In less than a minute, they had dragged the unconscious Paul to the port settee, the one on the low side, given Diamantista II's current angle of heel. They rolled him to a facedown position, and Gina trussed his wrists, ankles, and knees with duct tape.
She stood up and looked at Dalton, a question on her face.
He grinned and nodded. "Lookin' good," he whispered, reaching in his pocket and withdrawing the pliers.
Gina shuddered. She turned back to Paul and tore off a six-inch strip of tape, plastering it over his mouth.
"She ain't gonna be able to hear him scream," Dalton said, his grin fading to a puzzled frown.
"Later, babe. Not now. Put them pliers back in your pocket. Remember, we's gonna let her sleep, okay?" When Dalton nodded, she continued. "I'm goin' up there and steer 'til she gets up. You can set down here and think about makin' him squeal, but I need you to do somethin' for me first."
"Okay. What?"
"Gimme a nose bleed. Don't hit me too hard, now. I don't need no broke nose, just lots of blood." She braced herself, hoping he wouldn't do too much damage.
His grin came back. He feinted to his right, and when she flinched, turning her face away, he delivered a sizzling, backhand blow that knocked her over against the other settee.
She shook her head, dazed, blood gushing from her nostrils. She swallowed involuntarily, gagging on the metallic taste. "You asshole," she muttered, "I said I didn't want it broke."
"Not my fault if you can't take a punch. Rolled right into it, you stupid bitch. You wanted blood, you sure as shit got it. Now what?"
"Now we wait 'til she comes up in the cockpit. Soon's she's goin' up them steps, you wake him up, if he ain't come to by then. When you hear her ask me what happened, you rip that tape off his mouth and make him holler, the louder the better. You got it?"
He grinned and nodded, looking at his soon-to-be victim.
"Don't you forget, now, you make him holler, but don't do him no real damage. We gonna need him for a hostage for several days. You fuck him up too bad, he ain't gonna be no good to us. You remember how I told you we was gonna do this? We gonna let her keep thinkin' I'm on her side. Don't forget. That's real important."
He nodded. "Okay. I got it. How long 'fore I can get at her, you reckon?"
"One thing at a time. I told you you could have her, but we need her lookin' normal to get them diamonds, so just keep it in your pants 'til I tell you." She glared at him for a few seconds until he dropped his eyes. Then she turned and went up into the cockpit.
"Gina!" Connie scrambled into the cockpit, spilling the mug of coffee that she carried as she rushed to Gina's side. "What's wrong?" She sat down and put an arm around the girl's shoulders her other hand reaching toward Gina's blood-encrusted face.
"It's Dalton," Gina said, her speech impaired by her damaged nose. "He's done flipped out, and he — "
She was interrupted by a long, wailing scream from below deck.
"Paul?" Connie yelled. "Paul, where are you? Dalton's — "
Another scream ripped through the companionway. Connie stood up and whirled around, putting one hand on each side of the companionway opening as she set herself to vault through the hatch.
"Don't, Connie," Gina said, wrapping her arms around Connie's shoulders and pulling her away from the opening. "He's done got Paul tied up down there and he's — "
"Connie!" Dalton's voice bellowed. "Set your pretty little brown ass down behind the helm and do what I say, or I'll cut the pig's fuckin' throat. Tell her, pig."
"Do it, Connie." Paul said, "He's — " Paul let out a long shriek that trailed off into a whimper.
Connie, stunned, let Gina lead her back to the helm. "Is he hallucinating, or what?" she asked, as she sat down and slid into position.
"Gina?" Dalton called from below.
"Yeah?" Gina said, a tremor in her voice. "Please, Dalton, don't — "
"Shut up! She steerin' this here boat like I told her?"
"Yeah, but — "
"I said for you to shut up, Gina. One more time, and I'll cut his fuckin' throat. Don't neither one of you bitches say nothin' less'n I tell you to."
"What does he want?" Connie asked, in a whisper.
Gina leaned over and put her lips to Connie's ear. "He — "
"Gina?" Dalton yelled.
