The deep end, p.24
The Deep End, page 24
“I don’t want to mess this up. So . . . what do I do, Grandpa?”
The Boy’s Bomb drifted another twenty feet before he answered. “Do you believe God has a plan for you? For Harley?”
Where was he going with this? “Well, yeah. I guess.”
“So . . . do you think the almighty God of the universe is big enough or strong enough to carry you through—even if you mess up?”
“Well, when you put it like that . . .”
“There is no other way to put it, Parker. If we make some little mistake—or big one—that doesn’t mess up His plans. The Word says His plans can’t be thwarted—which is a great word, by the way.”
But still. Parker had already messed things up good, hadn’t he?
“You got yourself in a bad spot in the Glades—with that psycho Kingman and that monster gator. There was only one reason you didn’t die. Was it because Wilson was with you? Or maybe because you had that gator stick of yours?”
Parker’s mind did a quick flashback. He’d been in the Boy’s Bomb like he was at this moment . . . but the boat was going down. Kingman had his shotgun on them. And Goliath was waiting below in the water . . . ready to make an easy meal out of them. “Only God could have saved us.”
“And what about just a couple months ago? You and Harley weighted down and plummeting to the bottom of the quarry with empty air tanks? Why didn’t you two die?”
God had rescued them. No doubt about it. “It wasn’t our day to die.”
“Because?”
“God had a plan.”
“And that plan couldn’t be thwarted,” Grandpa said. “And it still can’t. Think of your life as a story, Parker. What happened in the Glades, and the quarry—and what’s happening now. They’re just bad chapters in a really good book.”
The boat was drifting dangerously close to the rocks. Parker fired up the Merc and trolled deeper into the Outer Basin of Rockport Harbor. The thought of God having his whole life planned should have made him feel great. But there was a part of him that pushed back on that a bit. “If God has this whole story of our life planned out . . . what about our own dreams, Grandpa?”
“I’m glad you have dreams, Parker. God gives you dreams too. God has a way of weaving many of our dreams into His plans. Some fit with His plans. Some don’t. Sometimes He gives us our dreams, and sometimes . . .”
Parker waited. Nothing. He glanced at the screen for a moment to see if he’d lost the connection. Grandpa was still there. Harley’s dreams had all been wrapped up in Kemosabe, hadn’t they? And now it was gone. “Sometimes he gives us our dreams, and sometimes what?” He thought of Harley and the lost bike. “He crushes them?”
“You know what?” Grandpa paused like he was thinking. “I’m going to let you think about it for a bit. How about we talk about it when I get there for that visit?”
Honestly? Parker didn’t want to wait. He wanted the answer key now. “Sounds like you want me to work for that answer a bit more.”
Grandpa laughed. “I think you’ll take it more to heart if you do. But let me say this in the meantime: After all you’ve been through, you should remember that only God can truly keep us safe. You stay close to Him, Parker. Remember what He’s done for you. And remember He has a plan that can’t be what . . . what’s that word?”
“Thwarted.”
“That’s it. Knowing God’s got this will build your trust in Him. And that trust will give you the courage to do the right thing . . . whatever it is.”
That still didn’t help him know what to do to help Harley—besides listening. Parker looked out through the channel running between the Headlands and the breakwater. The waves were squaring their shoulders. Puffing out their chest. Rolling in with more swagger.
“This is important,” Grandpa said. “I’m going to get off the phone to give you time to chew on it. I’ve got a spooky feeling I can’t seem to shake.”
Parker kept his mouth shut for a good ten count. But Grandpa didn’t say a word. That was it? “Grandpa, you’re not going to leave me hanging here, are you? What is it you feel?”
Another long pause.
“That I need to be praying for my grandson. Right about now.”
Okay, this was getting just a little bit too creepy.
“Parker? You work on building that trust and courage, you hear me? Because I have the sense that whatever job God has for you next”—the volume of Grandpa’s voice had dropped so low that Parker pressed his phone harder against his ear—“ain’t for no weakling.”
