The Island of the Skull

by Matthew John Costello

  The cabbie had his cap tipped back, giving his face the same weird grinning look of a ventriloquist’s dummy. She once worked with a dummy, actually the dummy and its owner. Sir Charles and Elmer, the act was called. The guy wasn’t much of a ventriloquist, and the jokes were even worse. Ann got most of the laughs flirting with the dummy.

  Now that was acting.

  But she hated the way the dummy looked. Glassy eyes with lids that blinked like a meat chopper falling down.

  She asked “Sir” Charles once: What’s the deal with the red lips on the dummy?

  “Why, my dear Ann, that way the rubes can see his lips move and, with luck, not see mine.”

  Though they did see, much more noticeably during the later shows, until it seemed as if Sir Charles, who affected the air of an aristocrat with this rude dummy for a friend, didn’t seem to care anymore.

  Creepy. Dummies, clowns—the bottom rungs of show business.

  And maybe…this.

  But Ann thought that if now she was about to experience something close to the bottom of show business, it was still legit show business at least.

  “No. I’ll get out here.”

  The driver shook his head. By now a few drops of rain started hitting the windshield. “I dunno sweetheart, raining and all. And you wanna get out?”

  “How much?” she said.

  The driver’s eyes widened a bit, and she wondered if he had yet another gambit to throw her way.

  “I’m in a rush.”

  He laughed. “You missed the sun, lady. But it’s sixty-five cents. Without the tip, of course.”

  Ann had to watch every penny, as if they could steal off on their own. She needed this job, and she needed to make it work. Get ahead a little bit, save some money. Then back to New York and try again. The bad days on Broadway couldn’t last forever. Get rid of Hoover, and things had to get better.

  Wouldn’t they?

  She gave him the coins, with a ten-cent tip.

  “Last of the big-time—” the man started to say, but Ann already was out the door, out on the street, slamming the door on the dummy-faced cabdriver.

  Should have given him nothing.

  Stupid man.

  She walked quickly, and directly up the ramp, stepping onto the splintery wood that led to the main boardwalk.

  People moved quickly up here, hurrying one way or the other. She did see some people hanging at stands, gobbling corn on the cob, or shoveling down wieners dripping mustard and sauerkraut. Small overhangs protecting them when the storm finally came.

  She had to find this place, the famous Steel Pier, before the rain came down.

  But that wasn’t hard to do.

  About another block down, she saw a massive sign filled with hundreds of lights for the nighttime. Giant letters proclaiming STEEL PIER.

  Is it really of steel, she wondered? Why would you make a pier out of steel? Wouldn’t wood be better? Or was that just dumb?

  As she hurried to it, she could see how big it was—a mammoth pier jutting into the Atlantic, the sea now filled with foamy white rolling waves, the water an ominous dark gray just like the sky.

  Good thing I’m not superstitious, Ann thought.

  She felt the first drops of water hit her arms. She wore her cute hat that she really shouldn’t have bought, shaped like a cup, a creamy tan color. She loved it—but getting it soaked wouldn’t be good.

  Close to the entrance, she watched people stream out of the pier. Wasn’t it an indoor place with shows, movies? Why wouldn’t people stay?

  She started to fight her way past the surging crowd.

  But then a man in a blue uniform who looked like a conductor stepped in front of her.

  “I’m sorry, miss. They’re closing the pier for the day. A bad storm coming in. They don’t want their patrons—”

  “I’m—I’m not a patron. I’m here to—”

  The man held his hand up to some other now-wet stragglers who were trying to head into the pier.

  Ann dug into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper.

  “I’m supposed to meet this man, Mr. Jerome Nadler.”

  The guard raised his eyes. “Mr. Nadler, hm?” He took the piece of paper.

  “He’s interviewing me for a job. I’m to dive, with the horses. I’m a rider, I guess they—”

  The guard waved the piece of paper at her. “You sure Mr. Nadler knows you’re coming? I’m not even sure he’s here today. He usually comes by for lunch, then off to his club, or—”

  “Please. I’ve come a long way. New York City. It’s starting to pour out.”

