No More Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  He nodded, jerked on his rain jacket, flipped up the hood, and took off. There was nothing to do in the theater until the lights came back on so we—

  My cell binged. A text from Jackson. Great. Hadn’t seen him all day and I wanted to catch up. Dudette… He hadn’t called me that since the day he first showed up on our porch. …found some evidence on the Bounty. meet me there at nine. Something to clear him of the murder charge? It was eight forty-five. I had just enough time to scoot out of here and dash to the dock. I said good-bye to the town and guaranteed that the show would go on—once another source of electricity was hooked up—and promised to see everyone tomorrow before they left Candle Beach.

  I pulled on my slicker and by the light of my flashlight rushed out of the lobby and into the night. I stashed my cell inside my hoodie to keep it dry. An overhead street lamp swung violently sending an arc of light back and forth. I raced through the town park, pelted by rain, to the deserted boardwalk where businesses had closed down. A lone man trotted to the safety of the Candle Diner. Security lights atop poles that lined the boardwalk gave off a fuzzy glow, their rays diffused by the torrent of water. My sneakers were completely soaked, and water had wormed its way past the snaps on my slicker. I ducked my head deeper into the hood of my raincoat.

  The blustery weather was getting worse. My cell buzzed. No way I was stopping to check out messages until I reached The Bounty. A garbage can blew over, its contents strewn on the ground and swept into the air. A swirl of paper napkins and plates from a nearby pizza stand blew into me. Another blast of wind at my back thrust me forward. I treaded carefully onto the pier where Vinnie’s boat was docked, working to maintain my footing on the wet boards. My shoes sloshed with rainwater. Bells on several boats rang wildly as they bounced up and down in the choppy water. I approached The Bounty. It was dark. Where was Jackson? I climbed onboard, scanned the deck, fore and aft, and took hold of the handrail by the stairs leading to the cabin below.

  “Jackson?” I said. The hairs on my neck quivered, my radar warning me that something wasn’t right. The door into the cabin was unlocked. I turned the handle and entered, flicking the light switch. Nothing happened. The power was off in the boat too? That didn’t make sense. The Bounty would have its own generator. The boat tipped sideways, the sudden motion making me dizzy. Of course, I hadn’t eaten since lunch, so it might be a lack of food that—

  Strong arms grasped me from behind. “Who—? Wha—? Jackson?” A hand jammed against my mouth. I was half-dragged, half-carried—kicking and yelling—into one of the staterooms and unceremoniously tossed on the bed by someone who smelled of cigarette smoke.

  “You!” I said.

  “I know you too,” he said, his voice like gravel in the dark. He slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth.

  “Tiny!” I managed to spit out as the tape struck my face.

  I struggled, but Tiny was too powerful. He had my hands and feet immobilized before I had a chance to fight him off.

  “I told ’em you were gonna be trouble. Sticking your nose into Vinnie’s business.” He grunted as he wound the last of the duct tape around my ankles. “This’ll fix you, sister.” The door to the stateroom slammed shut.

  Tiny spoke like a gangster from a 1940s classic on the movie channel. If my mouth wasn’t taped shut, or my life threatened, I would have laughed at his clichéd speech. Where was Jackson? Had he met the same fate as me? Soft groaning from my left startled me—someone else in the room with me. I groaned back, running my voice up and down the scales as quietly as I could. Who knew where Tiny was lurking? I twisted back and forth on the bed, my arms pinned beneath me in an awkward, painful position. Tiny had run a length of tape from my hands to my feet in case I got frisky and tried to travel off the bed. Too bad for Tiny because I had no intention of surrendering. I needed to find Jackson. I rolled onto my side and returned to my back, repeated it several times to gain momentum and, suddenly carried away, I made a complete 360-degree rotation, flew off the bed and onto a body that broke my fall.

  “Oommmph,” I grunted, my face smashed into a stubbly one.

  “Oommmph,” a deeper voice grunted.

  Even in the darkness, I could make out the halo of curly hair. Jackson.

