by Dave White
The boat rocked once to the left, and John felt as if a rubber band had tightened across his chest. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. A deep breath through the nose. In his mind he saw one of Frank’s bullets rip into a trenchcoat’s chest. His saliva tasted sour. John took a few steps to the middle of the boat and collapsed on to a bench.
He watched Frank lean against the railing, twenty feet away, phone pressed to his ear.
He heard the water slapping off the sides of the boat, loud fleshy explosions. It reminded John of the gunfire. He couldn’t breathe. Each attempt at inhaling got caught at the back of his throat. His cheeks felt warm and tingly. Dark clouds formed at the corner of his vision. His temples throbbed.
He stared between his knees at the cracked floor. The boat looked like it was in need of refurbishing. He saw Frank’s shoe in between his two feet. Frank must have come over from the railing.
But when Frank spoke, it sounded like he was miles away.
“What were you doing back there?”
John leaned forward a bit more and tucked his knees behind his wrists. Rocked once.
“This was a bad idea,” he heard himself say.
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Who was that talking? The ground dissolved into a pool of red washing over his shoes. He imagined Frank killing that guy on the train, blood everywhere, the screaming. The body going limp.
“This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea,” John repeated.
“Did you at least see which way the Arab guy went? I needed to talk to him. Did you see where he ran?”
John didn’t say anything, just rocked back and forth.
“Okay.” He heard the voice again. “Okay. It’s fine. Come on. You need some air.”
He felt himself standing again, and looked up. Frank was pulling John to his feet as the floor rocked underneath him.
John was walking out from the center of the boat toward the starboard side. The ferry canted left and John felt his knees lock. He watched one of the other passengers lose his balance and fall into a pole to keep himself up. John went down like one of the men struck by the bullets.
So many people dead.
And now Frank was dragging him to the ferry’s edge. Toward the water. To do what? Dump him in? Get rid of another witness? He could see the dark water sparkle under the lights from the skyscrapers.
The water.
John’s muscles went tight and he froze. The slapping of the water against the ferry was louder. The gunshots went off in John’s head. The edge of the boat came closer. John could see water now. See it rushing. The dead men of the night faded into Hannah’s face, eyes open wide in horror.
More death.
“No,” John said. “No. Let’s go sit. I need to sit.”
“Breathe,” Frank said. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Not here. Not here. This was a bad idea.”
Frank looked over his shoulder toward the Hudson.
“Oh,” he said. “The water. Okay. Let’s go sit.”
He pulled John back to the bench, and they both sat. John bent over his knees again and fought the urge to start rocking. He felt Frank’s hand on his back, not rubbing, just there as if to keep him steady. The sour taste in John’s mouth started to fade.
“All right,” Frank said. He sounded a lot closer now. “I know it’s hard. Death is never easy to see. Not like that. Listen to me, John, and I’ll get you through this.”
John closed his eyes again, trying to regain his equilibrium. When he did, the images of death flooded back to him and he had to open his eyes again. He stared at the floor, looked at a small pile of mud that must have come from someone’s shoe. The smell of salt and garbage from the river crowded the air.
“I want you to focus on something,” Frank said. “Look at the back of your hand. Focus on your knuckles.”
John did. He looked at the back of his right hand. The dry knuckles, cracked underneath his middle finger. The small brown mole near his third knuckle. The burning in his cheeks started to cool. He could feel the soft breeze on them. He took a deep breath and the air finally filled his lungs.
“You have to realize, John, it was them or us.”
“You shot them!” John felt the tightness coming back to his chest. He snapped his body straight up against the bench.
“I know. I had no choice.”
“What’s going on? Why were you there?”
The ferry horn blew again. They were pulling into the dock. The ferry was slowly backing into its port. In a few minutes, they’d be back on solid ground. John closed his eyes tight and breathed through his nose. The images of the dead didn’t come this time.
“You all right, John? You going to be okay?” Frank finally took his hand off John’s back.
John nodded, trying to breathe like a runner. In through the nose, out through the mouth. His shrink was going to have a field day with this. She might actually call the crazy house on him.
“Good,” Frank said. “Because as soon as we get off this boat, we’re going to go to a bar and get you a drink.”
“What about the police? When we dock.”
Frank blew air out his nose. “I called in a bomb threat across the street. That’ll distract them. Let’s get a drink.”
A drink sounded perfect right about now.
“And then, you’re going to tell me why you were following me.”
Ashley MacDonald’s heart was still pounding as she stared out of her windshield.