She sat up, pulling away from Connie.
"Yeah?"
"Tell her what I told you, 'bout Martinique and them diamonds."
Connie frowned and looked at Gina.
"Connie!" Dalton yelled.
"Yes?"
"You listen to her, and you listen good. You do just exactly what the fuck you're told, and maybe I'll let you and this here worthless pig keep on a-breathin' for a while longer, ennyhow."
There was another protracted scream, followed by a cackle of laughter.
"I'll make the pig squeal ever' now and then, just so's you don't try nothin' stupid, though. You understand?"
"I'll do anything you say, Dalton. Just don't hurt him, please. Anything."
"I'm gonna hold you to that, bitch. You be thinkin' 'bout what you done agreed to, for when your time comes. Now, Gina, tell her what's what."
"He done found your lockbox, the one had the diamond earrings in it. He wants you to take us to Martinique, and he wants the diamonds."
"He can keep the earrings, Gina. I'll take you to Martinique, but then what?"
"He said you had more diamonds in some kinda bank box. Said he found pictures and papers of some kind, and they was worth somethin' like $2 million."
Connie waited, her face betraying nothing.
"He wants 'em all, Connie. And this here boat. The whole shebang, he said, or he'll kill you both. He's crazy enough to do it, too. That story 'bout him bein' locked up for possession with intent to sell?"
Connie nodded for her to continue.
"That was bullshit ... well, I guess it was true, but he'd done his time for that and got released. Then they found out he'd been a-killin' people. That DNA stuff they do. They sent him off for good 'cause of that. Six murders, they could prove. More, they suspected."
Connie shook her head. "Then how did — "
"He excaped. I don't know how. He come and found me, made me come with him. He'd a kilt me in a minute, see, if'n I'd a said no. It don't mean nothin' to him, killin' somebody, no more 'n steppin' on a bug to you or me."
"So once we get to Martinique and he's got the diamonds, then what? Is he going to kill me and Paul then? You said he wanted the boat."
"He said if'n you went along, did ever'thing he said, he'd put you all in the dinghy once we was out of sight of land, and y'all could go on back to Martinique. He said just with the oars, though. No motor. That'd give him time to get us away."
"What about you, Gina?"
"Me? What about me?"
"Aren't you worried he'll decide to kill you?"
"Ever' breath I take since he showed up in that bar in Annapolis, I figgered he might take a notion for it to be my last one. Yeah, I'm scared. Ain't nothin' new though. I been scared my whole life. If he don't kill me, somebody's gonna."
"Think he might let you come in the dinghy with me and Paul, after he's got what he wants?"
Gina trembled, tears running down her cheeks. She shrugged. "I don't ... it ain't no good dreamin' 'bout stuff that can't ... "
"Gina?" Dalton yelled.
"Yeah?"
"You tell her?"
"Yeah."
"Connie?" he yelled.
"Yes, Dalton."
"You understand what you gotta do to keep you and this piece-of-shit pig alive?"
"I have a question, but yes, I understand."
"You got a question, you fuckin' pepper-belly, wet-back whore? That's gonna cost you."
There was another drawn-out scream. "Okay, Paul done bought you one question. Ask."
"How am I going to get the diamonds from the bank?"
"You done made me hurt your pet pig so's you could ask
a dumbass question like that? Damned if he don't sound like a sow instead of a boar hog, ennyhow. I'll tell you how to get the diamonds when we get to Martinique. You just worry 'bout keepin' me sweet 'til then, hot stuff. Before long, you gonna get to try it on with a real man, 'stead of this here limp-dick bastard you been messin' with. Gina?"
"Yeah?"
"Get your ass down here where I can keep an eye on you. I don't want you and her cookin' up no schemes. You got 'til I count ten or I'll make the pig squeal. One ... "
Gina jumped up and darted to the companionway. As she descended the ladder, Connie heard, "Two ... all right, Gina. Come on up here and set down next to my buddy Paul."
