Last Chance Harvey-Part 25 (Blogophilia 46.11)

A rough sketch of Haley’s Dry Dock lay face up on the table. The place was triangular, point ending at the shore. The gravel drive went west from McEver Rd and ended at the main building. From memory, Jerry said there was a large cargo door leading into the eight-slip dock extending over the water. Along the right side of the parking area sat a smaller tool shed and the office. The meeting would be between the shed and the dock.

Why did she come back? The whole story about how she had lured Tom in, getting him to cook the marina books to keep her happy was one thing. But to come back knowing what everyone knew? She was a woman addicted to the con. It had to be. Her claim was the Miami gang was upping the pressure was either bogus or desperate. She said she needed cash or bad things would happen. If it was in small bills, she’d have something extra for him. Even in their intoxicated state, they knew what “extra” was. It was slipped into a small cardboard box and taped. To everyone else, it looked like a fuel pump for a marine engine.

They thought of taking the tug but it would take too long and the engine would be heard. They settled on splitting up before they got to the driveway. The plan was for Tom to meet Corrine at the shed as planned. Jerry would be on the opposite side of the road as a lookout, while Jim would cover from behind. It was as good as anything else cooked up by stoned people. Which meant it was useless. But it was all they had.

Jim grabbed his 9 mm from the desk. He pulled the magazine, checked and it slammed it back in place. All good. The others nodded agreement. They didn’t want to go there, but better to have it. He put it in his jacket pocket as they climbed into grey Explorer and left the cabin.

Nothing was said in the few minutes it took to get to the property. A vermilion streak across the sky fading to dark belied the storm coming. Good or bad, nothing was going to be the same. Tom pulled the truck into a paved lot down from the driveway. It was early, so they went over the final details. With quick handshakes and frazzled good lucks, Jim and Jerry exited the car and disappeared into the woods.

A rusted sign almost no one noticed tilted toward the road at the entrance. Haley had retired a couple of years ago and no one ever came here. Tom drove down to the empty parking area. The hulks of abandoned cars littered the side of the lot next to the woods. It was the road less taken. Sweat formed along his temples as he scanned from the main dock up to the office. Was she here? Fear rode up his spine.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim slide behind a rusty trailer across from the shed. The touch of a steel blade provided cold comfort to him. He’d been in enough scrapes not to be prepared. Sitting wasn’t accomplishing anything. Grunting, he got the box and stepped in to cool air. An eagle screamed overhead. Walking felt like going to his doom.

A shadow wearing a dark hoodie materialized from behind the main dock. The only thing that stood out was the “More Drama” emblazoned in green lettering. She more of a shadow than a woman, but the voice was just as bird like.

“You made it.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Alone?”

Tom hesitated. “Yes...are you?”

She paused a moment and looked up to the entrance to the drive. Turning back. “Got it?”

He handed over the box. “Best pump in the business.”

The sardonic grin didn’t change.

“Thank you. I’m sure it will get my motor running again.” The .380 emerged from the hoodie. “Too bad I’ve got to turn yours off…”

Tom’s reaction was immediate. Tom dodged right and turned left, making the knife catch her just below the palm. She screamed in surprise. Two shots rang out and everything became a blur. He could see Corrine run toward the dock, but she didn’t make it. She stumbled about half way, falling still to the ground. In 45 seconds, the drama had ended.

It took a minute before he felt the wetness running along his back. Lights seemed to form from the entrance to the driveway as the shed faded away.

So, it's over.    In the pine-crown         he makes his nest,             he's done all he can.I don't know the name of this bird,    I only imagine his glittering beak         tucked in a white wing             while the clouds—That has turned into snow **