In Harm's Way (A Martin Billings Story Book 3)

by Ed Teja

  Well, that was me, and this was where being me led.

  Bill leaned over. “Another irrelevant detail is that I heard you got a visit from this sweet Donna. So we know you heard her sob story, about her boyfriend trying to kill her, and now you are supposed to wait for her to call you and find out what the inspector thought about that, right?”

  “That damn rumor mill never lets a sailor get a good sea story in edge-wise. Yes, that’s what she said. I’m surprised she hasn’t called.”

  “Maybe she got busy.” He nodded out at the yacht as the couple, screaming at each other, abandon that lovely spot and motored into deeper water. “A woman like that would have an agenda and look around you — we have an abundance of undead yachties around the island for her to deal with.”

  His relaxed grin beamed across the table at me, like the beacon from some lighthouse. “The sailing undead. I like that.”

  “You would. You think Donna is on a killing spree? That assumes she did the one killing in a row.”

  He scratched his chin. “I’ve been cogitating on the whole thing and it is, as the locals would say, a confusion. One thing seems clear enough to me, though—the woman didn’t come down here on holiday. She has a purpose she doesn’t wish to explain.”

  “I didn’t need help to work that out.”

  “You’ve been a busy boy,” he said. “Amazing how busy a person can be and still get almost nothing done.”

  “I got a lot done,” I said. “Just nothing I wanted to do.”

  Now Bill turned his attention away from the boaters and fixed it on me. “Think of this for a moment, if you will, Junior, so long as it doesn’t hurt what passes for brain in that salt- and rum-soaked head of yours. Ponder this question: If you were running away from someone wanting to kill you, crazy or not, and clearly not stupid, would you use a professional killer’s credit card to escape to a tropical island where the killer knew you had a friend on a boat nearby?”

  “Doubtful,” I said.

  Bill was swept up in his theory now. He waved at Sally for two more beers. “Montana, which was even more nearby her location, has far more corners to hide in than she’d find here — there’s more sheer room, and more wide open empty spaces, if that’s what you prefer.”

  “Under blue skies that aren’t cloudy all day,” I put in.

  “Right… and she could hitchhike there and not leave a trace. Going to a tiny island, one that she had to buy a ticket to get close to, one a determined man can walk in a few hours if he ain’t been drinking more than is good for him, a place where showing a photo around and telling his sad story of the woman needing help, would produce any number of leads don’t make sense. Thus, St. Anne, lovely as she is, would not be the prime choice of most intelligent life forms as a place to hide.”

  “The weather is better here.”

  “Yes, and the rum is cheaper, but those might, possibly not, be her primary concerns when fleeing a professional killer, or even an abusive husband. And in our brief encounter, the woman didn’t strike me as mentally deficient.”

  “So, you think she is lying.”

  “Well, we know for certain she lied, and my bones, and common sense, suggest she still is. Of course, that don’t mean this Nate guy is telling the whole truth neither ways.” He grinned. “Which is why things have evolved into such a fine mess.”

  “By which you mean it gets everything gooey and hard to untangle.”

  Bill snorted. “That is perzactly the way things be, Captain.”

  “Perzactly?”

  “Yup. See, the way I see things, we got us a situation that features two, maybe three potential killers, along with one proven killer or maybe two. Now this show doesn’t have a program so we don’t have a clue who is playing the bad guys, which makes it hard to pick them out of the players on stage. That’s not a good place to be.”

  “That sounds about right, but now, with my latest actions, I have placed that messy untangling chore in the hands, actually on the fastidiously neat desk, of a local, a well-trained professional. Of course, he needs to get the players in his office to do that untangling.”

  Bill nodded. “And that was good of you. Probably pointless, in terms of extricating our sorry asses from the mess, but the right thing to do, at any rate.” He put a meaty paw on my shoulder. “You did good, Junior.”

  He looked past me and when I turned to see what had caught his eyes, I saw two men had come in and were settling into chairs a few tables over.

  Bill snorted as I turned back to him. “I take it from your reaction that this is the happy couple interfering in Donna’s scheme—one of them is her alleged boyfriend or husband and the other his loyal captain friend?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Nate flagged Sally down. “Yup. That’s them.”

  Seeing that we had noticed them, Nate waved at us and smiled, all friendly as can be. I decided that if he was telling the truth, and this was really how he was, I didn’t like him much. His buddy Nick was worse, but in a different way. I waved back as if none of that was true.

  “I think he likes you,” Bill said.

  “Oh, I’m sure good old Nate likes everyone, although possibly it just seems that way to the people he doesn’t shoot.”

  Without really looking, Bill was taking him in. “The heavy-lidded one is pro muscle,” he said. “No way is that a guy tagging along for the fun of doing some sailing and helping out a buddy, the way you help a friend move his shit when his girlfriend throws him out. I’d be willing to bet your Nick never helped out anyone.”

  “My nemesis, then?”

  “Let’s just say that if the inspector does decide to arrest them and they feel short of decent answers and decide not to cooperate, this might be the time to drink a toast to the health of the police force.”

