Shattered Shell (35 page)

The wind seemed to increase some and I was shivering all over, my knees trembling from the cold. I was sure that I was starting to slip into shock as my body temperature began to plummet. 1 looked up at the stars and saw the faint lights of Tyler Beach, and I made my way again over the rocks and stones.

"Damn it, Sally," I whispered. "Why in hell didn't you build you goddamn shack at North Tyler Beach? At least its just sand there.

I tripped again and fell on the snow and rocks, and there was no answer from Sally's ghost or anyone else. Just the wind and waves and the damnable cold.

They way was slow going, tripping and falling and sliding, my teeth chattering. I saw the bulk of land ahead of me that jutted out to the ocean, and marked the promontory of Samson Point. At night and in the silence of the state park, there were no lights. I stood for only a moment, taking stock of the situation. I could stay along the shoreline and hug the coast and be perfectly safe, but I knew that the cold would make me lie down and fall into that deadly grip of exposure.

The best route would be to get out to Atlantic Avenue, and to a warm building and a phone, and that meant cutting across the grounds of the park. There were no streetlights or lampposts here at night ---just the quiet trees and the silent concrete bunkers, and out near the road, the parking lot and park buildings. Everything would be cold and snow-covered, but as I clambered up over the hills and onto the land of the Samson Point State Wildlife Preserve, I was gambling on something.

I finally stood on snow-covered land, breathing hard, my numb and shaking hands stuck into the soaking-wet pockets. I looked around and started walking, getting knee-deep in snow. The faint starlight made everything glow with an eerie light, and then I stumbled across another bank of snow and allowed myself to relax, if only for a moment.

Before me was a trail leading into the woods. A cross-country ski trail. And all of the trails led back to the parking lot. I up and down a few times to get the blood moving in my lower legs and then I started jogging across the hard-packed snow. My throat was burning with thirst and my teeth were still chattering, and was sure that with each step I was destroying the carefully groomed ski trails, but if the skiers were to complain, they would have talk to me tomorrow.

It seemed like hours, but I was back on Atlantic Avenue, seeing the lights of the Lafayette House. I stood in the shadow of a closed-up cottage and looked across the way. No four-door sedan. No mysterious grouping of men huddling around the entrance. Nothing. I turned and looked longingly in the direction of the hotel’s parking lot, which led to my house, but I knew I wasn't going horn alone tonight. Not in a single moment.

I scampered across the street, the relief at seeing the lights of the Lafayette House almost warming me. I went up the front stairs and a well-dressed couple coming out looked at me, and looked at me again in horror. I'm sure I presented a wonderful sight, and I'm also sure that there'd be stories told later, about the winter vacation at Tyler Beach and the drunken, wet bum will stumbled into the lobby.

Inside, I began rubbing my hands in the warm air and unbuttoned my coat. I went over to the left, near the gift shop, where there was a pay phone. A portly man in his fifties, wearing khaki slacks and a monogrammed lime-green sweater, was on the phone talking loudly to someone named Albert. Along the walls here was polished insets of marble, and I felt queasy, staring at my reflection. My face was puffy and scraped, and my hair was matted down.  Everything I had on was soaked, and I looked down at my pants legs and winced at the bloody knee. My hands were red and scraped raw, and I looked over at the man on the phone and just stared.   I stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne, and I continued to stare, unblinkingly.

He looked over at me. "Is there a problem?"

I said nothing. I continued to stare, and I continued to drip onto the expensive carpeting in the lobby.

"Urn, gotta go," the man said, and he hung up the phone and walked away, muttering something about the lack of respect shown to paying guests.

I got to the phone and started to dial. I had to dial three times for my swollen fingers kept on slipping off the keypad. The phone rang twice and was picked up, and then I was suddenly tired and I had to rest my head against the cool marble, tears trickling down my cheeks.

“Yes?" came the voice.

"Felix?"

"Lewis, is that you? Do you know what time it is?"

I took a deep breath and looked around at the comfort and warmth and good taste of this lobby, about a couple of hundred yards away from a place where I had almost been shot down.

"Lewis?" he said, his voice sharp and quizzical.

"Felix," I said, my throat still aching. "Felix, I am in a world of hurt."

His voice snapped down one level. "Where are you?"

"Lobby of the Lafayette House."

"You hurt bad?"

"Bumps, scrapes, and bruises. Plus I'm freezing to death."

"Someone out there looking for you?"

"Several someones, all of them armed, in a car."

His quick voice warmed me. "Stay there, right in public. Don't go anywhere. I'll be there right away."

Then he hung up.

I closed my eyes again, not caring who was watching me as I leaned against the marble, breathing in ragged gasps, just waiting and shivering.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I kept peeking out of the main doorway, ignoring the guests staring at me, until Felix came by about ten minutes later. He drove up to the entrance and I stumbled my way outside, knees and legs aching.  Inside, the car was warm, with a faint smell of leather and cologne and Felix looked over, one hand on the steering wheel, his other holding his automatic pistol.

"Where do you want to go?" he said.

"Home."

"Not wise," he said.

"I don't care if it is or isn't," I said. "That's where I want to go."

He shrugged. "All right, it's your call." He made the short drive over to the parking lot. "By the way, you look like hell.  Mind telling me what happened?"

"Not at all, but later. I've got to get out of these clothes."

"Fine."

He pulled into an empty spot and I joined him outside. I shivered, cold again and losing that wonderful warmed-up feeling. Felix went to the rear of his Mercedes and opened the trunk, removing a long, brown-zippered bag, which he unzipped. A twelve-gauge shotgun slid out and Felix handed his automatic pistol over to me.

