by Evan Graver
“An international arms dealer, a Haitian vodou priestess, and bounty hunters?” Stacey said, shaking her head. “This is just plain weird.”
Ryan nodded. “We’re going to take care of the arms dealer and the priestess.”
“Can I go home now?” Don asked.
“If you want to,” Ryan said. “I can get you on a flight tomorrow, but we need you, Don.”
Don sat back and picked up his glass. He took a drink and set it down, then twirled it in circles on the table.
“Look,” Ryan said, “we’ve got the advantage. We have all the gear to bring up the gold and we have Joulie’s protection to keep Kilroy at bay.”
“What happens if we can’t find the second strong box?”
“It’s there, Travis,” Ryan said.
“What did you do on your errands?” Stacey asked.
Ryan shook his head. “I get that you guys don’t like secrecy, but some things need to stay a mystery.”
“That’s an answer I’d expect from an idiot.” Stacey sat back and crossed her arms. She blew a strand of fading purple hair out of her face. Her hair was returning to its normal shade of light brown. The rain hadn’t done her any favors.
Dennis excused himself and stood. Ryan walked out with him. At the lobby, Dennis asked for a driver to take him to the docks.
“I want to be straight with you, Captain,” Ryan said. The rain had turned to a steady drizzle and they stood on the porch steps waiting for the car. “This thing could get messy. I told you that from the beginning. What I didn’t expect was for it to become so complicated with Joulie, and now Kilroy showing up.”
“I understand,” Dennis said. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his khakis. No matter what was happening, he always wore his khakis, white tennis shoes, and red Peggy Lynn T-shirt. “I took the risk by coming with you. I wanted another adventure.”
“It’s shaping up to be one.”
“Sounds like adventure follows you around.”
“Something like that,” Ryan muttered.
Dennis let a moment of silence lapse before saying, “We’ll come out all right.”
A black sedan pulled around the driveway and stopped in front of the men. It was slick with rain and its tires and fenders were splattered with mud. The passenger window buzzed down. A grinning black man stuck his head out. “You be da cap’ain?”
“I am.”
“Let’s be goin’.” The driver motioned Dennis into the car.
Ryan bid Dennis good night and returned to the dining room. His meal had been delivered. Only Don was still at the table. Ryan sat down and dug in.
“You sure everything is gonna be all right, boss?” Don asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Ryan said between bites. “I’ve got a job for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Have you ever built an electromagnet?”
“Well, hell, is that all you want?” he asked with a grin.
“Pretty simple, really,” Ryan said. “I’ve got all the components.”
“Is that what you were scavenging for?”
“Yep.”
“Sure wish you would’ve taken me along. It’s been boring sittin’ around the hotel. Did you know I fixed like three toilets since I’ve been here?”
Ryan shook his head, his mouth full of food. He tended to eat fast, shoveling in quickly. He’d always been like that. Bootcamp and his time in the military had exacerbated the situation, forcing him to eat quickly between evolutions. He swallowed and took a long drink of beer. “I had no idea. Anyway, I’ve got the stuff in the room. I’ll show it to you.”
“Cool. I’ll start crawlin’ the walls if I don’t have something to do.”
He knew what Don meant. He looked up and saw Joulie standing in one of the open veranda doors. She smiled at him, whispered something to the waiter, and then walked away. The waiter took a circuitous route to Ryan’s table. When he arrived, he bent down and whispered, “The lady would like you to join her in the garden.”
“Of course, she does,” Ryan said with a shake of his head. “Bring me another beer and take a drink to the lady. Tell her that I’ll join her in a few minutes.”
The waiter straightened quickly and looked appalled that Ryan hadn’t jumped to do Joulie’s bidding. Ryan guessed he wasn’t used to anyone turning down an invitation from the ruling priestess. The look passed quickly from the man’s face, and he returned to the professional he was, replying with a curt nod and a yes.
