Johnnie Finds a Dead Body
Page 23
His friend Zach, wearing his desert gear, held his head, his face pleaded, “Hold on, JJ. The medic is coming. Stay with me, bro.” Through broken glass and bloodshot eyes, he reached for Zach, but his friend disappeared into vapor. In a white room, Darla was sobbing, her face red and puffy, “Stay with me, John. You have to stay…” Regret filled his brain, wishing he could do things over. As he began to say, “I’m sorry,” her face morphed into Robin’s, looking down at him as she pushed his wheelchair. Taking a lap around the hospital courtyard in the noon day sun, she was telling him a story about their childhood pet—Tommy the yellow lab—and how he trained the dog to chew up her Barbie dolls. They both laughed. But now Darla appeared again, this time her face was red with anger, “I won’t take it anymore. I’ve tried. You know I have. You won’t talk to me…”
Through half-lidded eyes, he saw her. The Goddess. Paddling out toward him, the low sun illuminating her golden hair. The next second, she was kneeling on her board next to him, whispering, “You can’t give up. We’ll meet again soon.”
Johnnie opened his eyes, seeing only water, the cold in his legs like needles, unsure of how much time had passed. No Darla. No Goddess. Only hallucinations.
A sailboat passed by, sending a wake over him, enveloping him in a coffin of water. He woke in a panic and gripped the board in his hands. No, he had to live.
Johnnie remembered he promised to work on Gertie’s shutters this weekend. And he owed Stumpy a bunch of cheesy puffs. These seemed like good enough reasons to stay alive. And what Robin had said yesterday, “If you die, I’m going to kill you.” His tears mixed with laughter at that one.
After twenty-minutes of slow paddling, he rode the two-foot-tall waves onto the sandbar. Johnnie hobbled, like a hunch-back, to the spot where he left his belongings. He grabbed his T-shirt, keys and flip-flops and trudged to the center of the main beach, onto the soft sand. Johnnie collapsed, laying face up, bare-chested, prone like a snow angel. He wiggled his toes and hands into the topmost layer of loose warm sand, hoping to bring feeling back.
A family walked past him, holding a picnic basket. It was Chase and his parents.
Chase stopped and hovered over him. “Mister, are you okay?”
Johnnie chuckled, staring up at the clouds—now pink above the darkened beach. “Just dandy.”
“Guess what? I found a star-fish! But mom said I couldn’t keep it. Mister, what did the mama cow say to the baby cow?”
“What?”
“It’s pasture bed time!” Chase giggled and clucked his tongue. “Get it?”
“Ha. Nice.”
Chase’s mother pulled the boy away and the trio trudged off.
Johnnie yawned. Time to go home and have a sandwich for dinner. Yet, his muscles refused to move. He vaguely remembered a time as a young Marine when he could swim that distance and still have energy for a five-K run. As he lay there, willing himself upright, wondering if he should take a day off tomorrow, he heard Chase shout, “Mom, I found a jellyfish!”
Then her voice, shrill with terror, “No! Stop! Put that disgusting thing down!”
Johnnie laughed and couldn’t stop laughing, his ribs registered pain, his mind delirious, imagining what Chase actually found.
The sky turned dark purple and lights from distant houses appeared across the hillside. It was time to go home. As he rode the Pig up the winding road, his thoughts wandered. If the evil Thomas lived through the night, would he leave him alone now? Perhaps appreciate the fact that he was still alive? Tomorrow was Friday. He was supposed to call Dr. Lou to check in. Would he feel some guilt by then? He didn’t think so.
He’d done many bad things in his life.
Stabbing and stranding the douchebag Mr. Smith wasn’t even in his top ten.
***
Smith tugged at the knots behind his back. It must be a bad dream, he thought. The sun was going down fast.
It was his own damned fault.
The rules were there for a reason. Had he gotten too complacent?
Right now, he had three goals. Untie himself. Bandage his wound as best as possible. Get off the damned island.
None of it made any sense. Why hadn’t Johnnie killed him? Was he supposed to be grateful to that piece of shit?
His pruned fingers caught an end of the rope, allowing him to trace it back to the knot and force his fingers underneath. The cord loosened. Soon, his hands were free.