  “And worse on the way, it looks like.”

  “Right. So if I could just keep my appointment with him, that would be great.”

  The man smoothed his black mustache flecked with gray.

  “Okay, then. Guess it’s okay. But you best check in with the ticket office. They can ring him. See if he’s there. Let him know you’re coming.”

  Impulsively Ann reached out and gave the man’s arm a squeeze.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  The man nodded and smiled. “Let’s hope Mr. Nadler doesn’t have you trying the horses today, eh? They get spooked when the sea gets choppy, and it’s gone way beyond choppy.”

  Another squeeze, and Ann headed in the direction of the ticket booth.

  “Yes, sir, I will tell the young lady to go right in.”

  The man in the ticket booth hung up the phone and gave Ann a ticket.

  “Show this to the people inside.”

  Ann looked down to see a ticket that read: Visitor’s Pass—The Steel Pier.

  “And where should I go?”

  “Oh, okay. Once you’re in, just follow the signs, past the theaters, past the food display and big ballroom. That’s where you’ll head, got it, sister?”

  “Out to where they have the water show, the horses?”

  The man squinted a bit behind his glasses. “No, not out there. Nobody out there now. That’s all closed up. No, Mr. Nadler will meet you by the bell.”

  Ann opened her mouth, as if about to ask a question. But she had that first slight hesitation, as if things might not be what she thought them to be.

  “The bell?”

  The man nodded again even as he took some bills out of a drawer and began counting them. So many bills—hard to imagine that people still came here, that some people still had money to spend. She noticed the sign above the ticket booth’s cage. ONE LOW PRICE—SEE ALL THE SHOWS!

  “Yup, the bell,” he said again.

  Finally she had to ask the question.

  “What bell?”

  The man shook his head, looking as if he was thinking…didn’t everyone know this? Was Ann somehow left off the list of people who…knew this?

  “The diving bell, girlie. The Steel Pier’s diving bell. That’s where Mr. Nadler is going to meet you. And you better hurry. I hear he hates to be kept waiting.”

  He went back to counting his money, so Ann pulled back.

  She was clueless as to why they’d meet there.

  Did Mr. Nadler have an office there?

  Another step backward, and the man looked up as if noting her lack of progress.

  And then Ann turned, and started hurrying into the mammoth interior of America’s showplace, inside the pier filled with stage shows, and cars, and exhibits, and movies, and—apparently—something called a diving bell.

  8

  San Francisco Bay

  SAM CHECKED TOMMY’S EXHAUST VALVE. Everything seemed okay with the kid—except for his bug-eyed look staring out of the round porthole.

  Come on, Sam thought. Just don’t panic.

  Don’t go all crazy, grab me, get us both trapped down here. I’m almost done with this job.

  Let me get out alive.

  Sam tugged on the metal spar pinning the other diver. It didn’t budge—in fact, it seemed like it never could have moved, the big chunk of metal rammed into the kid’s midsection.


  Sam raised his hands up to Tommy, palms out, signaling Hold on. We’re okay here.

  Though Sam had the thought that we’re definitely not okay. The kid had been down way too long, that metal close to ripping into his suit. Tommy’s light was just about dead, down to a pathetic yellow that barely illuminated the bits of debris swirling around his helmet.

  And my light won’t last forever either, Sam knew.

  He looked around the rooms reaching for…something.

  There, in the corner, was what looked like a loose bit of metal. Maybe it had popped off when the shelving moved.

  Sam took a heavy step forward, and another, and then reached out for the metal. His gloved hand closed around it, felt its weight. A nice piece of steel.

  He turned back to Tommy. Bad news.

  Small bubbles escaping from his suit where the spear was.

  If this found piece of metal helped, if Sam actually could use it to free the other diver, the kid would have a hole in his suit. Small now, but damned sure to get bigger.

