“Yeah, but…” Riley’s voice trailed off in a groan, “it’s stuck. I think it might still be attached to something.”
Meira held out her left arm and eased toward Riley. She almost let out a sob when her palm touched her daughter’s shoulder. She knelt down beside her and fished around with her hand in the black water. Sure enough, a pipe or railing or something was lying there. It was about three inches off the floor and best she could tell, attached at one end.
She got a tight hold on it with her left hand and tugged. It bent slightly upward, but wouldn’t budge.
“Here,” she said to Riley. “Help me.”
She felt her daughter’s hands feel along her arm down to the pipe and grab hold.
“Got it,” Riley said.
“Okay. On three. One. Two. Three.”
They both pulled as hard as they could on the metal rod in the water. Meira felt the muscles in her arm tighten and strain. It bent upward and a loud squeal sounded. The pipe hadn’t moved much, but it didn’t snap back into position like it had before. They were making some headway.
“It moved!” Riley exclaimed.
“I know. I know. Let’s go again.”
They repeated the process and the pipe squeaked some more and rose farther out of the water. Meira felt sweat beading on her forehead and the pain throbbed in her broken right arm. She wondered if the pipe would do any good in her left hand even if they did get it to break loose.
The third time the pulled on the pipe, it jerked upright at an almost ninety degree angle to the floor. Oddly, it didn’t let go, though. Meira was about to suggest they pull it again, when Riley stopped her.
“Wait. Hang on a sec.”
“What? What is it?”
Riley was quiet, but Meira could hear the sound of her sloshing through the water around the pipe.
“It’s broken almost all the way through at the bottom,” she finally said. “If we go back and forth a few times, it should give way.”
“Clever girl,” Meira’s smile came back.
They worked the pipe back and forth and Meira felt the warmth of the warping metal rising up through her hands. Suddenly, it snapped free and Meira was tossed backwards with the release. She fell again and her instincts made her put her hands out to catch herself. Bad mistake. Her right hand crumpled under her when she hit the deck and knifing, lava hot pain shot up her arm. If the break had been simple, she’d just made it worse. She screamed and clutched her arm with her left hand. She felt a shock wave surge through her brain threatening to make her faint. She fought it off and propped herself up on the sidewall of the boat. After a few seconds, she was able to stave off the inevitable collapse and assess the situation.
Oh, dear God, she thought when her fingers rubbed over what must be her bone punched through the skin. Bad. This is bad.
“Mom! What’s wrong? Oh, my God,” Riley yelled. “What’s wrong??”
“Riley,” Meira wheezed through the pain. “Calm down. I think I’ve broken my arm.”
She thought that was all the information Riley needed at this point. Whatever she’d been planning to do with the pipe was now a lost cause.
“Oh no,” Riley sobbed. “This is all my fault. We’re gonna die out here and it’s all my fault.”
“Riley, stop,” Meira struggled to do it, but she called forth the voice that all children know as the “mom voice.”
She could hear her daughter sniffling. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Time to take control of this situation.
“Riley, listen to me,” Meira continued in a slightly softer voice. “This is bad. We both know that. But we still have the element of surprise. They won’t know we have a weapon.”
“But your arm...”
“Yes, it’s broken,” Meira said. “But yours is not.”
She waited and let that sink in. Their only hope now was to get Riley to snap out of it and defend them. When she heard Riley calm down, she started again.
“Sweetie,” she said. “I don’t pretend to understand what it is you and your friends do in that stupid video game, but it might be time to practice some of that skill in real life.”
“But Mom, that’s all fake. I’m not a—”
“You are a strong young woman,” Meira interrupted her. “I’ve always known that, and now it’s time for you to believe it.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Riley almost whispered. “It’s just a game.”
Meira scooted on her butt toward her daughter’s voice. When she finally bumped up against her, she raised her left arm and stroked Riley’s shoulder.
“Remember when you told me about the gourd stone you found in that secret chamber? The one that gave you all those extra points or something like that?”
In the dark, Meira could feel her daughter moving, nodding her head.
“Life gems,” Riley said and sniffed.
“You told me that you had to club the stones hard enough to smash them and get the gems inside, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“And that you were the only one in the game who got them all. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I was,” Riley agreed.
“Well,” Meira inhaled deeply. “I think it’s time to go gourd smashing again.”
She felt the pipe rolling around next to her leg and grabbed it. She pressed it into Riley’s hand.
“It’s worth two life gems, mine and yours, if you can smash the gourd on those two jackass’s shoulders.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“I believe in you princess.”
And that’s when the hatch slammed open and light poured into the dark hold.
Troy was running. Pain surged through his bad knee, but still he ran. The dang taxi driver had left him there and he had hurled more than a few curses at the man and vowed to find him when this was all over and teach him a thing or two about manners. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was headed, but he ran. He’d dialed Meira’s number more than ten times, but it went straight to voicemail. She was either out of range, or her phone was off. Either way, Troy felt panic begin to creep into his mind. By the time he’d gone five miles, his leg gave out. The old wound in his knee just wouldn’t let him go any farther. He knelt down on the gravelly side of the road. He pulled his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. For the first time in more than twenty years, he felt tears sting his eyes. And then his phone pinged.
