The Cove (15 page)

“Tommy’s a douche bag. Anyone who beats his wife deserves whatever shit comes down on his head. I don’t give a flying fuck about Tommy Marshall, Lou-Lou. I care about
you
.”

Ben slid his hands across the table, took hold of her folded hands, and squeezed them tightly. He was surprised how fragile they felt, and he had the unnerving thought that someday his sister was going to be as frail as their mother was now. Hopefully that wouldn’t be for a long time, but it would happen eventually.

He smiled wanly, remembering what a little toughie she had been when she was young. She’d pitch right in with Wally and the boys, loading lobster traps onto their father’s truck to take down to the wharf, hefting bait barrels, and hand-hauling traps when the winch on the
Sheila B.
wasn’t working right.

Now, seeing her so wounded and afraid, his heart went out to her.

Ben smiled reassuringly and took a breath, holding it for a count of five before letting it out.

He didn’t like what he was thinking about Tom Marshall.

If he went over to talk to him, he was afraid he would lose his shit right there on the spot, and they’d end up at each other’s throats. Still, his little sister needed help.

“Okay,” he said. “You want me to talk to him, I will, but I guarantee it won’t do any good.”

“All you can do is try. Please. I want this worked out so I don’t have to be afraid of him. I want to get out of this at least with my dignity intact.”

And your jaw intact,
Ben thought but didn’t say. He was sure Tom wasn’t about to grant Louise anything, especially not her dignity. That son of a bitch had hurt — was still hurting — his sister. If he weren’t a cop, Ben would
hunt
him down today — within the hour — and pound the piss out of him.

As it was, he knew he was going to have to have words with Tom. If it came to blows, which was likely, given how he was standing up for his little sister, he wanted to make sure he confronted Tom in a public place where there would be plenty of witnesses so it would be clear to everyone that he was defending himself. The last thing he needed was to be charged with assaulting a police officer.

“So when do you want me to talk to him?”

“Well …” Louise narrowed her eyes and looked up at the ceiling as though reading something there. “I have to be at work at the grocery in an hour, and he’s home sleeping now. You think maybe this evening?”

Ben shrugged and said, “I’ll probably drop by The Local tonight. He still hang out there off hours?”

Louise said, “I don’t know what he does off hours. He’s gone a lot of evenings, I never see him, that’s for sure.”

“I was hoping I could see —”

Ben didn’t finish the sentence, but a devilish grin spread across Louise’s face. Her eyes twinkled like chipped ice, and it was good to see her smile again when she said, “You’re thinking about seeing Kathy, aren’t you?”

Ben hadn’t been expecting that. Julia had been on his mind so much lately that honestly he’d forgotten all about Kathy Brackett. A twinge of guilt hit him when he thought about how he hadn’t even made an effort to go see his daughter.

“No … no way,” he said. “Christ, Lou. She’s married and has a kid. I don’t mess around with married women.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Ben. You can tell me.” Louise’s grin spread a little wider. “If you’re trying to — you know, get back with her …”

“I’m not. Honest. I have zero interest in her.”

“Well … some people down at the store said they saw you and Kathy talking the other day.”

“At the boat launch. Yeah. So what? We were talking. I talked with a lot of people that day. There’s nothing between me and Kathy.”

Still smirking, Louise shook her head. Ben could tell there was no way she believed him.

“Nothing? … Not even a baby?” she said.

Proposition

“Y
ou have
got
to be
shitting
me.”

That was Ben’s only possible response.

It was early afternoon. After talking with Louise, he had mowed the lawn, which had taken the better part of two hours because he had a tough time getting the lawn mower started. The blade was as dull as a butter knife and probably did nothing more than stun the grass. Once he was done, he called Julia, but she said her father wasn’t having a good day, and she wanted to keep an eye on him. After taking a shower, he had walked downtown, figuring he’d head downtown to The Local for a few cold ones.

He was walking along Main Street when Tom Marshall accosted him.

Grabbing him by the arm, Tom had guided Ben into the alleyway between Ken’s Bait Shop and the Shell station.

For a tense moment or two, Ben had been sure Tom was going to have another “up-close and personal” with him, like they’d had behind The Local the other night. His fists were clenched, and he was ready to fight, but he wasn’t about to start anything now … not under these circumstances … not when there weren’t any witnesses.

He was surprised when Tom, speaking low and shifting his eyes back and forth like a trapped animal, asked him a favor. He wasn’t at all ready for what Tom said, and he had to ask him a second time before it finally sank in.

“You want me to
what?
”

“How many fucking times do I have to repeat it?”

Ben shook his head in disbelief.

“There’s no way … No way in hell!”

“You saying you won’t help out your own brother-in-law?”

