Five

September 26, 2018

Galveston, Texas

The next evening, Travis sat in his car outside the 24-hour HEB grocery store. Ernie had provided him with the details regarding Gennifer Drake’s car, license number, make and model, her home address, and hours of work. It was easy to follow her to and from work, and on her afterhours errands. He was glad she was a night owl and had popped out at 10:30 p.m. to do some shopping. The lot was almost empty. In the stiff breeze, the sabal palms lining the asphalt were casting crazy, dancing shadows.

Although he wasn’t much for self-reflection, the spooky atmosphere caused him to wonder how he was here, about to commit a crime. A really big crime.

His job with Rotterdam Energy after his discharge from the navy had been a lucky break. He had enlisted after high school simply because he didn’t have any other options.

He was an only child, born after his mother had a series of miscarriages. She always blamed her inability to maintain a pregnancy on the water where they lived in Texas City, just up the road from The Island. It was home to many of the biggest refineries and petrochemical companies in the world. Outrage over spills and contamination bubbled up every few years, although no direct link to miscarriages or other illnesses had ever met the definition of causation.

Despite the efforts she had put into becoming a mother, his mom turned out to be a distant parent. Travis figured she was worn out from raising him, working a minimum wage job at a convenience store, and plodding through an unhappy marriage. All he remembered about his father, a worker at the Mobex plant, was that he was angry all the time. Travis assumed his father harbored resentment towards him. A kid was a financial burden in their strapped circumstances.

Since his dad took off as soon as Travis started high school, Travis knew he would have to take care of himself and help his mom. When a U.S. Navy recruiter visited his school on his eighteenth birthday, he took that as a sign that he should enlist. He liked looking for signs and secret meanings behind ordinary events.

He certainly didn’t “See the world!” during his enlistment. But he did learn some skills, including welding. When he finished his enlistment in 2010, he had no problem signing on with Rotterdam Energy for his first offshore job on an oil rig. The money was good. As a single guy, he was able to make ends meet and help out his mother. He still had enough left over to spend on some toys, including the sweet little twenty-four-foot bay boat he had moored in a marina out on the Bolivar peninsula. He also had plenty of discretionary time on his hands during his twenty-one days off between tours. Galveston had plenty of temptations for a young man with time and money. He liked to drink but found out he liked the high he got on oxycodone even more.

He had collected his share of on-the-job injuries, typical of those performing the grueling work on the rigs. At first, he and his coworkers had no problem getting prescription drugs. When the worthless occupational medicine docs quit handing out narcotic prescriptions like candy, the workers turned to the underworld, never far from the surface on The Island.

It wasn’t until he discovered Q that he finally found something that fully captured his interest. Q was all about making things right for people like Travis and his mom. With his inclination to overanalyze coincidences, he fell into their web of conspiracy theories. Plus, he had inherited his father’s sense of resentment. He got stoked up with the rush he got from hating the “animals and criminals” that the president railed against. It was easy for him to hate the groups that Q targeted. Especially the “eco-terrorists” with their climate change hysteria and environmental regulations that were handcuffing the industry providing him a paycheck and benefits.

He saw the job at hand as a means to make a difference by shutting up a whiny bitch. He was sure someone high up in the organization, someone pulling the strings, would become aware of his commitment. They must have selected him for the job. Even though he had expended no effort in obtaining a promotion while enlisted in the navy, Travis wanted to climb up the shadowy ladder of the Q organization and make a difference.

That guy he met at The Folly didn’t have a clue. No way could Travis stuff a body in a duffel bag and bring it aboard the rig, then manage to toss it off the side a hundred miles at sea. When his tour started, he would be transported by a chopper to the rig. The weight limit was super strict. Plus, he and his coworkers worked 24/7 on alternating twelve-hour shifts. There was never a quiet dark moment to toss a body off the side of the rig. His plan was to dispose of the body out in the Gulf, the day before his tour was to start.

So, yeah, it all makes sense for me to be waiting in a supermarket parking lot late at night. I will make a difference.

With that realization, Travis sat up straighter and took a few deep breaths.

Suddenly the target appeared, heading to her car with a bag in each hand. As Dr. Drake groped for her car keys, Travis approached her from behind with his syringe of fentanyl. He tripped her as she hunched over the trunk, and covering her mouth with a gloved hand, he jammed the syringe into her thigh through the thin material of her pants.

Dragging her out of sight, he then lay on top of her, pinning her right arm under her and securing her other arm with his left hand. Using both his legs and steel toed boots, he immobilized her. Her scream was muffled by the thick work gloves he used on the rig.

The woman struggled enough that he had to bear down to keep her still. She was a few inches taller than him and a lot harder to subdue than he predicted. He lay on top of her until he felt her muscles relax and her breathing slow.

He heaved her into the backseat of his car and put her on top of a drop cloth, wrapping it around her. At the last minute, he remembered to collect her grocery bags and purse. He shoved them in the backseat beside her.

