Drowned Hopes

by Allan Cole

  Ellen was outraged. "Proof?" she said. "What does the son of a bitch need proof for? You’re holding our mother hostage."

  Sam fed the documents into the fax – smiling, not unmindful of the fact that Ellen was just as pissed at her brother as she was at him.

  "No biggie," Sam said. "He’s a businessman. He’ll want to see all the cards he can."

  Ruth finally stirred in her seat – a deck chair near the wet bar. She had a large drink in her hand and was obviously under the weather. "So, you’re back to the old game, huh, Sam?" she said. "A crook robbin’ crooks."

  She turned to Ellen. "Sorry, kid, but that’s what your brother is. And that’s why Sam here latched onto him – and you."

  Ellen shrugged. No apologies were necessary.

  Ruth took a swig of her drink and turned back to Sam. "They’re gonna put you back in jail, Sam," she said. "And this time you ain’t – aren’t – ever gonna get out. I’ll damned well see to that."

  Sam sighed. "I hope you’re not thinking of doing something stupid, Ruthie, hon," he said. "We’ve been getting along pretty well, haven’t we. Why not go with the flow? Jesus, we’re talking about half a million dollars, here, baby."

  Ruth made a derisive noise. She slugged back her drink and refilled the glass from a bottle beside her. "Yeah, and we’ll see how long that lasts," she said. "Christ, my apartment building’s worth almost that much and it is all legal and all. Shit, I thought you knew that when you got all cozy with me. I didn’t mind. Gonna take advantage of the widow woman and I get some sweet lovin’ in exchange."

  She emptied her glass, filled it again. Her hand swaying, she toasted Sam.

  "So, here’s to you, Sam Barr," she said. "You already had it made, you didn’t even know it."

  She upended her glass, gave out a belch, which she covered belatedly with a semi-dainty hand, then refilled her glass – staring defiantly at Sam.

  "Now here’s my bottom line, Sam my man," she said. "You were cheatin’ when you were broke and needed me. What’s it gonna be like when you’ve got some money in your jeans? So here it is – baby, I’m checkin’ out. Want no more of you."

  She sagged back in her seat, spent by her long, impassioned speech.

  Sam gave a weary s shake of his head. "You just keep hitting the bottle, Ruth," he said. "You’re making yourself real attractive, you know?"

  Ruth muttered under her breath, turned her face away so she couldn’t look at Sam and went back to her drink.

  Ellen said, "What about Ma and me? Are you really going to let us go when you get the money?"

  Sam gave her a surprised look. "Sure, why wouldn’t I?" he said.

  Ellen asked, "Aren’t you afraid I’ll blab to the police?"

  "You worry too much," Sam said. "I’ve got it all figured so that the fewest people necessary get hurt. Lot cleaner that way."

  Sam stood up straight. "I’m good at organizing things," he said. "Even my shrink said so." He crossed the room to the intercom. "Take a look," he said. "Check, it out."

  At the intercom, now, he pressed the button, buzzing the bridge. "Yo, Danny," he said. "Head for Paradise Cove."

  "You got it," came Danny’s voice. Then he giggled. "I mean, Aye, aye, Cap’n."

  Sam laughed. He turned to Ellen and Ruth. "Isn’t he a pistol?" he said.

  Ellen didn’t reply. She put her arm across her mother’s shoulders, guarding her like a she-wolf protecting her cub.

  Ruth just tipped a bottle into her glass. She was getting angrier and angrier.

  *****

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HARRY DIRECTED HIS driver to the dock where his boat was normally berthed. He grimaced when he saw the empty slip, then got out of the car, lugging a heavy briefcase.

  He hadn’t had time to change and was still dressed in his jogging outfit – which had been designed to show off his impressive build.

  Harry looked around the harbor and didn’t see his yacht. "The son of a bitch," he said under his breath.

  Then there was a loud buzzing sound and he turned to see to spot the little outboard that belonged to the Freebooter heading his way.

  Harry rapped on the limo window, which came down. "Take off, Joe," he told the driver. "I’ll make my own way home."

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Berman," the chauffeur said. And he reversed the hell out of there fast as he could, glad to get an unscheduled holiday.

