Caribbean Moon

by Rick Murcer

  “YOU help ME? Come, come detective. I think you have the roles reversed. You are in no position to help me. But, I, on the other hand, can help you.”

  “Okay then, how can you help me?” he said evenly.

  The killer’s face twisted and his rage detonated. “Don’t patronize me, flatfoot,” he yelled, pointing the 9MM at Sophie’s head.

  “If you try that shit on me again, I’ll kill her and then stuff one of these between your eyes before you can freaking twitch, got it?”

  “I get the picture. No reason we can’t work something out here.” He bent his eyes to the deck. “How can you help me, Mr. Jenkins?”

  “That’s better. It’s not often we get a chance at redemption, detective, but I’m going to offer that opportunity to you. I’m going to give you a chance to save your soul.”

  Manny brought his eyes up from the floor and noticed that Sophie was coming to. He never missed a beat as his gaze continued upward to Eli Jenkins.

  This man was so articulate, intelligent. Something that Peppercorn could never have been guilty of. What had happened?

  “What is it that you want me to do?”

  “Why Detective Williams, I thought you would never ask. I merely want you and all of the rest of Lansing law enforcement to suffer. You see, I have discovered that suffering is worse than dying. Ask the Crosbys. I suspect that even Detective Perez could give you some insight. If she could talk, that is.” Jenkins face grew amazingly calm. “You must choose, Detective Williams, another partner’s death or your own.”

  Manny tried to hide the lead ball that had instantly formed in his stomach. He’d been right. Jenkins wanted revenge. He fought the good fight to answer. “How does that save a soul?”

  “You dumb-ass cop! Do I have to spell it out?” Jenkins shifted the gun to his other hand and continued. “Let me put it in terms you might understand. We all feel better when we pay our debts. Right? There’s a sense of relief. I want you to experience that sense when you write this check.”

  He watched Jenkins’s muscles tense. They were getting near the end. He needed to find a solution to this standoff, now, except none of the scenarios in his mind excluded death--especially his.

  “What debt do I owe?”

  The hateful reaction on the killer’s face was truly amazing.

  “You haven’t figured it out yet? You are the very essence of ignorance. By killing this bitch, I get to watch you suffer. By dying, your loved ones suffer. Either way, I win. I spent ten years in that shithole. This is the payment I require for sending me there. It’s time to pay up. Your turn to choose. Her or you. Now.”

  Jenkins pulled the hammer back and pressed the gun against Sophie’s head.

  It was time to play his card. Now or never.

  “Wait. Just wait.” Manny let his breath out slowly. This was it. Lord, he hoped he was right. “What will your mother say when she sees you like this? She’s on the ship. I saw her three nights ago.”

  Jenkins hesitated. For a brief moment, Manny saw Robert Peppercorn’s face emerge from the confusion, from whatever dark land he had been imprisoned.

  “What? My mother?”

  The gamble had paid off, momentarily at least.

  Everyone wants their mother to love them, to care for them, to tell them that they will forever be insulated from the pain this world invents. Almost everyone’s mother loved him or her, unconditionally. The man that was once Robert Peppercorn was no exception. He still cared what his mother thought.

  This was the break he had hoped for. It would be a mismatch, but so were David and Goliath. Manny crouched to attack, never anticipating what happened next. The old saying about the best laid plans of mice and men was right on.

  “You dick! You leave my wife alone,” screamed Randy Mason, seemingly ignorant to the danger around him as he crashed through overturned deck chairs.

  He rushed Jenkins with Richardson hot on his heels screaming for Randy to get down. At the last second, just before Jenkins recovered from the mind-bending truth Manny had administered, the Security Chief tackled Sophie’s husband. The thud was resounding as almost six hundred pounds of flesh collided with the deck.

  Maybe it was the screaming, or just how Jenkins planned it, but Sophie was now almost fully awake, and took her cue by rolling violently to her left. She went down hard with the chair still firmly attached, but out of Jenkins’s line of fire, for the moment.

