Tonton

by Billy Kring

  John slid out of the cab and circled behind the pickup to go into the brush and shrubbery along the lower edge of the parking area. She lost sight of him, then saw him again, further ahead, creeping though the wind-whipped foliage.

  Images came to her, along with a strong feeling of foreboding. She knew Randall and Ariel were alive, but she didn’t feel Andre anywhere. The foreboding was for John; he was going into trouble, any minute now. She needed to help, somehow. Then it came to her.

  Ariel moved behind the wheel and started forward, taking the pickup back to the road on the high side of the parking area, and where the two vehicles were parked. She weaved like a bad driver, and drove slowly, like she was lost.

  She prayed the man with the gun wouldn’t turn and shoot her. As she drove closer, she saw Andre’s body, and recognized him immediately. Her eyes filled, but she shook it off, because her friend’s lives were at stake.

  The wind suddenly increased, and the man with the rifle staggered. The noise was like a moaning howl, constant and mournful. She glanced to the right and caught glimpses of John in the brush, bent-over and moving closer, right toward his target.

  Another armed man suddenly materialized seventy years to the man’s front. He stepped out of thick brush and walked toward the one by the pier. Both had rifles on their shoulders.

  John hadn’t seen the second man. Ariel tried to get his attention, but the detective was focused on his prey. He couldn’t take down both of them without getting killed, she knew. And the men were turning in John’s direction.

  She drove the pickup five feet beyond the two vehicles and the gunmen saw it. She tapped the horn and waved as if excited to see them, even though her stomach felt like ice when they walked her way, guns up.

  John saw the men move, but didn’t realize why until he edged forward another dozen feet and saw them draw down on the old pickup that now extended beyond the two vehicles. “Dammit!” he hissed.

  Ariel could not breathe. The two men came to the driver’s side and opened the door, with one of them keeping his M4 trained on her.

  The other one looked her over and said, “You a fine looking woman, what you doing out here in dis storm?”

  “I’m lost, and then I saw you two. I thought you could help me.”

  “Oh, we can help you just fine. Get out.”

  “But, I only need directions.”

  The man grabbed her bicep and jerked her from the cab. “You go with us. There’s some shelter from the wind, up under the restaurant building. We go up dere and have us a good time.”

  She went stumbling along, her legs weak with fear. “I don’t want to go.”

  “It don’t matter, we taking you. You show us a good time, maybe we let you live.”

  Hunter saw the old pickup stop and someone waving inside it. “You see this?”

  Randall said, “Yeah. Who is it?” Hunter shrugged.

  They watched as the gunmen pulled Ariel out of the cab and forced her to go with them back toward the pier.

  “Shit!” Randall said.

  When the men went up the ramp, their backs were to Hunter and Randall. Both glanced north of the pier to the beach where the three vehicles and the men waited for the boats.

  The seas were getting rougher, and Hunter thought one of the boats was going to capsize end over end as it rode out of a trough and the next wave lifted the stern so high it looked like the boat was vertical, then it wallowed and crashed down again.

  John was trapped in the bushes, in plain sight as the men walked Ariel up the ramp. If one of them looked his way, it would be over. He saw Ariel continue to talk to them, keeping their attention on her and away from him.

  A movement caught his attention and he saw Hunter and Randall hurry forward to reach the side of the Quarterdeck Restaurant. They moved to the corner, then Randall glanced beyond the edge of the building to the ramp. He jerked back when seeing them.

  The two men maneuvered Ariel away from the pier walk and under a large overhang. One of them moved behind her and touched the point of a Knife to the skin over her kidneys. “Take off the clothes.” She grabbed the hem of her green dress and pulled up to take it over her head.

  The man leaned his M4 against the wall and put the knife in its sheath, then ran his hands over her bare waist. The second man said “Hey, I want some of that, too.” He leaned his rifle next to the other one and said to Ariel, “Get the rest of it off, starting with the bra.”

  Ariel’s hands shook as she moved her hands to her back.

