One would think the sun, being so much larger than the moon, would have the most control over the tides. While both orbs have a gravitational pull on the earth’s bodies of water, it’s the moon that the tides really follow. The difference is distance. At 93,000,000 miles, the sun is too far away to create as big of an impact as the moon at only 239,000 short miles above us. So, the moon rules the ebb and flow of our waters. Because it’s closer, the moon has the bigger pull.
The pull of sleep eventually overcame my anxieties about beautiful ex-wives and freakish nightmares. My body gave in around dawn, when the black turned to gray outside Sam’s window. Next thing I knew, I awoke, startled that I’d slept. Sunlight poured into the room.
I found Willie and Sam in the kitchen, where I trudged in and plopped down at the table. “You let me sleep too long,” I told him.
Sam smiled. “You needed it. Besides, it’s probably a good idea to keep a low profile today.”
“Why?”
“Clark, Clara, and a slew of reporters are looking for you,” Sam said sipping his coffee. “I spoke to Henry earlier and he said that he wasn’t opening the store, but going on a walkabout.”
I huffed. “Good idea.”
“Clara’s talking about a civil suit and she’s got TIBA up in arms over yesterday,” Sam continued. “Good thing you have a sanctuary here.”
“I’m sure that Clara and Clark will figure out where I’m hiding, if they haven’t already,” I noted, “and then what? I’d like to play the victim card, but she’s right. I ruined Octoberfest.” My phone started ringing. I glanced at Sam, confused. “Did you take my phone from the bedroom? I thought I’d left it-”
“Yes, I took the phone and Willie,” he admitted, as the phone rang and vibrated on the table. “You looked so peaceful, I wanted you to sleep.”
I smiled. “So, you’re pampering me now.”
“As long as you’ll let me,” he grinned. I reached for the phone, but Sam stopped me. “You might not want to do that.”
I glanced at the screen. “But, it’s Sadie.”
I answered the phone, and Sadie whispered, “I’m not sure what’s going on, but somethin’s ‘bout to go down.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s been this black car, tinted windas, circling the street a bunch’a times last night, and then again this morning, and I coulda swore I saw someone sneakin’ in behind the wheelhouse,” she reported, still whispering. Concerned, Sam moved in beside me. “He looked like a ninja and I don’t know. Gotta bad feelin’. Molly Tubbs was arrested yesterday and those fools ‘cross the street have been gone all night. They musta come home early this mornin’ ‘cause their car’s back and-” Her voice stopped abruptly. “I heard a pop.”
“A pop?” Sam took the phone out of my hand and turned it on speaker so he could hear better.
“There it is again,” she said, after we all heard a faint noise. “I don’t see nothin’ but there’s… another one. Sounds like somebody’s tossin’ bang snaps at the concrete.”
“That’s not bang snaps,” Sam decided. “Get down. Don’t move. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Sam was on his phone reporting shots fired before I could even register what was happening. We both raced through the house. I pulled on clothes as Sam grabbed a gun from his bedside table – a drawer I’d neglected to snoop in. In seconds, we were out the door.
The wheelhouse was besieged by the time we arrived. Cops were positioned next to their cars across the front lawn and as we parked, chaos broke out. Shots shattered windows. Cops returned fire.
“Stay here!” Sam ordered. “Don’t leave the car.”
As I argued, he pushed my head down in the front seat and left me there. I peeked out the drivers’ side window to see him pull his gun out of his waistband and race to the nearest police car. Sam wasn’t in uniform, wasn’t wearing his vest. He wasn’t even part of the police force right now thanks to his suspension. What was he thinking?
Another shot blasted from the house, busting the windshield of the police car Sam had run to, and I squealed. The officers ducked, then returned fire. I watched as Sam communicated with the officers near him, and then he opened the trunk of the police car. He retrieved a second gun from the vehicle, and (thank God) a vest, which he quickly draped over himself. He made sure both guns were cocked and ready, before closing the trunk, and communicating with the other officers again.
“What’s he doing?” I asked aloud. I knew I wouldn’t like the answer.
The cops opened fire on the house, busting windows and splintering wood. Meanwhile, Sam crossed the driveway, going from the car to the carport to the side of the house, meticulously working his way closer. My heart sunk. I lost sight of him as he crouched around the back of the house.
More officers arrived and took up positions. Bullets whipped back and forth. I prayed. Please God, keep him safe. Then, everything stopped. An eerie silence won out. I sat up, and watched the officers descend on the house, busting through the front door.
Where was Sam?
I exited the truck, shaking and scared. I crossed the street, eyeing the house. Everything was quiet. Too quiet, like the sea at night. I ignored the police cars and the traffic in and out of the house, and walked down the dirt and rock driveway to the backyard.
I couldn’t imagine life without Sam, though the thought occurred to me as I eyed the bullet-ridden house that I might not have to. I understood the pull of duty, but what he’d done crossed all lines of obligation and moved into something like insanity. He hadn’t just faced danger. He’d invited it in and asked it to party with him.
I stepped across the lawn behind the house, littered with broken glass and debris. Williams spotted me, and stopped me at the back entrance. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Where is he?” Tears were already welling up in my eyes.
But, Williams smiled. “Kent’s pickin’ him up.”
“Picking him up?” I repeated.
“Teague chased the shooter ‘bout four streets that way,” Williams reported, pointing to the back of the property, where a fence separated one backyard from another. I choked out an awkward breath, and the tears escaped anyway.
“He’s okay?” I clarified.
Williams laughed. “He lives for this shit.”
“Did he catch ‘em?” Officer Tripp asked.
Williams shook his head. “Naw, shooter got away. I’m goin’ to tell Teague he’s gettin’ old and out a’shape.” The two policemen laughed, but I couldn’t join in.
