Skull Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 5)

by David F. Berens

  “Howdy Miss D,” he sniffed and leaned on the counter in front of her. “Official business actually. Can’t stay long. Just need to clarify the location of a certain individual that is in your care and uh...”

  He tried to sound important and add as many big words as he could, but he lost his train of thought when she leaned forward looking concerned. Her yellow sundress was cut low and the tan skin of her chest flustered him.

  “Oh no,” she said and her eyelids blinked quickly. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”

  He swallowed and took a deep breath trying hard to maintain focus on her big, brown eyes. She pulled a hand up and twirled the end of her long back hair. A long pause hung between them and he realized he had his mouth open and was gaping at her. He stood up suddenly. As he did, his hand accidentally caught the edge of a display holding brochures about the school. The fliers scattered across the lobby fluttering to the floor.

  “Aw hell,” he sputtered and scrambled around picking up the papers. “I’m sorry.”

  She hurried around the counter and began to help him. Her hand brushed against his as they both reached for the same piece of paper and she looked up at him. Her tan cheeks flushed a little and she smiled.

  “Eez okay, Meester Duffy,” she said in a slightly nervous voice. “I can get these. You have important work to do.”

  He stood and pulled his belt up. “Thank you, Miss D. Can you tell me which class Riley Carr would be in?”

  “Oh, ummm,” she pursed her lips and looked up and to the right, a stunningly cute look on her. “I believe she eez in Meester Grantham’s class for first period. Down the hall, turn left and he’s the second room on the right.”

  He handed her a brochure he’d been clutching in his left hand, tipped his imaginary hat toward her, and sniffed importantly.

  “I’ll check in on her and then I’ll stop back by.”

  “Okay, thank you, Meester Duffy.”

  “Call me Karl,” he smiled as he turned to clip-clop his way down the hall.

  She didn’t say anything, but when he looked back, he saw that she was still watching him walk away. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the wall as he turned toward the wing that held Mr. Grantham’s classroom and he slammed right into it.

  “Dammit,” he muttered and rubbed his forehead.

  That’s gonna leave a knot, he thought.

  Duffy found the room and looked through the tall narrow safety window in the door. He was looking from the back of the room toward the front, where Mr. Grantham was gesturing wildly with excitement. Apparently whatever he was teaching was more interesting to him than to his students, because Duffy could see the backs of several heads that looked sound asleep.

  All the seats were full and he saw the back of a girl’s head in the last row beside the window. A black backpack sat leaning up against her chair and she had ear buds in.

  That’s gotta be her, Duffy thought and started to knock.

  At that exact moment, Mr. Grantham went into a tirade flinging books and yelling at the students for their apparent lack of appreciation for his teaching. Duffy pulled his hand down and backed away from the window. He pulled the CB receiver from his shoulder and clicked the Meira Carr channel.

  “Meira, I’ve got eyes on her in class. You there?”

  “I’m here. Is she okay? What’s she doing?”

  “She’s in Mr. Grantham’s class right now. You want me to pull her out?”

  There was pause on the line and finally Meira said, “No, no, that’s fine. She’s safe?”

  “Well, she might not be safe from Grantham’s wrath, but as far as I can see, she’ll live through it.”

  “Okay, thank you, Duffy. I owe you one.”

  “Next party, right?”

  “Uh, sure. Whatever you say.”

  “Good, cause I got a date in mind to bring too.”

  He could almost see Meira Carr’s eyebrows rise on the other end of the line.

  “Oh, um…okay, great. I’ll…uh, let you know.”

  “Cool. Over and out.”

  As he walked away from Mr. Grantham’s classroom, he practiced his best lines for Gabby. He almost skipped back up to the front office.

  “Told ya she was good.”

  Meira looked at Troy and hung up the CB. “I know, I know, but it’s my daughter and all this madness going on with the murders…”

  “Say no more,” Troy held up a hand to stop her. “Now, let’s get out a ways so you can finally get rid of that shirt.”

