In a small stateroom, Reed sat on a berth next to an end table. Even through the thick-glassed, rain streaked porthole, I could see his breathing was rapid and shallow, eyes half-closed in a tear stained face. A small bruise had formed on his right cheek and the sleeve of his t-shirt had a rip in it. The kid looked absolutely scared to death, but exhausted and resigned to his fate. Every now and then he tugged at something with his left arm. I looked down. His left wrist was manacled to a post.
That’s when I understood the phrase about something making your blood boil. I could feel rage race through my veins and arteries like hot lava. Time to stop this Manning son of a bitch.
The sound of movement above and hurried footsteps going somewhere caused me to freeze. The overhead sounds thudded more away from me than near. A few seconds later, Manning opened the door to the stateroom. My right hand was holding onto an overhead rail for stability, but I pulled back and leaned against the wall. I was afraid to move, so I unzipped the pouch with my free left hand and pulled out one of the guns. I glanced at it. Lady Blue. Good enough for me.
I heard the muttering of a voice and the sounds of movement again. I took the chance and leaned in to look into the stateroom again. Manning’s back was to me, but Reed was facing the window. He saw me and his eyes opened wide with astonishment. Before he could say or do anything I put my finger to my lips in a shushing gesture, banging my chin with the gun. He looked at me, nodded, and glanced away. Manning, meanwhile, was concentrating on unlocking the shackles, his back still to me.
Let’s be clear about this. If it weren’t for the uncertainty of the porthole glass being bulletproof, I would have shot Manning in the back then and there. Save nobility for the movies. I wanted to rescue the kid and get off a boat heading into a hurricane. However, it was within the realm of possibility the windows were bulletproof and I didn’t want the shot to ricochet back at me.
So hugging the wall, I crept around to the sliding door of the lower passageway. My hope was to enter quietly, but I got over that notion real quick. First, the door wouldn’t budge. Probably locked from the inside. Second, even if I got in, I would only be in the passageway. What was I going to do, knock on the stateroom door and wait for Manning to say come in?
Just as I was going over this in my mind, the door to the stateroom burst open. I pulled back and Manning came out, dragging Reed behind him and hauling him to the inside stairs – or whatever the hell it’s called on a boat – and up to the top deck and pilothouse. I turned to the outside stairs and snuck up as quietly as possible until I got about half way. Thank God for the Jelly’s. Not only were they noiseless, they gripped the slick surfaces like nobody’s business. I’m going to buy stock in these things.
I glanced out over what I could see of the horizon. No land in sight, just ugly, mean water. The waves were becoming more frequent and intense now that we were in the Gulf of Mexico. The boat dipped and crested on larger waves, the wind and rain bit at me from every angle. There was a sudden lurch. I lost my balance, banging my knee against one of the metal steps, and made a grab for the guardrail.
I heard the door of the pilothouse slam open. Manning’s voice bellowed out over the wind and water, in a taunting, singsong tone.
“All right, Ms. Alvarez. Come out, come out, wherever you are. I know you’re here. I was radioed by the captain of the tugboat that someone was on my platform. I can’t think of anybody else who would want to stow away on a boat heading into a hurricane.”
Between the storm and the hood, I couldn’t make out every single word, but heard enough to cause me to freeze in place. I released the safety on Lady Blue, still in my left hand. There was a moment of silence. I reached back and touched the Smith and Wesson inside the pouch with my right. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I had two guns. I had two chances to get this right. I heard Manning’s booming voice again, this time over every other sound.
“I’m going to count to three, Ms Alvarez, and then I’m going to shoot the boy.”
I heard Reed let out a cry and struggle briefly.
“Now I’d hoped to have him along during the journey for some amusement on those long, boring nights, but I am willing to kill him now if necessary.” He paused. “One,” he stretched out the word. “Two…”
I stood and hurled myself up to the top of steps, extending my left arm full out, gun in hand, bracing myself against a wall. The barrel aimed at his forehead, I took a wide stance on the deck in my purple plastic Jelly’s. I was as ready as I would ever be.