He jerked it out of his pocket and saw the new messages from Meira.
-On a boat with Riley.
-Kidnapper is Barry and his dad.
-Somebody called Jack.
Troy immediately dialed her number. Voicemail. Somehow the texts had finally come through, but the signal was lost again. There was no telling how long ago she’d sent the texts. It might be too late. Jack…Jamaica Jack Barron. He was Barry’s dad? And Barry was the killer? Puzzle pieces clicked into place, but Troy didn’t know what the full picture was. He did know that he needed to find them as fast as possible…but where were they?
He looked at the texts again. On a boat. Jack was taking them somewhere, but where? He wracked his brain for a good three minutes and then remembered their fishing trip a few days ago. Sharkin’ grounds…that’s where Jack would take them, and he knew Jack’s favorite spot.
He stood up and his knee buckled. With one good leg, he wobbled over to a nearby stop sign. He tapped out of the messages Meira had sent and dialed.
“Hello?” a confused voice answered the call.
“Duffy, is that you?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Duffy, it’s Troy. No time for B.S. Look, Meira’s in trouble. I know who the killer is and he’s kidnapped her and her daughter.”
“Huh? What?”
“I’ll explain when you get here. I need a ride.”
“I’m on my way. Where are you?”
He looked up at the street sign above him.
“Linda and Curfew,” he said. “And don’t waste time. The gi
rls are in trouble and I’m not sure how much time there is to save ‘em.”
“Got it.”
Before Duffy hung up, Troy heard the sound of his siren fire up in the background. Five minutes later, he was sitting in the passenger’s seat of his patrol car. He explained the situation to Officer Duffy and told him he needed to get to his boat as quickly as possible.
Duffy nearly ran over a dog and two old ladies screaming down the highway towards the pier. The patrol car skidded into the sandy parking space and Duffy jumped out.
“No!” Troy shouted as he limped down the beach toward his rowboat. “Get on the horn. Get the Guard out. We’re either gonna find a couple of kidnappers or a couple of murderers. Gonna need the cavalry on this one.”
Duffy nodded and ducked back into his car. Troy groaned with the simple effort of pushing his dingy into the water. He fell into the boat and grabbed the trolling motor. No time for rowing now.
As it cranked up, Troy cursed himself for not upgrading to a motor that would travel faster than ten miles an hour. He crept through the water at a frustratingly slow rate and finally reached his 1998 Island Packet 40 foot cutter. He leapt out of the smaller boat, not taking the time to tie it off. Climbing the rope onto the cutter was painful, but not nearly as painful as his knee hitting the solid deck. He limped his way to the anchor, pulled a knife from his belt and cut the rope, letting it sink into the water. He’d buy a new one later. By the time he reached the wheel, his leg was pounding from the pain. He slumped back in the chair and fired up the motor. This boat wasn’t built for speed, but he slammed the throttle down and steered out toward Jamaica Jack’s favorite sharking ground. As he got under way, he grabbed a bottle of aspirin from under the dash and tossed several into his mouth. He crunched them back and swallowed.
For the second time in as many days, a peal of thunder announced a coming storm from the south.
“Dangit,” Troy muttered and slammed his hand down on the wheel.
Part III
Avast Ye Land Lubbers
“There is, one knows not what, sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seems to speak of some hidden soul beneath.”
-Herman Melville
20
Tug-Tuggin’ Along
Troy felt the first sputter of the engine when he was five miles out from the shore. That was when he felt the first stinging raindrops too. What is it with the dang ocean and storms? Like a long lost lover you just can’t shake, thought Troy. He ignored the sputtering, but eased the throttle back just a bit. The old girl was holding up pretty well for a twenty-year-old boat, but she had her moments.
“She’ll hold together,” he said out loud to no one.
As if in reply, a louder, deeper bang erupted from below him.
“Baby, baby, hold together,” he muttered and rubbed his hand on the dash.
As the rain began to pelt in sheets, he steered farther north than he’d planned, trying his best to stay ahead of the roughest waters. Waves began to swell higher and higher and his boat rose and fell on them, sending a churn into his belly. He’d been a seaman for a long time, but even now, rolling waves sent him into fits of nausea.
He pulled his phone out and saw nothing new from Meira. Probably too late, he thought. Jack’s probably turned ‘em over to his boy, Barry, and God only knows what that boy is capable of…
The ocean became a mix of spray and sheeting rain. Dark clouds began to rumble overhead with lightning that threatened to strike at any second. He shuddered at the thought and suddenly, out of nowhere, a strange memory came to him.
Drinks. Drinks with umbrellas in them. Kim and Dana laughing. The haze that had clouded that night began to fall away. It was a strange feeling to have a dark curtain pulled back from a memory like that. Details that were gone flooded back into his mind as sure as the water flooded over onto his deck.
He could see the bar at Fish Heads clearly now. He could see Dana and Kim, the two servers from the Austin Seafood Company. They were both drunk…so drunk they’d begun comparing tattoos and it was getting a bit too risqué for the bartender. He’d come over to quiet them down, but one look at the Celtic cross on Kim’s lower back and he’d poured them all a new round of shots.