  Meira opened her mouth to protest, but then asked, “Promise to have me back before school let’s out?”

  He nodded and crossed his heart with his finger. Her eyebrow arched above her right eye and a mischievous grin spread across her lips. She reached down to the knot holding the tank top up above her midriff. She untied it and crossed her arms to take hold of the bottom of the shirt. With one smooth pull, she lifted it up over her head and shook her hair out. Try as he might, Troy could not keep from staring at the beautiful, topless woman in front of him.

  “How’s that?” she asked wryly.

  “Yer quite the charmer yourself, aren’t you, Mrs. Carr.”

  “The name’s Meira…sir.”

  “Well, then,” he leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. “You are a charmer, aren’t you…Meira?”

  “Yup,” she said winking at him. “Now, let’s get this boat out into the ocean.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and thrust the throttle forward.

  The boat lifted up on plane and flew out toward the horizon. Meira raised her arms into the air like a roller-coaster rider. Her hair flapped wildly in the wind behind her and she let out a whoop.

  It’s gonna be a good day, Troy thought as he whooped along with her.

  16

  Naked Truths

  Troy Clint Bodean could barely remember feeling like this—genuinely struck by a woman. The last time had been back at Pawleys Island during what he’d come to call the Summer of the Hat. When they got far enough out, he slowed the boat and found a deep spot to throw out some lines. Today, however, he couldn’t care less what he caught on his hook. He cared more about a catch that was currently lying on the deck, topless, tanning herself in the early sun.

  “Ya know, you’re gonna wanna get some sunscreen on your um…on the uh…well, the parts that don’t often see the sun.”

  Meira propped up on her elbows and grinned at him.

  “I don’t suppose you have some lying around. You know, for an emergency such as this?”

  Seeing her sit up and watching as her tan, flat abs tightened up, Troy felt himself mentally stutter…as well as stumbling over his words.

  “Uhh…um…I might have some of the…um…that is…have a bottle of…”

  His voice trailed off as she inhaled. As her bare chest rose and fell, he felt sure she was doing this on purpose. He gathered himself and sucked air in over his teeth.

  “I think I got a bottle of that frog stuff down below.”

  She smiled; proud of the discomfort she was causing him.

  “Tell you what, I’ll roll over and sun my back a bit until you get back. Then we can talk about all the ways you can apply that…frog stuff.”

  “Oh…” was all he could muster as he jogged down the ladder into the boat.

  He rummaged through a drawer in the kitchen and found a green bottle of sunscreen mixed with bug deterrent spray and shook it. He opened it and sniffed. Fresh enough, he thought. He closed the lid and took the steps two at a time back up to the deck.

  Troy was shocked to find that Meira was sitting up, holding her tank top over her chest and looking very concerned.

  “Hey, now, I wasn’t gone that long. What gives?” he joked, but she didn’t smile.

  She pointed off to the East, slightly farther out in the ocean. Perhaps a mile away, Troy could see a boat. It looked like it might be a tourist boat or something like that. There had to be at least twenty people on the deck moving around. Som
e were waving their hands frantically, but from this distance, he couldn’t make out what the situation was on board.

  Above their deck, flapping in the breeze, Troy saw a flag waving. It was bright orange with a black circle and a black square—the universal boating symbol of distress.

  “Hold on, darlin’.” Troy jumped into the captain’s chair and fired up the boat. “Oh, and you might wanna get your shirt back on. We’ll finish this conversation later.”

  Meira pulled her top back on and sat in the seat opposite Troy.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “Not sure,” he said. “But I think their boat might’ve quit on ‘em. Looks like a bunch of tourists.”

  She nodded and squinted into the distance trying to get a good look. The wind whipped her hair around her head and Troy couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she still looked…even when she was windblown. As they got closer, Troy realized he recognized the boat. What in the world is he doin’ out there? he thought, and why are all those people—

  Meira seemed to finish his thought out loud. “Naked. They’re all naked, Troy.”