  Manny closed the distance between them and staggered Jenkins with a hard right hand to the jaw. Most men would have been down for the count. But Jenkins wasn’t most men.

  He righted himself and grinned. “Is that all you got, detective? I bet your gook partner could do more damage than that.” Jenkins stepped forward and swung his gun at Manny’s head. Manny dove to his right, reaching for the 9MM in his waistband at the same time. He landed awkwardly on his extended shoulder and was greeted with crippling pain that jolted his senses. It felt like someone had stabbed him with a jagged knife. The gun slid from his hand like a skate on ice. Always the lucky one.

  “You bastard!! Let her go!” shrieked Randy, even as Richardson struggled to keep him on the deck.

  Jenkins turned away from Manny, now fully recovered from his momentary shock, and pumped four loud shots toward Richardson and Mason. Manny heard an agonizing scream. Jenkins swore at them, and then sent two more bullets their way as he re-aimed the 9MM.

  “I’ll kill every one of you Lansing pricks!”

  There was another shriek of agony, and Manny realized that Jenkins meant it.

  Desperately digging for the gun, he twisted his body to get a better look, catching his shoulder along the wood. The pain caused motes of colorful stars to dance in front of his eyes.

  His body told him what his mind wouldn’t believe; he couldn’t pick up the gun even if he had found it. He was frozen in place, unable to get off the deck, and soon Jenkins would know it.

  The killer fired a shot in Sophie’s direction, and another. He then whirled and headed straight to where Manny lay; scattering chairs and tables Manny had dove behind. He was like a raging rhino honing in on his one true target.

  “You’re a dead man, Williams. Are you ready?”

  He wasn’t. Manny tried to get up again. His shoulder said no. He then grew surprisingly calm. His thoughts turned to his wife and daughter. He found himself hoping Louise and Jennifer would forgive him. He knew Louise understood that he had to do something. Letting Sophie die wasn’t an option.

  Jenkins leveled the gun at Manny’s head.

  He could smell the killer’s pungent body odor as it mingled with the acrid, smoky smell of spent gunpowder.

  Jenkins pulled the clip from the 9MM, checked it for ammo, then slammed it back and racked the slide.

  Manny closed his eyes.

  Loud shots rang out, and wood exploded next to his ear. The sound was tremendous as splinters stuck to his cheek and neck. But he was alive. Somehow, Jenkins had missed.

  He opened his eyes, blinking into more bright sunlight, trying to locate his would-be executioner. He watched as Jenkins staggered to one knee, two round holes braying from the middle of his tank top. The next shot caused a large, red-rimmed third eye to appear between the killer’s other two. The big man fell backward to the deck, his large limbs fidgeting in a gathering crimson pool. He grew still with the gun still clutched in his hand.

  Manny let loose the breath he was hoarding.

  He twisted to his left side and forced himself to sit up. He looked over his shoulder to the source of the shots. Agent Corner lowered his still-smoking weapon and winked.

  “What kept you?”

  “I had a date.”

  “Nice shooting.”

  “You didn’t think I was gonna miss, did you?”

  He was glad the FBI Wonder Boy hadn’t. Real glad.

  ****************

  CHAPTER-74

  Eli Jenkins or Robert Peppercorn, whoever he really was, was dead and wouldn’t hurt anyone
again. That made Manny happy. As much as he could be, anyway. He unconsciously rubbed his bruised shoulder and watched Aruba become a small dot on the brilliant blue horizon.

  Yesterday had been a hell of a day. One he wouldn’t forget, not soon anyway. The only consolation was that it was over. But an unsavory, maybe indefinable price had been paid. Innocent people had died because they had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, trapped in a madman’s nefarious concept of how the world should turn.

  What price, justice.

  Manny sat in the middle of his phalanx of friends, eating breakfast and watching cruisers mill around the sun-drenched deck, just doing what cruisers do.

  Most were unaware of the intense standoff twenty-four hours earlier. It took a major effort from Carousel’s public relations department to downplay, and eventually smooth over, the disaster that had taken place. But cruise lines were good at it, maybe better than any other industry in the world.

