Toward Night's End

He had been here twice before. Once in the mid-afternoon when the tall cedar trees blocked much of the sun, making the base of the small canyon surprisingly dark. Then again a week later around ten at night. The desolate area was pitch black then and very quiet. Now, close to midnight, it was just plain unnerving.

As Matthew carefully backed the 15-foot cargo truck into the hiding place as instructed, he had to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake by agreeing to meet here. For all the past deliveries, he had driven to Cannery Cove Park. Meeting at night, there had never been anyone around to watch as the items in his truck were quickly put in the bed of a pickup truck. Where the men took the material after leaving the park, he had no idea. But at least in the open park he felt relatively safe. However, this was to be the very last shipment, and because of that, he was told they had to take precautions and meet here. But the closed-end canyon made him feel jittery. It was too secluded. Too dark.

He wondered if Tom, his best friend, was in place, watching. He hoped so. So far, Matthew had done exactly as instructed – he had turned off the truck’s headlights a mile back, and an hour ago he had removed the light bulbs from the brake lights as well as the back-up lights. He had been told that this way, if by chance anyone was in the area, they wouldn’t see a large cargo truck in a remote area of the island. Of course, the men had forgotten to take into account the noise of the truck. There was a home a couple miles back, and he had to think the truck’s rumbling engine announced that he had passed by.

With the transmission in park, Matthew leaned out the window to check the truck’s position. Too dark. He hopped out and walked to the back of the truck. The back tires were just about a foot from the edge of a steep ravine so that the rear portion of the truck hung over the edge, which meant the truck could now be seen by Tom from his hidden spot. Good. Matthew climbed back in the truck and turned off the engine.

He was sweating profusely although the night air was cold, a gentle wind from the Puget Sound blowing through the open windows. It felt good. He checked his watch. He was early, as he had planned. Tom should have arrived a half hour ago, also as planned. The men would be here in twenty minutes, if they were on time. Which he presumed they would be. They had been on time for all the other deliveries at Cannery Cove Park. He thought of what Tom had said to him just a few hours ago. “Toward night’s end, it will all be over. A new day tomorrow. And you just wait, I’ll make sure it turns out right.”

Still a bit worried, he took comfort in Tom’s words. He knew his dear friend would be true to his word – he’d make it right. To calm his nerves, he reached into his front shirt pocket and took out Tom’s pack of cigarettes. Matthew had taken the cigarettes, so his friend wouldn’t be tempted to smoke while remaining hidden. Ordinarily, Matthew didn’t smoke. But once in a while, when he was upset, he found smoking helped calm his nerves. And his stomach was a tangle of butterflies right now. So, light up and calm down. Why not? Then he realized that the glow from the cigarette might be seen. But what difference did it make? No one was around, of that he was certain. Except Tom, well hidden and watching.

He had just removed a cigarette from the pack when the passenger door suddenly flung open and Matthew found himself staring at a rifle aimed at his chest. The man holding the weapon was big, with a full beard, standing on the running board, his free hand holding the handgrip on the side of the truck. Matthew had never seen him before.

Then suddenly another gun cocked loudly in his left ear. This one was a handgun, its barrel inches from his head. Standing on the driver’s side running board, the man holding the handgun wore a wool ski cap over his head. Unlike his cohort, this man was clean-shaven. With his heart pounding, Matthew realized he didn’t know either man. Who were they? Where was his usual contact? Why the change?

“Move it up,” the man with the handgun told Matthew, holding onto the side mirror for balance.

There was no choice really. Matthew started the truck, feeling it shudder beneath him. He thought about gunning the engine and taking off, but the handgun was still inches away, and he had no doubt the man would be more than happy to splatter his brains across the dashboard. Not to mention the bearded henchman who didn’t say a word, but hardly needed to. His rifle spoke volumes.

He pushed in the clutch, found first gear, and slowly moved the truck forward. They obviously weren’t about to compliment him on his fine parking job just inches from the ravine.

“Stop,” the clean-shaven man instructed after Matthew had driven about fifteen yards. He did as he was told, and the truck idled loudly. “Keys,” the man said next. Matthew shut off the engine and handed him the keys. “Out.”

Matthew glanced at the big man with the rifle, still standing on the passenger running board, who hadn’t said a word. Obviously, the man holding the handgun was the leader. He was the only one who said anything.

Matthew then climbed out, finally getting a good look at the leader, who kept his gun trained on Matthew. He was taller than Matthew, but that was hardly surprising considering Matthew stood all of five-five. Tall for a full-blooded Japanese, but compared to most Caucasians, including the man in front of him, he was small.

As the bearded man came around the front of the truck, his boss tossed him the keys, which he deftly caught in midair. Matthew guessed the henchman must be at least six-three or four. He was certainly no match for either of them.

“You did lock it, didn’t you?” the leader asked, holding the handgun steady. Matthew simply nodded. The bearded man moved quickly for a man his size, heading for the back of the truck. The leader waved his pistol, motioning Matthew to follow. For a brief moment Matthew hesitated. Then he complied.