She wrapped her hands around the keys, which were still in the ignition and pulled a little. Then she lost her grasp on the handle and the keys fell on to the mat at her feet. They jingled when they hit. She reached down and picked them up. Her hands shook as the keys went back into the ignition and she restarted the car.
She remembered the afternoon before she and John took that weekend trip to Philly. How she sat in her car for half an hour before leaving to pick him up. She wanted to look great, she didn’t want to embarrass herself or John in public. It was their first weekend away, and she went over every possible faux pas in her head. Not this time. Now she just stared down the hill, past the Light Rail. Couldn’t believe what had just happened.
The radio blared in the background, the eleven o’clock news update just starting. “With your anchor…” Some blowhard who acted like he knew everything, but probably knew nothing aside from what the copy said. But someone the radio network thought the general public could trust.
Can’t trust anybody, she thought.
She lifted her purse off the passenger seat, placed it on her lap, and dug through it. The purse was full—receipts, tampons, wallet, phone, comb, and post-it notes. All she wanted was a piece of gum, something to chew on while she figured out what to do next. But there wasn’t any gum. No mints. Nothing.
Before she could decide what to do next, she looked out of her passenger window through the glass front of the bar across the sidewalk. The TVs had gone to the news, and on the screen was the face she thought she wouldn’t see again. John Brighton.
Ashley stared at the screen. The anchor looked directly into the camera as a small box over his right shoulder had a blurry picture of John, the words “Shootout in Jersey City” beneath them. She felt her ears burn as the rest of her body went cold. At the same time, the radio anchor announced breaking news.
Seemed everyone was getting the story at the same time.
“A bizarre scene in Hudson County, New Jersey today, as a man opened fire on the Jersey City harbor, leaving four dead along the water. The man then moved on to the Light Rail, leaving another dead. The cause of the battle is unknown, but an onlooker took a picture of a man getting off the train before he escaped on the Weehawken ferry. His photo is up on our AM 900 website. It is believed he was somehow involved, possibly even the shooter. If you see this man, call the authorities immediately. He is believed to be armed and dangerous. More on this story as it becomes available.”
He gave a brief descriptio
n of John for “those listening away from a computer.” Ashley had seen the shootout begin, only feet from her. Peter opened fire first, and then pushed John on to the Light Rail, leaving bodies behind them. Just after the train pulled away, an Arabic guy approached the scene and picked up the guns. Ashley called 911.
The cops arrived and began cordoning off the area only minutes later.
“In other New Jersey news, the corporation Ameritech suffered a break-in the—”
Ashley turned off the radio, and then grabbed her cell phone. She dialed John, but got no answer. He had his phone off. She tried Michelle next. The phone rang three times before she answered.
“Ashley, what’s going on? What happened tonight?”
Behind Michelle’s voice there was a rumble of other people talking, music, and glasses clanking.
“Where are you? I can barely hear you,” Ashley said.
“I’m at a bar with some people from work. Frank had to work tonight,” she said, as if she didn’t quite believe it. “Hold on. I’m heading outside right now.”
You’d better hope he’s doing his job right now, Ashley thought.
She held the phone tight and watched the :04 on the dashboard clock flip to :05. Time was wasting. She had to figure out what to do. If they went after Peter, they’d probably come after her too. The roar behind Michelle’s voice dulled until Ashley couldn’t hear it at all.
“Michelle, I—”
“You broke up with John tonight,” Michelle said, her voice much clearer now.
“What? No. We had a fight. I didn’t break up with him.”
“He called me after it happened. Told me you ended it. Said he called Patrick too, and we both told him the same thing, get out and get a drink. But he didn’t.”
Of course he called you. Ashley felt her shoulders tighten and hated herself for it. Now wasn’t the time to be jealous.
“That’s not what happened,” she said.
“Okay, if you’re not broken up, what was the fight about?” Michelle asked.
Ashley thought about telling her the truth. Telling her everything.
Instead, she said, “John was just on the news. Did you see it in the bar?”
“No. They had the Nets on. Why was he—?”
“He was involved in some sort of shootout. People are dead. They think he did it.”
Michelle laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m serious.” I saw it all.
“Stop messing around. First you tell him you don’t want to see him, and now you’re going to tell me he’s wanted by the police?”
Ashley sighed. What had John told her? When she told John she didn’t want to see him, just hours earlier in the car outside his apartment, she meant tonight. And he knew it.
Why shouldn’t I do this? It’ll be good for both of them
It’s stupid and it’s none of your business. Don’t follow him tonight.
Do you know something? Is there someone else?