CHAPTER 57
Friday, August 12, 4:55 p.m.
HARLEY’S PHONE CONTINUED TO RING while he stared at the screen. There was no name, and the phone number wasn’t one he recognized. Maybe the police wanted to know his shirt size so they could outfit him for juvey. Nah, probably not. But he was curious. And the phone kept ringing. He hesitated, then connected and raised it to his ear.
“Harley—don’t hang up.”
“Scorza?” The rage inside flared immediately.
“Just listen, I need to talk to you,” Scorza said. The words spilled out of his ex-friend. How he’d written BARF BAG on the side of the shed. How he’d accidently seen the goons who set the fire. How they had taken the motorcycle away by lobster boat.
Harley stood there, stunned. “Of course . . . I couldn’t figure out how they got it past me. That’s brilliant.”
“These guys are super smart, Harley. Like in a different league.”
“So why are you telling me this? Why aren’t you talking to the police?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I found Kemosabe.”
Harley’s heart suddenly dropped its muffler. He could feel it thumping. “Where?”
“Just shut up and listen. I don’t have much time.” Scorza quickly explained how he’d witnessed the heist and wanted to be the hero by finding Kemosabe. How he believed that could patch up their friendship. “And I found it—and was going to bring you there today.” He explained his change of heart after what Harley did to the Wrangler last night, how he’d wanted to destroy Kemosabe instead. But before he got back to the bike, he’d been spotted. Got clocked good by the guy who started the shed on fire. Broke away. He was hiding in Gloucester right now. Near the water.
But they knew where he lived. If he called the police, the goons would know he’d told—and there’d be payback. But if Harley “discovered” the bike himself . . . nobody would guess Scorza had told his mortal enemy . . . the guy who’d just trashed his Wrangler.
Harley wanted to defend himself on the Wrangler thing—but wasn’t going to interrupt. Not until he found out where the motorcycle was.
“Don’t you see?” Scorza sounded desperate. “If you find Kemosabe and they don’t think I snitched, there’s no reason for them to go after me.”
It actually made sense. And it fit. Scorza wasn’t doing this for Harley—he was all about protecting himself. “Why are they doing this to me?”
“I overheard something before I broke away,” Scorza said. “Taking the bike wasn’t about you. It was about your uncle.”
“What?”
“He owes somebody money or something. That’s why they took your bike—to get their money. You’ve got to ‘find’ your bike in a way that has nothing that could point to me. You have to promise me that.”
Suddenly everything made sense. Scorza was telling the truth. And he was scared. “Just tell me where it is.”
“Not over the phone. These guys are good. I’m not even using my own phone. This is a Walmart special. But if they’re watching you—and they see you happen to discover the bike after talking on the phone? They could think it was me. I won’t chance it.”
Harley was so close. So close. But right now, his ex-friend was the key, and his connection with Scorza was shaky. If he got spooked, he’d go back into hiding and Harley would never get the bike. “How am I going to discover the bike if I don’t know where to look?”
“We’ll meet, but where nobody could possibly see us—someplace I’d never normally go. But we’ve got to do it now—before these goons decide to move Kemosabe, and it’s gone for good.”
Absolutely right. “Where? When?”
“I’ve got cash on me.”
He always did. But what did that have to do with—
“I’m hiding out in a lobster boat. And I’m going to pay the guy to take me to the Dry Salvages. I’ll be there in an hour. You be there.”
“Hold on . . . how am I supposed to get there? My uncle has a boat in Gloucester, but I couldn’t get there and out to the Salvages that quick.” And Uncle Ray wouldn’t take him anyway. Not after he’d refused to help his uncle buy his boat.
“You can’t tell anybody about this conversation. Definitely not your uncle. Take Gatorade’s boat.”
He could, couldn’t he? He knew where Parks kept a key stashed under the storage seat. Weird, he’d been blamed for stealing a car that he hadn’t touched. Now he was going to steal a boat. Sure, why not? He was going to become the thief everybody already thought he was.