After the waiter delivered Ryan’s beer, Ryan escorted Don up to his room.
Don asked, “What about Joulie?”
“She can wait a few minutes,” Ryan replied. He opened the door with his key and led the way to a small desk. Three plastic bags sat on the floor beside it. He took the items from the bags and laid them out for Don to see. When he was through, he explained exactly how he wanted Don to assemble his contraption.
“You sure about that?” Don asked dubiously.
“Yes. It’ll work, and we need the speed sensor because radio waves don’t transmit well underwater.”
Don nodded. “How are you going to get it on Kilroy’s boat?”
“That’s one of those secrets I’m keeping to myself.”
“So, you don’t know?”
“I have an idea.”
Don shook his head. “Sounds dangerous.”
“One more thing. I want you to see if you can scrounge up some scrap and build this for me.” Ryan used a piece of hotel stationary and a pencil to sketch what he had in mind.
Don whistled. “That might be tough. I’ll have to take everything to Peggy Lynn so I can use the workshop.”
“That’s fine. Ask Billy Parker for help if you need it. He’s pretty well connected.” Ryan glanced at his watch. “I better get going. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
“Night,” Don said, grinning as he placed parts back in the sacks.
Ryan hurried down the flight of stairs and nearly collided with another patron coming up. He excused himself and continued to the garden. The rain had stopped for now, but the weather service said it would begin again around midnight. Joulie was waiting on the same stone bench where she’d negotiated the pants off him. Literally and figuratively, he thought.
He paused to light a cigarette, then thought better of it. He stuffed the pack back in his pocket. She patted the bench as he approached, and he sat beside her.
She asked, “How’s the salvage coming?”
“We found one of the strong boxes.”
“What about the other?”
“The hurricane moved the ship almost a half a mile from where it originally went down. A lot of things got jumbled up inside. We’ll find it.”
Joulie faced him. “You’d better not lie to me. The loa will tell me if you are lying. They are helping you now. I have prayed to them for guidance.”
“I’m not lying,” Ryan snapped. “We only get twenty minutes to work on the bottom. We’re searching as fast as we can. If it’s buried under the vehicles, it’ll take some time to get it out.”
Joulie put her hand on his arm. It was warm and comforting. “Do your best.”
“We have another problem,” Ryan said. “Jim Kilroy sent a diver down to the wreck. He messed with our spare gas supply and took a gold bar.”
The hand tightened on his arm and Joulie’s faced clouded. “I sensed his evil presence.”
“I have a plan to fix his wagon,” Ryan said.
“What do you mean, fix his wagon?” she asked, clearly puzzled.
“It’s an old expression for taking care of a problem.”
Joulie smiled. “Why isn’t Mango with you?”
“He didn’t want to come on this trip.”
“Why not?”
“He got tired of being my work wife,” Ryan said.
“What happened?”
“He went sailing with his real wife.”
“That’s too bad, I liked Mango.”
“I asked him if he wanted to
help recover the gold and he said no, well, his wife said no.”
“He’s a smart man to listen to her.”
“Hey, what are you saying?” Ryan put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her against him. A raindrop fell onto his head and it was quickly accompanied by more. Hand in hand the couple ran up to her suite.
In the morning, rain poured from a slate gray sky and wind whipped through the trees around the hotel. The weather forecast hadn’t changed. For Ryan, the storm was moving at a snail’s pace. He wanted to get back in the water and finish the job.
He leaned on the iron railing and put his morning cigarette to his lips. He inhaled lustily and let the smoke linger in his lungs before blowing it out.
Joulie came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. She laid her head on his back and kissed his bare skin. The warmth of her lips and the eagerness of her hands made it hard to concentrate. Her voice was husky. “Come back to bed. Nothing will happen today.”
Ryan liked the weight of her against him. He had no illusions about their relationship. She would never leave her country again. Their paths had converged twice and would separate again. They were a comfort to each other, sharing a bed for convenience.
