Jim walked to the front of the boat.
“Thanks,” he said holding out his hand for the rope. “Toss it over.”
“Hold on there, partner!” Jim looked up. A tall man in a camouflaged jumpsuit hurried down the dock toward Shoal Survival shaking his head. “Not yet ya don’t! Not ‘til ya pay me the rest of the fee.”
“Fee?”
“You said you was coming straight back!”
“Oh my, that’s right. Sorry.” Jim reached for his wallet. “Oops. I keep forgetting. I don’t have my wallet. I got robbed last night.”
The dockhand’s head turned slightly. His eyes narrowed.
“Can I pay you later?” Jim said. “This afternoon?”
“What is this? I gave up an overnighter because you was blocking this spot. You can’t be expecting me ta just let you sail outta here.”
“Hold up,” Rico said reaching for his wallet. “How much, bub?”
“Twenty-five.”
Rico handed the man a ten and six ones and then turned to his partner. Lance chuckled and threw in the balance. Rico handed the man the cash. The dockhand grabbed it and walked back into his shack.
“Thanks,” Jim said. “I owe you both.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rico said. “Just do us all a favor and get out of here. Lance and I’ve got a job to do and we don’t need you in the way.”
Rico kept his hand poised over his sidearm until Jim had Shoal Survivor clear of the docks and headed east. He was only kidding, about shooting him anyway, and Jim would know that, but the fact of the matter was Rico wanted him out of East Beach as soon as possible. For everyone’s good. He waved him off and walked up the dock to his car. Lance stood between the cruisers waiting.
“Man, I’m glad to get him out of here.”
“You said we have a job to do, sir. What job is that?”
“You remember those kids we cornered last night down at the end of Core? One of ‘em’s decided to sing. Called headquarters this morning claiming to know the whereabouts of a meth-lab right here in East Beach. Wants out of the gang. Promised to give me the location in exchange for protection.”
“Can you do that, sir?”
Rico nodded. “I can try.”
“Which lad was it?”
“Bug-eyed kid they called Zee. Eighteen or nineteen year old. Scared looking.”
Lance nodded. Rico heard swearing, and the clicking sound of a boat winch. He glanced at the channel. Shoal Survivor’s mainsail was flapping madly. Jim was at the winch doing his best to crank the huge sail in, but the sail seemed to be winning. Finally, after a few well fought turns on the stainless steel winch, the sail tightened against the wind and Jim run back to the helm. Rico heard the diesel die. The boat heeled and turned, and then quickly got caught in the offshore wind. The sound beyond looked angry, white with foamy waves whipped up by a brisk northerly breeze. Rico shook his head with relief, glad to see Jim headed home, and even happier that he had his own feet on dry land. He hated the water. He hated boats of every kind. He turned back to Lance and shook his head.
“Where was I, Lance?”
“The young lad, Zee.”
“Oh yeah, I had a feeling he wanted to tell me something.”
“Where are you meeting him, sir?”
“Atlantic Beach. Triple-S pier.”
Lance nodded. “That’s a good spot. Quiet. But I wonder if the lad realizes he’s putting his life on the line.”
“Lance, that boy put his life on the line the day he joined the gang.”
Chapter 19
Crossing Core Creek Sound took just about everything Jim had left. He was running on fumes as it was, and with the sound worked up into a mad-dog frenzy he had to fight just to keep the boat on course. The jib, a third furled and cinched as tightly as possible, found a way to luff; while the main, lashed tightly against the boom at its highest set of reef points, pushed the boat over until it threatened to take on water. Jim tested the helm ten degrees either way but there was no better heading than the one he was on. It was simply meant to be a tough, teeth-jarring ride. And it was.
He couldn’t help but think of his encounter with Jonas Edwards. Such a strange old man. But Jim sensed something real about him too, a strong connection to God, and understanding, as if he knew exactly how Jim was feeling—lost. And the prayer they had shared. His confession of lifelong sin and the need for forgiveness…it all seemed so right. Yes, what had happened that morning in the old movie theater had been real, and his life, Jim realized, somehow, would never be the same. But what did it all mean?
The boat banged hard against a wave rattling Jim back to reality. He gripped the helm as he glanced at the speed log—8.5 knots. He was flying, well past hull speed and climbing. He passed the mid-sound marker and had Pair-A-Docks Marina in sight. He’d be there in no time. Thank God. He wanted to get home, to take a warm shower and eat. To sleep. What a way to end such a long, strange night.
Suddenly the VHF radio crackled, and a familiar voice came over the air.
“Pair-A-Docks Marina calling Shoal Survivor, over.”
Jim recognized Sonny’s voice. He considered picking up the mike but couldn’t figure out how. He didn’t dare let go of the helm.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “You’ll have to wait, dude.”
“Pair-A-Docks Marina calling Shoal Survivor,” Sonny Cay repeated. “Over.”
Jim turned the helm and lined up the bow of his boat with the outer channel marker to Core Creek Island. Entering the channel on a calm day could be tricky—no one knew that better than Jim, he had made the passage so many times—but with three-foot waves pounding again
st the hull and pushing the boat toward the shallow water and the rock jetty on the other side of the channel it could be downright treacherous.
“Pair-A-Docks to Shoal Survivor, over.”
“Not now, Sonny,” Jim shouted, maneuvering his boat through the trickiest part of the approach. He felt a small jolt as Shoal Survivor’s hull scraped against the shoal at the entrance to the channel, but it only lasted for a second, not even long enough to slow him down. He maneuvered through a random collection of crab pots floating just outside the breakwater then pointed the boat’s bow at the tall red sign marking the right side of channel.
“Jim,” Sonny’s voice came back. “It’s Sonny, over.”
Jim shook his head and held tight as the boat lurched. A large wave slammed against the starboard transom and swung the boat around on her keel. Cold saltwater spray slapped him in the face. The sails caught and pushed the port rails toward the water.
“Jim,” Sonny’s voice boomed. “Answer your radio!”
Jim waited until the boat had righted then quickly grabbed the mike and keyed up.
“Sonny, I’m getting slammed out here! Can’t this wait?”
“Switch to seven-one.”
“I can’t! Stand-by!”
Jim dropped the mike and swung the helm hard to starboard. The boat accelerated around the marker at a cool seven knots then straightened at his command and raced for the shelter of the breakwater. He eased the sails and Shoal Survivor responded, settling down in the calmer water behind the rocks like a tired stallion returning to its stable. Jim breathed a sigh of relief and glanced across the jetty at the cauldron of black water beyond. He felt like shaking his fist, cursing the sea for its implacable behavior. Instead he glanced toward the sky, thanked God for a safe passage, and then snatched the microphone and keyed up.
“Sonny, you still on?”
“That’s a rog.”
“Sorry, I was getting slammed. What’s up?”
Tested by Fire - He sought revenge ... He found forgiveness (Medic 7 Series - Book 1) Page 11