  Obviously, he was as incapacitated as me. Our compromising position meant that faces, chests, and torsos were locked as one in an embarrassing pas de deux. It had been four years since Jackson and I found ourselves this close. The two beds in the stateroom were only a few feet apart. Easily enough room for two people, if one was stacked on top of the other. A buzzing from the inside of my hoodie made us both freeze. Jackson’s eyes bugged out of his head.

  I tried to say “cell.” I’d put my phone inside my bra for safe-keeping when I ran from the theater. “Cuh…cuh.” It had to be either Bill or Pauli texting me.

  Jackson shook his head, confused. I gave up.

  “Geh, geh,” he said and pointed his head to my right. Go! He wanted me to shift spots so that we were both on the floor. More comfortable, less humiliating.

  We wiggled our way until I slid off his body and we lay parallel to each other on our sides, panting, inhaling through our noses, pausing in the dark to listen for Tiny. Jackson scooted down toward the foot of the bed. I couldn’t see him very well, but I could hear him scrape against the carpet. Suddenly he was still, then the scraping sound was replaced with a soft scratching. I propped myself up on one elbow. Jackson inched his way to the bottom of the bed frame, swaying back and forth. I scooted down to help.

  I could see him rubbing the tape on his wrists into the metal corner of the frame. There was a stabbing pop, then a slight ripping noise. Jackson yanked his arms free. He tore the duct tape off his mouth, then off mine. Ouch! I gulped air.

  “Th-thanks,” I stuttered, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my hoodie.

  He took the tape off my hands. “Sh!” He cocked his head to listen. The cabin outside the stateroom was quiet. “Tiny’s probably still out there,” he muttered.

  I dug my cell phone out of my chest and hit Messages.

  “That was the buzzing? Thought I was having a heart attack,” he joked quietly.

  I checked the text. Pauli: gotta hit. ten guys on list filed police reports last three months. car theft. My stomach churned.

  “Good thing you have your cell,” Jackson murmured. He tackled the tape on his ankles. “Tiny took mine. They made me text you. Hey, how’d you like ‘dudette’? That was a signal that something was up. I knew you hated me calling you that so I figured if you read a text from me and I said ‘dudette’ you’d know to call somebody.”

  Vinnie’s black book had a long list of customers. Most were probably wealthy clients. With luxury automobiles. A number of whom had their cars stolen…Tiny is arrested at the warehouse where stolen cars are stockpiled. I gasped.

  “Did you?” Jackson asked quietly.

  “Huh?”

  “Call somebody? To get us out of this?” Jackson tore at the tape binding his legs.

  “Jackson, do charter fishing boats normally offer valet service?” I whispered, my voice unsteady.

  “Valet service? What are you talking about? We gotta get out of here.” Jackson unwound the tape on my ankles.

  “Do they?”

  “Not for the kind of charter Vinnie and I ran.”

  Maybe for Vinnie’s new charter business. I didn’t know how the crew had done it, but I was willing to bet the valet service gave the car theft ring access to victims. What came first? The plan for the high-end charter or the plan for stealing cars? Vinnie must have threatened to pull the plug on the operation with his black book and it got him killed—

  “Gimme that,” Jackson rasped and snatched my phone.

  “Stop! I’ll call,” I said and reached for it.

  He bobbled my cell and it slid out of his hands. “Where is it?” he muttered.


  “I don’t know. Why’d you take it from me?” I asked, irritated and scared.

  We felt around on the floor, Jackson running his hand under the bed, while I covered a swath of carpet near me. “I figured out why Vinnie was murdered. And who probably did it.”

  “If we don’t find your cell, somebody’s gonna have to figure out who wasted us.”

  Jackson was right. We crawled in different directions until we’d separated to opposite sides of the room. My phone hadn’t skated that far away from us. I sat back on my heels. “Forget the phone. We got to find some kind of a weapon to get us out of here!”

  From a few feet away, Jackson snorted softly. “Weapon? In a bedroom? Like what, pillows?”

  “Check the closet. Maybe there’s a—”

  My phone pinged again. We stopped moving.

  “Under this bed,” Jackson said and dove for it.

  I knew better. The pinging was on my side of the room. I swept my arm back and forth, finally smacking the errant cell. It had landed near the head board. I retrieved it, my hands shaking.