Manning looked at me with amusement and surprise. “Why, very good, Ms. Alvarez.”
He turned his gun away from Reed’s head and pointed it toward me. Reed squealed and tried to pull away. Manning had him in a vise-like grip and didn’t even bother to look down at the struggling boy.
We stood there, no more than eight feet from one another, guns aimed at one another’s forehead, trying to keep our footing in the rolling and pitching boat. But there was no way either of us could miss from this distance. My only solace was that if I went, I would be taking Manning out with me.
“I wasn’t sure if you would come prepared,” he shouted. “I would have hated to shoot an unarmed woman.”
“You didn’t seem to have any trouble shooting Felicity Llewellyn,” I shouted back over the fury of the storm. My left hand held my Detective Special, but my right hand touched the pouch behind me.
I saw Manning lose his cool for the first time.
“That bitch! I’m glad she’s dead. That stupid bitch. Deliberately gave Pammy an overdose. She killed my little girl. And bragged about it. I was only screwing her as part of the deal. Llewellyn had big, rich contacts. She made a lot of money from what we were doing, too. That bitch thought if my wife was out of the picture, I would take her away with me. As if.”
He let out a sardonic laugh, that forced the rushing winds to recede in my ears, it was that ominous. Then his lower lip quivered.
“My wife called me as Llewellyn was shooting her up. By the time I got home, the bitch was gone and Pammy was dead. Pammy meant everything to me. I loved that little girl.”
He looked away for a split second, fighting for control of himself. I made a slight move forward, but he straightened up. This time he returned the gun to Reed’s head.
“Drop the gun, Ms. Alvarez, or I’ll kill the boy. I swear. Right here and now.” I hesitated. “Do it!” He screamed, tapping the side of Reed’s head with the gun.
Reed let out a small cry lost in the storm. Horror written all over his face, he stood stock still, just staring at me.
I lowered the gun, my mind racing. I released it from my hand. The top aft deck had an only two thin guard lines protecting me from the elements and water, fathoms deep.
The boat lurched. A big wave had hit across the right side. Water washed across the forward deck. I fought to stay steady. I felt the cold, wet currents wrap around my ankles almost like a living thing, pulling and pushing at me.
The sluicing water was powerful enough to take Lady Blue, slide it across the deck, and drop it into the water. I didn’t hear or see it happen, but I knew it did. My eyes never left Manning.
I was like a golfer I once knew who credited her success on the green to never losing sight of where the ball had to ultimately wind up. Practice your swing, she’d say, learn to do everything right, but when the time comes, forget it all and focus only on the hole in one. Manning was my hole in one.
The SOB gave another sardonic laugh and swung his gun around on me again. If I could get mine out of the pouch before he shot me dead, maybe I could save Reed and me. Or maybe I couldn’t. At least, I had to try.
But you got to hand it to kids. They are one inventive, resilient lot. Instead of struggling to pull free, Reed took advantage of another lurch, and shoved hard against Manning, throwing him off balance.
That was the split second I needed. I made a grab for the Smith and Wesson. Never taking my eyes off the center of his forehead, I whipped m
y arm around, locked my elbow, and fired exactly at the same instant he did.
It was a Zen moment for me. I didn’t feel the bucking of the boat, the wind, the rain, or the bullet piercing my left arm. All I was aware of was the small, dark red circle suddenly appearing in the middle of Manning’s forehead, the look of surprise on his face.
As fast as all that went, what followed seemed to happen in slow motion. The impact from the bullet threw Manning’s head back making his body arch, almost like he was an acrobat going into a back bend. The boat did the rest. Once again, a large wave struck the right side, putting the boat at a dangerous slant. On dead feet, Manning stumbled backward. Still with a vise-like grip on Reed’s small, thin arm, Manning hit the railing and started going over, pulling the child with him.
