by David DeLee
“I’m just here to play cards. Whatever McMurphy is up to…”
Kwon locked his gaze on Tara. “You! You’re a part of this, too.”
“Leave her out of this.” Bannon pushed forward, trying to break Kyo’s hold on him.
Kwon swung the gun, smashing it across Bannon’s jaw.
Bannon spun and went down on one knee.
Tara gasped and rushed to his side. Bannon shook it off and stood back up. He wiped a thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes and stared daggers at Kwon. “You’ll pay for that.”
Kwon shoved Bannon, hitting him in the chest with both hands, propelling him across the room. To the Sanu twins, he said, “Take them to the sundeck. We will get to the bottom of this. Then we’ll dump their dead bodies into the ocean.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the stolen RHIB, McMurphy high-tailed it across the open water putting as much distance between himself and the Bakuto as fast as he possibly could. He didn’t know what other watercrafts Kwon had on the Bakuto, if they were a match for the powerful Evinrude, or if the Yakuza leader would even try to launch them.
He wasn’t going to hang around to find out.
He had the rigid inflatable aimed toward the coast, which was over twelve miles away. The boat handled nicely, slapping over the sparkling dark waves illuminated by the bright moon overhead, but the wind pummeling him was cold and wet. His white tuxedo shirt rippled in the cold air. He’d ditched the bow tie and cufflinks. He’d shoved the sleeves up his thick forearms. The wind splashed chilly ocean spray into his face. McMurphy shivered.
He tapped his earpiece. “Kayla, you got your ears on?”
Her voice pierced his ear with a blast of static. “I’m here, Skyjack.”
He winced, shouting over the wind and the roar of the outboard motor. “We need to rendezvous a lot sooner than anticipated.”
“Can do. What’s up?”
McMurphy glanced at the polyurethane tubing along the port side. Several tattered bullet holes were ripped through the neoprene layers. While the tubes were constructed in sections, to prevent the entire gunwale from catastrophically deflating due to a single puncture, McMurphy had no idea how much more damage the RHIB had sustained. And the prospect of sinking in the cold Atlantic Ocean in the middle of the night wasn’t high on his bucket list.
“My ride’s sprung a leak. I’m losing air fast,” he said.
Kayla said, “I’m on my way.”
She’d piloted the boat down from the Hampton River Marina where Bannon kept it berthed alongside the Skyjack’s Folly. Now, positioned two miles south of the Bakuto, and monitoring their position, Kayla had spent the night in Bannon’s twenty-seven foot Sea Ray SDX-270. An open bow sporting boat with a three hundred horsepower inboard MerCruiser engine. Built for speed, stability, and comfort, she made quick time reaching McMurphy’s location.
She ran with lights off as the Bakuto could still be seen in the distance.
As she approached, McMurphy eased back on the throttle, reducing speed until he drew the RHIB up alongside Bannon’s boat. Kayla cut the engines and slowed to a stop. Wearing a dark parka with a faux fur-lined hood and a smile, with her auburn hair tied in a ponytail, McMurphy wondered if there was a prettier sight in the world than the pale blue glow of the instrument panel on Kayla’s lovely face.
She held a line, ready to toss it over to him.
“Don’t bother.” He grabbed the backpack from the floor of the RHIB and threw it into the open bow of Bannon’s Sea Ray. He leaped onto the non-skid matted swim platform and kicked the RHIB out to sea. They watched it float away.
“We need to vamoose,” McMurphy said. He picked up a seat cover. From the storage bin underneath, he pulled out a camouflaged anorak and put it on over his wet shirt, zipping it halfway up.
“What about Brice and Tara?” She asked, retaking her position at the wheel. She pushed the throttle forward and the powerful Merc engine responded with a throaty rumble.
McMurphy wore a pained expression. “They’ll tell Kwon they were duped, had no idea about what I was planning. Hopefully that’ll fly.”
Kayla spun the wheel, putting the boat into a wide, deep turn then straightened out, aiming the boat back toward Boston Harbor. “And if it doesn’t?”
“It’s Brice and Blades we’re talking about,” he said, sounding way more confident than he felt. His gut souring again at the thought of having left his friends behind. “They’ve been in tougher spots than this. They’ll be fine.”