  Footsteps clomped on the deck of The Bounty and down the stairs to the cabin. A door slammed outside the stateroom. Tiny? Sam? My heart jumped. Jackson eased his way to me and grabbed my hand. “Can’t call 911. They might hear us. I’ll text Bill,” I whispered.

  Jackson nodded. My fingers were clumsy: sos. on vinnie’s boat at pier. captive. help.

  I read the second text from Pauli: warehouse owned by a. bannister baldwin. Wait, what? Arlene Bannister Baldwin? Arlene was related to John?

  “Turn off the phone! They’ll hear texts coming in,” Jackson murmured.

  “I’ll put it on vibrate—”

  “Off!” Jackson bit the words tensely.

  They knew we were in here but hopefully presumed we were still taped up.

  Voices rose and fell from somewhere in the living room. One heavy, one lighter.

  I shut off my phone. We sat immobile waiting for the next move. I stuffed my cell back into my bra. Seconds ticked away. I couldn’t sit still any longer. Pauli’s texts proved how dangerous—and probably desperate—Vinnie’s killers were. I crawled past Jackson to the only closet in the room. When Jackson and I had searched The Bounty, there were few articles of clothing hanging in there. There had to be something else that would save us when they barged in here. Anything that might hold them off until Bill arrived with reinforcements.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shush.” I opened the closet door. I felt around for something, anything…then I patted it. I pulled the surfboard out of the closet.

  “What didya find?” he asked.

  I shuffled toward Jackson. He reached out. “Dude, a board?” Jackson whispered skeptically.

  The voices grew louder. No mistaking them—a male and a female.

  “You have a better idea?” I handed Jackson the surfboard. “Get behind the door. I’ll stand between the beds and distract whoever comes in. A bait and tackle to buy time.”

  We positioned ourselves. I inhaled slowly to steady my nerves. Bill…come on!

  A minute later, someone walked to the stateroom. “…tied up. We gotta dump ’em and clear out,” Tiny said and jerked the door open.

  The room was flooded with light, blinding me momentarily. I blinked furiously.

  “What the…?” Tiny eyes darted around the room, then he lunged at me.

  I backed up, forcing him to come after me, stepping further away from the door. I extended an arm to defend myself as Jackson lifted the surfboard and brought it down on Tiny’s back. The big guy howled, more in anger than pain I imagined. Jackson’s blow hit a sweet spot compelling Tiny to turn away from me. I threw everything I could get my hands on: an alarm clock, a table lamp on the dresser, even pillows. Tiny fought off my barrage as Jackson pushed the board into him, the two of them doing a tug-of-war. Tiny had size, but Jackson was more agile.

  Tiny swore a blue streak, while Jackson grunted. The two of them landed on the floor. I hopped on Tiny and threw the comforter over his head.

  “What the hell’s going on in here?” Arlene stood in the doorway, the gun in her hand pointed directly at my head. “Tiny? Get up!” Her tie-dyed maxi dress and Jimmy Choo heels were replaced with a heavy jacket, jeans and boots. Dressed for traveling.

  Tiny threw Jackson off him and untangled himself from the bed cover. Both Jackson and the surfboard bounced off the closet door.

  No surprise here. Arlene was a business partner with Sam. It made sense that she was in on the car theft ring. Besides, she owned the warehouse in Walker. Sam would make his presence known any minute now.

  Bill had better make his known too.

  I needed to stall. “The theater festival and Baldwin Contractors weren’t enough to keep you busy?”

  Arlene barely batted an eye. “Tie them up.” She tossed Tiny a coil of nylon docking rope. “And this time do it right.”

  Tiny had fire in his eyes. He gripped Jackson roughly and bound his hands behind his back, running a line from his wrists to his feet. “Try ‘n get out of that.” He pushed Jackson onto the bed.

  “The car theft was your idea, right? Vinnie was just a pawn. Paying off gambling debts,” I said.

  Jackson looked puzzled. I read his expression. What are you doing? He had the good sense to remain silent and let me do the talking.

  “Told you she’d figure it out,” Tiny said triumphantly to Arlene. His face darkened. “Shoulda let me get rid of her after the warehouse.”