She was right, he would get no work done today. He wondered if Don was on his way to the boat.
She kissed his muscular back again, her long hair tickling his skin. He straightened and flicked his cigarette into an ashtray. She loosened her grip, and he turned to face her. She was naked under her robe. He picked her up and carried her back to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ryan pulled on a clean shirt and khaki pants. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and glanced in the mirror to ensure it was laying properly.
“Let’s order room service,” Joulie said, patting the sheets with her hand, inviting him back to bed.
“I promised I’d have dinner with the crew. You could join us.”
She rolled onto her back.
“You’re the head vodou lady around here. You should be able to do whatever you want.”
“You’re right,” Joulie said, sitting up.
Ryan watched her walk into the bathroom. Her ass was a thing of perfection. She was the kind of woman he could settle down with if she wasn’t so hell bent on staying in Haiti. He could see himself traveling the world with her. They could buy a sailboat and find a slice of paradise where they could run naked on the beaches. Was the taste of action so deeply ingrained in him that he’d given up on the dream? Had his sailing trip around the world, when he was eighteen, been the end of his carefree life?
He heard the shower turn on. “Go down without me,” she called over the roar of water.
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed and worked his feet into his boat shoes. Joulie wasn’t going to eat with them. She had to keep her status and position even if everyone at the hotel knew she was boffing the nèg blan—white man. They were just using each other for comfort. The rebound. He shook his head to clear away the feelings.
Ryan lit a cigarette on the balcony, walked down the stairs, and along the veranda toward the dining room. Rain continued to drizzle, and the trees still swayed. It was good to have a few moments to himself. Staying under the roof, he crossed to the dining room and paused to finish his smoke before entering. His crew sat at their normal table. Ryan brought the cigarette up as he surveyed the room. His hand stopped halfway to his lips.
Jim Kilroy stared directly at him with an impish smile. To Kilroy’s right, a Hispanic man looked up from his meal when Kilroy nudged him. Karen Kilroy turned her blonde head and smiled. It was the other blonde at the table who froze his blood. She did not smile, only stared helplessly at him. He could read the tension in her body, the pleading in her blue eyes. His knees threatened to buckle, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. Ryan’s lips opened and closed like a suffocating fish.
Kilroy stood. “Come join us, Mr. Weller.”
Ryan tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to be callous, he wanted to be suave, he wanted to be more than the fool he felt like right now.
Robotically, Ryan walked past his gaping crew and took a seat opposite Emily. Kilroy waved the waiter over before sitting.
Henri came immediately and said, “The usual, Mr. Weller?”
“Wi, Henri,” Ryan said.
“I see you’ve made yourself right at home,” Kilroy said, slicing off a piece of his steak.
Ryan couldn’t think of a witty retort.
After chewing and swallowing, Kilroy asked, “How goes the search for the gold?”
“I could ask your diver the same thing.”
Kilroy paused his cutting and looked up.
“I saw him on the wreck. He took a gold bar.”
Kilroy smiled. The silent Hispanic looked both puzzled and surprised. Ryan also saw a gleam of gold fever in his dark eyes.
Henri returned with an ice-cold Prestige. “Anything else, sir?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “I’ll have the steak, medium rare. Jimmy’s buying.”
“Yes, sir,” Henri said before scurrying away.
A foot brushed against Ryan’s leg, then it gave three quick taps, three long taps, three quick taps to his calf. S-O-S in Morse code. He took a sip of beer, trying to relieve the dryness in his mouth. After three bursts of code, she stopped. He replied with three long taps, O, a long tap, a quick tap, a long tap, K. He didn’t know if she understood, and he didn’t look at her to find out. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her pleading blue eyes.
His heart ached. She was a beautiful woman, the girl next door, with her sweetheart smile and classic features. He remembered how she fit against him when they lay cuddled in the V-berth of his sailboat, the softness of her skin like smooth silk whispering against his rough hands. He loved her hearty laugh, and the way she moved with athletic grace. How could he have chosen his job over her? One of her toenails dragged along his ankle.