  Harry walked to the edge of the dock at the motorboat slid in. Danny peered up at him.

  "Got the money?" Danny said.

  Impatient because he had to deal with underlings, Harry snapped, "Of course I’ve got the money, you dumb son of a bitch. Why else would I-"

  Then he broke off, realizing he really was dealing with a dumb son of a bitch. He said, "You are obviously not the brains of this outfit."

  Danny glowered, pissed at the insult. He almost told him that if he – Danny - was so stupid, how come he was the day manager of a check cashing joint? But then he saw the hard set of Harry’s jaw and the size of his shoulders and biceps and decided to shut up for the time being.

  Harry jumped down into boat and took a seat. Danny continued his glowering. Fuck this muscle man cream puff, he was starting to think. How’d he like a gun shoved up his butt? Play asshole Russian roulette.

  Harry said, "Jesus, let’s get this over with, shall we?"

  Danny curled a lip at the guy, just so he wouldn’t think he was a wimp, and pushed off from the dock. Then he engaged the engine and sped away.

  *****

  Not more than a few seconds passed before a car screeched up. A man leaped out and ran to the edge of the dock, looking out at the boat.

  "Shit," he said.

  It was Sergeant Propp. He looked around, frantic.

  Then he spotted a young boating couple – man and wife – backing their spanking new Chevy pickup down a ramp.

  On a trailer hitched behind their blue Silverado, was a 20-foot Wellcraft, also brand new. The young wife was driving the pickup, while her husband directed the trailer into the water. At just the right moment, the young man signaled his wife and she stopped. He did some quick things here and there and the Wellcraft slid neatly into the water.

  Propp ran toward them. "Hold it right there," he shouted.

  The woman and her husband turned to gawk as Propp raced up to the boat, splashing through the shallow water.

  He dug out his badge and flashed it at the husband. "Police," he yelled. "I’m commandeering this boat."

  The husband gaped at this insane man. "Hey," he cried. "You can’t do that."

  "The hell I can’t," Propp said, knocking the guy into the water.

  Quickly, he unhooked the line and pushed the boat deeper into the water. In a flash he was on board and starting the engine. Then he powered away at top speed, bounding over the waves.

  The terrified couple watched him go, wondering what the hell had just happened to them.

  *****

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  DANNY GUIDED THE boat up to the Freebooter. Harry reached out, grabbed the rail, and ran up the ladder. Despite the heavy briefcase under his arm, he made the maneuver look easy.

  It was his damned yacht after all. And Harry prided himself in being always ready and always being in shape.

  Sam Barr - big as a mountain with a grin like the half moon – was waiting for him.

  Harry’s stomach knotted. This was no body builder – the son of a bitch was just damned strong. But, Jesus Christ, so was he. And smart, too. Nobody, but nobody was both stronger and smarter than Harold Berman.

  It was then that he saw the light of intelligence in Sam’s eyes. Oddly, it made him feel better. This was somebody he could reason with. Somebody he could slicker with lawyer talk, backed up by his own hard muscle. Harry had no doubt in his mind that Sam was just smart enough to underestimate his opponent and overreach himself.

  Sam waved at the small crowd gathered on the deck. It consisted of Mrs. Berman, ensconced in a deck chair, El
len, who hovered nearby, her beach bag with its stun umbrella in easy reach, and Ruth who lounged in the doorway, taking frequent sips of booze and muttering to herself. This was one unhappy woman.

  "Glad you could join our little party," Sam said. He indicated Mrs. Berman and Ellen. "Mom’s doing okay, but Sis hasn’t had such a good time," he said. "’Course, now that you’re here, I’m sure things will liven up."

  Mrs. Berman peered at Harry, a deep frown furrowing her brow. She turned to Sam. "Why did you invite him, Harry?" She snorted and settled back in her chair. "He doesn’t look like our sort," she said.

  Sam was vastly amused by this. Ellen shook her head in disgust. Then she leaned over to her mother, pointing at her brother. "That’s the real, Harry, Ma," she said. She indicated Sam. "He’s nothing but a common thug."

  From her post by the door, Ruth toasted Ellen. "Common through and through," she said. And she swallowed some more booze.