  So he did see me there…

  “Shut up and take care of her.” Arlene waggled her weapon at me.

  Tiny yanked my arms behind me and wrapped the cord around my wrists, already sore from the duct tape.

  There was no more time. “Too bad you never found Vinnie’s black book. He wanted revenge, right? Were you too greedy? Cheating him out of his share of the money?”

  Tiny stopped tying, Arlene confronted me. “You should have minded your own business.”

  “You can have it now. It’s in my bag. It won’t help you though.” Let them rummage through my stuff and eat up more time. “The authorities have a copy of the list.” Partly true. Pauli was an authority when it came to digital forensics. I was swinging for the fence. “You shouldn’t have set up Vinnie’s clients with the valet service.”

  “Too damn smart for your own good.” Tiny jerked the rope and wound it around my ankles. He shoved me onto the bed next to Jackson.

  A rumbling from the deck was like a loud explosion. The engine… someone was piloting the boat. Sam. The Bounty pitched and rolled as it backed out of its berth. My stomach plunged down to my toes, bile rose in my throat. I shot a look of desperation to Jackson, who struggled with his ties.

  “Go ahead,” Tiny snarled. “This time you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Until we toss you overboard.”

  Overboard? I gulped. The plan was to dispose of us in the ocean? The boat glided through the choppy water.

  Arlene repositioned herself away from the door. “Get them on top.”

  “I g-guess Sam’s doing the driving?” I said as Tiny lifted me off the bed.

  “Sam?” Arlene threw back her head and roared. “That’s a good one.”

  Footsteps bumped down the stairs to the cabin.

  “Hello, Dodie.” John Bannister stood behind Arlene, dark raincoat and marine boots creating an altogether different image of the kindly gentleman. No cane was visible.

  “John?” I said, flabbergasted.

  “Had you fooled, didn’t I?” He smiled sympathetically. “Sorry we won’t have that date this week. You see, you have a different kind of date.” He nodded at Tiny. “This time the two of you…” he pointed at Jackson, “…will actually drown.”

  Unlike Vinnie who actually had a punctured aorta. “You won’t get away with killing us,”
I said with as much bravado as I could muster.

  “On the contrary. By the time your bodies are discovered, if they are ever discovered, we’ll be far away.” John poked Tiny. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time,” he said.

  Tiny and John lugged me to the deck, securing me in one of the captain’s chairs. The boat cut through the black water, bouncing me up and down. The wind whipped at my slicker, the driving rain pelting my face, strands of my hair smeared into my eyes. I could hardly catch my breath.

  “Let her go. She can’t go anywhere,” yelled John above the roar of the engine, his words scarcely reaching Tiny who steadied himself with the aid of the railing. “…get him.”

  I was alone for a moment before they reappeared. I started to cry. I stared into the inky night. It wasn’t in my DNA to surrender but even I had to admit, as Aunt Maureen would say, the jig is up.

  Jackson was thrown into a chair next to me, his brown locks plastered against his scalp.

  “Now?” Tiny asked John.

  “Not yet. Another mile out to sea. I’m going below. Stay here.” John handed Tiny the gun and dashed below. Tiny, not happy at having to stand guard in this weather, withdrew to the cover of the stairway leading down to the cabin, well within reach of us.

  Jackson leaned into me. “Can you swim?”

  I rotated in my chair. “You can joke at a time like this?”

  “What else can we do? I haven’t seen weather like this since—”

  “Hurricane Sandy. The night you and Vinnie left me alone so you could scuttle the JV,” I yelled in his ear.

  “What?”

  “I heard about it. The insurance scam Vinnie wanted to run.”

  “Vinnie, sure. I said no. We parked the JV in the marina at Ocean Port. It was no use. The storm beat her up.” Jackson rubbed his face on the sleeve of his jacket.

  Even in the midst of my terror, I was happy to hear that Jackson wanted no part of Vinnie’s insurance rip-off. I bumped into his shoulder. “I’m still mad you left me to go through the hurricane alone!” I shouted.

  Jackson gawked at the angry, roiling waves. “I’m here now!” he shouted back.