  Randall glanced around the corner again, and then heard Ariel scream. He ran forward, and Hunter was beside him going all out. Both had their pistols drawn when they spotted Ariel and the two men.

  Randall struck the man fondling Ariel’s breasts so hard his feet left the floor. Randall followed him down and pushed the barrel of his pistol into the man’s cheek, raising the skin enough to show his teeth.

  The second one was kneeling behind Ariel and pulling down her underwear when Hunter snap kicked him under the chin. The man’s head flew back as three broken teeth flipped through the air like Chiclets. He was out before the back of his head bounced on the concrete floor.

  A movement behind them caused Hunter and Randall to turn with their pistols out.

  It was John. “God-o-mighty, am I glad to see you,” Hunter said, then hugged his neck.

  Randall said, “You okay?”

  John said, “Thanks to Ariel.” He went to the woman as she dressed, “You saved my bacon, you know that?”

  Hunter checked the M4s, picked up one. She ejected the double magazine and examined the bullets. “Every other round is a tracer.” She reset the clip in the rifle and said, “We still have a lot of bad guys out here.”

  John said “Dessaline and Bazin? Are they here?”

  Randall said, “The end of the pier, doing something with a third boat.”

  “What about the others by the cars on the beach?”

  “They’re on the sand waiting for two boats to land. They know Hunter and I are here, but it seems the boats are more important to ‘em.”

  Hunter said, “I can mess their plans up a little.”

  John said, I want the two at the end of the pier.”

  Randall said, “They aren’t alone. There are four or five others, Young Anson and Jean Claude are there, too.”

  John said, “They’re not getting off the pier.”

  Hunter said, “I’ve got these guys on the beach.”

  “There are six of them, too.”

  “I have the high ground and protection with these walls. They have no place to hide, other than their cars. All they can do is run away.”

  “They can drive away.”

  Hunter tapped the rifle, “No, they can’t.”

  Randall grinned, “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  “About weapons, yeah. But not much else.”

  Randall looked at John, “Your call.”

  John looked at Randall, “You want to say hello to the folks down there?”

  Randall picked up the other M4 and said, “Let’s.”

  Hunter said, “Wait a minute.” She handed Ariel the rifle, then took off her windbreaker and blouse, revealing her bulletproof vest, with the tee shirt underneath. She undid the side straps and pulled the vest over her head. “Here, it won’t fit you, but it’s protection against handguns and better than nothing. Randall’s wearing his, and you need one if you’re going down there.” Before John could object, she said, “Ariel and I have a whole building to hide behind.”

  John took it. “If we can get on one of these boats, they probably have a high frequency radio that we can communicate with and call the Coast Guard, get them coming this way.”

  Hunter looked at the sea, “I may just wait until the storm passes.”

  Randall said, “I’m with Hunter on that one. Too dangerous.”

  “Just a thought.” John said, “You ready to go?”

  On impulse, Randall kissed Ariel and said
, “For luck.” Then followed John onto the pier.

  Hunter told Ariel, “Watch these two, and if either one moves, come get me. I have to go a little further out on the pier.”

  She waited for John and Randall to advance further, and looked to see if she could see them. Visibility was twenty yards, and no sign of her friends. She looked to the side and visibility was a hundred yards or so. That would be enough. She stepped into the wind and advanced thirty yards on the pier. When she turned to face north, she saw the two ships and the people and vehicles on the rapidly disappearing beach. The storm was deepening, intensifying. She felt the pier vibrate as a bigger wave slammed the pier supports and the top of the wave was almost as high as the pier. She felt a little flutter of fear, but shook it off.

  Hunter dropped to one knee and braced the rifle against the short railing, then lined the sights on the engine area of the farthest boat.

  It was difficult to hold on it, with the vessel going up, down, side to side, wallowing. She took her time, breathed, and braced against the wind.

  She was ready to start the ball rolling.

  Chapter 11

  Marc and the others anchored four pulley systems with heavy rope to the pier, and then guided the listing boat closer. Ringo and Young threw the ropes to the men on board, and they worked to stabilize the Malice against the terrible, relentless, pounding of rain and wind.

