"What the hell, boy ....... ?" He never got to finish the sentence because for the first time in his life, Happy was struck speechless by what he saw.
Chapter 8
Just about sunrise the next morning, Happy rolled over in his sleep. This sent him crashing off the back seat of the Chevy Impala onto the rusted out floorboards, heavily hitting his head on the door handle as he fell. Happy didn’t even feel it. That small wallop was nothing compared to what was going on inside his head.
"Jesus Christ on a crutch, Spike," He muttered, " worse hangover I’ve ever had ......
"
But even as he said the words, Happy remembered old Bobby Pigeon’s grandson’s wedding festivities just this past winter over in Deer Isle. Now, those folks down Deer Isle - Stonington way knew how to throw a party.
Hazily, the previous night’s events started to come back into focus. Splashing ice cold water onto his face, Happy paused, trying to recall exactly what had happened. He could clearly remember Spike barking like an idiot. He could remember seeing something bright. So bright that it should have hurt his eyes, but for some reason it didn’t.
Happy was concentrating so hard now that he was squinting. Passing a rough towel over his face, he gingerly touched his forehead. What a pounder, he thought sourly.
But no matter how hard he tried, Happy couldn’t seem to jog his memory.
There was only one more thing that he could recall after the brightness.
That was being scared shitless.
Happy could remember being so terrified that he could barely breath. So, when the brightness had finally gone, he’d done just what any other All-American Male would have done. He’d gotten good and drunk.
"Come’on Spike," he said planting his cap firmly on his head. "Let’s you and me go see if Wanda’s got the coffee pot on this early."
Leaning heavily on his walking stick, Happy started the short hike to Minturn, on the other side of the Island. By the time he arrived at Wanda’s back door, the sun had burned through the early morning mist and the day ahead promised to be a warm one.
Peeking through the window, he spotted Wanda in her usual rocking chair. Not bothering to knock first, Happy opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.
Wanda barely glanced up from her newspaper.
"Morning, Hap," she nodded, "coffee’s on the back burner."
Trying to move slowly so as not to jog his head unnecessarily, Happy took a mug down from the shelf and filled it to the rim with hot brew. Sighing, he carefully let himself down into the chair at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.
"Hap, you look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet." Commented Wanda casually. "What’d you do, tie one on?"
Not waiting for his reply, Wanda proceeded to read a news article out loud.
"A teenage girl in New Jersey is facing up to thirty years to life in prison.
The girl is accused of murdering her newborn son in the bathroom of the local high school gymnasium minutes after giving birth in one of the stalls.
Authorities say that she wrapped and hit him in the bottom of the trash reciprocal, and then returned to her high school prom, where she preceded to dance the night away with her date."
After a long moment of silence, Wanda finally spoke again. "It’s all there ......
in the papers, on TV ...... just like Gluskabe had said it was."
"What’s that, Wanda?" Happy asked, picking his head up carefully.
Sharply, Wanda looked over at Happy. She may be old, but she sure wasn’t stupid.
If she didn’t want to sound like a crazy, old woman, she had to be real careful here.
"Hap, what do think about the state the world’s in today?"
"Excuse me, Wanda?" Happy looked up from his coffee mug, not quite sure what she meant.
"The world, Hap .... you know, this place we all live in together. The one where every time you pick up a paper or turn on a TV you hear more about people killing each other every day and playing Russian Roulette with our environment."
Wanda stated irritably.
On the other side of the Island, Sam was stubbornly trying to ignore the persistent ringing of her telephone. Groaning loudly, the finally gave up and rolled over. Making a grab for the receiver, she knocked a pile of books precariously balanced on the bedside table onto the floor with a loud bang.
"Speak." She growled into the instrument as she automatically fumbled on the night stand for her smokes.
"We’ve picked up two more." The voice on the other end stated without preamble.
"Not interested, Jake." Replied Sam, flipping over onto her back as she remembered she no longer smoked.
Obviously fully prepared to ignore any protests, Jake continued as if she hadn’t said a word. "I’ve made all the arrangements. The equipment that you need will be arriving today on the 4:00 ferry. See that you’re there to meet them."
Scrambling to sit up, Sam snapped, "Goddamn it, Jake. I don’t work for you anymore. Have you forgotten that?"
"I need you with me on this one, Sam ...... it could be for real this time."
Without allowing her enough time for so much as another word, he quietly disconnected.
Sam made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Disregarding Mr. Coffee, she made herself a quick cup of instant. She slumped in a chair with it, sipping slowly as she replayed the brief call over in her mind.
There was a great deal about Jake Gorham that Sam didn’t understand. He was as much an enigma to her now as he had been when she had first gone to work for him on SETI based tracking project nine years ago. However, the years working with him had taught her this - Jake was a resourceful man who never wasted valuable time or energy with what he considered meaningless chatter. Sam knew that if Jake had contacted her now, even after all the animosity he knew she held for him, than there could be only one reason for it. Jake was sure he was on to something big.
Precisely at 3:55 Sam was waiting at the ferry terminal. Shading her eyes and squinting across the water she could just make out the Edmund S. Muskie as it steadily glided towards the Island. Right on schedule, as usual.
Sam waved to the men in the nondescript white van, indicating they should follow her. Five minutes later they were unloading the highly sensitive equipment onto her front lawn.
"In here, guys." She said, striding down the foyer. Opening the parlor door, she pointed to the space she had cleared of furniture in one corner of the big room.
After they had gone, Sam wandered back to the parlor and sank down into one of the wing chairs. The jumble of modern, technical computers and equipment looked ridiculous in the old room. It was all so shiny. Sam sighed, knowing she should stop stalling and get busy setting it all up. She knew that Jake would expect her to be online as soon as possible.
Chapter 9
It’s too nice to be stuck inside behind a desk, Sam thought longingly as she gazed out the window. Dutifully, she tried to return her attention to reading the latest batch of print - outs. Carefully checking each column against the previous one, looking for any kind of deviation at all.
Screw it, she muttered, tossing them into a pile.
She grabbed her jacket and headed outside, deciding to take the well trampled cliff path to Hockamock Head. It was one of those pristine days that can happen in Maine only in very late spring when the mud season is finished. The sunlight made dappled patterns through the newly sprouted leaves, which blew sharply in the constant breeze from the Atlantic.
As she got closer to the Head, she was joined by an enthusiastic Spike, who unexpectedly bounded out at her from a clump of bayberry bushes.