  “Looks like we weren’t the only ones gettin’ some sun,” he grinned and eased his boat within a few feet of them.

  The people on board looked to be young—maybe twenties and thirties. Some were waving their hands frantically and calling out to him. All were naked…and some were red—sunburn red—really, really sunburned. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he waved and jogged up to the deck to throw out bumpers. When they got within a few feet, he saw an old, gray man push his way through the crowd.

  He tried his best to stifle his laughter as old Mel tried to wave and cover his bare body at the same time. Mel was tanned and ruddy over most of his body, but his midsection that would’ve normally been covered with his shorts, was white as snow…er, actually, bright pink with a sunburn of his own.

  As his boat drifted in, Troy began to see that some of the millennials were holding poster board signs, most of which had some sort of message scribbled in heavy marker about saving the whales, or the environment. All of them looked weary and exhausted.

  “What gives, Mel?” Troy asked as the old man tottered forward to tie their boats together.

  “Protest group,” he grunted. “We were just supposed to make a few rounds up and down the shore so they could get on the news or some foolishness. Damn boat had other plans. She quit twenty friggin’ minutes into the cruise. Unfortunately, the news helicopter was long gone and we’ve been drifting ever since.

  Mel reached out to help Troy step over onto his boat.

  “What’s your deal, dude?” one of the protestors, a skinny kid with long, dirty, dreadlocked hair, leaned toward Troy and jabbed a finger in his chest.

  Troy grabbed the kid’s finger and twisted it backward. He could feel it start to crunch as the boy buckled and fell to his knees. He let it go and shook his head as the kid cradled it with his other hand.

  “Just like a fascist,” the kid groaned. “Oppression at it’s finest, you guys. The big man with the big boat wrecking the environment and stomping on the little guy.”

  Troy arched an eyebrow. “Listen junior. From the looks of it, you are the little guy.”

  The kid jerked his head from side to side and covered his midsection with his hands.

  “And if you want this big boat with its big ‘ole carbon footprint to get you and your compadres back to shore, you need to show a little respect.”

  The dreadlock kid huffed and turned away with his nose up in the air.

  “We’ll ride on his boat,” he said to his fellow protestors. “But we don’t have to like it.”

  A chorus of agreement rumbled through the bedraggled group. Some of them were staring longingly over at the boat that had a working motor. Meira had come over to lean against the rail of Troy’s boat. She grabbed a pair of shorts – apparently some she’d raided from his bunk – and tossed them over to him.

  He caught them and handed them to Mel. “Get these on and we’ll start loadin’ up your passengers over here. We’ll get ‘em back to shore, but I reckon you should drop anchor and leave your boat. You can get a tug and come back out for a tow.”

  “Much obliged, Troy, though I ain’t sure I can pay for a tug. I’m bettin’ these little shits will stiff me on the payment for the job.”

  Troy scratched his chin and thought for a moment. After a moment he looked over Mel’s shoulder at the group and leaned close to the old man’s ear.

  “Who’s the leader? Is it the dread kid?”

  “It’s more like a commune type thing,” Mel said. “I reckon there are two or three of ‘em that are runnin’ this little show.”

  “Okay, as we get them on, point ‘em out to me.”

  Mel’s face took on a confused look but he agreed. As the sunburned protestors began to file over onto Troy’s boat, it turned out that the group of four people who were in charge of the mission came over last. Two girls and two guys, all looking like they stepped out of a seventies hippie commune, stood in front of Troy.

  “Folks,” he said to them with his hands in the air. “According to regulations, I’ve only got enough room for ten on the boat.”

  They looked at each other, each wondering what he was talking about.

  “And y’all have fourteen.”

  He stood in front of them with his hands on his hips. He let the silence hang between them as they tried to discern where he was going with this.

  “So, four of you will have to stay behind. I suppose it’ll be the four of you.”

  “What the hell?” The dreadlocked kid had a stunned look on his face. “We’re on the boat. Let’s just get back to shore.”