The sun was gone now, but his eyes adjusted. In the moonlight, he couldn’t see the extent of his chest wound, but he still felt dizzy. With no fresh water, his clothes wet, and no phone, his prospects looked bleak.
He stripped off his wet pants. Living the commando lifestyle, he now sat with his bare tush against the coarse sand and pebbles. With his teeth, he ripped strips of fabric from his pants and wound it around his torso.
In the distance, he saw a sailboat. Yelling made no difference.
Waiting until dawn was the safe option. The other was to swim the half-mile in the dark. He felt for the thumb drive in the buttoned back pants pocket. Still there. But what good did it do in this situation?
As he sat on the sandy slope admiring the twinkling lights across the channel, a strange thought crossed his mind. What if he was actually dead? And this island was some type of purgatory?
That made more sense than the piss-head leaving him alive and swimming him to a desolate island.
Maybe he was a ghost.
A grin crossed his face. Ghosts were pretty cool. They could haunt their enemies for decades.
Yes, he decided. He would be Johnnie Crosswell’s ghost.
If it took fifty years, he would make sure Crosswell felt his presence—his evil presence—until the moron’s dying breath.
***
Dear Diary,
I’m so tired I can’t function. You’d be proud because I ended up doing the right thing. At least as right as I can manage. I’m not telling Robin about what I did to Smith. She would never understand. Heck, I don’t understand it.
I watched The Simpsons tonight even though it was one I think I saw before, but it made me miss Cud. He’s only been gone a day and Gertie asked before when he’s coming back and I don’t know. He said it could be weeks.
Kemper left me a message saying I could go back to maintenance work next week now that stories about the actual killer are in the news. Today’s hike wasn’t bad, but I’ll be glad to not talk to anyone for a while.
I cancelled my appointment with Lou because I don’t know what to say to her. Would she despise me if I told her the truth? Probably. If I lost Lou as my doctor, I’d be in trouble and that thought is terrifying.
And what if Cud never comes back? And if Robin spends more time with Arturo?
But I’ll always have you Diary. And Stumpy.
Goodnight,
Love, Johnnie.
P.S. Remind me to buy a new fishing spear, hang Gertie’s shutters, and fix my headlight.
Smith’s 30 Rules for Excellent Fixing
1–Charge your client double the expected cost.
2–Get half payment up front.
3–Use multiple aliases.
4–Don’t seek revenge.
5–Engage your enemies on your own terms and choice of setting.
6–Disguises work.
7–Hacking up bodies is time consuming, messy, and pointless.
8–Have three exit strategies.
9–Make technology work for you.
10–Falling in love is for pussies.
11–Never work with a partner or in a team.
12–Don’t take on asshole clients even when the money is good.
13–Don’t skimp on self-care, exercise, and naps.
14–Avoid drugs and alcohol. Never accept free drinks.
17–Keep a well-stocked medical kit.
18–Travel light; black goes with everything.
19–Don’t get caught with expired identification.
20–Flying coach leads to murder.
Don’t do it.
21–Kidnapping high-profile persons or kids causes more problems than it solves.
22–Eat all your meals standing up.
23–Pack bolt-cutters and duct-tape.
24–Strike first and make it count; don’t show mercy.
25–Diversify your client base.
26–Save your money for a rainy day.
27–Owning a pet is beyond stupid.
28–Never let a hostage use the phone.
29–Torture works, but threats work better.
30–Live long enough to retire.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DS Whitaker is a New Jersey author who loves quirky, contemporary stories with oddball twists. Johnnie Finds a Dead Body, the first of the Johnnie Series, is her fourth novel. Her debut novel, Antigenesis, was a finalist in the 2020 National Indie Excellence Awards. DS is a member of the Liberty States Fiction Writers.
Follow her on Twitter at @ds_whitaker and subscribe to her mailing list through her website at www.dswhitaker.com.
The next book of the Johnnie series, Johnnie the Pirate King, is planned for release in late 2021.
Other works by DS Whitaker:
Antigenesis
Planet of the Creeps
Shower of Lies
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