Connie's mind was racing as she held Diamantista II on her original course. She wondered if Dalton had forgotten about the need for a course change. Should she mention it, and risk upsetting him? Or should she hold her course? The smudge on the horizon to the south was growing steadily darker; she estimated that they were about 30 miles from the Virgins, although without a position fix, she wasn't sure which of the islands they'd fetch on their present heading.
She'd heard subdued conversation from below deck off and on through the morning, but she couldn't make out what was being said. The absence of further screams was a relief. She had chewed the inside of her cheek until it was swollen, worrying about Paul.
She couldn't help wondering what Dalton had done to make him scream so; she knew Paul was tough. She hoped that he was exaggerating his pain to keep Dalton from inflicting more damage. There was no way she could know, and that tormented her.
She saw movement below; Gina was at the chart table. Connie stood up behind the helm, hoping her change in position would catch the girl's attention. Gina looked up at her, nodded, put a finger to her lips, and then held up a hand, her index finger and thumb close together. Connie got the message and nodded, sitting down again.
She watched as Gina took out the GPS and went through the ritual of plotting their position. Dalton must have told her to set a new course to take them to Martinique. Gina moved from the chart table into the galley. Connie heard the solenoid valve on the propane tank in the locker under her seat and realized that Gina was lighting the stove.
Maybe she'd think to make Connie a cup of coffee; she needed the caffeine, having missed her normal morning fix. She was hungry, too. If Dalton expected her to take him all the way to Martinique, surely he would allow her some refreshments. Not that she planned to take the bastard there, but she hadn't yet come up with an alternative. Martinique was three days away; he was bound to drop his guard at some point.
The problem was that he was out of sight with Paul, so she couldn't tell how either of them was holding up. There was Gina, a go-between of sorts, but Connie didn't trust her. The girl admitted to being scared of Dalton, doing as he wished only because she was afraid not to, but Connie remembered the conversations she and Paul had about the girl. Something about her ...
Her thoughts were interrupted when Gina reached over the bridge deck and put down a cup of coffee and a thermos. Connie started to reach for them, but Gina motioned for her to wait. Connie nodded. Gina put a plate with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on it beside the thermos and climbed out into the cockpit. She handed Connie the steaming mug and tucked the thermos in beside Connie's right hip, turning to pick up the plate.
Gina sat down next to Connie and held the plate for her. "He told me to plot us and figger out a course for Martinique," Gina said.
Connie nodded.
"I got 135 degrees. Does that make sense?"
Connie nodded again.
"He said we could talk about the course."
"Okay," Connie said. "That should put us in sight of Martinique in about three days, give or take. I can eyeball it from there."
Gina shook her head. "He wants me to plot us ever' few hours. He don't trust us. He said he'd check sometime, and if we was messin' around, Paul would pay."
Connie picked up a sandwich and motioned for Gina to come close. She put her mouth to Gina's ear. "Is Paul okay? What's Dalton done to him?"
Gina shifted her position so that she could whisper into Connie's ear. "He ain't hurt none, not yet. Dalton likes to pinch under people's arms with a pair of pliers."
Connie flinched at the idea.
Gina put an arm around her and squeezed, leaning to her ear. "It hurts plenty, but it don't do no real damage. I oughta know. He been doin' it to me since we was kids. Paul's gonna be okay, long's you keep Dalton happy. He knows he needs Paul to make you do what he says, so he ain't likely to do him any real harm, less 'n you give him 'cause. Don't worry none. I been livin' with this long's I can remember; I'll get y'all through, I think."
Connie gave her a squeeze. "Thanks," she whispered.
"I gotta go," Gina whispered, and stood up.
23
Connie's arms were tiring; she'd been fighting the helm for the last few hours. By over-trimming the sails, she had slowed their speed to about six knots, but the unbalanced sail trim was causing weather helm. She had flattened the sails, reducing their drive, and managed to overcome most of the boat's tendency to round up; she was using the brake on the helm to minimize her fatigue as she resisted the increased pressure of the rudder resulting from the boat's tendency to turn into the wind.
