As the corner of the cove comes closer, I slow so I can loop without being thrown off. I’d love to yank on the handlebars. Being rag-dolled across the water might distract some of my muscles from being infinitely tight. I slow until I’m barely moving and look down at my wetsuit, considering the bandages and Dermabond beneath.
“Not wise,” James says as he chugs over, circling me.
“I know.” Freefalling will offer only a momentary sense of lightness. Is there anything in the world that can alleviate the pressure completely? Yes, there is, but I can’t spend all of my spare time fucking my wife. “I think I’ll take the coastline back,” I say. An hour racing across the water at breakneck speed has done nothing to lessen the stress. Maybe a leisurely chug back will.
James nods and turns his jet ski. “Don’t be too long.”
I leave him and head toward the rocky coastline on the east side of the bay, where commercial buildings stand over the water, some still midway through development. Ruined. They’re destroying this private bay. I slow to a stop and bob on the water when I reach the small cove where Winstable Boatyard once stood. The boatyard Pops built. The place where I learned to ski, to swim, and how to hide firearms. I smile. Fond memories.
Cranes still loom over the site, diggers rumbling across the muddy ground, but there’s one building complete, and it looks nothing like the educational facility I was told it would be. It looks more like a hangar. If I didn’t now have Byron’s Reach, a far better site, I might hold it against the developer. I can’t blame the old boy I rented the place from, nor his son who sold it from under my nose. I wonder how his knee is after I blew it out? Naturally, I don’t give a fuck. Just wondering.
I continue slowly along the coastline. The area is so much bigger than I remember, or perhaps that’s because most of it is now flattened, each side of the piece of land nearly touching the nearest developments on either side. I turn to face the other side of the bay, seeing Byron’s Reach in the distance, a dot on the horizon. And the big fucking problems awaiting me. Problems that aren’t going to be fixed while I bob out here on the ocean.
I rev the engine and pick up speed, concluding a slower, safer pace isn’t helping. Every time my mind goes back to Pops, to The Bear, to the fucking zoo he keeps, I burn hotter. Breath heavier. Shake more violently.
By the time I make it back to shore, I’m no less calm. James is coming out of the yellow container. “Is he still alive?” I ask as I trudge toward the cabin, knowing James would rather Kenny Spittle was not breathing.
“And kicking.” He slams the door and bolts it before securing the padlock.
“And is he still insisting he didn’t tell Agent Burrows we killed his father?”
“Yes, he is. Apparently Burrows got a tip off that I murdered Spittle. Anonymous.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“Higham.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
James’s eyes shine with something quite ugly, and I hold my hands up in surrender. “It slipped my mind,” he grates. “Besides, it’s bollocks. For one thing,youkilled Spittle, not me. Plus, there’s no fucking body to prove anyone killed Spittle at all.”
I curl my lip at the container where Spittle’s son is being held. “His phone?”
“Silent.”
“And the bank?”
“Still nothing according to Otto.”
“Fuck it!” I yell, kicking the dirt, walking in circles, my breath short. Even if his phone wasn’t silent, answering it would be pointless, because the accent on the other end would be Russian, Irish, or Polish, and that tells us nothing more than we already fucking know. But it’ll tellthemwe have Kenny Spittle. “How much damage have you done?” I ask, looking at James.
“No damage.”
“What?”
“I’ve not touched him.”
“You sure?” I reach behind me and pull down my zip, wriggling out of my wetsuit and pushing it down to my waist.
“Pretty sure. And if you’re wondering why I’ve not mutilated the fucker, it’s because I reached the same conclusion you did while out on the water. How was your trip back alone, by the way?”
“Reminiscent. What conclusion?”
“We need to release him and maybe buy him a few minutes at a tanning salon so that when he gets back to work at the bank, everyone will believe he’s been on vacation.”
“Get Otto to track him.”
“Your bandages are wet. You need to replace them before the Dermabond dissolves.” James motions to my chest, and I look down, scowling at the damp material. “Why the fuck didn’t you wrap up in waterproofs?”