  This morning it looked as if murdering chaos had never occurred on the Ocean Duchess.

  Louise sat close to his left and Sophie to his right, next to her husband.

  Randy Mason wore a fresh white gauze bandage on the right side of his neck, compliments of the grazing bullet fired from Jenkins’s gun. He had been fortunate. Another inch and it would have hit his carotid artery. Richardson had reached him just in time. Manny still didn’t care for the abrasive Security Chief, but he had acted like a good cop and that meant something.

  Alex and Barb Downs sat directly across from him and they were flanked by Agents Corner and Tucker. Gavin, Stella, and Mike had decided to fly from Oranjestad to take Lexy’s body home with them, compliments of Carousel, of course. Mike had made a fast recovery and the ship’s doctor didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t fly in a few days or so.

  There had been desperate sadness clouding his old partner’s eyes as he gave Manny a gentle hug and headed to the taxi that took the Crosbys to the hotel. Mike still refused to speak about the incident.

  No amount of time would ever really heal the deep vacant pit that had taken up residence in the Crosby’s collective hearts. But each passing day would lessen the pain; he knew that to be true.

  Jenkins’s wild voice still rang in his ears stating that he wanted them to suffer; all of them. His vengeful mission had been carried out. Most of the Lansing law enforcement family had been, and would be forever, affected by Jenkins’s terrible quest.

  He shaded his eyes as a line came to him from an old gospel hymn.

  Forever changed, I’m forever changed.

  Nothing could be truer. Manny had seen the dark side of human disposition for years. But nothing resembling Robert Peppercorn. He wondered where the limits of human justification ended, or if there was one. He didn’t know. Maybe no one did.

  He was glad this one was over, but he couldn’t rid himself of the questions nagging him. It was hard to understand why Jenkins had set himself up to die. Did he really think he was going to be able to escape from the deck? Force his way off?

  Manny ran his hand through his hair. Did it matter? Jenkins was dead. End of story.

  They had taken a tour of the killer’s room and found nothing to shed light on any questions that remained. They did find a worn newspaper clipping from the Lansing Post, written by a young reporter named Eric Hayes, accounting the trial and eventual conviction of Peppercorn. Several of Lansing’s finest were given credit, including Manny, for bringing him to justice. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Peppercorn had kept it.

  If he wanted to kill us all, why make the mistake that would most certainly lead to his death?

  And what of Jenkins’s mother? They had found her dead in her cabin, shot like a sick dog. But the astonishment on Jenkins’s face when he mentioned the killer’s mother had been obvious. He was surprised to find out she was on board although she had been killed with Detective Perez’s Smith and Wesson, and Jenkins had that weapon on him. Just another psychotic episode?

  Chief Richardson came from the elevator and approached the table. Sophie saw him first and jumped up, leaning toward Manny. “This has been a long time cooking, watch my coffee.”

  She walked quickly to the Chief and stopped a few feet short. “You’ve got this coming.” His partner took one step and leaped on Richardson, draping her arms around his thick neck. Richardson started to pry her off and then stood still, slowly wrapping his arms around her. Her quiet sobs shook her small body as she finally slid away from the big man.

  “I want to thank you for saving my husband. You might be a prick, but a brave prick, and you can play on my team anytime,” she quivered.

  Richardson stood with a surprised look adorning his face. Then he smiled. “Ahh…thank you detective, I think.” He moved to the table. “I’m not good at this stuff, so let me say I’m sorry for your loss. And if I can ever help you with anything, let me know.”

  Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “Did the Captain put you up to this?”

  The Chief leaned back and grinned. “He said you’d say that, but no. Let’s just say you taught an old dog a new trick.” He turned and walked away.

  “Do you think we just got smoked?” frowned Sophie. “But maybe he’s for real. Randy’s still here and that’s good enough for me.”

  Just then, Agent Corner’s cell phone started playing Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville. He rolled his eyes. “No rest for the weary. Corner here.”