I was also thrown against the railing, my left arm not working to help me hang on to it. I dropped the gun, which slid into the drink just like Lady Blue had. My right hand now free, I made a lunge for Reed.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Being a Hero Is Not All It’s Cracked Up To Be
Just in time, I got a hold on Reed’s t-shirt then grabbed him by the neck. Throwing myself down on the deck and against the railing, I yanked Reed down with me, trying to counter the weight of a dead man pulling in the other direction.
Manning’s body tottered on the thin rail. For a moment, I thought all three of us might go overboard. I managed to wrench Reed free, and the man fell into the swirling, never-ending waters of the Gulf.
The boat rocked and shuddered. Reed and I clung to each other, struggling with the terror of it all. Finally Reed looked up at me, features distorted with fear and shock. I couldn’t tell where the rain began on his face or the tears ended.
“He was going to shoot me! And he tried to take me over the side with him. He was going to kill me!”
The timbre of Reed’s voice replicated the howling of the wind, growing in intensity with each word. I saw his small body shake in waves and realized it was probably him I felt shuddering, as well as the boat.
“Reed,” I shouted over the wind. “It’s all right now. We’re all right now.” I wanted to wrap both arms around him but couldn’t seem to move my left one. It felt numb except for the burning hot spot below my shoulder and a weakness all over.
Meanwhile the boat battled the waves, while salt-laced wind and water burned our faces. Foam gathered around us and in the corners of the upper deck.
“We’re going to die; we’re going to die,” he cried out, his voice ending in a wail.
“Not if I can help it. But I can’t work my arm, so you’re going to have to help me do this.”
Hyperventilating, he noticed my arm for the first time. “You’re shot! You’re bleeding! He shot you! Oh, sweet Jesus!” Wailing, he burst into tears.
I grabbed Reed’s shoulder with my good arm and shook him then gave him a hug.
“Stop it, Reed. Stop it, please. I need your help right now. This is no time to panic. Stop!”
“I’m scared.” He swallowed hard. His whine almost got buried inside his shaking body and the sound of the wind.
“Too bad,” I yelled in his face. “We don’t have time for it. This eff-ing boat is heading right for a hurricane. Maybe we’re already in it. We need to get inside the pilothouse.”
It was taking a lot of effort to try to calm the boy. And all I really wanted to do was lie down. On a bed. In a dry room. With my cat and a martini. I also felt a little nauseated. Maybe it was the constant motion of the boat. Maybe it was being shot for the first time in my life; there was that.
If the kid was going to be a liability instead of a helpmate, we were in serious trouble. Well, more serious trouble. And I was fresh out of ideas.
“Reed. I’m scared, too. And I’m wounded. You have to help me save us. We need to do this together.”
I looked at him and he looked at me. Reed hesitated then nodded. I could see a boy entering manhood.
“Now help me up.” I bent my left arm at the elbow and held it close to my body. It didn’t make it feel any better, but I felt more protected. It was hard trying to balance my body like that. Dizzy, I leaned against the railing and couldn’t quite stand.
“Come on.” He stood straight up but was thrown against the railing by a shift in the boat. That didn’t deter him. He reached down and starting pulling on my good arm. “Come on, Lee. We need to take care of that arm.”
When the kid took charge, he didn’t mess around. I was fine with it, though, and struggled to get up, fighting weakness as much as the elements. Reed wrapped his arm around my waist and together we labored to get inside the pilothouse. Once we closed the port side door, the noise of the storm was softened but that didn’t make it any better.
I looked out at the unobstructed view through the panoramic windows into a world of green-grey nastiness. We were being battered from all sides by an astounding power. I’d never seen anything like it before. And I’ve never felt so small and helpless.
Compared to the outside catastrophe, the cabin looked calm and serene, windshield wipers beating a steady rhythm on the windows. In front of two high-backed, brown leather chairs bolted into the floor, four huge monitors sat mounted atop the control console. Each monitor showed the churning waters we were plowing through from the front, back, and at either side. The view wasn’t good in any of them.
