He bent over the canoe with one hand on each gunwale, preparing to hoist it on his back to carry it to the water.
He had just a glimpse of the fat Mexican’s black eyes and moustache before he felt the blow on his nose, and his eyes closed and he couldn’t see anything.
The Mexican had been lying on his back in the canoe, waiting for Scarnum. When Scarnum had bent over the canoe, the Mexican gave him an open-handed uppercut, connecting hard with the fleshy part of his hand on the underside of Scarnum’s nose, and Scarnum fell back on the ground, blinded and stunned.
The Mexican gave a little shout of triumph and leaped out of the canoe, moving fast for a fat man. Scarnum, blinking and blind, held his arms weakly in front of his face. The Mexican kicked him hard in the balls, and Scarnum doubled over onto his belly and vomited onto the pine needles of the forest floor.
The Mexican laughed and spoke roughly in Spanish.
He dropped on top of Scarnum, straddling his back, and pulled his arms behind him and secured his wrists with handcuffs pulled as tight as he could make them. He grabbed Scarnum by the back of his hair then and ground his face into the forest floor.
He spoke in Spanish again, and Scarnum didn’t understand.
“Donde esta la coca, pinche maricón?” he said, and Scarnum did understand: Where’s the coke, faggot?
He tried to say “I don’t speak Spanish.” It sounded like, “I dob peak push.”
Scarnum’s voice was nasal and choked, and his vision was dark and clouded. His crotch throbbed with a dull, deep pain, and his mouth tasted like vomit and blood.
The Mexican, still sitting on Scarnum’s back, took a cellphone from his pocket and made a quick call, speaking Spanish quietly.
He got off Scarnum, picked up his machine pistol from the canoe, and walked back and placed the cool muzzle against Scarnum’s ear, so that he could feel it and know that he had a gun.
The Mexican spoke softly in Spanish. He grabbed Scarnum’s hair and pulled him to his knees. Scarnum could see his blood and vomit on the forest floor.
The Mexican hauled him by his hair, stumbling, to the canoe, and pushed him roughly down, so that his feet were resting on the bow seat, his ass was wedged into the floor of the canoe, and his bound arms were jammed against the bow.
The Mexican sat on the crosspiece in the middle of the canoe and pointed the machine pistol in Scarnum’s face. He had a big smile on his face, but it didn’t light his black eyes. He had gold fillings in the front of his rotten teeth. He had a tattoo — looked like a dragon — running up from his shirt to his neck. His features were heavy and ugly. His moustache was thick and bushy.
Scarnum breathed heavily and looked from side to side. His face was covered in vomit and blood and his nose and testicles throbbed.
The Mexican touched the muzzle of the gun to Scarnum’s nose and grinned as he twisted away from the pain.
Behind his back, Scarnum could feel the thin yellow nylon rope that was tied to the steel fitting at the bow of the canoe. As he twisted away from the gun, he moved his hands to the knot.
He spoke to the Mexican. “I don’t speak Spanish, amigo,” he said and tried to smile through the pain. “No hablo español. But I’m just going to sit right here and not cause any problems. No problemo. Si?”
The Mexican pointed the machine pistol straight at Scarnum’s nose. “Shut you fuck mouth,” he said.
Scarnum nodded and clamped his mouth shut.
His fingers were numb from the handcuffs, but behind his back he started to work the knot loose. It was a bowline, and it had been tied long ago, and it was hard to pull apart.
When Falkenham arrived, Scarnum had the rope untied and was clutching the frayed end in his sore fingers.
Falkenham laughed and slapped the fat Mexican on the back. “Good man, Luiz,” he said. “You caught the slippery motherfucker.”
Falkenham took the fat Mexican’s place in the middle of the canoe. The Mexican stepped behind Falkenham and kept the machine gun pointed at Scarnum.
Falkenham shook his head and looked at Scarnum. Scarnum looked away. Behind his back, he was jamming the nylon rope into the back of his pants, hiding it.
He tried to smile at Falkenham.
“Phillip, you dumb fuck,” said Falkenham. “What have you got yourself into? I gave you every fucking chance to avoid this shit.”
Scarnum looked up at him. “I know,” he said. “I was stupid. I’m sorry.”
Scarnum was a bloody mess and his voice was nasal and weak. Falkenham laughed.
“You’d better be fucking sorry, you fucking retard,” he said. He slapped Scarnum hard across the face, a backhand, then looked down at his hand with distaste. He wiped the blood and vomit off on Scarnum’s shirt.
“Let’s see if we can get you out of this, OK?” he said. “Let’s see if we can leave here today with you alive.”
Scarnum stared up at him and shook his head. “You’re going to kill me now,” he said. “You’re going to let these fellows kill me.”
The other three Mexicans arrived then, awkwardly hauling a Zodiac with a motor through the woods. They lowered it to the ground near the water and walked over to stand and look at Scarnum. The new kid was holding a machine pistol.
“Here he is, boys,” said Falkenham. “Luiz got hold of the slippery little thief.”
Scarnum looked up at the Mexicans he had knocked in the water. They were still wearing the same tourist clothes.
“Hey, boys,” he said. “Aren’t you getting tired of those clothes? Must be getting gamy.”
Falkenham gave Scarnum another backhander then and again wiped his hand on Scarnum’s shirt. “I’ll make the jokes around here,” he said.
Scarnum choked and suppressed a sob. “All right,” he said. “No problemo. I won’t make no more jokes. Don’t hit me no more.”
The Mexicans stood in a half-circle, watching Scarnum and Falkenham.
“Gabriel,” called Falkenham. “He doesn’t want me to hit him anymore. Why don’t you come over here.”