They sped away in silence. There was no point in voicing the fear they both felt for their friends.
Kwon wouldn’t believe Bannon and Tara, and even if he did, McMurphy knew Kwon well enough to know he’d take his anger out on them, which meant his friends were in deep, deep trouble.
Kayla slowed the boat from their breakneck speed as the lights of Boston Harbor came into view. She expertly steered the Sea Ray toward an unoccupied dock at the Battery Wharf in Boston’s North End.
McMurphy was really starting to wish Bannon had told Singleton to go jump in a lake when he’d asked for their help. Not really, he amended his dark thoughts. Palmer was a guy in trouble. He needed help. Bannon didn’t have it in him to say no to that. Nor did McMurphy. He just hated the idea of his friends in being in trouble, and how helpless he felt.
Close to the dock pylons, Kayla threw the engines into reverse for a second, aligning the boat with the dock ladder. McMurphy jumped out and pulled the bow and stern lines in tight, lashing the ropes around a pair of dock cleats.
Kayla shut the engine off and tossed the backpack up to McMurphy. He gave her a hand stepping out of the boat and onto the dock.
“What now?” she asked.
McMurphy glanced at his dive watch. It was almost four in the morning. “The Bakuto’s due back to port at six. That’s not a lot of time. And Kwon’s got a boatful of people. There won’t be much he can do to Brice and Blades until he’s got the rest of the passengers off.” McMurphy’s expression darkened. “We wait here. When they dock, we confront Kwon, force ourselves back on board if we have to. Make the deal to swap the flash drive for Brice and Tara.”
“What about Palmer?”
“One crisis at a time.”
Kayla nodded. “We could use some backup.”
“Not much time to get it.”
She glanced at her lady Rolex. “I can make some phone calls.”
“Me, too.” He slipped the backpack over one shoulder and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “They’re going to be fine. Come on. There’s an all-night diner at the entrance to the wharf. We’ll make our calls from there where we can watch the dock from the booths by the windows, and, most importantly of all get something to eat.”
They crossed the parking lot full of vehicles, most with boat trailers attached to them, heading for the diner. It had a three-mast frigate painted in gold on the door. The Anchor’s Away Diner written in gold leaf lettering.
McMurphy slipped the backpack from his shoulder. “Let me lock this up my Hummer for safekeeping. One less thing to worry about while we strategize.” He added, “And eat.”
“You’ve got a one-track mind.”
“I’m nothing if not a man of simple pleasures,” he said, glad to see her smile. He unlocked the rear hatch of his black Hummer, tossed the backpack inside, slammed the hatch shut, and relocked it.
“And what are those pleasures,” she said. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
He ticked them off on his fingers as he rejoined her at the diner’s door. “Booze. Women—”
She pulled the diner door open. “And eating.”
“Now you’re talking, girl.”
His clothes under the anorak were still damp. He looked forward to the warmth waiting for them inside. And hot coffee. Black. Full of caffeine.
The universe had other plans.
About they were about to step inside the diner, a dark suburban pulled up to t
he curb in front of the diner. Driving too fast, it slammed on its brakes on hard. Two men leaped out of the vehicle. At that hour, McMurphy figured them to be a couple of drunken fishermen, already boozing it up before heading out for a day on the water.
“Hey!” one of them called out. “John McMurphy.”
McMurphy glared at them. They were large and wore clothes suggesting they were dockworkers rather than casual fishermen. Work boots, jeans, plaid flannel shirts and hoodies under brown Carhartt coats.
“Yeah?” McMurphy said, his hands already squeezed into fists.
Two more men emerged from the back of the big suburban. Each was bigger than the one before. Three of them were white, the last one African-American.
“You need to come with us,” the first one said.
“Do you know these guys?” Kayla asked.
“No.” To the men approaching them, McMurphy said, “Who the hell are you?”
“Dennis.”
“Oh, well, that clears it up for me. Listen, Dennis, I don’t know you and I’ve had a very long, not exactly terrific, night. So, no offense, but I’m not going anywhere with you or anyone else.”