  “What do we do now?” Young asked.

  Marc removed a chain with a key on it from his neck and draped it on Young Anson as he said, “Go down to the boat. In the safe are three small boxes with the Duvalier name on them. Bring them to me.”

  “Down there? You want me to go down there?”

  “Tie a safety line to your waist. We will bring you up when you have them.”

  Young looked again at the gray, turbulent sea and the erratic bobbing of the listing boat as it rose almost to the level of the pier, then dropped into a trough almost twenty feet below. “I can’t. Why don’t you toss the key down to them, let them open the safe?”

  “And if they miss the key?”

  “Tie it to a rope?”

  “In this wind?”

  Young shook his head, “I can’t.”

  Marc asked the others, “Will any of you do this?”

  Ringo said, “I will.”

  Marc shook his head, “No, you have a broken arm.”

  Marc sighed and said, “I will go. Ringo, you are in charge.” He slipped the rope under his arms as a safety line, then used his arms and legs on the thicker pulley lines to descend to the pitching deck. Timing it by watching the swells further out to sea, Marc made an easy drop of eight feet to land on the Malice. Right before he stepped to the deck, Marc saw a huge darkness looming further out to sea, and he noticed the waves sounded different in that area, too.

  He dismissed it as heavier clouds, and after hugging the captain, his old friend, had the man take him below deck to the safe. Water sloshed calf deep, with papers and debris rocking from side to side on the small waves.

  “You may leave,” He said to the captain, and waited until he had the space to himself. He lifted the chain over his head, put in the key and opened the safe. Inside were three ornate wooden boxes, each one ten inches by eight inches by two inches, each with Duvalier in gold script on the lid. And Marc remembered:

  February 6, 1986, Baby Doc Duvalier, son of Papa Doc, the greatest leader in Haitian history, readied to go into exile and leave his beloved Haiti the next day for France. Marc and Ringo met with him while gunfire and chants for “Death to Duvalier” came from outside the grounds. He said, “There are three small boxes, given to me from friends in Sierra Leone, that are in a place my father kept hidden. I believe you know it, in the cottage in Pètion-Ville. Bring it to me tomorrow. I will need it abroad.

  Marc found the boxes, but never saw Baby Doc off in his exile. Marc remembered that when he had to flee, He had a friend hide the boxes. That friend was the captain of the Malice. This, today, was the first successful attempt to bring them to Marc in America.

  He opened each box. The inside was lined in black velvet, and filled with diamonds of various colors and dimensions, from pea sized to thumbnail. In the center of each box was a single, canary-yellow diamond the size of a quail egg. He closed them, put the boxes in a small canvas backpack, and exited to the deck. Marc knew his life was about to change.

  ~*~

  John and Randall advance steadily on the pier and were able to see nothing further than thirty yards ahead, with occasional clear patches to fifty or sixty yards.

  It was in the second clear patch they saw Jean Claude standing by a square pillar, his eyes wide in surprise. Jean Claude raised an M4 and cut loose at them without letting up on the trigger, sounding like a jackhammer working for twenty seconds straight.

  They had no place to hide. John was hit in the foot, and Randall once in the thigh, then Jean Claude’s barrel rose steadily higher from the continual recoil and the rest of the rounds sprayed the sky. When the rifle was empty, the Haitian threw it down and ran from them, disappearing into the rain.

  John looked at his foot. A hole on the outside edge wept blood. Another half inch and it would have missed him. There was no pain, and wouldn’t be until the shock wore off. Randall leaned against the railing, holding one hand against his thigh.

  “How bad?” John asked.

  “Caught the outside of my leg and cut a gash. Hurts like a bastard, but I’m okay. He just fired a hundred rounds at us and we only got nicked. Let’s get these assholes.”

  Back near the Quarterdeck, Hunter waited, timing her shot. She heard a long burst of automatic fire from up the pier, a very long burst. It worried her, but she refocused. She waited until the boat was in the trough between two huge waves, then squeezed and released the trigger, sending a burst of six rounds into the engine area. The three tracers made red lines in the air and disappeared into the boat.

