Suicide Squeeze

48

The side of Conner’s face burned. Bright and hot, the morning sun beat down on Conner as he lay in the sand. He rolled over, groaned.

He’d fought the sea for an eternity, stroking in what he’d prayed was the direction toward shore. And just when he’d been about to give up, exhausted, ready to surrender to watery doom, his feet had hit the sandy bottom. Ahead of him, through rain, lights. He’d found the beach and collapsed.

Now he sat up, found himself in front of a row of condominiums. An old couple sat on their veranda, the old woman bringing her old man a glass of orange juice. The old man waved at Conner. Conner waved back.

He stood, brushed the sand off his pants and shirt, and scanned the Gulf for any sign of the Jenny. Nothing. Not even debris. The Electric Jenny wasn’t Folger’s anymore, nor Conner’s either. It belonged to Davy Jones. And somewhere on the sandy bottom was Rocky Big’s doctor bag full of money. God’s final joke on Conner Samson, cut off his escape route. It’s biblical, the old Job gag. Torment the little guy. What’s next? Boils?

In a sudden panic, Conner checked his pockets. The DiMaggio card was still there, safe and secure in its plastic case. He also still had the cell phone Rocky had given him. Who was there to call?

He grasped the phone tightly, reared back, arm way behind him, gathering the strength to hurl it into the Gulf of Mexico. He’d throw it over the horizon if he could.

It rang.

Conner froze, unsure if he’d heard what he thought he’d heard. It rang again. He unfolded it slowly, pressed the TALK button. “Hello?”

“Conner, thank God you’re there.” Tyranny. He’d forgotten he’d given her the cell number, had desperately hoped she’d call.

“If you called to apologize, it’s too late. I’ve moved on. I’m actually having a lovely time at the beach right now. Getting a suntan.”

“Conner, this is very important.” Something in her voice. Strangely calm, unnerving.

“What’s wrong?” Conner asked.

“There are some men here,” Tyranny said. “They say you have something that belongs to them. They told me to call you.”

Conner’s chest tightened. “Asians?”

“Yes, that’s right. They’re very serious. They said it could be bad for me if you don’t cooperate.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“They want you to come here immediately. I’m at home. Bring what they want and nobody gets hurt. Dan’s not here right now. I’d like, if possible, to resolve this situation before he gets home.” She said it like she was ordering a pizza, no tears, no panic, but Conner detected a hint of strain in her voice. She was trying to maintain, not show how terrified she was for herself and for Dan should he come home and walk into the middle of things.

Conner looked up and down the beach, tried to estimate where he was. The marina might be within walking distance. The Lincoln was there. “I need some time. I’m sort of stuck. But I’ll be there.”

“Don’t dawdle.”

“Tell them to wait,” Conner said. “I’m coming. I have to get to the car, but tell them I’m coming.”

“I’ll tell them.”

Conner hung up, jogged up the beach, through the condo complex, and found the main road. He recognized where he was now. The marina was only three or four miles away.

God wasn’t punishing him, Conner thought. He’s just letting me know I have unfinished business. Responsibilities.

Conner ran, every sore muscle screaming for him to stop. He ran and ran and told his muscles to shut the hell up.