Oh, what the hell.
I hand Chazz my beer and start unbuttoning my shorts. Before I can pull them off, though, a noise shatters the perfect silence.
Chazz whispers, “What the hell is that?”
We listen. For the first couple seconds I can’t tell what it is, and then all at once something clicks into place, and the noise makes total sense.
A vehicle is on the hidden road, the leaves and branches brushing its side, its running engine barely a whisper as it creeps toward us.
Five hours twenty minutes to go.
Seven
“Shit,” Chazz whispers. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He drops my beer on the sand, scrambles to grab his shorts and T-shirt, all the while whispering, “Shit, shit, shit,” as the vehicle creeps closer.
It’s running without headlights, which is weird, but then again, that’s how Chazz brought us here too.
“Is this private property?”
He whips his head in my direction. “Huh?”
“Are we trespassing?”
Before he can answer, the vehicle breaks through the trees. It’s a black panel van, which is ominous enough, but then it stops next to the Sting Ray and just sits there, its engine idling. Nobody gets out.
Chazz has gone silent. He stares at the panel van parked fifty yards away.
A minute passes. The only sounds are the ocean lapping the sand and the panel van’s idling engine. Because of the angle, we can’t see who’s behind the steering wheel, or if there’s anybody else in the van.
“What do we do?” I whisper.
Chazz doesn’t answer.
“Hey,” I whisper with more force. “What do we do?”
Chazz blinks. Glances at me. Glances back at the panel van. “I don’t know,” he says.
The van’s engine goes silent. For some reason, this causes me to jump. I watch the van, but nothing happens.
Another minute passes. The only sound now is the ocean lapping the sand.
Okay, so this is definitely getting creepy now.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I say.
Again Chazz doesn’t answer.
“Hey.” This time I snap my fingers to get his attention, and when he blinks again and looks at me, I say, “Let’s head down the beach.”
He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and though he doesn’t voice his reason why not, the answer is suddenly clear to me. The Sting Ray. He doesn’t want to leave the Sting Ray. Whoever’s in that van might be here to murder us for all we know, but for Chazz it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t want to take the chance of something happening to his goddamned stupid car.
“Fine. Then let’s leave.”
Foolishly, I take a step forward.
At that same moment, the van’s driver’s door opens. As does the passenger-side door. As do the rear doors. I don’t see the rear doors opening, but I can hear them, just as I can hear the sudden shuffling of footsteps on the hard dirt. Pretty soon four figures appear ahead of us. They look like shadows in the dark. We can’t even see their faces, but that’s because all of them are wearing black masks.
Chazz grabs my hand, shouts, “Run!” and suddenly we’re moving down the beach.
The four figures give chase.
I can run pretty fast on a good day, but these flip-flops are slowing me down, and it doesn’t help that Chazz won’t let go of my hand. I try to wiggle free of his grip, give myself more space to run, but he squeezes tight, and then all at once he trips over his own feet and goes sprawling forward, and because he won’t let go of my hand, I go sprawling too.
The figures have almost reached us.
I scramble to my feet, kick the flip-flops off, start to run away again, but pause to check on Chazz. He’s making it back onto his own two feet, but he’s slow about it, and once again I’m foolish by grabbing his arm and trying to help him up, away from the four men who are now only yards away.
We don’t stand a chance.
They grab us at once.
Along with the black masks, the men are wearing black pants and shirts and gloves.
I struggle, but the two gripping my arms are so much stronger than me that it’s not even funny, and without much effort they drag me back up the beach.
Behind me, I can hear Chazz struggling too, shouting and cursing, and then I hear what sounds like him being punched in the chest, and then he’s not shouting and cursing anymore.
Up the beach we go, toward the thin tree line, then into the clearing. I’ve stopped struggling, but as we pass by the Sting Ray, I attempt to wrestle my arms out of the intruders’ grip, and when that doesn’t work, I jump toward the Sting Ray to plant both feet on the side of the car to give myself some extra oomph. But one of the men sees what I’m doing and pulls me back, which causes me to lose balance, and instead of my feet kicking off the side of the car, my one foot connects with the Sting Ray’s side mirror and bends it forward.
That’s when I hear Chazz again, this time shouting, “What the fuck?”
The men holding me in place pause to glance back. I glance back too. And there’s Chazz, looking stunned, pulling his arms out of the grasp of the two men holding him in place. They let him go without any fuss.
He sprints to the car, leans down, inspects the side mirror. He turns back, his jaw clenched, glares first at me, then at the masked men.
“This car’s a fucking classic. Who’s going to pay for the damage?”
The two who had been holding Chazz now reach us. One of them says, “Take it out of your cut.”
Chazz says, “I’m not taking shit out of my cut. You owe me more.”
The other snorts. “Keep dreaming.”
Chazz stomps his foot in place like a petulant child. “This is fucking bullshit!”
“Calm down.”
Chazz clenches his fists. “I held up my part of the deal. I got her here. You assholes were at least supposed to wait until I fucked her first.”
“Sorry,