  “Think these two would give them trouble?”

  Bill held his bottle of Caribe beer in both hands. “The training of law enforcement in these islands tends to emphasize skills such as knowing the law, knowing the procedures, showing up on time, wearing a starched uniform properly, and so on. Now, from the look of the Hardy boys over there, I suspect they far more skilled in kicking ass, with or without taking names. I don’t think the locals would stand much of a chance.”

  Sally took their lunch order, smiling at them as I grunted my agreement and heard my stomach growl. “We forgot to order food,” I said.

  “We got beer,” he pointed out.

  “I need some food.”

  “I’m surprised that this Donna hasn’t called you yet.”

  “Why? She has her own schedule.”

  “Because she seemed sharp, and has to know that by stalling, not making something happen, she’s giving these morons time to find her,” Bill said. “They don’t seem to be making finding her an urgent priority, but this isn’t a big island.”

  His scowl showed me he was concerned, although I wasn’t sure if it was concern for her, or the simple fact that having the world blow up in your face, or break out into a firefight tended to ruin the day. Whatever concerned him, I felt an uneasiness myself.

  “We don’t that these people haven’t already put their own feelers out, circulated word of a reward for helping them locate her. A few bucks in the right hands would get them started.”

  “They don’t strike me as patient types willing to wait until things, or people, fall into their laps.”

  “And Nate mentioned there is a ticking clock.”

  Bill waggled a finger. “Tick Tock. There is always a clock somewhere. But you can’t make her call. While they might get impatient and take some action — ”

  “Such as?”

  “I have no idea. But for us, waiting is our only choice — at least that I can see.”

  As we considered the possibilities, Nate got up and came over to our table, all smiles. He had the gall to look sincere. “Hey, Captain, you heard anything from my wife yet?”

  I pluc
ked my cell phone from my pants pocket and looked at it, then turned it to show him. “I saw you sitting there, Nate. I would have told you if she did. But I’ve gotten no calls at all. I’m not a popular guy.”

  “Just out of curiosity, did the inspector buy her fairy tale?”

  “He plays his cards close to the vest. I suspect he is keeping an open mind about it all, seeing as facts are few. But she is still on the most-wanted list.”

  He scowled. “Well, I hope you didn’t mention my little plan in your chat with the inspector.”

  “Look, I only answered his questions. Just like you, he has his focus on her intentions and what I might know about her plans, which is zero. He mentioned that he is doing everything he can to cut off her escape routes and run her to ground.”

  “See, that’s why I need to whisk her away from here soon. If I don’t act — well, I don’t want her rotting in some island jail while the authorities check out our stories, doing tons of unnecessary paperwork. What good is that? It’s bad enough in the States, and now that I’ve seen some of this island time shit, well, it’s driving me fucking nuts. How is it that these people can never see the need to pick up the pace a little? They’d all die in New York.”

  I smiled up at him. “Culture… what are you going to do?”

  “I am going to get her away from here and back to civilization.”

  “Well, see, that’s fine for you. I have a different problem. I have to convince a rather skeptical police inspector that I’m not involved in this murder, or anything else. I explained to him, as I did to you, that she doesn’t strike me as having great faith in people, in general, and that she certainly doesn’t trust me. So I can’t help anyone deal with her.”

  “Donna is not and never has been a sharing, caring sort or woman,” he said. “And that’s on top of her tendency to lie.”

  “Part of her paranoia, maybe?”

  He glanced around. “Yeah, and if I was a paranoid type, or trying to think like one, I’d think she might be watching us right now.” That hadn’t occurred to me, but he was right. He cocked his head. “If she is watching, she might be wondering what her rescuer is doing talking with her husband… asking herself: What are those two cooking up now?”

  “And what are we cooking up? Just in case she asks.”

  “Just working to get her back to the States so she can get the care she needs.”

  “I can tell her that?” Sally passed by, headed for his table with two steaming plates, and the smell had my stomach reminding me we needed lunch too.

  “Don’t tell her shit, is best,” he said. “Now I guess I better get my lunch while it’s hot,” he said. “Look, when she calls you, if you can arrange a meeting and then give me a shout, my buddy and I can wrap this little trip up and get out of your hair — like you want. The fish is good here and all that, but I miss my favorite deli and a pastrami on rye.”

  “Pastrami is out of season,” Bill told him.

  “Right.” He went back to his table where Nick was already digging into his food.

  “There was a dangerously high level of bullshit in all that,” Bill said.

  I gave Sally a frantic wave.

  “Toxic levels,” I said. “Apparently Nate thinks I’m running a game too. I guess in his shoes, I’d wonder at being told she hasn’t called.”

  Bill nodded. “We all agree that you’d think the lady would like to know how the police responded to her story. She has to know that a damsel in distress pitch will have a short shelf life. Even if the Inspector was convinced to grab those two and chat them up, he wouldn’t keep them long just on your say-so that she said-so, if you know what I mean.”

  And that was the truth.

  “What can I get you boys?” Sally asked.

  “The house special,” Bill said.