"You know what the bad guys were driving?"

"Four-door sedan. Couldn't tell you make or model. Too dark and too scary."

He slammed down the trunk. "They usually are. Is it here in the lot?”

I looked around. These cars were either too new or too foreign to hold the guys that had ambushed me, and I told Felix that.  He said, "Fine. Let's get you home."

1 suppose I should have been frightened, walking down to my house at night after such a horrible event. My mind should have been creating ambush sites and guns and bad guys by the dozens in the shadows among the rocks and few trees near my home, but I felt oddly at ease. I was now armed and at my side was Felix, and the casual yet sharp way he walked with the shotgun in his hands helped make the racing noise in my ears slow down.

At the house some lights were on. "Anyone supposed to be here?” Felix asked.

"No. I've got the lights set on a timer."

"All right," he said. "You stand right here and I'll make a quick circle around, see if there's anybody inside."

He walked to the house and I stood there in the cold, listening, to the waves, his weapon heavy in my hands, and then he was back, "Looks fine. Ready to go in?"

"Ready for that and a hot shower and clean clothes," I said.

"I'm sure you are, but let's make sure you don't get shot in the process. Tell you how it's going to be done. You snap open the door and I'm in, covering the left side of the first floor. You come in after me, keep watch toward the kitchen. Then I'll go upstairs first and you come along, and then a quick cellar check and we should be fine."

"Let's do it," I said, and that's what we did.

Watching Felix at work can either be disturbing or enlightening and this night it was the latter. It was like watching a Cy Young pitcher close out the ninth inning with three strikeouts, or a star quarterback march his team downfield with two minutes to spare, to seize the winning touchdown. He's that good. He moved through my house with quick, sharp, and economical moves, and in a fistful of minutes we were back on the first floor.

"You intend to spend the night here?"

"Yes." I noticed that my hands were beginning to shake.

"Again, not too smart. You should ---"

"Stop with the lectures, will you? I'm not letting those creatures chase me from my home. Not tonight and not ever."

Felix stared at me. "All right, I need to make a phone call.”

"Go ahead."

He picked up my phone and dialed, and when his call answered, Felix said, "Manny? Felix here. I've got a job." A pause.  "Like right now, Manny. Security detail. A home on Atlantic Avenue on Tyler Beach, across the way from the Lafayette House."

He looked at me, raised his eyebrows. "Payment will be fair you know that. Thing is, I need the house sealed. You got it? No one comes within fifty yards."

Another pause, and Felix put his hand over the phone. "Think the Lafayette House will mind a van parked in their lot?"

"No, I don't think so."

Felix returned to the phone and said, "You can set someone up in the parking lot, have them keep watch. Manny, make sure, they're pros, okay? All right then, I’ll ---"

"Hold it," I said.

Felix looked up. "What's up?"

"I need something else done."

"What's that?"

My throat clenched up again, and damn, my hands were still shaking. "Need something cleaned up. North of here, by Sally’s Pace, my Rover is parked. Felix, it's pretty well shot up. I don't want a state trooper or North Tyler cop poking around."

He nodded slowly. "Sorry to hear that." Back to the phone "Your lucky night, Manny. I need a tow job, too. Part of a clean up. A dark green Range Rover's parked up on Atlantic Avenue by North Tyler, near Sally's Clam Shack. Get rid of it and store it somewhere."

I could make out the voice on the other end of the line. "Of course it's got to be towed, you idiot, it's full of bullet holes. Call me at this number ... " and he gave Manny my home number, "when you've got everything set up."

Felix hung up and said, "You want to tell me what happened tonight?"

"Yes, but after a shower and some dry clothes."

His nose wrinkled a bit. "Thanks. I think that's for the best."

I managed a smile. "You're so gallant, Tinios, it makes my heart sing."

He said something not very gallant in return, and I made my way upstairs.

After cleaning up in the bathroom I started working on my knee.  As I dug through the medicine cabinet, Felix's 9mm pistol was on the counter. My knee injuries were mostly scrapes, with one deep cut that was taken care of by a gauze bandage and some tape, and when left the bathroom I got the willies again about what had happened, remembering the gut-clenching sound of weapons being fired at me, hearing the metal-jacketed rounds that were meant for my flesh go tearing through my Rover, and then I was on my knees. I threw up in a series of painful spasms, my gut twisting at nothing there, only bringing up bile, and my sore knee on the tile floor made the pain that much more exquisite. I washed up some with cold water, got into my bedroom, and got dressed. In the top drawer of my oak dresser I retrieved my own 9mm Beretta, and I went downstairs and handed over Felix's piece.

"Thanks for the loaner."

“You're welcome. How about a beer?"

"After tonight, I'd brew you a beer if I knew how to do such a damn thing."

L got Felix a Molson Golden and poured myself some ice water, and as he sat on the couch with the shotgun across his lap and I sat with my Beretta, I told him about my trip south and my encounter with Doug and his friends at the Brick Yard Pub, and about the take-out meal on the ground that was probably now being picked over by seagulls.

Felix said, "Lewis, it looks like you have mightily pissed somebody off."

"I would guess you're right. I didn't think Doug was that much of anybody. But less than an hour after I was rattling his cage, there's a car full of goons waiting for me in North Tyler, waiting to cut me to pieces."

"Don't think it was just Doug. It might be his boss or a worker. Look, ever since I moved here, I've focused my attention on points north, like here and Maine. Too many people are ping over the turf down south. Hell, I probably don't know half players on the North Shore. But I do know this. That pub is as a neutral place where deals get struck and agreements are made.  You going in there and stirring the pot had to trigger a response.  Only surprise is, that was one hell of a quick reaction."