The four men circled around Kayla and McMurphy. In the light from the diner, McMurphy could see each man was harder, meaner looking than the one next to him.
“I would seriously urge you to reconsider that position,” Dennis said. He wore a blue knit cap pulled down to the top of his ears. His flannel shirt was checkered red and black.
“Yeah, not gonna happen. Go bother somebody else.” McMurphy turned to go into the diner.
Dennis said, “He wants to see you.”
That made McMurphy pause. He turned back.
“He who?” Kayla asked.
McMurphy didn’t answer her. “Tell him I have no interest in seeing him. Not now or ever again.”
Dennis slipped a scared, well-used nightstick out from under his coat. Suddenly the others were carrying weapons too; a chain, a sawed-off baseball bat, and a metal lug wrench. “He told us to be persuasive.”
“Yet you only brought four guys.” McMurphy moved Kayla behind him, putting his body between the four men and her. “Kayla. Go inside.”
“Like hell.”
“At least stand back so I’ve got some room.” He raised his fists and took a step forward. He read the uncertainty in the men’s eyes and almost smiled. “Who’s first? You?”
Dennis equaled McMurphy in height, but was much thinner. Stepping up, he rushed at McMurphy, swinging the nightstick. McMurphy caught his arm, twisted it down, and gut punched him with his other fist. The blow lifted Dennis off the ground. He grunted.
McMurphy dropped him to his feet. He wrenched the nightstick from him his grasp and shoved Dennis into two of his buddies. Then he turned his attention to the guy wielding the chain and his partner with the tire iron.
Chain Guy swung his weapon at him. The links rattled. McMurphy raised the nightstick. The chain wrapped around the wooden stick. McMurphy yanked it forward, pulling Chain Guy toward him. Like a softball pitcher, McMurphy wound up a meaty punch that landed squarely in Chain guy’s gut, dropping him to his knees with a howl of agony.
Behind him, Tire Iron swung his metal rod. McMurphy leaned back. The tire iron whizzed harmlessly past his face. McMurphy spun the nightstick, unwrapping the chain from it as he kicked the heel of his foot into kneeling Chain Guy’s chest. The blow shoved Chain Guy back into Tire Iron, causing them both to fall off the curb into a tangled pile between two parked cars.
“Skyjack!” Kayla’s voice, hoarse and strangled.
McMurphy spun.
The guy with the sawed-off baseball bat had it across Kayla’s throat. He pulled it tight. But she wasn’t calling to him for help. She’d already started to backpedal. In doing so, she smashed Baseball Bat Guy against the brick wall of the diner. He let out a grunt of pain as his lungs emptied of air and the back of his head smacked into the bricks. The impact sprang Kayla loose of his grip.
She shouted to McMurphy again, this time pointing, “Lookout.”
He twisted in the direction she’d indicated.
Dennis was back on his feet. He had a pistol in his hand. He had it aimed at McMurphy.
McMurphy had stashed the Sugiura pistol in Kwon’s backpack, leaving him weaponless.
Dennis fired. The shot went over McMurphy’s head.
McMurphy stopped in his track. How in hell did he miss at that range?
Dennis swung the weapon away from McMurphy and trained it on Kayla.
After breaking free of Baseball Bat Guy’s grip, Kayla had twice hit him in the face. She had him pinned against the wall, raining punches down on him like a welterweight boxer. Her assailant was crouched over and covering his head with his arms.
“The boss didn’t say anything about not killing anyone you was with.”
McMurphy raised his hands. “Okay. Don’t. We surrender.”
Baseball Bat Guy crawled away from Kayla as she stepped back. Blood leaked from his nose and his right eye was half closed. Chain Guy and Tire Iron helped each other up to their feet. All three of them moved away from Kayla and McMurphy, leaving it to Dennis to cover them with his gun.
McMurphy pulled Kayla in close to him. “You okay?”
Her brown eyes smoldered with anger. “What’s going on? Who are these guys?”
“Get in the car.” Dennis indicated the suburban with a nod of his head. “Both of you.”
“The girl’s not a part of this,” McMurphy said.