“You anchor between the Little Salvages and Dry Salvages. I’ll be in the cabin of a lobster boat. If it looks like you’re not alone, I won’t even put my head up. I’ll tell him to keep going. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“You tell nobody. I’m going out on a limb for you, Harley.”
No, he was protecting himself. But Harley didn’t care. He had one last shot at finding Kemosabe before the motorcycle disappeared forever. “I’ll close the store early—like, right now. I’ll get the boat one way or another.”
“And you never, ever tell anybody where you got this information. Agreed?”
“Agreed. And, Scorza . . . I owe you. Big.”
“You got that right. Help me pull this off so the goons stop looking for me—and we’ll call it even.”
Harley flipped the OPEN sign on the front door to GONE DIVING. “I’m on my way. Don’t stand me up—or you’ll regret it.”
Scorza laughed. “I’ll be there. You just focus on what you’ve got to do—or you’ll get us both killed.”
CHAPTER 58
Friday, August 12, 5:05 p.m.
RAY TOOK THE PHONE FROM SCORZA. “You done good, kid.”
The eager-to-please quarterback grinned. With one eye nearly swollen shut, the smile was hilarious. Pitifully lopsided.
“Now, you and me and Mr. Kelsey are going to get in his pickup. We’re going to the marina and we’re going to get in my boat.” He liked the sound of that. My boat. And it was all his—or would be soon. “You’re not going to cry out. You’re not going to signal anybody. You’re not going to do a single thing to attract any attention. You got that?”
The stupid kid nodded. “I’m part of the team, right?”
And if he believed that, he’d definitely had one too many concussions. “As long as you run the plays right.”
Ray pulled out his phone. Dialed Vinny. Gave him the change of plans. “Kelsey and I—and the new kid on the team—are going to take care of Harley. You need to make the motorcycle disappear. For good. And right now.” With the money he’d get from the trust fund, anything he’d get for the bike would be chump change. And they definitely couldn’t risk the theft being traced back to Ray. “Take that bike for a long ride off a short pier, Vinny. Nobody can ever find it.” He gave Vinny the storage unit number and told him where he’d hidden the key.
“It’ll be done before you get back,” Vinny said. “I got just the place—and won’t nobody find it for a hundred years.”
Ray ended the call and pocketed his phone. So far so good. “Now, Mr. Scorza. I’m going to trust you—and we’re going to cut those nylon ties.” He nodded to Kelsey, who pulled out a knife.
“We’ll dump your bike in the bed of my truck. The motorcycle will be gone before we get back. There will be no reason for you to ever come back to this lockup—got that?”
The football jock nodded. “When we get back, I’ll grab my bike and ride straight home.”
Ray gave him a nod. “And when this is all over, you’re not going to say a word about this to anybody. Can you do that?”
“Count on it.”
Kelsey cut the last nylon tie and the kid rubbed the deep indentations on his ankles and wrists.
Ray picked up the football and tossed it to him. “You’ve got the ball, quarterback. What play are you going to call?”
“Whatever the coach tells me to,” he said. “I follow the instructions, and we all get what we want, right?” Again, that melonhead smile.
“Right.” And the really hysterical thing about the kid wasn’t the silly grin. It was the fact that he truly believed the coach would let him walk off the field when the game was over.
CHAPTER 59
Friday, August 12, 5:06 p.m.
ANGELICA WATCHED WHILE HER DAD finished getting ready for work. Parker had turned her down. He’d actually wanted to be alone rather than take her out in the Boy’s Bomb. That was a first, wasn’t it? When they’d lived in Chokoloskee he was always trying to get her to go for a ride with him—or with him and Wilson. Did he really not want her company while he was sorting out his thoughts? More likely he didn’t want her to know what he was really thinking.
“Sorry about taking this shift tonight, sweetie.” Dad buttoned the shirt on his National Park Service uniform. “Wish I could have whipped up some dinner for us before I left. Please tell me you’ll do something more than another PB and J for yourself.”