Her hope had been that by slowing the boat and taking advantage of the westerly setting current and the increased leeway from the over-trimmed sails, she could pass within a couple of miles of the Virgin Islands. She assumed that Dalton was keeping an eye on their heading by using the telltale compass down in the saloon, so she couldn't just steer for the islands. Judging from the proximity of Virgin Gorda to the west, she thought she had succeeded.
She worked her cellphone out of her pocket and put her thumb over the speaker holes to muffle the sound it would make when she powered it up. Her plan was to send an SOS text message if she could get service. As the phone came to life, she was disappointed to see "no service" in the upper left corner of the screen. She powered the phone down and had just put it back in her pocket when Gina appeared at the companionway.
"Connie?"
"Yes?"
"I done somethin' wrong, I reckon."
Connie nodded, not wanting to speak and risk provoking Dalton. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
"I just done a plot, and I reckon we're 'bout eight miles closer to the islands than that course line I drawed before says we oughta be."
Connie shrugged.
Gina looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, "Sorry. It's okay to talk; Dalton sent me to ask you 'bout it. He's been a watchin' the compass down here, and he said you was a steerin' right like you was supposed to."
"Yes, well, that's why it's important to plot fixes regularly. We've had a little wind shift, and the boat's slowed down. The wind and the current are both trying to push us to the west, and the slower we go along our compass course, the faster they'll push us off our course line."
"I figgered it was somethin' like that. I seen we'd only gone a little over half as far in the last four hours as we'd been goin', but Dalton said to ask you."
"You've probably got it right," Connie said.
"So now what?" Gina asked.
"Can you figure a new course to Martinique?"
"Yeah, I think I done that. It's 130 degrees. That make sense?"
"Without looking at the chart, I can't be a hundred percent sure, but that sounds reasonable; it's got more east in it to make up for our set and drift to the west."
"Gina?" Dalton yelled.
"Yeah?"
"You hear me, Connie?"
"Yes."
"Okay, Gina, you get up there and drive for a minute. Connie?"
"Yes."
"You come down here and see if she done that right."
"Okay; I'll come down as soon as she's got the helm. It's taking more effort to steer now than it did before the wind changed, so I can't let go until Gina's got it."
Connie
rose off the seat and shifted her position to the leeward as Gina slid behind the helm. "Got it?" she asked.
"Yes'm," Gina said. She continued in a low tone, "If'n I messed up, don't say nothin', please."
Connie looked at her and saw the naked fear on the girl's battered face. She winked and nodded, getting to her feet and going below. She stole a quick look into the saloon, making use of the big mirror on the bulkhead forward of the dining table. Dalton was on the port settee, his eyes closed and his head back, relaxed. She recognized the chrome plated, slip-joint pliers from the galley drawer on the table. His right forearm rested on the tabletop, the pliers and a 10-inch chef's knife, also from the galley drawer, close to his hand. She caught a glimpse of Paul, trussed with duct tape on the starboard settee, facing toward Dalton.
She slipped into the seat at the chart able and dallied over checking Gina's work, not really caring about their position. She'd already decided to slow their progress, staying as close to the Virgin Islands as she could for as long as she could. She had a better idea of where everyone was below decks now. With almost eight feet separating Dalton from Paul, and the dining table between them, she thought she could take Dalton before he got to Paul.
Still, it would be risky, and she didn't know how Gina might react. From Gina's recent behavior, Connie thought she might stay out of the way, or even come to her assistance, but she didn't like the odds. It would be safer for Paul if she could get both Dalton and Gina above deck, where she could avoid any surprises from Gina while she disabled him.
"Plot looks good to me," she said, peering around the edge of the bookcase above the chart table to get another look at Dalton in the mirror without showing herself.
"Good," Dalton said, not moving, not even opening his eyes. "Get that sweet little ass of yours back to drivin'. Gina?"
Connie was on the companionway ladder when Gina answered.
"Yeah?"
"Make her some coffee and sandwiches, you hear me?"
"Yeah, okay. Can I have some, too?"
"Yeah. Fix enough for you and me both. The pig don't need nothin'."
Storm Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 4th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series Page 17
