Dennis Yates - Minus Tide

“And then what do we do?” Ann said. “If we still can’t call the cops?”

“We find a place to hide for a day or two. I was thinking we could look up Coach, since he’s got a place right on the beach.”

“I didn’t think you liked coach,” Ann said.

“I don’t. But I have to admit he’s honest. Maybe we weren’t on the best of terms when I was in school, but I think he was just worrying about what I was going through with my mom and dad fighting all the time. I was stupid because I couldn’t see until later how much it tore him up inside.”

“Are you planning to see your folks?”

“Not sure if I will yet. Have you seen them around much?”

“Your mom stops in once in a while. She acts like she’s in a hurry to get somewhere. Mostly just pays, nods and leaves. With her it’s like we’re not much more familiar strangers.”

“And my dad?”

“I saw him at the 101 one night last fall and he stopped by my table to say hello. He’d just been elk hunting with some of his buddies and wanted to brag about a ten pointer he’d bagged. He was feeling pretty good and wanted to tease me, knowing how I’d feel about it. When I asked him if he’d heard from you he kind of switched gears and went back to join his friends. I guess it must have been around the time you up and went to Mexico.”

“Did he sell the boat?”

“Not sure.”

James lit another cigarette and stared up at the bridge they’d passed under before. He noticed swallows nests beading the concrete belly-small, upside down jugs of dried mud where black specks darted to and from. The swallows’ pre-dawn chirping was still frenzied despite having driven off the chick-stealing crows. Maybe they were celebrating their victory, he thought. But the crows would be back. He was sure of it.

A dense mountain of fog had begun to devour the bridge a piece at a time. Just great, James thought, we’re heading right into it. Pretty soon we’ll be in the soup too, and I won’t be able to see a damn thing. When he glanced up to watch the last fragment of bridge disappear, he thought he saw three figures peering down at them from the steel railing, their outlines limned by headlights of a vehicle left idling.

“Ann, look,” James said. But when Ann raised her eyes, the men on the bridge were already hidden by a sweeping arm of fog.

“What is it?”

“I think it was them. I’m sure it was them. Who else could it be?”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ve got no choice but to drift into the fog. They’ll only be able to guess where we’re going after that.”

“But it’ll only be a matter of time before they find us again.”

“Unless we’re able blow town without them catching us first. If we have a decent head start we could get to a bigger city where they’d never find us.”

“I can’t leave. My aunt depends on me. I can’t go anywhere now.”

“It’s up to you what you do. All I’m saying is that since Duane is a pile of stinking ashes…”

“So that’s the real reason you’ve come back?”

“Of course it is. Do you really think I came back to make peace?”

“I don’t know James. A few minutes ago I was feeling sorry for you. But I guess I’ve forgotten how much you hate it here.”

“But you do remember what we agreed on?

“I remember.”

“Then would you please tell me why the money’s not where we left it?”

“You went to get it?”

“How else would I know it got moved?” James said.

Fresh tears burned against Ann’s cheeks, making her conscious of how chilled she was. She wiped her face, fought back the sudden urge to bum a smoke. Her hand drifted down into her pocket. The.38 was cold against her palm.

“I got scared, James. When I didn’t hear from you I thought something might have happened…”

“So you thought you’d move the money just in case someone else came looking for it?”

“Yes.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“That’s up to you. All I know is that you’re here to get what’s yours. And even if Duane is sitting in an urn at his crazy mother’s house, he kind of isn’t dead if we’ve still got problems.”

James leaned forward and studied Ann’s face as it was being swallowed by fog. “Well look at you. You haven’t even left town and you’ve grown so smart. I have to believe you, Ann, I’ve got no choice. Now will you to tell me where it is?”

After her mother was gone he’d started making more trips to Portland. He often brought Ann. She was a good lookout, could tap the horn to let him know when anyone was coming, when anyone looked like they had trouble in mind. And her aunt would go to bed early and had no clue they where leaving town late at night and getting back before sunrise. Duane had told Ann not to say a word to anyone, that it could put a lot of people in danger, including her.

“You did good Ann,” he’d said. “Real good.”

Ann had watched him reach down and nudge the pistol further under the car seat. She didn’t think the cop had bought her act at all. Yet for some reason he hadn’t turned it into a big deal. Maybe he wasn’t expecting to see her when he’d pulled Duane over for speeding so late on a school night, in a town where they didn’t even live. Perhaps he’d just felt sorry for her.

“You said you’d take me to Dairy Queen. And that was two hours ago.”

A smile had ruptured below Duane’s straggly moustache. He’d still had most of his perfect teeth then, was fanatical about flossing. When Duane smiled like that she knew he was thinking about other things. He could talk to her while seeming unaware of her, as if she were as invisible as all the others he’d begun talking to when he thought she wasn’t listening.

They’d watched as the cop came by for a final pass. Ann had reached for the door. She’d made up her mind that she was going to flag him down and confess everything-that she wasn’t sick, that Duane sometimes made her wait in the car all by herself late a night.

“Please darling,” Duane had told her. He’d caught her wrist roughly. His fingers had burned like rope. “You don’t really want that man coming back to talk to me.”

He’d watched the cop cruise by and laughed. Ann’s wrist was reddened after he let it go. She’d slid away from him as far as she could while he started the Camaro, salt worn and more the straw color of piss than the canary yellow it had once been. The ocean air ate away at everything she’d thought, including some people’s minds. She hated the hoarse sound of the engine when he revved it, how he always loved to leave behind a patch of burning rubber as if he was some kind of badass and not a bottom-feeding drug dealer. She could see that he was worried. His face was a sheen of sweat and he stank like fertilizer and it made Ann gag. She’d had to lower her window for some air. I won’t have to fake being sick, I’ll be sick.

“You’ve got to hold it just a little longer, Ann. We need to get on the freeway before that cop comes around again.”

“He’s not coming back. You say that every time.”

“I swear I could almost read what he was thinking when he went past. Couldn’t you?”

“No, Duane.”

“I guess we’ll find out little girl. But I still think there’s something in his gut that isn’t sitting right and I bet you he’s trying to come up with a reason to pop my trunk.”

“He’s gone,” Ann said. “He doesn’t care …”

Duane drove fast when he thought he was being followed, which was usually most of the time. Closer to Traitor Bay he knew the cops and they mostly left him alone. But Portland was always too big for Duane. He felt exposed, couldn’t maintain his 360- degree vision without a couple bumps up the nose to keep him alert. Lately the stuff had started to show its side effects. It made him think he was clairvoyant.