The Last Refuge

breath formed little clouds in the damp cold. The miniature waves of the Little Peconic were the only sound. Even the insects had all gone to bed. The light inside Regina’s house flashed across a double window. The drapes were drawn, but I paused for a moment behind a big hydrangea in case I’d been seen. Nothing. I went on.

Like most of the houses on Oak Point, Regina’s was a single-story, asbestos-shingled bungalow. There were two ways out, the side and the back. The back of the house faced the driveway, so the choice was a toss up. I looked around for a car and saw something parked between a few of Regina’s overgrown arborvitae, about five feet off the driveway. I got a little closer. Pickup truck. No black BMWs.

I took a chance and approached the pickup. It was empty. I stuffed the bat through my belt, took out the flashlight, leaned up against the front fender of the truck and waited.

The wee hours of an October night on eastern Long Island are dank and quiet. I wondered if standing out there alone made any sense, armed with just a three-quarter baseball bat and a Mag light. I decided it made no sense at all. I thought about calling someone to come over and stand there with me. But I didn’t know anyone well enough to bother at this time of night, except Joe Sullivan, and I didn’t want to do that. He might not mind, but then I’d have to go all the way back to the house, wake him up, listen to his bullshit and nurture his dignity. It seemed like too much work. Better to just risk my life. Simpler that way.

I heard an occasional car out on Noyack Road. I watched a small plane flying overhead, probably headed for the airport in East Hampton. Probably some over-achiever from the city, all tired out from playing hardball with the big boys. Getting ready to curl up in his twenty-thousand-square-foot hideaway by the sea.

A cat had a brief encounter with something in the woods a few doors down from Regina’s. The sound prickled the hairs on the back of my neck. The light inside Regina’s was in the kitchen. I saw a shadow pass in front of the window. Went nicely with the sound of the cat fight. I calmed myself and secured my footing.

The back door opened and a man, medium height and build, stepped out on the back stoop. He wore a short coat, cap and boots and was carrying a large shopping bag. I couldn’t see much else in the low light.

I stepped away from the truck, a few feet from the driver’s side door. I hoped I was completely hidden in shadow.

The guy stopped at the truck door and dug his left hand in his pocket for his keys. I walked up behind him, grabbed his right hand by the wrist, yanked it up behind his back and shoved him into the truck’s left front fender. As I shoved him I twisted him around so his left hand was pinned against the truck body. His breath popped out in a surprised little whoof.

“One wiggle, and I’ll break your arm,” I said into his ear.

“Fuck you, you fucking ass wipe cock-sucking mother fucker,” he said, whipping his head around. A tangled bunch of red hair popped out from under his cap.

“Jimmy Maddox, where did you get that mouth?”

“Let go and I’ll show you.”

I let him go and dropped back a few steps, pulling the bat out of my belt.

“You’re a dickhead, mister. You really are. You scared the shit out of me.”

“What’s with the sneaking around?”

“I’m not sneaking.”

“Oh, really. Flashlight in the middle of the night.”

“I’m just here pickin’ up some stuff.” He looked over at the Harmon Killebrew bat. “Whattaya gonna do, club me?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong.”

I gestured with the stick.

“What’s in the bag?”

He just looked at me.

“Who the fuck are you, anyway? Who made you such a big fucking deal?”

“Step away from the bag.”

Even in the low light, I could see him bunch his shoulders and lean forward, ready to launch. Indecision formed around him like a cloud.

“Don’t do anything dumb, Jimmy. I’m really not in the mood.”

“It’s just some shit from the house. She’s not usin’ it.”

“Why the late hour?”

“I was at my girlfriend’s in the Village. I just stopped on the way back. I don’t have to ask your fucking permission.”

“Well, actually, you do. I’m like the official guardian of Regina’s stuff.”

“You’re more like an official pain in my ass.”

I tapped him with the bat to move him out of the way. He moved a half-step, enough to let me pick up the bag. It was a doubled-up grocery store bag with handles. It was heavy.

“What do you got in here, Regina’s barbells?”

“Fuck you.”

“You should work on the invective, Jimmy. It’s tiresome.”

As I talked I went through the bag. There were two folded towels on top. Underneath was a collection of kitchen utensils—knives, ladles, big spoons—and a pair of cast iron frying pans, which explained all the weight.

“What’s for dinner?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned up against the truck. He’d decided he was finished talking. But I hadn’t.

“You know, I’ll give you all this stuff, and more, if you just ask. You don’t have to sneak around.”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

“What’s this? A sentimental journey?”

“Just stuff I need. I didn’t know you could hand it over.”

“You just had to ask.”

“Well, I don’t know about that kind of shit.”

I curled the top of the bag over and stuffed it under my arm.

“It’s all yours, Jimmy, but I’m not gonna give it to you now.”

“Why the fuck not?”

I used the bat to point to my cottage.

“Say, Jimmy, come over to my place and have a drink with me.”

I walked away and left him standing there by his truck. I could hear him snorting and shuffling his feet around in the grass.

“I want my stuff,” he called after me.

I kept walking.

“You’ll get it. Come on and get a pop. Do you good.”

I walked the rest of the way without looking back. The night hadn’t changed much in the last half-hour, but I was a lot more tired out. There’s only so much adrenaline your body can soak up over a normal twenty-four-hour period. I was starting to feel fuzzy with exhaustion. I unlocked the door and was about to push it in when Jimmy came up behind me.

“That’s all you got? Soda pop?”

“Not soda pop. A pop. A drink. I got anything you want. Beer?”

I parked the Harmon Killebrew bat next to the side door and let the scruffy jerk into my house. Eddie greeted him like a long lost friend. Big deal watchdog.

I got Jimmy a beer and showed him out to the porch. I sat him down, then went back to the bedroom to stow the bag. I tossed it on the floor of my closet and dumped my laundry on top. Guys don’t like to touch other guys’ dirty socks. I went back out to the porch, partly refilling the tumbler on the way, like I needed it.

“I didn’t know you could see the water from this place,” Jimmy said when I came out on the porch.

“Sure. The sacred Peconic.”

“I thought it was the Little Peconic.”

“Yeah. That’s right. The little one.”

“I don’t know about religious stuff.”