  “Sorry, amigo,” Troy held up his hands in surrender gesture. “No can do. If the Coast Guard stops us and counts our life preservers, I’ll go to jail.”

  This was an exaggeration. At best, he’d probably get a warning. At worst, they might write him a ticket and assess him a fine of fifty bucks. But these yahoos didn’t need to know that.

  “We can’t stay out here, Todd,” one of the girls threw her hands up.

  “Sweetie, let me handle this,” the kid with dreadlocks – Todd – shushed her to her apparent disgust.

  “Look, bro,” he said to Troy. “What can we do to work this out? Is this about money? Because I’ve got enough to buy this hunk of junk if that’s what it takes.”

  Troy sniffed. Hunk of junk indeed, he thought. Time to set the hook.

  “No money for me, kid.” He leaned closer to Todd and inhaled. “But let’s give Mel here a pay raise. Whadda ya think?”

  “For getting us stuck in the middle of nowhere and giving us the worst sunburn of our lives??”

  Troy moved closer until the brim of his straw cowboy hat was almost touching Todd’s forehead.

  “I’m thinkin’ double.” Troy lowered his voice and added a bit of menace to his tone. “Doncha think that’s about right…Todd?”

  “Just do it, Todd.” His girlfriend poked him in the back. “If we stay out here any longer, we’re going to have third degree burns.”

  “Shut up, Clarice,” he snapped, turning toward her. “I’ll handle this.”

  And without warning, she kneed him in the crotch. Todd screamed like a girl and dropped to his knees. She looked up at Troy and licked her lips.

  “We’ll double his fee. Just get us the hell out of here.”

  Troy arched an eyebrow. “Fine, fine. But we still need to resolve the issue of the life jackets.”

  Mel, who’d been watching the scene play out, leaned in. “If I get the raft from my boat, we can tow them behind. Then they won’t need life preservers.”

  This was patently false, but that was not a fact Troy was going to dispute.

  “If we can have that thing up and tied on in ten minutes, I’ll triple your fee, old man,” Clarice said to Mel.

  “Done,” he said and winked at Troy.

  There was no rea
son to tow the extra four people behind his boat; Troy only had four life preservers anyway. But this would give the leaders of this group a chance to fry some more in the sun and breathe in the exhaust coming out the back of Troy’s carbon footprint. He turned to head back to the cockpit and found Meira standing in front of him…arms crossed and grinning.

  “Evil,” she whispered. “Hilarious, but evil. I like it.”

  “It’s gonna be a long tow,” he said conspiratorially. “Can’t risk tippin’ ‘em over.”

  She pecked him on the cheek. “You dog.”

  Troy barked at her and returned the kiss.

  “Hey man,” one of the other protesters called to Troy. “You got anything for a sunburn.”

  Troy scratched his chin and tipped his hat back on his head. “I might have a little aloe down below.”

  The protestor conferred with another kid sitting beside him. After a furious discussion, he turned back to Troy.

  “Is it responsibly harvested aloe?”

  “Responsawhat?”

  “Is it aloe that’s harvested in an environmentally responsible way so as not to deplete the current supply of aloe plants?”

  Troy rolled his eyes and looked at Meira. “Will you check and see if I have any um…responsible aloe?”

  “Sure thing, sugar.” She returned his eye roll with a grin and stepped down the stairs.

  Troy pulled the raft so slow that the protestors on board were getting completely roasted. He tossed a few bottles of water to them at one point and wondered if they would drink it…the bottles perhaps not environmentally friendly. But they gulped it down and asked for more. Troy was happy to oblige. The third time he walked back to the captain’s chair, he found Mel and Meira laughing. For perhaps the millionth time, Troy heard the end of the story Mel always told about being on the river in India…or was it China…with all the guerrilla warlords cow-towing to him on the deck. Meira was eating it up, as did everyone who heard the story for the first time. Troy wondered if Mel consciously upped the exaggeration with every telling or if it was just the way old stories got told. He suspected it was a bit of both.