  He left the table and put his hand over his other, sun-kissed ear. “Say again, I didn’t get all of that.” The FBI agent’s head and shoulders slouched while he continued to hold the phone tight to his head. There was no denying the body language; Manny tensed and waited. Now what?

  Corner dragged the phone from his ear and stood staring over the railing. His head was shaking slowly. Like he hadn’t believed what he’d just heard.

  “What is it Josh?” asked Manny.

  Corner heaved a sigh. “Detective Perez died about an hour ago.”

  Stunned didn’t cover it. He knew that her death was a possibility, but people expect the best and things usually work out. Not this time.

  “Damn,” rolled softly from Max Tucker’s mouth.

  Jenkins had struck again, this time from beyond the grave.

  ****************

  CHAPTER-75

  Manny’s spirit ached for Christiana Perez’s two boys and her husband. They had lost more than he could imagine. She was a good cop and loved her family more than herself.

  Life seemed so unfair, at times. It left wounds. But it does continue, like it or not. After deciding to make peace with that, Manny determined there was nothing more he could do, and maybe that he owed a little more to his wife than his job.

  He made a concerted effort to enjoy the morning’s post-breakfast activities that Louise had planned. They were going to go to the casino and then find a couple of empty deck chairs to work on their tans. But first, he wanted to finish reading the western he had started in San Juan.

  He hoped it would end with the same verve and swagger that it had begun. He pulled out the book, opened it, and began where he had left off.

  …Sage began to fire, shooting from the hip, then from the shoulder. Each round intended for an outlaw that needed dyin’…

  Marking the paragraph with his index finger, Manny turned to the next illustration in the book. The fascinating artist had created a masterful image; it seemed to come from the author’s very own mind’s eye.

  Sage Noble, a farmer turned gunslinger, stood in the center of the illustration and was as large as life. Sage’s face had grown craggy and lined with age, and he appeared to be tired from his journey. Yet, his pilot-blue eyes were alive and filled with a stirring purpose. His black hair was slightly out of place; hanging low on his forehead. His western-style blue tunic matched the gunslinger’s eyes perfectly.

  Manny raised his face to the hot sun and then stole a glance at Louise who was lying on her back in the deck chair beside him. She was relaxed and
wore a look of contentment on her face. It was good that she was finally enjoying herself.

  It was good for him, too.

  Her tanned skin glistened with mango-scented sunscreen and painted a pleasant contrast with her bright yellow two-piece, a very pleasant contrast. He made a mental note to check things out a little closer when they went back to the room.

  A tall, well-built man and his wife strolled across Manny’s line of sight holding hands, prompting his mind to wander, wondering, for about the millionth time, how Jenkins had gotten himself cornered like that. It hadn’t made sense then and it didn’t now.

  He pulled the Ray-Ban sunglasses back over his eyes and looked at the picture of Sage again. It was hard to imagine him as a farmer. The man looked like a gunslinger. The huge, ivory-handled revolver was melted to his large left hand and spewed yellow and orange fire as Sage took deadly aim at the outlaws.

  Large left hand! Manny sat straight up in his chair. His pulse quickened as his stare seared a hole through the artist’s work.

  My God, that’s it!

  How could he have been so blind? It was so simple. It had been right in front of him. Pictures don’t lie and neither does evidence. There had been something, but it had been hidden from him like an egg at an Easter hunt. Until now.

  It took maximum effort to harness his poise and hide his suspicion as he tapped Louise on the shoulder. He told her he was going to the cabin to change and then to the casino. She mumbled acknowledgement, reminded him about dinner at the Supper Club, and turned her face toward the rising sun. He jumped out of the chair and walked quickly to the elevators.

  Corner’s cabin wasn’t far and he prayed he was there. He had to be.

  His mind was churning with a truth that was now obvious, at least to him. He hoped the agent didn’t think he was nuts, but he was sure he could prove it.

  Evidence never lies.

  It wasn’t what everyone wanted to hear, not what anyone wanted to think about. But he was sure he was right. There was another killer on the Ocean Duchess. More deadly and clever than Jenkins had ever hoped to be.