“Not by doing something like that, I won’t. No
fuckin
’ way.” When Tom looked at him in earnest silence, he added, “Jesus, even if I wanted to, I’ve been away long enough so I have no idea where to start. I don’t know who’s running what any more.”

“Same people as before. You know that. You’re friends with Richie Sullivan, ain’t yah?”

Ben snorted. “Nobody’s really
friends
with Richie. You know that.”

“Yeah, ole’ Richie’s a force unto himself.”

“I’m not saying I don’t know him,” Ben said.

“And you deal with him.”

“I’ve never
dealt
with him. Not really.”

“What the hell does
that
mean?”

“It means I don’t work for him, and I don’t borrow money from him, and I don’t owe him a
fuckin
’ dime, and
tha’s
the way I like it.”

“Your old man does, though.”

Ben stiffened when he thought about how much his father must owe The Crowbar for the
Abby-Rose.
He struggled to contain his temper as he stared down the alleyway toward the harbor, fighting back a sudden rush of anger that threatened to consume him and Tom. Through the gap between the buildings, he could see several lobster boats and sailboats, bobbing on the water. The sky was clotted with puffs of white clouds that moved slowly eastward. The dark shadows they cast on the water looked like billows of spreading ink.

It was all so peaceful, but it also looked distant … absolutely foreign.

“I’ve never dealt with Richie Sullivan … for
anything.
”

Tom shot Ben a lopsided grin. His eyes danced with excitement, but there was a hint of urgent desperation behind his smile.

“Your father has,” he said. “He’s been hauling in bales of weed for Sullivan for years. That’s a known fact … even down at the station.”

Rage boiled inside Ben, and it was all he could do not to haul back and slug Tom Marshall right there on the spot. Witnesses or no witnesses, it’d be good to take this cock knocker down a few pegs. It felt like someone had laid a hot iron bar across the back of his neck, but instead of lashing out, he shook his head like he was tired of dealing with a retarded person. When Ben tried to push past him to get back out onto the street, Tom shifted his stance and positioned himself to block.

Ben was trapped. His muscles tensed like coiled springs.

Fight or flight, baby,
he thought,
and I never run.

Tom must have realized if he put any pressure on Ben, he would push back. Hard, if he had to. He had a reputation.

For his part, Ben couldn’t believe Tom had confided in him like this. Since Ben couldn’t pound the piss out of the moron, he should at least tell him to find someone else to sell these drugs he supposedly had “found.”

Was he high or something? Maybe he had sampled the merchandise.

“I’m not gonna do it, and I’m not gonna stand for you threatening my father.”

“Did I threaten
Capt’n
Wally?” Tom raised his hands, palms up as though testing for rain. “He’s my
fuckin
’ father-in-law, for
Chrissakes
. I’m just saying what everyone knows. He owes Richie big-time.”

“From what I can tell, he’s busting his ass from dawn ’till dusk
lobsterin
’ so he can pay off that damned boat” Ben was taking short, shallow sips of breath to control his pulse, but it wasn’t working very well.

“Just remember … you do something to hurt him or put him in jeopardy, you also hurt your wife, too.”

Tom’s expression darkened as if a cloud had passed across his face. Especially after his talk with Louise, Ben could read the simmering guilt in his eyes.

“You think I don’t know that,” Tom said without much force in his voice. “Still, that don’t change a goddamned thing. I’m a cop, too. And I have to enforce the law. Let’s just say I heard some things.”

“Like what?” Ben shuffled forward, keeping his body at an angle to Tom to make a smaller target. “What’ve you heard?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed as if taking aim at Tom. He’d kill him if he had to. He knew he could. He’d done much worse in Iraq. In the end, no matter what happened to him, his sister would be a lot better off without this jerk messing up her life.

Tom stroked the corner of his mouth with his forefinger as if wiping away a line of drool.

“Things … like that there’s a new DEA agent in the area who’s gonna be
bustin
’ balls. Word is, he’s a real hard on, and he’s beefing up patrols so he can put a dent in the drug traffic.”

“A dent is all he’ll make, and a little one at that,” Ben said. “I’m telling you, Tom. You better be goddamned careful about who you talk to about that suitcase you say you’ve got. If you weren’t married to my sister, I’d report you
 
myself.”

Tom’s face flushed as if he had just this moment realized Ben now had something he could use against him. He took a step back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes sliding from side to side as though he was looking for the quickest escape route.

“You wouldn’t fuck over family, now, would you, Ben?” Tom asked, his voice warbling with a nervous quaver.

Ben stared at him silently for a lengthening moment, letting him chew on that for a few seconds. Then he exhaled sharply and said, “Not if you don’t. But speaking of family, I wonder what Chief Harlan would say if one of his men was charged with domestic violence. How’d that sit?”

Tom said nothing.

“I don’t think that would sit too well. Would it?” Ben said, pressing the point home.