He knew her well, but probably not as well as he thought. “What can I say? I’m a PB and Jelly kind of girl forever.”
Dad laughed. “PB, huh? I’m betting that’s just a phase.”
“Don’t put money on that.” She smiled. “You’ll lose.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” He folded her in his arms and hugged her tight.
His strength felt marvelous. A “don’t-let-me-go” sort of good. “I am crazy, Dad. Maybe even head-over-heels crazy.” And she was okay with that. “I just hope he . . .”
He looked in the mirror—but right at her. “Just hope he what?”
She’d definitely said too much already. “Not going there, Dad. Not this time. But can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“What is it with boys? I mean, why can’t they just play it safe sometimes? Listen to reason?”
He sat on the counter, took her hands in his, and looked her in the eyes. “A dad couldn’t be prouder of his girl, you know that? And I love how you want to be the protector. Ever since Mom left . . .”
Maybe he didn’t want to go where he was headed either.
“It’s a strength of yours,” Dad said. “But every strength can be a weakness, too. You can’t control everything.”
“He’s still trying to help Harley—”
“Parker?”
She nodded. And then she caught him up on pretty much everything she hadn’t already told him, probably repeating some of it too. But he acted like he was in no rush—even though she knew he had to get on the road. The traffic going into Boston would be getting thick as fog.
“Harley is his friend,” Dad said. “And Harley’s in trouble. When a friend is in trouble, a guy like Parker is going to be there. That’s one of his strengths too.”
“But it’s going to get him in trouble, Dad. Harley is gone. Stealing Scorza’s car is proof. He’s off the trail—in the swamp somewhere—and I think Parker still thinks he can save him.”
“And you’d rather see him do what, exactly?”
Something about his tone soothed her. Calmed her. “I just want him to stay safe.”
He thought about that a couple seconds. “We all want that. I guarantee you Parker wants that more than anybody. But it sounds like you want him to play everything safe. Staying safe and playing it safe are two different things. Sometimes playing it safe isn’t the best way to stay safe at all. Parker isn’t going to do something without talking to his parents, right?”
True. He was good about that kind of stuff.
Dad opened a drawer and scooped up his key ring, loose change—and something silver that looked all too familiar.
She stopped his hand before he could stuff everything in his pocket. “Where did you get that?” She grabbed the pocketknife. Cut Through the Clutter screened in orange ink along the handle. She flipped it over. PORT KNOX Storage—Gloucester.
“It was a little gift when I rented the unit for all our stuff from the move. Once we get a place, I’ll—”
“Wait, this could be important,” Angelica said. She told him about Scorza finding the exact same knife where Kemosabe disappeared. “Or it may be nothing.”
“Hang on to it,” he said. “Maybe we should call Officer Greenwood. Let him decide if it’s important or not.” He kissed the top of her head. “Gotta run now. Call my mobile and we can keep talking on my way in.”
She shook her head. “I’m good, Dad.” He’d already given her plenty to think about. “I’m going to Ella’s anyway.” She held up the knife. “And I’m going to call this in.”
Which is exactly what she did the instant he pulled out of the driveway.
“Port Knox Storage,” Greenwood said. “I know exactly where the place is.”
“You think this is important?” She hoped it was. But the more she thought about it the less important it seemed. Even Scorza didn’t seem to think it meant anything—or he wouldn’t have tossed the knife into the harbor.
“I’ll put this at the top of the list, and we’ll find out,” Greenwood said. “Since the storage place is in Gloucester, I’ll make a phone call to the Gloucester PD and see if they can do a little snooping around. How’s that?”
Angelica couldn’t ask for more. “Perfect.”
“OK, I’ll give a call right now. Anything else?”
Yeah, could you stop Parker from doing something stupid? “Yeah,” she said. “But I think it’s way out of your jurisdiction.”
Officer Greenwood laughed. “Well, call me if something changes.”