  Sam hesitated.

  It was this moment they talked about when he trained in New London. Toward the very end of the advanced instruction—advanced in the sense you had a master chief talking and acting like he’d seen anything and everything under the sea.

  He told some stories…diving a wreck off Block Island, a recovery. Real seas, not a practice in a calm bay. And a diver gets trapped in a corridor when a bulkhead shifts.

  There may come that moment, he said, when you know that it’s over for the other guy. And you have to know…

  Here the chief raised his voice and looked at the roomful of now supposedly advanced helmet divers: And you have to know that it’s over for him.

  The message was clear. There could come a time when you had to protect your own skin. Get the hell out of there, and be glad that it was, maybe, the other guy this time, and not you.

  Sam looked at Tommy. The eyes showed fear, but now maybe something else. The kid wasn’t stupid. Resignation.

  Was it that time yet? Sam wondered.

  Time to let him go?

  Hell no, he thought.

  He came closer to Tommy.

  Sam didn’t make eye contact. No, let it look as though I’m just doing what has to be done….

  Besides, Sam didn’t need to see those same wild eyes. He quickly wedged the metal piece under the bar pinning the trapped diver. He levered it up slowly until metal touched metal, using part of the shelf as a resistance point.

  Sam’s light had faded a bit. Now the murky shadows in the underwater room deepened. He could barely make out the outline of the two pieces of metal, the shelving, the place where one piece dug into Tommy’s suit.

  The angle looked good, though. If he hit it just right, he should be able to move the piece up, and away.

  But there was no time for any doubts, no time now but to do it.

  His two hands locked on the loose metal piece and tightened.

  And only now did he look at Tommy, and give him an awkward nod with his helmet.

  Gonna be okay, kid. We’re gonna get you out of this one.

  Sam kept repeating that to himself, repeating, thinking, as if that would make it so.

  One. Two.

  Gloved hands as tight as possible.

  Three.

  He pulled up on the bar. At first, he felt nothing but resistance—the other piece was moving. He felt his arm muscles tighten. Sam was in good shape—high school football hadn’t been that long ago. But so far, no movement.

  He breathed hard, sucking the compressed air in and out, trying to purchase a bit more strength.

  He felt his brow furrow, then beads of sweat.

  Move, damn it. Let the kid go free. Don’t goddamn do this to me when I have only days left.

  Move!

  And it did, the bar jostled up, startling when it finally shifted. Then after gaining maybe merely an inch it seemed stuck again.

  Sam looked down. The jagged end of the bar had cut a longer swath into the kid’s suit. Bubbles streamed upward, a crazy line of them escaping to the roof of the room.

  Still looking down—no way he could stop now—he kept the levered pressure pulling up.

  The bubbles were now mixed with blood.

  Another gloved hand fell on his hands wrapped tight around the bar.

  Sam turned to the kid, expecting to see the fear, the panic completely in control now, the resignation.

  But the eyes looked the same. And the kid did an amazing thing.

  He moved his hand under where Sam grabbed the metal, and now—and Sam almost couldn’t believe it—the kid pushed upward.

  With metal cutting into him, and God knows what the state of his fresh air and exhaust was—and the kid was helping.

  People…

  Amazing goddamn things people can do, Sam thought. Put them into an incredible situation, and you never know what you’re going to see.

  And it helped, the bar now sliding up, now free of the suit, no longer cutting the material, up until…a bit more, almost there—

  There was nothing holding the kid.

  Sam let go of the metal, and wasted no time grabbing Tommy’s hand that had just been helping. Fingers wrapped tight.

  Sam walked and pulled Tommy behind him. Hell, he’d carry the other diver if he had to. They just had to make it out of the ship, past the hull, and even with his gash, Tommy should be able to partially inflate his suit.

  God, we’re gonna make it, Sam thought.

  Unbelievable.

  Step after step, into the corridor, then moving to the opening. Sam had to take care that they didn’t get either of their hoses snagged. Wouldn’t want to blow it now. Now when they were so close.