Directly in front of one of the pilot chairs was an old-fashioned pirate’s wheel. Out of place in the era of high-tech bells and whistles, it looked like one more thing on a megalomaniac’s wish list.
Reed and I struggled against the pitching of the boat and made our way to the console. Dripping blood, I leaned against the captain’s chair. I studied the dozens of dials and paraphernalia, colored lights blinking malevolently at me. I was horrified. It was like being on the bridge of the Enterprise in a Star Trek movie, but scarier, because there wasn’t one Starfleet officer in sight.
“Help me off with this.” I indicated the hood of the wetsuit. “It’s giving me a headache.”
I unzipped the wetsuit a few inches, bent over, and tugged at the hood. Reed grabbed both ends of it and ripped it off my head. I tore the rubber band out of my hair. Dry, but in masses of curls, it sprung free like a jack-in-the-box.
“Ah, so much better.” I shook my head, causing dizziness to strike again. After opening and closing my eyes, I looked down at the console, determined not to let it overwhelm me. After all, I am a professional. Right.
“Reed, I’m thinking that Manning put the boat on automatic pilot before he left this cabin and it’s probably still on it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I saw him punch something over here before he dragged me out on the deck.”
“Good. Moving right along, I’m hoping you know something about electronics, ‘cause I sure don’t.”
“I have an IPad, but it’s at home.”
“Any resemblance?”
“No ma’am.”
“Okay, let’s can the ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am’ stuff. Just call me Lee. Think you can find the radio in all this mess?”
“Is that it up there, Lee? Looks like there’s two of them.”
Reed pointed to two rectangular boxes screwed overhead in a shelf below the ceiling, one above each chair. The radio over the pirate’s wheel was on, a yellow screen flashing the number sixteen. Now that I concentrated on it, I heard the murmur of static and some kind of squawking. A microphone on a coiled wire was hooked to one side.
I snatched at the mic, just as I noticed a tall wall of water coming right at us. The boat was bow down, going into the valley of a smaller swell. The oncoming wave was twice the height of the boat, traveling like a son of a bitch, and looked about as solid as a brick wall.
“Hang on!”
Those two words were all I managed to get out before wave and boat collided head on. I was thrown into the captain’s chair. Reed was tossed to the floor. The entire boat shook like a six-point-oh earthquake, and a cacophony of creaking wood surround
ed us, the boat protesting the assault. Although the furniture was bolted down, pillows, charts, pencils, a baseball cap, anything not secured, flew around the room.
There was the deafening sound of water breaking overhead and smashing against the windows. The lights sputtered for an instant and then darkness enveloped us. We were inside the wave.
The boat shot out almost at a forty-five degree angle but leveled off, crashing down onto the ocean’s surface with a loud splat, like a boulder being thrown into somebody’s pool. The lights flickered back on and a motor kicked in beneath us, thudding and pounding. A new panel light showed up, flashing the words ‘Bilge Pump Activation’ in bright red. Okay, this just might be the time to panic.
“Reed! Reed!” I swiveled the chair around and saw him lying near the port side door. The impact had caused him to slide across the room. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” To my relief, his voice sounded stronger than I thought it would.
He struggled to sit up and shook his body like a small dog. Reed used the wet bar at the back bulkhead of the pilothouse to pull himself to his feet.
“You better come and sit in the other chair. It might be safer.”
My voice gave out on the last few words. I was feeling strangely weak and otherworldly. I looked down at the blood dripping to the floor and decided to ignore it. I depressed the button on the side of the microphone that was clutched in my good hand.
“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Or whatever you say at a time like this. Help! Help. We need help.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Reed’s face drained of color, as he pointed to the never-ending spastic ocean in front of us. “There’s another one coming.”
DEAD....If Only (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Book 4) Page 21