To distract himself from his thoughts, Ryan tipped his bottle toward the Hispanic and asked Kilroy, “Is this your new bodyguard?”
Kilroy’s narcissistic smile creased his tan face. “This is Eduardo Sanchez. He’s here at the request of the Aztlán cartel. I’m sure you remember them.”
Sanchez nodded, chewing his fish and staring Ryan down.
“You’re working together?”
“We have mutual interests. When I’m through with you, Eduardo can have what’s left.”
Sanchez’s lips curled into a sneer under his thick mustache. His heavy eyelids, wavy black hair, and goatee made him a dead ringer for the man Ryan had killed at his apartment in Key Largo.
“How’s your mother doing, Karen?” Ryan asked. When he’d first met Karen in New York City, she’d been visiting her mother, who had cervical cancer.
“She passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ryan said.
“Thank you,” Karen said softly.
Turning to Emily, he asked. “Are they treating you all right?”
She nodded. Her foot slid up his pant leg. Her bare toes were cool against his calf. He tried to drink but couldn’t swallow. His throat was raw and sore around the lump in it.
“Jim, if you harm a hair on her head—”
“Too late for that, I’m afraid,” Jim said. “The boys had to get nasty with her at her apartment. Apparently, she’s a fighter. She dosed one of them with pepper spray.”
“Good girl,” Ryan said.
“Your steak, sir.” Henri set the sizzling platter in front of Ryan and backed away. “Another beer?”
“Of course, would you like anything, Emily?” Ryan asked.
She shook her head.
“You sure, a glass of juice, or a shot of tequila. A margarita?” The last suggestion earned him a brief smile.
“A margarita for the lady, Henri, on the rocks with salt.”
“Wi.”
After Henri stepped away, Ryan picked up his silverware and began cutting his steak. He
paused and looked around the table. “I’m sorry, did anyone else want anything?”
“You know exactly what we want,” Kilroy said.
“I don’t think the waiter can make change for gold bars.”
Sanchez spoke for the first time, his thick, Mexican accent hard to translate. “I would like to see your testicles wrapped around your neck and your body dragged through the street by them.” He made simultaneous choking and hanging motions with his hands.
“That’s rather unpleasant at the dinner table, Eduardo,” Kilroy reprimanded.
Sanchez continued to leer at Ryan.
“Better keep your dog on a leash, Jimmy,” Ryan said, returning the man’s stare.
Kilroy laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Ryan. You run toward the action and not away. You’re what …” he waved his knife in the air. “What’s the expression they use when a political candidate comes out of nowhere?”
“A dark horse, dear,” Karen said, lifting a fork full of salad to her mouth.
“You’re my dark horse, Ryan. The long shot to win the race you’re not supposed to win and yet you keep coming out on top. Why is that?”
“Cream rises,” Ryan said.
“So do turds,” Kilroy said. “But I don’t think you’re a turd.”
Ryan smirked. “Some would say I’m the asshole.”
“He’s always trying to be clever, isn’t he, dear?” Kilroy asked his wife.
Karen blushed.
There was something unnatural and surreal about the whole scene. Ryan had a tough time coming to grips with the polite way he was interacting with the weapons dealer. It was as if Kilroy demanded the politeness. Sanchez was the exception. He was the dog-on-a-chain, ready to bite on command. Ryan was sure there were more goons standing by to leap into action if Kilroy snapped his fingers.
He chewed the steak, and chewed, and chewed. The meat wasn’t tough. The difficulty came when swallowing, trying to force it past the lump in his throat. And Emily was so close. He hadn’t seen her since he’d left for Belize to chase down Kilroy six months ago. He’d almost gotten into a car and driven to Tampa on several occasions just to see her. She had asked him not to come, and he would just be a stalker if he’d gone. It wouldn’t have helped them get back together.