And then Troy saw him. Down at the end of the bar, leaning over a mug of beer, red hair and scowling face. Barry. He’d been there that night. The night the girls had been murdered.
“Dangit, how could I have missed him?” Troy shook his head as he murmured the thought aloud.
And almost as soon as he’d thought it, he remembered the sheer volume of alcohol he’d been pouring into his belly all night. It was enough to cloud any man’s judgment, and he was all too familiar with the tunnel vision a few too many drinks brought on.
A few more rough shakes from the boat’s engine brought him out of his thoughts, but the pieces began to click into place so clearly, that he didn’t need the memory to help him now.
Barry had been there that night. He’d seen the girls having a good time with Troy, and maybe he’d gotten jealous, or angry, or whatever. He’d probably seen them leaving alone and followed them out to the parking lot. Hell, they’d know who he was from the restaurant and maybe even gotten a ride from him. And somewhere along the way, Barry had snapped and killed them.
But why bring them out here? Troy wondered as he glanced around his boat at the water sloshing back and forth on the deck. Why put their…heads…in my…
“Oh,” Troy finished his thought as the boat gave a final bang and went silent. “He was jealous. That pretty much sums it up, doesn’t it?”
His course had put him just above the northern edge of the storm. The waves were smaller here and the boat rocked back and forth in silence. He looked down at the dash and saw the fuel gauge hanging well below empty.
“Really?” He tapped the dial. “Out of dang gas? At a time like this?”
He slumped back in his seat and stared out at the rolling black clouds. The squall was coming fast and soon he’d be back in the deluge. Nothing to do now but call shore. He was dead in the water and the waves might be enough to sink him. He picked up the radio and clicked over to channel sixteen.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” he spoke into the receiver. “This is the Rogue Wave in trouble.”
He waited a second and said, “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Troy Bodean on the Rogue Wave. Anybody listening?”
The radio crackled, but no one answered. Dangit, he thought, I’m gonna die out here and nobody’s gonna know what happened. He clicked the button and repeated his distress call, but the static continued uninterrupted. He hung the CB radio receiver in its cradle and inhaled deeply.
“Probably shoulda had that sail repaired before now,” he muttered to himself.
The last serious storm he’d been in had torn his mainsail clean off the mast and ripped it to shreds. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was sitting on the edge of gale force winds in a sailboat with no sail…and, as it seemed, no gas either.
His drifting thoughts seemed to mirror the boat’s drift on the waves. He smiled at the thought of his time back at the Peppermint Hippo. He wondered what had ever become of Debby. And he couldn’t help but think of Karah, so young and full of promise. There had been some love there, but nothing serious…at least that’s what he kept telling himself. He’d left that romance behind when he left Pawleys Island.
And then there had been Meghan. He’d serendipitously found her business card at Captain Tony’s and dragged her into his treasure hunt out in the gulf. He thought of Meghan as the one that got away. Maybe if he got out of this, he’d head back down to the Keys and see what was going on at the museum.
But then again, Mindy had been something special too. She was strong and sure. Without her resilience, he might have died in that lighthouse back in Key Biscayne. Dang if she wasn’t young too, Troy thought. I must like ‘em young.
He tipped his cowboy hat back, and the strange and dark memories of his time in
Savannah tried hard to settle in. But he pushed them away. He hated that time in his life and did his best to forget it ever happened.
And then Meira’s face came to him. Beautiful, strong, confident. His equal in a lot of ways. His better in so many more. And she was of an acceptable age, too.
As he recalled all of the women in his life and the unfortunate events that seemed to surround each of them…he came to the conclusion that Meira was the best of them. And Troy Clint Bodean promised himself that he’d tell her so, if he ever saw her again.
Lightning flashed out and struck the water nearby. It was close enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“Geezus!” he exclaimed and jerked the radio to his lips again. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. Hell, is anybody listening? I’m gonna get sunk out here!”
“Tr— is that —? What the — are you — out here?”
The voice that crackled and sputtered over the static on the radio was oddly familiar. He couldn’t place it, but he didn’t give two squats about that right now.
“I’m getting’ drenched is what I’m doin’,” he yelled into the receiver. “I need help! Who is this? Where are you?”
The man on the radio amazingly reported his coordinates clearly enough for Troy to check on his GPS. Hot dang! Whoever it is, is pretty close by, he thought.
As the rain returned in torrents, Troy gave the man his location and waited with his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. He wasn’t sure why he was hanging on, but at this point, it was all he had left to do. Ten minutes later, he saw the vague outline of a large tugboat peek through the sheets of rain. He’d never seen a rustier and more beaten down tug in his life, but he’d never been happier to see one like it.
A man in a yellow raincoat stumbled out onto the tug’s deck and flung a line over to Troy. He missed the rope once, but caught it the second time. Strapping one of his moldy old life preservers around his neck, he wrapped the rope around his waist, put his legs up on the rail of his boat…and jumped.
Skull Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 5) Page 17