“Nice try,” Dennis said. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the only leverage he had with McMurphy was Kayla. “She’s coming with. Get in.”
They climbed into the backseat of the suburban. Dennis pushed in beside Kayla, holding the gun on her as the others piled in and slammed the doors shut.
“Where are they taking us?” Kayla asked.
“To see the one person on the planet I’d hoped to never lay eyes on again. My father.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Bannon and Tara were taken up a flight of stairs and pushed out onto the Bakuto’s sundeck, the yacht’s upper most level. Accent lighting illuminated the steps up to a tanning platform, where the gunwale met the highly polished teak decking, and under the semi-circular sofa that faced three wide easy chairs. Several more cushioned chairs were arranged in groups around low cocktail tables. Candles in large thick jars set out on the tables flickered in the breeze that drifted across the open deck. The air cold.
Tara shivered. Bannon draped his tuxedo jacket over her bare shoulders.
They were shoved to the center of the deck by the Sanu twins. Kwon still covering them with the 9mm. Kin Sanu remained shirtless. If the cold affected him, he didn’t let on. The bruise around his eye had grown darker and puffier.
“Might want to put a steak on that,” Bannon suggested. “Keep the swelling down.”
Kin stared angry daggers at him then looked at Tara. She smiled at him.
Kwon waved the gun at Bannon and Tara. “Search them.”
Bannon stepped forward, blocking the twins from advancing toward Tara. “That’s not going to happen.”
Kwon narrowed his eyes and walked around Bannon, sizing him up. “You have nerve, Mr. Bannon, I will grant you that. But you are stupid. Very, very stupid.”
Bannon followed him with his eyes as Kwon paced. “No one’s touching her. Either of us for that matter.” Tara still had her Sig strapped to her thigh, the reason Bannon refused to let her be searched. That, and his chivalry, too, of course.
“We’ve done nothing wrong and I’m done playing these games, Kwon.”
“Fair enough,” Kwon said. “For now. But keep your hands where I can see them. Any sudden moves and I will kill you both. Instantly.”
Bannon held his hands away from his body. Tara did the same, careful to keep Bannon’s oversized jacket draped on her shoulders.
“Remember who I work for, Kwon,” Bannon said.
“I do not care about McMurphy’s
father,” Kwon insisted. “McMurphy broke into my safe. He stole form me. Why?”
“Can’t help you,” Bannon said. “I came here to play cards.”
“Liar!”
“We have no idea,” Tara said. “I’m cold.”
“That’s too bad,” Kwon said. “His…heist. It was elaborately planned. Impossible to pull off alone. You two assisted him. I want to know how.”
Bannon shrugged. “Think what you want, but we had nothing to do with it. That’s the truth.” He took a step toward the bar behind Kwon. “Mind if I get a drink?”
“Stay where you are or I’ll shoot you where you stand.” Kwon waved the gun to back up his words.
Bannon backed away, retreating closer to the yacht’s railing. “Easy. Easy.”
Tara stepped in close to him, playing the frightened girlfriend. Protect me, please.
“You will tell me what McMurphy was after. The reason behind this evening’s larcenous events.”
“I can’t help you, Kwon,” Bannon said. “I came here to play cards—”
“Your continued deceit will only bring pain and misery upon you,” he looked at Tara, “both.”
The threat made clear, Bannon said, “You’ll not touch a hair on her head, Kwon. Try it and I’ll rain so much hellfire down on you, your great, great ancestors will feel the burn.”
“Tough talk for one facing the wrong end of a gun.”
When they had been planning the operation back at the Keel Haul, Bannon had been adamant they could pull the caper off without the theft being discovered until after the Bakuto had returned to dock, after everyone had safely exited the boat.
So much for that optimistic assessment, Tara groused inwardly.
Barring that, Bannon’s fallback position had been that by playing cards with Kwon, Tara with them, during the actual safecracking part, they’d remain above suspicions.
Strike two, Brice.
If all else failed, he had advised from behind the Keel Haul bar, act ignorant and stall.
“What is it you think we know, Kwon?” he asked.
“What was McMurphy after?”
Bannon shrugged. “I’m telling you, I have no clue. What’d he steal?”
