Page 32 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Shit—I mean, sorry, sir. But there’s no public transportation off the island yet. The ferry is shut down and so is the airport. I’m not sure when they’ll open up. Maybe later tonight.” Apology and concern crease his brow.
“I get it,” I say, refraining from swearing a blue streak. “Maybe you can help me with another problem. My car—or rather my friend’s car—got zeroed by a tree limb and I could use the name of a garage. It’ll need a tow.”
“That I can help you with. Come on, I’ll give you a ride over there.” He lets his captain know he’s performing a civic duty and gives me a ride to a garage less than a half mile away. He sticks with me a few minutes while I wait my turn. Maybe I should offer him tickets to a game, but the last thing I need is to be accused of bribing a police officer, so I stick to telling him thank you when he finally leaves.
I hire a tow truck for the Land Rover and have no problem bribing the guy wearing a name patch that says ARNIE to do it in a hurry. The only reason he pushes me to the top of his list over the other dozen people in line is because I play for the Brawlers. He recognizes my name when I hand him my credit card.
Normally I hate using my pro athlete status to get favors, but I’m desperate. The guilt forces me to offer him tickets to the season opener in a few weeks.
“Hey doesn’t preseason start this week?” he says.
I nod, not feeling happy. “Tomorrow.” It’s becoming a familiar theme and the constant reminder strains my optimism.
“Shit. You’re in a ton of trouble. No way you’re gonna make it back to Boston in time.”
“Never say never. I’m a determined guy.”
“Only boats moving are Coast Guard and emergency cargo. Airport might open tomorrow.” He shakes his head. “Not looking good.”
“How about private boats?” I say. Worth a shot. He gives me a look, then breaks out into a grin.
“I never thought of that. But it might be possible.”
“You know someone with a yacht who I can hitch a ride with?”
He nods his head like a bobblehead puppy.
Turns out some rich dude named Dane Blaise and his wife are on the island with their yacht and it’s the kind that could definitely hold up in rough seas. Apparently he’s a PI, an adventurous type and might consider giving me a ride to Boston.
“He’s famous here and at the Vineyard. A war hero and into crazy espionage shit.”
“Great. Hope he likes dogs,” I say and hop into the tow truck to swing by Dane and Shana Blaise’s place to negotiate some arrangements. If I can pull this off, it might go a long way toward thawing Pink’s attitude.
That’s wishful thinking talking, I know. But I’m getting desperate.
Which is not the same as giving up.
The house we drive up to, not far from the main harbor and ferry, is a modest home with a deck spreading from the sides on two levels and an expanse of ocean wild with white water and roaring crashes meeting the beach. Arnie pulls the tow truck into the long crushed-shell drive.
“You know this guy well?”
“Well enough. He’s renting a house on the island. Visits here and there. Lost at cards to him last night.”
I nod, knowing the feeling. Not that I’m a card player and I guess that’s the point. I wish my phone was charged right now because I’d flick a pick and send it to Pink with an update. And a shot of the house—a beach shack, really—set on a beauty of a sheltered bay.
“Come on in,” Arnie says. This may take longer than either Pink or I expected. I’m anxious to get back to her, but since we need to get off the island and this guy Blaise has a boat and the guts to go out in this weather, I follow Arnie to the back door where he stops short and takes out his phone. Rather than knock or ring the bell, he calls this dude to let him know we’re at the door. Strange. I’m about to ask Arnie what the story is, when the door opens.
The guy standing there isn’t tall or built like a wrestler or movie star handsome, but he strikes me all the same as someone powerful. Whatever aura or energy he has, it gives me the confidence that, yeah, we’re gonna get back in time.
“Hockey player, right?” he says and flicks a look at Arnie as he shakes my hand.
“And you’re a PI.?”
He laughs then and steps aside, waving me in. “So you need to get back to Boston in a hurry?”
“Pre-season starts first thing in the morning and Coach insists I be there for the meeting, storm be damned.”
He snorts. “I had a boss like that once.”