  A turn out of the corridor. His light, almost dead, barely caught the outline of the exit.

  He turned back to Tommy.

  Almost there, partner.

  More steps, and Sam was out. He moved away from the jagged opening checking his hoses. Then Tommy was there, still streaming bubbles, still with the dark reddish cloud from his middle.

  Sam made a thumbs-up gesture. Time to hit the surface.

  Tommy nodded. He’d know enough to take it slow. Just enough air, to get buoyant, a slow controlled ride to the surface.

  Sam waited till Tommy started gliding up, all that heavy metal now made to look as though it was filled with air.

  And when he couldn’t see Tommy anymore, Sam inflated his own suit slowly, until he felt that first bit of lightness, and he started to rise off the floor of San Francisco Bay.

  His single thought: If you have to have a last dive with the Navy, this isn’t a bad way to end it.

  And Sam rose up slowly to the surface, and the waiting dive ship.

  9

  Atlantic City, New Jersey

  ANN SAW A MAN STANDING just inside two glass doors. The glass was flecked with rain, and the man talked on the phone while great puffs from his cigar spiraled upward, to the high roof of the pier.

  “No, wait a minute! The babe is here. Yeah. ’Kay.” This had to be Mr. Nadler. He jammed down the phone and turned to Ann.

  “What took you so long, dollface? I’m a busy man.”

  “I came right—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Lot to see if you haven’t been here before.”

  “I took a wrong turn.”

  “Near the games? Designed to get people to stay, play—” He laughed. “Spend more money.”

  While Nadler talked, Ann looked around. Above the doors she saw a painting and the words The World-Famous Steel Pier’s…and in bigger letters, dripping a bright blue paint…Diving Bell.

  A small sign hanging over the door read: CLOSED DUE TO WEATHER.

  To the side, barely noticed, a ticket booth.

  “So, you’re from New York? Broadway, hm? Guess this is a bit unusual for you?”

  Ann nodded. “I’m an actress. But—I thought this might be good. Performing with the horses. Something different.�
�

  The man took a long drag of his cigar. “Right. Gotcha. We all need work these days, hm? That is why we asked them for someone who could ride, someone with, you know, some ability.” Another drag of a cigar. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re a looker, either.”

  True enough. You didn’t navigate the offices and backstages of entertainment without facing this kind of stuff all the time. Someday, Ann thought, she’d be past it. Past the cheap cigars, the creeps with the bug eyes, and the even creepier ones who let their meaty paws do whatever they wanted to.

  She took a breath. Whatever had to be dealt with now…she was ready to deal with it.

  “Yeah, something different,” he continued. “Guess things weren’t working out so well back in New York, hm?”

  She held his gaze, as she tried to ignore the truth of his words. Another breath. “Things are tough all over.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?” Nadler looked out the glass doors, and the wet spatters hitting the glass, running down to the boardwalk. “But here’s the thing…”

  He took a step closer to Ann, and she felt that sinking feeling.

  Don’t tell me that the job is gone, that I spent what little money I had to come here, and now there’s no job.

  She knew her eyes had to be betraying her fears. She never was any good at hiding much of anything. What was that her grandfather used to say on his farm upstate?

  Feelings weren’t meant for hiding.

  “Something’s wrong?” Ann said.

  “Not exactly wrong, Ann—it is Ann, right?”

  She nodded.

  “But we had one of our girls…thought she might be pregnant. Didn’t want to take any chances. But now it turns out.” Another puff, a satisfied smile. “Turns out she isn’t!”

  Ann had to wonder if Nadler had some kind of connection to the girl beyond being her boss. That would certainly explain the relieved smile.

  Ann blew at a few stray strands of her blond hair that seemed to have a mind of their own.

  “So there’s no job?”

  She looked away, the impact of her words now so powerful she thought she could easily start crying. But then thinking: No way I’m crying, not in front of this creep, no way I’ll let him—