  Mrs. Berman, meanwhile, had found Ellen’s remarks objectionably. "Don’t try to fool me, young lady," she said. "I certainly know my own son."

  She reached over and gave Sam’s hand a squeeze. "Such a good boy, too," she said. "Buying me presents. Visiting me every day."

  Ruth broke into laughter – border line hysterical. "Good boy. Ha," she said. "Shoot, he’s no better than a whore in the streets. ‘Cept he lives off women."

  That really pissed Sam off. The woman was getting under his skin, now. "Shut up, Ruth," he said. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

  Ruth sneered at him. "Shut up yourself," she said. "I’m jus’ truthin’, that’s all. You screwed me over. You screwed Ellen over and now you’re screwing over that poor old woman."

  She gave Sam a look of pure hatred. "Pimp," she said. "Whoremonger."

  Sam took a step toward her, raising his hand. But Harry was growing impatient with all this bullshit quarreling.

  He said to Sam, "Look, my friend. I’m a busy man. You’re a busy man. You want to smack your woman around, have at it. I’d smack her myself, the way she’s talking to you. But, please, have the courtesy to wait until we’re finished with our business."

  He offered the briefcase. "Take it and go," he said. "You can have the deck boat. Unlike the yacht, no one will question its ownership. A small, but handsome bonus for your efforts."

  Good humor restored, Sam took the briefcase. He opened it, looked inside, then his head came back and he looked very, very pissed.

  "What the hell is this?" he said.

  And he pulled out a ten pound gym weight And then a single, check-sized piece of paper. He looked at the paper, his face purpling with rage, then hurled the weight and the briefcase on the deck.

  Ellen looked dismayed, correctly reading doom for all of them in Sam’s expression. "What are you doing, Harry?" she said. "You’re going to get our mother killed."

  Harry paid her no attention whatsoever. He said to Sam, in very reasonable tones: "What you have there is a cashier’s check – made out to me – for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. All I have to do is countersign it and the check’s in play. Good at any bank anywhere in the civilized world."

  While Sam was taking this in, Danny blew high wide and handsome at this betrayal. A pistol suddenly appeared in fist and he leaped across the deck.

  Shoved the gun up against Harry’s goddamned head.

  Danny said, "Think you’re a smart ass, huh? Well, I’ll show you a smart ass." And he got next to Harry, jamming the gun up against his head. He cranked the hammer back.

  Harry kept his cool. Looking quite unconcerned. He said to Sam, "Is this how you negotiate?"

  Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "You dumb mother fucker," he said. "You thought I was negotiating? What are you out of your fucking mind? What world have you been living in?"

  He stuck his big face into Harry’s. "I am a criminal, fuck head."

  He indicated Danny. "We are both fucking criminals."

  Ruth laughed bitterly. "Ain’t that the truth," she said.

  Sam shot her a dirty look. But before he could give Ruth a piece of his mind, Harry broke in. And he was very, very calm.

  "Okay, so I don’t have a great deal of experience with this exact sort of situation," he said. "But please, anybody born in America knows that everything is negotiable."

  He indicated the check. "You are looking at half the money that you demanded right there in front of you. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Now, I doubt whether you really considered what this whole deal would be worth when you started out."

  Harry gave Sam a shrewd look. "I think you just picked a figure – five hundred thousand dollars. That’s what you saw in the books, am I right?"

  Sam gave an inadvertent nod. That had been his thinking.

  Harry took some encouragement at Sam’s hesitation. He said, "Okay, so what I am saying is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is an equitable settlement. A handsome sum. You can take it and go with no worry about police interference. Or, you can refuse my generous offer. Then wait until I collect the rest of the money and turn it into a cashier’s check. Remembering, of course, that the longer this goes on, the more likely it is that something will go wrong."

  Danny did not like all of the theoretical talk about this money goes to somebody and this money does not. He was about to explode with the supreme desire to bottom line old Harry.

  "You’re damn straight," Danny said. "Like being dead, kind of wrong."

  But Sam sort of saw Harry’s point. He waved Danny aside. "Let him go," he said.

  "The asshole’s tryin’ to make a fool out of us, Sam," Danny protested.