Travis took another look around the lot. The shadows were still swirling every which way, wilder now than before. No one was in sight. He felt himself tense up when he saw the bright green eyes of a possum emerging from behind the Dumpster. It locked its gaze on him for a few seconds before moving on with its off-kilter gait. One possum, no people in sight. Keep cool. He made himself slow his pace and casually got into the driver’s seat. He wanted to hightail it out of there but managed to keep his speed at 5 miles per hour. His passenger was completely motionless, and he wondered if she was already dead. Travis had given her a big hit. Unless she was a junkie, it should’ve done the deed. He hoped the brisk breeze blowing through the parking lot wasn’t the leading edge of a storm. His work was far from done.

Pulling up on Harborside Drive next to the marina where his boat was moored, Travis finally relaxed. It was dead quiet. Except for the wind. He could see whitecaps between the bay side of Galveston and Pelican Island.

He parked within ten yards of his boat. He looked at the woman’s form on the backseat. She was covered by the drop cloth which he had fastened with plastic chip clips. He didn’t see any sign of life, nor did he get any resistance when he used every muscle to pull her out onto the sidewalk. This is what they mean by dead weight.

He dragged her down to the edge of the dock and jumped into his boat, the Suzy-Q, named for his mother Sue and his newfound second family. A brackish stench rose from the mooring. He pulled the woman from the dock and onto the boat deck. The added weight made him lose his balance for a second as the craft rocked back and forth. You’d think in three years in the navy I’d have grown some sea legs.

He untied the boat, started the engine, and edged out of the marina. He looked around and was relieved to note he was still alone. Well, except for his passenger. He picked up speed as he left the boatyard.

As soon as he passed the sleeping ferries, Travis turned right, heading into the Gulf of Mexico. The wind hit him hard in the face and the rain stung his bare arms. He wanted to get out far enough to dump the woman overboard without risking her washing up on the beach. Because flotsam from the oil tankers and the influx of Sargassum seaweed were huge turn offs for beach goers, the city constantly cleaned the beaches. He definitely didn’t want his package to turn up there.

He was only five minutes out onto the gulf when three-foot swells caused the boat to rock and roll. The rain was coming down harder. It was still hurricane season. Did I miss a warning? He needed to get out to deeper water.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouted when he realized the shape under the wrapping had started to move. He edged over to where she was freeing herself from the loosely clipped drop cloth.

He lunged at her just as a wave broke over the side of the boat. He fell, hitting his head on the starboard rail.

When he opened his eyes, Travis couldn’t believe what he saw. She was standing up, wobbly, but up. She was staring at the shore, where the lights could be made out through the rain.

She looked at him with glassy eyes before throwing herself at him. Despite the accelerating fury of the storm, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She was kneeling on his chest, choking him as rain pelted his face. He tried to get some air. Another wave struck the boat. Now rain, salt water, and air rushed into his lungs. He took a breath. Then another. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” Travis half screamed, half cried.

He couldn’t see anything as he made his way over to the portside of the boat. She was gone. He tried to tack back to see if he could see her in the water. His flashlight was useless against the roiling seas.

He tacked again. No luck. The wind had picked up even more. He feared he’d capsize the boat if he waited any longer. He had to get to shore to save his ass.

But still, how could she have come back to life like that? He realized that the purity of the fentanyl he bought on the street was questionable. Why hadn’t that asshole told him how big she was? He would have given her a larger dose. He just wanted this night to be over. Wiping sea spray from his eyes, he positioned himself at the wheel and headed back to shore.

After he had managed to moor his boat at the marina, Travis tried to collect himself. Things hadn’t gone as planned. He was supposed to call when the deed was done. It was hard to bring his phone to life and punch in the number. His hands were shaking from cold and fear.

The shock of the water awakened Gen, but she was still drugged and disoriented. Am I dreaming? She tried to make sense of it all. She remembered seeing the shoreline. Without any idea how far it was, her instinct for survival started her arms paddling and legs kicking. She was so confused. Why am I out in the sea at night?

After a few strokes, Gen was hit in the face by a breaking wave. She gasped as she inhaled a mouthful of salt water. Her arms and legs felt like heavy weights. She tried to take another breath but got a mouthful of water instead. She thought of Garrett.

Then it all went dark.

Waiting for Travis to call him, Ernie needed to fill his time. He rationalized that he might as well try to make a bit of money. He had no trouble finding Aces High Casino, an old tub dressed up to look like a Mississippi riverboat and moored in dank water off Port Industrial Road. He’d just play the slots and gave himself a one-hour limit while he drank a virgin margarita, his lucky beverage.

When he started to win, he thought he might as well stay another hour and take his good luck to the poker table.

He kept winning. He was $1,000 up.

One more hour and another margarita, and he was still up $500. For once, he had enough sense and self-control to get out while he was ahead. At least, he could cover his costs in cash before leaving this god-forsaken sandbar.

When his cell phone went off, Ernie picked up on the first ring. “Yeah.”

“It’s done,” Travis managed to croak out. “But I’m not so sure…”

“Not so sure of what?” Ernie shot back.

