"If I need you, I'll yell."
Walking from the pier up to the cabin, I actually wondered what it would cost to buy the place. I even stopped and looked out behind me, over the water. Why is it that you can never seem to hang on to something like this? You just get a moment, now and then, and then that moment passes on and you're left with just that ache, just that hunger. What would get done, a voice in my head asked, what would ever get done if everyone found a place like this, and never left it?
Yeah, but what would need to get done?
Franklin was tied to a chair in the middle of the floor in the A-frame. He squirmed in discomfort when he saw me. "Holy shit, Franklin, am I glad to see you."
"Don't cuss, Manny," he said, not surprised at all to see me. "Cussing isn't nice. Hurry, I gotta go pee."
Franklin didn't seem to like the boat ride, he sat down and held on grimly the whole trip back. It was a trip, too, getting him down that goddam ladder into Hobart's boat. "How are you feeling, Franklin?" I asked him. "Are you okay?"
He glanced at me for about a half a second. "Headache," he said.
"Let me see," I told him. "Let me see where he hit you." Franklin held his chin up for inspection. "I don't even think you're going to have a bruise, Franklin."
Hobart chuckled. "'Bout like punching a piece of wood," he said.
We stopped and picked up Nicky and Louis on the way. I wanted Nicky to see with his own eyes that Franklin was all right, I didn't want to have to keep reassuring him about it for the next ten years. I don't know what their bond was, they didn't talk too much, they just sat side by side in the back of the van. Nicky asked Franklin questions in a voice pitched too low for me to hear, and Franklin patted him on the shoulder and gave him one-word answers. Nicky still seemed a little shook, but maybe that was because he knew that we were leaving. That was the plan, anyhow. I didn't know what Bookman was going to think of it.
I called his office from my cell phone, left a message that I had Franklin and was headed for his house. He got there before we did, and he and his wife were both standing out by the rear of the cruiser. Their stupid dog started running around, barking, when he saw me pull into the driveway.
Bookman's wife came out and hustled over, she hugged Franklin and cried on his shoulder, while he looked embarrassed. "Ma," he said. "I'm okay." She let go of him then, and came over to give me and Nicky both a hug.
"That's twice you brought my son back to me," she said. "Thank you so much. Thank you." She smelled really nice. I couldn't remember anyone ever hugging me like that before.
Bookman ambled over. "Do you know where the two of you are going now?"
"Not really. Canada, I guess."
"That's probably smaht," he said. "Don't cross in Calais, though. There's another place to cross, just beyond there. It's a quiet place, nobody uses it, just the locals. The customs guy won't even get up out of his chair, he'll just wave you through. Hold on for one minute, I'll write out the directions for you." He looked at me for a couple of seconds then, with those bland eyes in that still face. Then he turned away and went off to get a pen and a piece of paper.
I said good-bye to Louis while Bookman was inside his house. It hurt me as much as anything I could remember. I didn't know what to say, I didn't even know if I could talk. Louis took my hand in both of his, the same way he'd done when I gave him the money. He squeezed, hard. "Yoah gonna be all right, Manny," he said. "You take good care of that boy."
"Say good-bye to Eleanor for me." I didn't recognize the sound of my own voice. "Tell her, I don't know
Tell her Nicky and I are gonna miss her. Tell her, we get where we're going, we'll write. Okay?" I had to swallow. "Tell her we all came out all right."
He nodded and turned away, and I wiped my face on my shirt.
* * *
Bookman was right, the guy waved us through. I stopped in St. Stephen, the town on the Canadian side, and bought a map. It looked like a long drive to Montreal, and a longer one to Vancouver, but I had plenty of time. My ATM card still worked, too, so we had gas money. I got to thinking about that, so I turned around and went back to St. Stephen and used the computer in the library to check a few things. I had an e-mail from Buchanan, and I saw in the news that the FDA had approved a new boner drug. I watched my stock soar over the next week, I kept stopping every time I saw a place that had Internet service. Nicky didn't seem to mind. Once, I found a motel with an indoor pool, and Nicky thought he had died and gone to heaven. All of his troubles seemed forgotten then, and he did his best to drown the both of us.
I guess I won, after all. Rosario lost, that's for damn sure. It wasn't because I was smarter than he was, though. If I won, it was because a few people had taken pity on me, taken me in and looked out for me. Louis and Eleanor, Bookman, Mrs. Johnson, Hobart
Rosario had linked up with only one guy, Hopkins, and all they had shared was trouble. Maybe, in that part of the world, you can't make it on your own. Maybe you've got to have help.
I've never been able to get that cabin out of my head, though, that A-frame on the coast of Deer Island. There was something there, man, I felt something in that place that I've never felt since. Maybe it was just the moment, I don't know. That's the way it goes in paradise, I guess. You don't appreciate it when you're in it, you don't understand that you're going to have to leave someday, and you don't know the price of admission until after they've thrown you out.
Acknowledgments
I WOULD LIKE TO THANK my friends from down east for their contributions to this book and to my life, chief among them D. W. Terrell, who has always managed to be both a Yankee and a rebel. Thanks also to George Harris, skipper of the
John G,
for being generous with his time and his knowledge. I have taken liberties with the geography of Washington County, Maine, but not many, and I have done my best to stay true to the spirit of the place. I have also made the Old Sow in this story larger than she is in real life, but the Old Sow has, in fact, devoured both boats and men.
I need to thank Marjorie Braman for her patience and persistence. She and her colored pencils have made this a better story and me a better writer. And, as always, thanks to Brian DeFiore for his encouragement and his belief in me.
Finally, my apologies to Kluscap and his friends for whatever violence I have done to one of his legends. I heard the story long ago, and memory is a frail thing, but it might have happened my way after all.
About the Author
NORMAN GREEN
is the author of
Shooting Dr. Jack
and
The Angel of Montague Street
. He lives in New Jersey with his wife.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Praise
for
NORMAN GREEN
and
WAY PAST LEGAL
"A gifted new writer
You get the feeling that Norman Green could go anywhere."
T. Jefferson Parker
"Tension and suspense abound
Way past terrific."
Booklist
(*Starred Review*)
"Manny is an interesting character whose story spins out briskly and suspensefully
Green is described as having been a truck driver, construction worker, and plant engineer. Somewhere in there he also learned plenty about the world of crime."
Washington Post Book World
"[
Way Past Legal
] starts out like a gritty crime yarn, told in slangy, crackling prose by its tough but likable hero
But early on, the story takes an unusual detour into something more
By breaking with formula conventions, Green creates genuine suspense and richly rewards the reader."
Publishers Weekly
"Norman Green has an original voice that takes us into the edgy shadows of human nature."
Robert Crais
Books by Norman Green
WAY PAST LEGAL
THE ANGEL OF MONTAGUE STREET
SHOOTING DR. JACK
Copyright
WAY PAST LEGAL. Copyright Š 2004 by Norman Green. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Palm Reader March 2008 ISBN 978-0-06-162787-3
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