Jack Beale 00 - Dangerous Shoals

rain. Do you feel it?”
    She leaned back, ever so slightly, and turned her face toward his. “Feel what? Are you all right? Because you are making no sense at all.”
    He looked down at her. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Then he closed his eyes too and gently held onto her. “When the summer’s over and all this is past, we should go back down to Belize.”
    “That would be nice,” she murmured, thinking, “Where did this idea come from?”
    Then, as if he had read her mind, he said, “The rain. Doesn’t it sound like the rain in Belize?”
    “Mmmm. It does,” she purred in agreement. And so they stood there for what seemed like forever, holding on to each other and those special memories.
    A sudden clap of thunder broke the spell and they let go of each other.
    “Jack?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Tell me again. Tom’s going to catch him, isn’t he?”
    “Yes, Max. He will.”
    Another flash of lightning and another clap of thunder brought them back together.

CHAPTER 88
    KURT HAD FOLLOWED ROUTE 110 east from Amesbury to Salisbury Beach, where the road ended at a stop sign facing the center of the entertainment district. He had driven the eight miles from the pharmacy to the stop sign, patiently and carefully. He knew that there was no reason for anyone to take particular notice of him. After all, he had been careful. Still, even though his performance at the pharmacy had been private, it was hard not to feel as if the world was watching.
    By the time Kurt arrived at that stop sign, it was raining steadily. Like its slightly northern cousin, Hampton Beach, Salisbury Beach contains long stretches of beautiful sand that are packed with sun worshipers on warm summer days, but are equally deserted on rainy nights. But that’s where the similarity ends. Salisbury Beach is much more compact. There are only a few souvenir shops and no real restaurants to speak of. For hungry tourists, the dining experience is limited to walk-up windows that offer a slice of pizza, a dog, or a burger with fries and a soda to go. There are, however, many bars.
    His wounds were feeling better, and with that, so were his spirits. The painkillers he had taken were kicking in. His hand, while still swollen, no longer throbbed with the dull ache of the spreading infection. It must have been the pills, because he decided to celebrate his luck first and worry about a room later. With no cars behind him, he sat at the stop sign to consider his options.
    Straight ahead he could see several bars. None looked particularly busy, a fact reinforced by the existence of several vacant parking spaces on the street right in front of their doors. Despite the rain, the bar closest to where he was stopped had its door open. He rolled his window down to get a better look. He could feel the hot, humid air and was thankful for his car’s air conditioning. A sign on the sidewalk announced that they had a live band playing tonight. Loud music thumped out at him, but missing were the sounds of clinking glasses and voices trying to be heard over the heavy driving beat.
    He looked left at the large windowless building with a fountain beside it. There was no tacky neon sign above the door, just a discreet gold nameplate on the wall announcing that it was a gentleman’s club. A tuxedoed doorman holding an umbrella stood outside waiting to greet arriving patrons. It almost seemed out of place for Salisbury Beach. It felt more like a Las Vegas mega club than a typical seedy bar, and yet it did fit.
    A short honk of a horn brought him back to the stop sign, and headlights flashed in his mirror when he looked up. Had it not been raining, there would have been an almost endless line of cars behind him with no parking places ahead and crowds of people everywhere. Tonight though, there was only the one car behind and several empty parking spots ahead. He waved an apology, rolled up his window, drove straight across the intersection, and parked.
    * * *
    “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
    “Beer. ‘Gansett if you have it.” He didn’t drink often, but tonight it seemed right.
    The bartender nodded, and returned in a few minutes with a bottle and a glass. He placed them down in front of Kurt without speaking and turned away. Kurt poured his beer and looked around.
    It had seemed so much darker when he first opened the door and peered in. The rain hadn’t let up, and the darkness had drawn him in. He liked the dark. It made him feel safe and warm