Bobby Akart - First Strike

She calmly set the food and supply ledger on his desk, followed by her glasses. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. Then she gave him the look. It was the look all women learned from their mothers and grandmothers. The one that shouted no bullshit, mister , without saying a single word. Hank had experienced it his entire life.

He stood and closed the door, which Sonny had left open. “Okay, it’s just you and me,” said Hank as he eased back into his chair, locking eyes with Phoebe.

She forced a smile and nodded. “That it is.”

Her tone was threatening, in a motherly sort of way. In seconds, she had Hank spilling the tea without asking a single question. He held back the direst of warnings garnered from his conversations with Peter and Erin from the day before. He revealed enough to Phoebe to provide her a sense of urgency and to not question his intentions. After he was done, she summed up the preparations succinctly.

“It’s like preparing for a hurricane, except on steroids.”

“That’s a pretty good way of putting it,” he said.

“I can place the order on Sysco’s website. Some of the things, like cleaning supplies and personal hygiene, I’ll order from Southeast Wholesale.” Phoebe thought for a moment as she made notes in her ledger. She looked up over her glasses and asked, “For how long?”

Hank gulped as he thought to himself, I don’t know. How long do you wanna live? However, he resisted the urge to share his inner drama.

“A few months for nonperishables. A year, odd as that sounds, for basic supplies.”

“Like?” she asked.

“Think of your everyday activities. Not just as Phoebe the chef but as Phoebe who just rolled out of bed. Consider what you do first, second, third, etcetera. Same is true for every waking moment until you go to sleep. Whatever products you use, stockpile a lot of it. Make sure you buy for both men and women, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand. We’re gonna need more storage space.”

Hank closed his eyes and nodded. “If you order this afternoon, when will the trucks deliver to us?”

“Tomorrow, first thing. As long as it’s in by seven this evening, it’ll be dropped off early in the morning.”

“Good. We’ll find the space to store it.”

She continued to ask for direction. “What about perishables? Produce, dairy, stuff like that.”

“Order as much as your walk-in coolers can handle. We can keep them running with our generators until the food is gone.”

“Why would we need generators?”

“For when the power goes out.”

Phoebe sat back in her chair and removed her glasses. She stared at Hank for a long, uncomfortable moment. She finally spoke. “When? Or if?”

Hank exhaled. “We need to prepare for the worst, Phoebe. If nothing happens, then we have a lot of extra food and supplies to use up before we buy any more. Here’s the way I look at what we’re doing today. It’s kinda like buying insurance. I invest in peace of mind with every payment to Chubb. I hope nothing happens, but if it does, I have a plan. Same is true with what we’re doing right now. We are ensuring our ability to deal with the worst-case scenario.”

Phoebe glanced at her watch. “All right, Mr. Hank. I’d better get started so I can place the orders before I prepare dinner for our new arrivals. Will you be joining them tonight?”

Hank grimaced. He was far too preoccupied to socialize; plus he wanted to corner Erin when she returned from Key West.

“Will you pass along my apologies and tell them I’ll make it up to them this week?”

Phoebe nodded, and then a scowl came over her face. “Mr. Hank, our families have been through a lot. I don’t doubt the Albrights and Frees could face any challenge. But we’ve got eighteen bungalows filled with strangers from all over. What about them?”

Hank’s face turned ashen. He hadn’t thought about all the people on Driftwood Key that he bore responsibility for. Not to mention those who might be en route to fill their places on checkout. He grimaced as he realized he’d have to get rid of them and cancel incoming reservations. But when? And what if he was wrong?

“I don’t know. Let me think on it. Now, I’ve got to go to the bank and make a couple of other stops.”

Phoebe waved her hand and left his office. Hank gathered his wallet, car keys and a notepad. He made his way into the master bedroom suite that had been occupied by his parents and their parents before them. He walked to a solid wood door, the only one that wasn’t louvered in the main house. The key to the lock was kept in his bottom dresser drawer. Hank bent over to retrieve it and then tentatively unlocked it.

As the door swung open, he muttered, “I never thought I’d need to get in here.”

Inside the walk-in closet stood a gray Liberty gun safe with Lady Liberty emblazoned across the front. The safe had been there for many years, still requiring the user to turn a numbered dial to get inside. In the closet, on both sides of the safe, were shelves of ammunition stacked neatly by brand and caliber.

Most of the ammunition was seven years old. Mike, who was an expert marksman and personally managed the Albrights’ cache of weapons, made sure the oldest ammunition was used first when he and Jessica went to the range. Hank had never taken an interest in guns, and other than training with Mike years ago, he never practiced. He didn’t think it would be necessary. He was wrong.

He started making notes. Tonight, he would consult with Mike, who was really wrapped up in his murder investigation, especially since they’d discovered the third body. Hank would have to make multiple trips to Bass Pro Shops as well as local bait and tackle shops to stock up.

He began his list until he noticed the time. It was 4:30. He needed to get to the bank before it closed. He planned on making a cash withdrawal that would probably make the local branch manager wonder if he was making a drug deal.

Monday, October 21

McDowell Residence

Hayward, California

Lacey had been at her store, Jefferson Outfitters, working with one of her best customers when Peter called. She didn’t see the text message until after lunch, when she frantically began calling him to see what was wrong. After they had a conversation along the same lines as he’d had earlier with their father, Lacey told her employees to close up for her. She decided to pick Tucker up from school so he’d be with her. Just in case .

Her son was very level-headed and mature for his age. Fortunately, his interests were similar to his parents’. Enjoying the outdoors. He wasn’t into music or the party scene teenagers found themselves exposed to in the Bay Area. Tucker would rather go hiking, camping or snowboarding than attend a concert or hang out with other kids his age.

“Mom, you know Uncle Peter and I are tight. He never goes highkey , you know what I mean?”

No, not really, but she caught his drift. Lacey’s thought caused her to smile. Highkey was Tucker’s era. Catching his drift was hers.

“Dramatic?” she asked.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s a reporter, and I know it’s his job to hype things up. He’s never done that with us.”

Lacey nodded. Her younger brother wouldn’t ring these alarm bells with their family if he wasn’t genuinely concerned, and certain, that something was coming that could possibly affect them.

“The question is, what do we do about it?” she asked.

“Have you called Dad?”

“I spoke to him briefly. He said he wanted to look into something, you know, on a hunch.”