With that, he stepped forward and pushed past Tom, who backed up so quickly he stumbled on the uneven ground and almost fell. Without a backward glance, Ben strode up the alleyway to Main Street. He was convinced now more than ever that Tom had already hurt “family” and that he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Ben was also sure, now, that Tom didn’t have that guilty “dog that just crapped on the rug” expression just because he was knocking Louise around at home. Tom knew that Ben knew who had jumped him out behind The Local.

Ben opened the door to The Local and stepped inside, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust as he looked around to see who was there. He smiled to himself, satisfied that he had put Tom Marshall in his place. And he assured himself that, if Tom didn’t stop beating up on Louise, he would do whatever he had to do in order to keep his brother-in-law in line.

When it came right down to it, Tom Marshall was a pussy.

“Hey there, handsome,” a woman seated at the far end of the bar said.

“Hey, Bunny,” Ben said, touching his hand to his forehead and nodding.

“
Lemme
buy the war hero a drink.”

Ben considered, but only for a moment. Then he strode over to the bar, pulled out a stool, and sat down. He could have a beer with her — maybe even a couple, but he would be damned careful where he put his pecker.

B
en stayed at The Local all afternoon, drinking with Bunny Dawkins. She was as flirty as ever, and the beer was doing its best to wear down his resolve. She almost convinced him to go back to her place, but then his cell phone rang. It was Julia, and she said she could get away for a few hours.

He had more of a buzz on than he would have liked, but he walked home, got his car, and drove over to pick her up. They decided to take a walk, so he drove out of town until they came to a secluded dirt road that Julia had never noticed before. At the end of the road, about half a mile down, was a small parking lot surrounded by oak and pine. They got out and followed a winding path down to a small stretch of beach.

The tide was ebbing, and small waves hissed like a nest of serpents across the sand. Glistening flat stretches of wet sand at the water’s edge were littered with clumps of seaweed and stranded shells. A warm, offshore breeze was blowing against them. The sea was choppy, scattering the slanting sunlight like glitter. Overhead, seagulls wheeled in wide circles, their cries sounding faintly below the sound of the wind.

As they walked, Ben kept stealing glances at Julia, marveling at how beautiful she was. The sunlight played in the amber highlights of her hair as it floated and twisted in the wind. Whenever she looked at him, her brown eyes sparkled like melted chocolate. When she smiled, he had all he could do not to stop right there, engulf her in his arms, and kiss her.

Their conversation was as wandering and aimless as their walk.

“It’s such a gorgeous day,” Julia said, her eyes squinting with pleasure as she looked up and down the beach. “You’d think there’d be more people — at least someone else out here.”

“There’ll be enough of ’
em
in a couple of weeks when the summer assholes start showing up,” Ben said.

“You townies really don’t like the tourists, don’t you?”

Ben shrugged.

“There’s a certain level of resentment. Sure. They move up from out of state and buy up all the best land and build their
Christless
summer homes, blocking the view.”

“They bring a lot of business to town, too,” Julia said.

“Yeah — and our taxes go up. These Flatlanders think they know better than we do about how to run things, so they start telling us what we should and shouldn’t do in our own damned town. Fuck them! They treat us like the hired winter caretakers for their
fuckin
’ summer homes.”

“You’re talking about me, you know. Or my father, at least. My folks moved here after they retired.”

Ben sighed and shook his head, smiling.

“Sorry … I shouldn’t get so worked up about it. Maybe it’s the beer talking.”

He felt like a fool and read in her eyes that she was wondering:
Is that how people in town see me?

“The other day, you said you had to go back several generations for you to be a true native. Does your family go back that far?”

“Further, from what my folks have told me. Supposedly someone in my family was one of the first to settle here back in the 1600s.”

“Really …” Julia said, letting it sink in as they continued strolling along the beach.

When they rounded a rocky bluff, the breeze died down, and the air became actually hot. They stopped in unison and, leaning against a large, moss-covered stone outcropping, gazed out to sea. The rock was still warm from the day and radiated heat into their backs.

Out on the horizon, through the haze, Ben made out the dim silhouette of an oil tanker. Closer to land, the ocean was dotted with variously colored lobster buoys that bobbed and glistened in the waves. A lobster boat chugged by, but with the wind against it, the sound of its engine was a faint, insect-like hum. Ben recognized a friend of his — Ken “KY” Young, but he didn’t wave. He didn’t want to draw undue attention to himself and Julia.

“Don’t you ever get sick of this town?” Julia asked after a lengthy silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean — do you ever feel like running away?”

Ben smiled as he considered her question. He shifted his stance so he was standing closer to her, their shoulders almost touching. He imagined the warmth he felt was more from her body than from the sun-heated rocks. Her hair was an amazing tangle of dark brown waves that framed her face, shading her eyes.