The Shore (Leisure Fiction)

brother. Vulnerable. Unchanged. I shall find you that way again. And soon. It must be soon. He twisted the focus. But first things first.

Nothing stirred in the alley. Yet his pursuer lurked out there, he knew. Somewhere.

Eventually, he sighed and swung the binoculars back toward the apartment.

The window! It was open wide now. He slapped his palm against the pane too hard, cracking it. No! Frantically, he scanned back and forth across the fire escape, the alley, the...

He caught just a glimpse of the boy's cap vanishing down the alley. Tossing the binoculars on the bedding, he grabbed for his parka. The door thudded against the wall as he pounded into the hallway and down the well of the stairs.

In the empty room, the candle flickered feebly, and tendrils of smoke twined up to the ceiling. As the door drifted shut, sleet began to tap at the cracked windowpane.

'Oh, so you're still around.'

'Nice little town you have here.'

The barmaid swiveled a look to someone at a nearby table, and one of the patrons shook his head.

'Stacey, isn't it?' Steve ordered a beer, then spent ten minutes trying to draw her into conversation. 'I was in Cape May last month, stayed at a couple of the famous haunted hotels.' He grinned. 'You interested in that sort of thing?'

Wiping a glass, she barely looked at him.

'Psychic phenomenon is sort of a hobby of mine.'

'Uh huh.' She went on to the next glass.

'Ghosts and poltergeists, that sort of thing.' He raised his voice, watching the other patrons in the mirror. 'You know, things moving around by themselves. Anything like that ever happen around here?'

He heard somebody mutter, 'What in hell's he talking about?'

'I mean, are there any old legends about the town? You know, haunted beaches...or strange families. That kind of thing?'

The white-haired man on the next bar stool cast him a look of utter disgust. 'People here ain't no stranger than anywheres else,' the man grumbled as he picked up his beer and moved away. 'Leastwise we mind our own business.'

'Here, give me another.' Steve put a twenty on the bar and forced a smile.

'Uh huh.' Stacey shook her head. 'You're different all right. I'll give you that much.' Under the makeup, she looked tired. 'You ought to meet Tully.'

'Who?'

'Besides, if you really want to know about the town, he's the only one's gonna talk to you.' Smirking, she looked as though she might say something else but wiped the counter instead.

'Why's that?'

With one long fingernail, she scraped at a spot on the bar. 'Everybody else has gotten pretty leery of strangers since last week. Cops and reporters. Pestering everybody. Just the kind of publicity this town don't need.'

'You expecting this Tully character tonight?'

'Hey, Tull, come over here,' she called. 'Man wants to buy you a drink.'

Steve blinked. A young man rose from a table near the wall. No one could have appeared more out of place, and he watched him smile in habitual apology as he squeezed around a table. The sheepskin jacket and cable-knit sweater looked expensive, and brown curly hair hung to his shoulders, slightly exaggerating a suggestion of weakness in his features.

Cigarette scissored between two fingers, Stacey said, 'Now tell him what you was telling me about.' Folding her arms, she observed them through the smoke.

While Steve repeated his comments about psychic phenomenon, Stacey poured drinks. 'Oh,' the newcomer interrupted with a chuckle, 'so that's why she wanted us to meet. Sorry, but she thinks you're weird too.' His hands twitched. 'Am I right, Stace?' All his gestures seemed jerky, barely controlled and at odds with his polished appearance, as though he constantly reined in some violent reaction. 'They all think I'm a little crazy here.'

She smiled with her lips closed.

'Tully, is it?'

'Nickname. Long story. Real name's Jason. Jason Lonzo.'

'I take it you're not from around here?' Steve leaned forward. At the closest table, a laugh cut off suddenly.

'I am. Sort of. My folks have a place here, and I've been here every summer since I was born just about.'

Steve patted the sleeve of his own leather jacket. 'Strange time of year for the beach, isn't it?'

'Hmm? Oh, you mean why am I here now? I more or less dropped out of grad school a couple months ago. The situation got a little tense at home, so I've been staying at the shore house, you know, trying to figure myself out.' He shrugged. 'Maybe do a little painting.'

'You paint?'

'Hope so. I don't really know yet.'

Steve nodded. His third beer had settled on an empty stomach, and his companion's last remark suddenly struck him as both eloquent and poignant. 'Yeah,' he expounded.

'You think less of me for that? For quitting?' He searched Steve's face as though this stranger's opinion suddenly mattered intensely.

'Well, uh,' Steve cleared his throat.

'Hey, Charlie, how you doing?' The long hair swayed in front of Tully's face as he nodded at one of the regulars hurrying past. 'I'm too sensitive, that's all. I'm sorry, but it's a little weird. Sometimes I know what people are going to say. You know? What they're thinking even. Sometimes I think they can tell, and they resent it. Is that crazy?'

'You tell me.' They kept talking and drinking, though the blurry discourse in which they indulged barely qualified as conversation. Tully's whole demeanor changed whenever he addressed one of the other patrons, his vocabulary and tone of voice altering with a spurious attempted to affect a jocular coarseness of character. Always the locals turned from him with barely concealed sneers. He should give it up. Steve shook his head, feeling a surge of compassion for this young man, so desperate for acceptance. Oblivious, Tully prattled on about some philosopher whose work he found 'strangely meaningful,' while Steve ordered more beer. Hell, why am I sitting here? I don't have time to waste. The boy could be anywhere. He could sneak out of town, and I'd lose him and never find him, and he'd kill and kill and never stop. But a luxuriating paralysis seemed to spread through his body, preventing his muscles from tensing when he willed himself to rise. What next, he wondered? Wander back outside? Into that terrible cold? Kit can only watch the apartment another hour; then she goes on duty. I'll be there to take over. Besides, he found himself liking his tense and melancholy new acquaintance. I'll be there. No rush.

'Toxic dumping for one thing. Did you get a whiff of the bay?'

He interrupted the younger man to order food, and they moved to a table.

'You've met Kit? Really? That's somebody else I always thought was out of place here. Hard to believe she's a cop.'

Steve just watched and listened. While the barmaid wiped the table, he noticed the way she looked at Tully, the way she moved with an exaggerated twitch of the hips. An indulgent smile played across Tully's face as Stacey leaned far over him to swab out the ashtray with a damp cloth.

Good for you, kid. Steve told himself he wasn't just wasting time here, that mingling with the locals constituted part of the investigative process. Okay, so we'll talk a while, and maybe I'll learn something about the town. Except they didn't seem to be discussing the town. What was the guy going on about now? Renaissance architecture? The beer created a haze in his vision, but he made an effort to focus. 'This town,' he interrupted. 'It's sort of laid out strange for a seaside resort, isn't it? Doesn't look much like the rest of the towns around here.'