F Wilson - The Dark at the End

He turned and saw a golf bag with half a dozen clubs jutting from it. Two carpet-wrapped bundles lay on the floor next to it.

“Really?”

“The golf bag is home for the M-79. Like a glove it fits.”

Jack had to smile. “You knew I’d go for it.”

“Like you said, the ammo you’ve got, why waste it? The clubs I added for authenticity. No charge.”

“But I hate golf.”

“This is the Isher Sports Shop, bubbela. I should send you out the door carrying a grenade launcher? And each of those rugs holds an FIM-92 Stinger-no case, just the rocket and launcher.”

“Nice. I can squeeze those into the Vic’s trunk along with the golf bag.”

“It’s big enough?”

“Will be after I evict the immigrant family that’s renting it now.” He turned back to Abe and leaned on the counter. “So, what do you think of the plan?”

Abe pouted, furrowed his brow, then said, “It’s simple, direct, and to the point. It should work like a charm, but…”

Jack didn’t want to hear a but.

“Meaning?”

“Something is bound to go wrong.”

His own gut had been telling him the same.

“Exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Let me spell you,” Dawn said.

Weezy rubbed her eyes. Focusing and refocusing between the Compendium on her lap and the house across the street had given her a headache.

“Gladly.” She took one last glance at the mansion as she began to rise. “Nothing doing over there any-” The front door flew open and a man dressed in a yellow nor’easter and jeans stepped out. “Hang on a sec.”

He started across the yard toward the detached garage.

“That’s Georges!” Dawn said, pressing against Weezy’s back for a better view. “Has he got the baby with him?”

From the way his arms swung at his sides, Weezy knew he couldn’t, but she raised the glasses anyway.

“Nope. Empty-handed.”

She bit her lip as she watched him enter the garage by the side door. Was he going somewhere simple and mundane-like the grocery store? Or had plans changed and Rasalom was coming in early? No way she could know. She was going to have to call Jack.

But then Georges emerged carrying a pair of fishing poles.

“Going fishing,” Dawn said. “He must do that every day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shortly after I got here yesterday I saw him pull the boat into the dock and get out with a bunch of flat fish.”

“What did they look like?”

Weezy didn’t really care, just something to talk about as they watched him board the boat and set the rods in holders near the stern.

“One side was white and the other was medium brown with dark splotches.”

Weezy nodded. “Winter flounder. Good eating.”

“You fish?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I just… know.”

It’s what I do.

“Nice cozy little life they’ve got out here,” Dawn said, her tone bitter. “Big house, beautiful view, fresh fish daily… and my baby.”

“Not for long, Dawn. Not for long.”

Weezy kept the glasses trained on him as he opened the engine hatch-to release fumes, maybe?-then started the engine. He fussed with the rods while the engine warmed.

She said, “He must really love fishing if he’s going out in this weather.”

The bay teemed with whitecaps, but the water here was relatively sheltered. She wondered what the surf looked like on the ocean side of the South Fork. The Atlantic had to be pretty wild right now.

Dawn said, “Maybe Gilda’s planning a welcome-home fish fry for Mr. Osala.”

Weezy glanced at her, sensing fuming sulfuric acid when she said “Gilda.”

They watched Georges cast off the lines and head out into the bay until the boat disappeared behind the house.

“Take a break,” Dawn said. “My turn.”

Weezy rose from the chair and handed her the Leica.

“I’ll make some fresh coffee.”

“No more for me, thanks. I’ve had more than enough.”

More than enough coffee? Weezy found that an alien concept.

“This from the girl who likes ‘black-hole’ coffee?”

“I’m wound up enough as it is.”

Yeah, she probably was.

“Hang in there. This should all be over by tonight.”

Down in the kitchen, as Weezy filled the carafe with water for the O’Donnells’ Mr. Coffee, she glanced out the back door and saw flashing lights. Not good. When you’d invaded someone’s home, flashing lights were not good. At least they weren’t blue-and-red police lights. These were orange. Still…

She put the carafe down and stepped to the door for a better look. Yes, flashing orange lights visible between the houses on the next street, down by the highway…

… where she’d parked the Jeep.

“Oh, Christ!”

She dashed back into the front room, grabbed the keys and her coat, then called upstairs.

“Gotta go down to the Jeep! Be right back!”

She didn’t wait for a reply as she dashed out the back door. Only a hundred yards or so. She’d make it in no time.

She ran across the O’Donnells’ backyard into the scrub that buffered their property from the houses behind. She cut through a neighbor’s yard-again, nobody home-and onto Bayberry Drive, the street parallel to Dune.

No doubt about it. Those lights belonged to a tow truck. Aw, no. She’d parked the SUV on a sandy path within the trees. It wasn’t bothering anybody there, and it hadn’t been visible from the road. How-?

She angled onto Nuckateague Road and raced down toward the highway. She reached it just in time to see a flatbed truck pull out with a Jeep Cherokee on its bed- her Cherokee. Or rather Jack’s.

She increased her speed, shouting and waving her arms as she chased it. Whoever was driving either didn’t look back or ignored her.

What on Earth?

She’d caught a glimpse of the writing on the driver’s door. She stuttered to a stop and called up the image: Neumeister’s Towing and Auto Body… with an Amagansett address and phone number below.

She reached into her coat pocket. She’d call those sons of Where was her phone? She searched through all her pockets. Damn! Back at the O’Donnell place, charging.

Puffing from the unaccustomed exertion, she turned in a small circle, stamping her feet in frustration.

So now what? Walk back to the O’Donnell place just to tell Dawn she’d be delayed, and then walk back here and beyond to get to Amagansett?

Didn’t make sense. And she couldn’t have Dawn drive her to town in the Volvo. That would mean leaving the mansion unwatched. Besides, Dawn’s car had to stay hidden. Best to just head into Amagansett and call her from there.

Wouldn’t take long to hitch into town, pay whatever fine was due for whatever ordinance they’d broken, then return.

She began heading west along Route 27-labeled the Montauk Highway out here. She walked backward, ready to stick out her thumb when a car approached.

Something wet hit her face. Then another. White flakes began to swirl from above.

Snow.

She shook her head with chagrin. Could it get any worse?

Dawn noticed the flurries and leaned back from the window to check the Weather Channel. Yep, the Doppler map showed the first green bands of the storm hitting Long Island’s South Fork.

She wondered about getting snowed in. Wouldn’t that mess up Jack’s plans? She’d worry about that when the time came. Nobody seemed totally sure of how much was going to fall anyway.

As she turned back to the window, she thought she saw movement near the house. She grabbed the binoculars and scanned the property through the scattered flakes.

There-in the yard, on the bay side, a gray-haired woman in a coat was crouched by the bulkhead. Dawn adjusted the focus to sharpen her features and confirm what she’d already guessed. She knew that hatchet face, totally recognized that toadlike body.