Travis stammered out the words. “My chopper flight to the rig was delayed by weather so I took the body out in my boat. There was a squall. I lost control of the boat and she went over the side,” he sputtered. “The waves were huge. I saw her go under. But it was too close to shore. If there’s an onshore wind tonight, her body could turn up somewhere between Stewart Beach and Beachtown. Anyway, I’m outta here tomorrow morning.”

“You worthless redneck dickwad!” Ernie yelled. He heard a dead signal, then tried to call Travis back. His call went straight to voicemail.

Ernie consulted the map on his phone. Stewart Beach to Beachtown was a one mile stretch on the eastern tip of The Island. Trying to look natural, he hustled to his rental car.

When he arrived at the empty parking lot at Stewart Beach, he realized he had run along this stretch the day before. Earlier in the day, while the sand hadn’t been exactly white and the water had been far from blue, the beach had been inviting. The fine, light brown sand had been firm and easy to run on. The dunes had glowed with yellow wildflowers.

The surf was up, at least for Galveston. He could hear the water rushing up to the sand with small continuous waves. They stirred up the pebbly shelf which created a low-pitched rustling he could hear before he could see the water. Dense fog engulfed the beach.

He tried the flashlight on his phone, but it only made the visibility worse. He walked down to where the water just met his feet. Then, he turned and started walking east. How did I ever get involved with such fucking inept lowlifes? Travis and his loony friends? He answered his own question. He needed the money to get out from under his losses in the stock market and from gambling. He had accepted the deal as soon as it was offered. He had told Allison his financial concerns were all related to paying Gigi’s tuition for the next four years. But it was worse than that. Much worse. He tried to think about how big the payoff was going to be. He could put all this behind him.

He passed the high-rise condominium, recognizable only from the red lights on its twenty-third-floor roof. He had no idea how far he’d walked. He could see about ten yards ahead as the fog started to lift in spots. Thinking he saw something, he went closer to the water’s edge. Before he could make it out, his feet slipped out from under him.

Breaking his fall with his hand, it landed in a gooey substance. The pain was almost immediate.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted without caution. “Jesus H. Christ!” Even a land-loving Minnesotan could identify a jellyfish.

Ernie ripped his tee shirt off, then dunked it into the water and tried to scrub the jellyfish off. His hand was swelling, and the burning was intense. He wrapped the shirt around his hand like a huge mitten and continued his trek. He was walking and rewrapping his hand when he almost fell again.

“Ayyy!” he screamed. The pitch was so high that Ernie was surprised by his own voice. He thought he was having another run-in with sea life. He steadied himself to keep from falling on top of a sodden mass tangled in seaweed. It was about his size and heaving. Activating his flashlight with his good hand, he lurched back.

He managed to turn the body over and was confronted by a ghostly pale Dr. Drake. Her gaze fixed on him.

Can she see me? He couldn’t bear the sight of those piercing dark eyes. She was pleading with those eyes.

He couldn’t handle it. He used his shirt-gloved hand to conceal them. The big mitt covered her nose, mouth, and her eyes. He pressed down harder.

When he could no longer sense her attempt to breathe, he slumped onto his back beside her.

It took him awhile to realize the moisture on his face was from his own tears. This entire situation had devolved into an uncontrolled shit storm. He was broke, a washed-up loser committing fraud that would benefit some assholes on the wrong side of history, and now a murderer to boot.

He pulled himself up onto his elbows. The fog was starting to lift and there was a glow on the eastern horizon. He had to figure out what to do next.

That’s when he became aware of a dog barking and a couple coming his way.

His next move was pure reflex. He got up and ran toward the sandhills. The dune grass slashed against his skin.

Ernie lay flat, hoping the gentle terrain formed by the dunes and grass would be sufficient cover as the sun began to rise. His hand still throbbed from the jellyfish sting. He could barely make out a warning on a sign at the edge of the dunes telling people to stay away from the dunes as they were nesting areas for sea turtles.

For a brief minute, he remembered when Gigi was seven and they were on the beach in Mexico. She squealed with delight as she “helped” baby sea turtles get to the water by picking them up and running them to the water’s edge.

Then, the self-recriminations resumed. He’d never considered suicide before. Wouldn’t it be better if I just died, here and now? Allison and Gigi would at least get something from his underfunded life insurance. Does it still pay if I kill myself? If I’m found guilty of murder?

He took out his phone and dialed the only person he thought could help him. “I need help…” Ernie said.

“Where the hell are you?”

Ernie was able to describe the beach homes he could make out behind the dunes. He must have made it to Beachtown. He could see a dimly lit street further on, in front of the homes.

“Yeah. I know those houses. Stay where you are until I call you. I’ll be on the road in front of the sand dunes and will let you know when the coast is clear for you to run to the car.”

Ernie lay in the sand. How long will this take? He closed his eyes and surrendered to exhaustion.

Suddenly a sound brought him instantly awake. He looked up in time to see a sledgehammer coming at his head. He didn’t even have a chance to yell.