  She fired three more bursts, then moved her sights to the closer boat and fired a longer burst into it. Yells came from the boats and the shore, although faint in the wind.

  Black smoke lifted from the engine compartments and swirled away in the hurricane. Both boats drifted now, helpless.

  Three men on shore hopped into the Escalade. Hunter swung the M4 and fired a thirty-shot burst at its engine. Men scrambled out of it and ran into the trees and brush to the rear of the SUVs. Several fired long strings from their M4s at Hunter, and bullets splatted into the restaurant high above her head. They could not see her.

  For good measure, Hunter shot the engines of the other vehicles with several quick bursts. She duck-walked away from the railing and was walking to rejoin Ariel when the psychic ran to her, carrying two small canvas bags.

  Hunter looked beyond her for the two men, but didn’t see them. Ariel said, “They ran. I couldn’t stop them. But they left these.” Inside each bag was a one hundred round magazine.

  Hunter loaded a fresh magazine into her rifle, made sure a round was chambered, then said, “Stay close behind me. We’re joining John and Randall.”

  John and Randall moved forward, weapons ready. Deepening heavy rain and mist mixed with terrible swirling winds descended on them, and a looming, metallic, groaning darkness seemed to be coming closer.

  John couldn’t see ten feet. He said, “Randall?”

  There was the sound of a sudden, desperate struggle, and John hurried toward it. He reached Randall at the same time as Hunter, who came with Ariel right behind her, and they all saw two Haitian men struggling on the floor with the Apache.

  Before John could react, Hunter put a dozen full-auto rounds of .223 into each of them. Randall rolled to his feet and checked himself for bullet holes, then nodded at her.

  Jean Claude seemed to materialize from the gloom as he charged them. He extended his gun hand to shoot and was so close that John grasped his wrist and threw the Haitian over the railing into the sea.

  “That’s three,” John said.

 
“Stay ready.” Hunter said, then she stopped walking. A different sound came from the ocean. She said, “There’s something big out there.”

  Ringo and Young were pulling up Marc when they felt a deeper darkness looming high beside them. A metallic groan seemed to emanate from all around them as the pier vibrated.

  Marc was almost over the railing when Young screamed, “It’s a ship!”

  The abandoned freighter materialized in the storm, it’s starboard side at a right angle to the pier. It wallowed in the waves and wind, then lifted on a swell and slammed into the pier with a crashing, rending sound that sent the men sprawling on the floor.

  Hunter’s breath caught when she heard someone scream, “It’s a ship!” Then she and her friends were knocked down by the freighter’s impact with the pier. They rolled forward as the pier itself seemed to shoot from beneath their feet towards shore. Hunter lost the rifle and saw it tumble off the edge of the pier.

  John saw Marc and the others just as the freighter seemed to back away several feet, then slammed into the pier again. The floor tilted downward on one side, and Marc seemed to levitate to land on the more level area. Ringo and Young crawled there.

  The freighter’s side rubbed up and down on the pier with each crashing wave, and everyone heard the concrete pilings cracking and breaking, being ground to gravel under the ship’s mass.

  Ringo came off the floor and crossed the dozen feet between him and Randall just as the end of the pier collapsed to leave a steep ramp toward the sea between the freighter and what remained of that edge. Ariel staggered sideways from the collapse and Hunter dove to catch her before she went over the side.

  Ringo and Randall slid down the decline toward the churning water, with Ringo further down than Randall. John yelled, “No!”

  Marc and Young moved fast, with both going for John. No one wanted a pistol in their hand in case they had to grab something as the pier continued to buck and break apart. The freighter lifted and came down again on the pier, breaking it further.

  As the ship backed away again, Ringo and Randall slid closer to the edge. They scrambled and clawed to keep from going into the terrible water below. Ringo grasped Randall’s leg and tried to climb up him. Randall kicked at him, hitting him in the face. It seemed to have no effect.