Officer Tripp added, “I’m goin’ to ask ‘em if he brings all his dates to gunfights.”
Williams chuckled, and nodded. I left them to their amusement. Back in front of the house, I spotted Sadie giving her statement to police. She was wearing a pink nightie that said Hot Stuff on it, and the boot on her ankle, which didn’t stop her from getting around in the wake of all this excitement. I was about to go over to her, when Kent’s Porsche pulled up. Sam got out of the passenger side, and I nearly crumbled at the sight of him. He smiled coolly as I jumped into his arms.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” I ordered sternly. “Ever.” Tears dripped out of my eyes as I held on to him.
“I’m okay,” he assured me. “Sorry I scared you.”
“Teague, I want a full explanation of what’s gone on here,” Kent ordered. “Gentry says we got three bodies in there?”
Sam went on to describe the event to Kent, using his police jargon and codes, which basically boiled down to this: An unknown shooter was interrupted by police in the middle of committing multiple homicides. Threatened by police presence, the shooter escaped through the back window, and was chased four streets over. He got into a black car with tinted windows and Florida plates, license plate CLNR, and took off. Ed Wakefield, Ricky Wakefield, and J.J. Lucas were all killed – Ricky and J.J. by the original shooter. Ed, who was armed with a shotgun, by the police.
“CLNR?” I asked once Sam finished his report to Kent. “Cleaner?”
Sam nodded. “I think so.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I fumed, taking a deep breath. “The drug dealers sent a cleaner to deal with the idiots who pinched their drugs.” My brain spun wildly. “And they never would have known where to look had it not been for me and my Octoberfest fiasco.”
Kent eyed me with confusion and irritation. “First of all, you shouldn’t be here. And secondly, what do you mean?”
“Several weeks ago, you guys got a call from a truck driver – Backwoods Buddy – who claimed, at least initially, that he’d lost his load. Later, his bosses told him the truck was empty. But, it hadn’t been. Backwoods Buddy was carrying a huge drug shipment hidden in the soles of shoes. While he was hooking up with his girlfriend, his shipment was stolen. Ricky Wakefield took the bulk of it. Molly Tubbs took the rest.”
“They didn’t know what they were stealing,” Sam added. “It was a crime of opportunity. Later, Wakefield figured out what he had. Tubbs didn’t. Wakefield stole the remaining shoes from Molly Tubbs, and then targeted her customers. With the drugs hidden inside, each pair of shoes would be worth around $1,000.”
“And worth even more than that if it kept the drugs secret. Molly Tubbs wasn’t just robbed, but beaten. He had to figure out who her customers were,” I continued, “and I’m sure it didn’t take much convincing for her to give them up and not to report what he’d done.”
“It would’ve incriminated her, too,” Sam reminded me.
“But, what does that have to do with Octoberfest?” Kent pressed.
“I think I may have been purposefully tricked into believing that Ricky had tampered with the candy so that I’d raise an alarm,” I admitted. “Backwoods Buddy detoured a long way off his normal route to come here and see Molly Tubbs. His bosses didn’t know where he was and he didn’t tell them for fear of getting in trouble. For all they knew, the truck robbery could have been anywhere along the I-95 route. I assume that’s his normal route, right? Isn’t I-95 the drug corridor of the United States?”
Sam smiled. “Yes, and we’re a two-hour detour. The news stories about Octoberfest and the drugs found in the Nikes told them where their drugs were.”
“The cleaner came to Tipee, discovered the identity of the thieves, and cleaned up the mess,” I continued.
“How would the cleaner have known about Ricky?”
I shrugged. “He could have traced Ricky through users, other dealers, or maybe he just found out who Backwoods Buddy came here to see and put two and two together. With Ricky’s big mouth and empty Nike boxes littering up their living room-”
“But, where are the drugs?” Kent demanded.
Sam and I looked at each other and shrugged.
“And who tricked you into thinking Wakefield tampered with the candy?” Kent added, frustration growing. “According to you, he incriminated himself with that conversation outside your bookstore the night before. If that was a fake conversation just to trick you, then who put him up to it.”
“I don’t know. He clearly didn’t understand what he was doing,” I explained. “Someone probably convinced him that making me look crazy would be to their advantage and Ricky didn’t expect the explosive outcome.”
“So, there’s another perpetrator,” Kent summarized. I nodded, though unsure. Instead of arguing, Kent said, “Makes sense. I talked to the friends of Lorna Dobbs, the ones who reported her missing. They’re also prostitutes, by the way, and they tell an interesting story. Four of them being picked up and hired by four men, three of them matching the descriptions of Ricky, J.J. and Ed. They don’t remember much, just going off to party. Plenty of drinks, drugs. They were picked up in Wilmington and they couldn’t even tell me where they went except that the next morning, Lorna was gone and they woke up in their apartments with mad hangovers and-”
“Numbers on their foreheads,” I finished.
“Right,” Kent said. “A weird sex thing?”
“No. Ricky scored a huge supply of drugs to sell, and he wanted to make it last. He used the women to experiment with how much tampering he could get away with. They were numbered according to their doses. Number four exceeded the maximum.” A chill shot through me at the idea of it, how someone could be so callous toward a human life. Sam put his arm around my shoulders, like he could read my mind.
Police business ensued around us. Sam and I blended into the background. We leaned against the back of one of the police cars, answering questions when needed, and waiting for Kent to send us home.
“You know who the fourth person is, don’t you?” Sam asked. We’d been alone and silent for almost an hour, just taking it all in, lost in our own heads.
“Could be anyone,” I allowed, “but I have a guess.”
“Thought you might,” Sam smiled softly.
I leaned my head against his upper arm, and breathed out a sigh. “Sam, will we ever be a normal couple?”
He chuckled and moved his arm around my shoulders. “Eh, normal’s overrated.”