No.
Tell me why you don’t agree with me. Why is this wrong? You’ve been acting so weird lately. You haven’t been answering my calls.
Just don’t be stupid. I can’t take you when you’re like this.
Are you breaking up with me?
She had paused before answering. Looked at her steering wheel.
Are you?
I—
John got out of her car and went back into his apartment.
Her eyes had welled up when she screamed at him. Ashley needed him to believe her. And he didn’t listen. In fact, he did exactly the opposite of what she expected. Usually, if they fought, he’d want to work it out. Stick around. This time he stormed off. She wished she hadn’t hesitated before answering the break-up question.
She followed him all the way to the docks. And she’d just gotten out of her car to confront him when the gunfire started. She thought if they went after Peter, they would be coming for her.
And now John was wanted for murder.
“Michelle, turn on the news.”
The roar of the bar came back. Michelle must have gone inside again. She was talking to someone, probably the bartender, asking for the channel to be changed. Michelle had to ask three times. Ashley looked back into the bar. Channel five was just getting to the story.
“Oh my God,” she heard Michelle say.
Over the roar, Michelle continued, “I’m going to get help. My father has connections with police forces everywhere.”
“I know,” Ashley said.
There was a pause, and then, “Of course you know. I’m sorry. It’s just… I can’t believe this. I’m going to try and find out what’s going on.”
“Okay.”
“Call me if you hear anything, Ash.”
Ashley bit the inside of her lip.
“Ashley?”
“Please call me back after you talk to your dad.”
“You got it. I can’t believe this.”
“Neither can I.” Ashley took a breath. Lie, she told herself. Get Michelle to think about reasons why John would be involved with this. Reasons that had nothing to do with Ashley’s life. “Maybe… Maybe he just lost it. After everything he’s been through, maybe tonight was too much.”
“I don’t believe it. He’s been seeing a psychiatrist. He’s been doing so well. He didn’t act like this when we broke up. We’re still friends. He let me set you two up.”
And he still stared at you whenever we all went out together, Ashley thought and shrugged to try and loosen the knot in her shoulders.
“Call me,” Michelle said. “As soon as you hear anything.”
“You too.”
Ashley snapped her cell shut and went back to staring. She wasn’t going to call Michelle. She wasn’t going to call anyone. She had to worry about protecting herself. But with what? Ashley closed her eyes and thought. There was a 24 hour Home Depot a few blocks from here. They had to have something.
Her fingertips tingled as she put her cellphone back into her purse.
Closing her eyes, she thought, I hope you stay safe, John.
“You okay?” Frank asked.
John nodded, raising the pint of Pabst to his lips. The beer was sour, but it was wet and it moistened his tongue. The shakes had mostly stopped. John could still see the dead men, but if he gritted his teeth hard enough and focused on Frank’s face, the images would pass.
The bar was dark, a long TV in the corner playing One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. A few patrons dressed in tight jeans and flannel shirts stood near the bar and sipped Pabst from a can. Flogging Molly played from the jukebox.
“Okay, good.” Frank paused, mouth open, as if he planned to say one thing, then changed his mind. “Why were you following me?”
John placed the beer on the bar table between them. He once told Ashley that they should give tables like these to his students instead of desks. The kids never wanted to sit. They wanted to bounce around, move and not have to sit still. Kind of like how John felt right now.
“Ashley broke up with me.”
That’s it. Leave it at that. Don’t go any deeper.
Frank watched John for a moment. Then his gaze flicked back and forth over John’s shoulder. Finally, it returned to John.
“Uh huh?”
Frank’s way of saying go on.
“Yeah, I think Ashley broke up with me. Said she couldn’t see me. I—I don’t know. We had a huge argument.”
John reached down for his beer. When his hand started to shake again, he wrapped it around the pint glass and held it there. He didn’t want to drop the glass when he lifted it up again.
“What does that have to do with you following me?”
That’s what we were fighting about.
Frank’s voice was tight and steady. How’d he keep it that way after killing six people? How the hell was he so calm? The best John could do was think about Ashley’s face in the car, lips turned down, eyes soft, the hint of moisture at the rims.
He focused on Michelle’s voice when he called her to tell her. How it got real soft when she said she was sorry. Told him to come out with her for some drinks. That Frank was busy again, no idea where.
He told himself to focus on that. Not all the bodies. Not all the blood.
“I called Michelle to tell her about it, about Ashley. And she said you were working again tonight. Like you always do. How you never tell her where you’re working. How when she calls you never pick up.”