  “Whatever that is,” I said, “I’ll have it too.”

  “Two Larry burgers,” she teased, walking off.

  Our order was practical. At the Barracuda, the specials tend to arrive fast and, early in the lunch hour, they are good.

  Whatever they are. In this case, it was a delicious sea bass with rice and coleslaw.

  “What I really hate is not even knowing who the bad guys are and what they are up to,” Bill said.

  “I know. It’s damned inconvenient to have a killer on the loose, especially when you are pretty sure of running into them once or twice a day and can’t be sure who it is.”

  “It makes you treat random encounters with strangers with a great deal of respect,” Bill said.

  “It does do that.”

  11

  We lingered on after lunch, just admiring the view and trying not to think about the call that didn’t come. When Jackson came by and joined us, I was glad to see him. I needed a distraction. “What a morning,” he said.

  “South again?”

  “Same as before?”

  “Pretty close. You gotta track them Japanese boats. Several of them operating out of Cumana. They got all that fancy equipment, with expensive fish finders, scanners, and that helicopter. That tells them where the fish the tuna eat are going to be.”

  “The fish you want.”

  His eyes glistened. “Yup. So we watch them watch the fish. All we need to do is get to the school about the same time as the tuna. Course, us catching the fish cuts into their catch.”

  Which was why the owners of the tuna boats were paying to have them run off.

  “This morning, we found the Coast Guard waiting for us. They warned us to go, to get the hell out of their waters. So we had to turn tail and run.” He grinned. “Managed a nice catch on the way home, though.”

  “Sailing the Spanish Main is always a laugh riot,” Bill said.

  We ordered rum and listened as Jackson told us about his further adventures on the high seas of Venezuela, unfolding his latest exploits that, in addition to fishing, involved a quick stop in a fishing village to trade several dozen chickens for cases of Polar beer.

  After he left, intent on finding a certain young lady who’d made the mistake of smiling at him a few days before, we sat back with the last of the rum and tried to enjoy the twilight. But every so often Nick or Nate would come in and give us an inquisitive look.

  “A pleasant evening gets kinda fucked up when you’ve got the Hardy boys popping in all the time, like some Punch and Judy show.”

  “True enough,” I agreed, nodding toward a table where Nate sat, glum now, clearly waiting for Donna’s call. I smiled at him, held up my phone and shrugged, then put the phone back down in plain sight on the table.

  “Well, it’s a long day here in the office,” Bill said. “And it appears we will be working late.” I had to agree. “If we are forced to do little or nothing but wait, experience teaches that it is easier to remain patient if we are well lubricated.”

  Bill has a knack for distilling a thing down to its essential wisdom, providing insights that I find wise to pay attention to. I got Sally to bring a bottle and menus for dinner. In survival training, they teach that you can go three days without water and three days without food. My own experience suggests that while that might be possible and true, for a civilized person the mantra would be three hours without rum and food is a stretch.

  We whiled the time away and, other than passing a pleasant enough evening over a nice dinner, nothing happened. It was, however, mildly amusing to watch the impatient New Yorkers fidget increasingly as the night grew long.

  I was about to call it a night when Nate got up and came to our table looking disgusted with life. “Still nothing?”

  I pointed at my phone. “Not a whisper.”

  “Maybe she texted?”

  “Not a hint of an alphabetic character.” I hit messages and showed it to him. “The only message I’ve gotten says that the phone company charged my credit card for last month’s bill. I’m not a social type.”

  “Are you sure the battery is charged?”

&
nbsp; “Do these things have batteries?” I asked. “Yes, it is. And it’s been in your sight right here all night, even when I went to the bathroom. But then, why be surprised? I find that almost no one calls when they say they will these days. Maybe Donna isn’t any bigger on phone etiquette than her peers.”

  “She smelled something,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said. I grinned at the scowl that earned me. “Look, you can sit here all night, but I’m heading back to my boat for the night. Unless you intend to tag along and tuck me in, you need to give me your number and chill out.”

  “What?”

  “If she calls me, then I’ll call you. Honest injun.”

  “You can’t say that anymore,” Bill said.

  “Honest indigenous person?”

  “Better.”

  Nate didn’t like the situation one bit, but finally he took out a pen and wrote a phone number on a scrap of paper. “I’ll be on our boat,” he said.

  “Should I give you a wake-up call in the morning and report in, or will you just believe me when I promise I’ll call you if and when she calls me?”

  He made a sour face. “I’ll believe you. Just be sure you do.”

  As he left, Bill looked amused. “That man is not pleased,” Bill said. “But then, he appears to be the sort who gets unpleasant when things don’t go his way. All things considered, wearing that happy face he had on earlier must’ve been painful for him, cause he took it off.”

  “I agree. If he gets too grumpy, you could do one of your wrestling moves on him. I rather like that one I see on television where you turn a guy upside down and drop him on his head.”

  “Pile driver,” Bill said. “I don’t think that’s appropriate for the situation.” He rubbed his chin. “All such assessments are subject to periodic re-evaluation, of course.”