  Sam stayed firm. "I said, let him go."

  Danny let Harry go. But reluctantly - keeping the gun on Harry as he backed off. Wanting to shoot him so bad he could taste it.

  Sam said, "Okay, Harry, my boy, you wanted to negotiate. Get to it, then. My buddy here is getting damned impatient."

  "What’s to say?" Harry said. "I’ve already outlined my offer." He indicated the check. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not a penny more." Sam pointed to Mrs. Berman. "One word," he said, "and Danny boy will blow her away."

  "Damn straight," said Danny, getting really freaking tired of the whole stupid thing.

  "Okay, so you kill my mother," Harry said. "But that won’t get you more money. And it sure won’t get me to counter-sign the check you’ve already got. Making it worthless."

  Sam couldn’t believe this guy’s act. "You’re betting that at some point I’m not going to lose my cool," he said.

  He indicated Danny. "If you were dealing with just my friend Danny over there, he’d have already blown you and your mother and your sister away."

  "Damn straight," Danny said again.

  "That wouldn’t be too intelligent," Harry said.

  "But damned satisfying to Danny," Sam said.

  "Nothing’s more satisfying than money," Harry said.

  "Do you really think that?" Sam said, starting to become amused. Getting relaxed. And not really giving a whole lot of shit about what happened next.

  Sam decided that a dramatic gesture was needed. He walked over to Ruth, who looked up at him, alarmed.

  "What are you doin’, Sam?" she asked.

  Sam ignored her. He said to Harry, "Allow me to demonstrate the criminal mind, Mr. Berman. This is how men like Danny and me cut to the final bottom line."

  He suddenly grabbed Ruth by the scruff of the neck. She shrieked and her glass went flying, shattering on the deck.

  Ruth shrieked, "Sam, don’t."

  Sam dragged her kicking across the deck.

  Ellen freaked. "Stop it, Sam, please," she cried.

  She jumped forward to help Ruth, but Sam pushed her away as if she were a child and she went skidding across the deck.

  Sam said to an aghast Harry, "Check it out."

  And he lifted Ruth up bodily and hurled her screaming into the sea.

  *****

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
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  RUTH WENT UNDER for a long time, then came kicking up, coughing and sputtering, the boat moving slowly by her.

  Danny woke up from his drug stupor big time. Laughing, he ran to the rail and watched Ruth swim for the yacht.

  "Swim, Ruthie, swim," he cried.

  The yacht’s speed was minimal, so she caught up to it right away. She grabbed at the ladder, but Sam picked up a peevee pole and pushed her away.

  Ruth screamed, "Sam. Sam."

  Ellen rushed over and tried to pull the pole away. During the struggle, Ruth recovered enough to swim to the other side, grasping at anything she could get her fingers on. Sam batted Ellen away and she fell to the deck.

  He looked down at Ruth, whose grip was slipping across the boat’s smooth surface.

  Sam held out the peevee pole for her. "Come on, Ruthie, baby," he said. "Come on, sweetheart."

  Ruth turned toward the pole and struck desperately out for it.

  Sam dangled it just beyond her reach. "Daddy was only teasing, sweet pie," he crooned. "Only teasing."

  Ruth got a grip on the pole, putting a death grip on that sucker. Keeping herself from drowning.

  And Sam laughed like he’d just sprung the biggest joke in the world and plunged the pole deep into the water, pushing Ruth under.

  "Psyche," Sam shouted.

  Danny liked that. And he shouted: "Oh, wow, psyche,"

  Ruth came up again, gasping.

  Danny said, "Do it again, Sam."

  Sam did it again, catching Ruth by the neck with the pole’s hook and pushing her under.

  He let go, laughing with Danny as she came up, sputtering, mouth wide. "What a blow job that’d be, man." Danny said, really getting into it.

  That made Sam mad. Ruth was his woman, after all.

  He got a firm grip on the pole, hooked the tip into Ruth’s blouse and bra, and pushed her under. As deep as he could.

  "Enough," Sam said. "I’m bored."

  He held it there for a very long time. He had to struggle a couple of times as Ruth fought. But he finally got the pole steady. And then a long stream of bubbles rose to the surface and the pole went lax.