The Mexican Scarnum had choked stepped forward. He was holding his knife in his hand and staring at Scarnum.
Falkenham laughed. “Gabriel’s been talking about you a lot since you choked him,” said Falkenham. “He has some very clear ideas about how we should proceed when we got hold of you. Don’t you, Gabriel?”
“I do,” said the Mexican.
Scarnum looked up at him. “I’m sorry I choked you,” he said.
Gabriel smiled and stepped behind Scarnum and squatted on the bow of the canoe. He pulled Scarnum’s head back by his hair and rested the knife against Scarnum’s throat. He whispered in his ear. “You should have killed me,” he said and drew the flat of the blade across Scarnum’s Adam’s apple.
The other Mexicans watched. The two young fellows observed closely, eyes glittering. The fat one looked bored.
Falkenham laughed. “Don’t kill him just now, Gabriel,” he said.
He put his fingertip on Scarnum’s nose and pressed it, making Scarnum squirm and breath hard at the pain.
“Gabriel says that down in old Mexico, when they catch hold of an hombre who has some information that he doesn’t want to share, they tie him real good on a table then cut off one of his nuts, hold it up, show it to him. Then they tell him he can keep the other one if he talks. Gabriel tells me a man can still romance the ladies with one nut. Says fellows get real talkative after he cuts off one of their nuts.”
“Thas right,” said Gabriel.
“Now, I keep telling Gabriel that won’t be necessary,” he said. “I don’t see any reason to kill you or start cutting off your nuts. For one thing, I don’t need the Mounties nosing around any more than they already are. MacPherson’s a good fellow, but that little French cunt makes me nervous.
“Anyway,” Falkenham said, holding his hands by his sides, palms up. “You got a pretty easy choice to make here. If you tell us where the coke is, maybe we kill you, maybe we don’t. If you d
on’t tell us, Gabriel will cut off one of your nuts, and then you’ll tell us. And you know what?” He pushed his finger against Scarnum’s nose again.
Scarnum yelped, “What?”
“If you don’t tell us, if you bleed to death after we cut off your nut or whatever, we’ll have to grab Angela, put the knife to her. She’s pregnant, right? I bet she’d talk if Gabriel jabbed the tip of his knife into her belly.” Falkenham laughed.
“She could be carrying your baby,” said Scarnum.
“Well, all the more reason to cut the whore’s throat,” he said with a smile that was more of a grimace. “The last thing I need is a bastard from Angela. She could milk me like a cow for twenty years. And if she doesn’t know where the coke is, we’ll cut her throat and put the knife to Charlie. Cut off one of his balls and see what he has to say. I wouldn’t really want to do that, though. I like the old son of a whore.”
Falkenham pressed the palm of his hand against Scarnum’s nose again and pressed down, pressing harder as he spoke and speaking louder, until he was screaming at the end, his mouth inches from Scarnum’s face, spit flying.
“So what do you say you just tell us what you’ve done with the cocksucking cocaine, you stupid little fucker!”
“I will,” said Scarnum, gasping, eyes wide. “I will. I will.”
Falkenham pulled his hand away and looked at Gabriel. “What do you think, Gabe?” he asked. “Think we should listen to him?”
“I think we should cut him first,” said Gabriel, and he again pressed the knife blade hard against Scarnum’s throat. “Then we should listen.”
“Hold up, Gabriel,” said Falkenham, and he put his fingertip back on Scarnum’s nose. “It’s up to you, Phillip. You tell us where you hid the fucking coke and we get it, we got no reason to fuck with Angela, or you, ever again. You can sail away from here with both your balls. How’s that sound? Pretty good, huh? Nobody’s gonna offer you a better deal than that today.” He grinned in Scarnum’s face.
“It’s on the boat,” said Scarnum. “It’s on my boat.”
“Where you been keeping it?” asked Falkenham.
“In the bay,” said Scarnum. “I never found it until you came in the canoe that night. After I chased you off, I put the packages in the dry bags and sunk them in the bay behind Charlie’s. I chained them together, used my anchor to hold them down. I fished it out a few days ago, before I went down to Jimmy’s funeral. I hid it on Rockbound Island, was going to leave it there for a while. But when I was in jail I decided to take off with it, see if I could unload it in Newfoundland, then take the fuck off and never come back here.”
Behind him, the Mexican hissed. “He’s lying,” he said, and he pressed the flat of the blade harder against Scarnum’s Adam’s apple, tearing the skin. Scarnum gulped and whined with fear.
“Let me cut him and he tell the truth,” said the Mexican.
Falkenham held up his hand. “Whoa,” he said. “If he’s lying he’s fucking dumber than I thought, because the boat’s right there.”
Falkenham stood up, straddling the canoe, leaned forward so that his face was inches above Scarnum’s, then reached down and grabbed Scarnum’s nose and twisted it. The pain made Scarnum yelp and whine.
“Tell you what, Phillip,” he said. “Let’s go out to the boat, see if the coke’s there. If it is, we take it and let you sail away. If the Mounties think you killed Jimmy and you disappear, so much the better. And I think you will stay away, because if you ever fucking come back to Nova Scotia, I’ll fucking kill you.” Falkenham twisted Scarnum’s nose again.
“On the other hand, if the coke isn’t there, Gabriel will cut off one of your nuts and we’ll ask you again. After you tell us, we’ll get the coke, then cut your throat and sink your boat. Does that sound fair?”
Scarnum nodded his head. “It’s on the boat,” he croaked.
Falkenham let go of his nose and looked down at his bloody hand with disgust. He wiped his fingers on Scarnum’s shirt and stood up.
He looked around at the Mexicans. “Let’s get the cocksucker in the boat.”
They threw Scarnum on the forest floor and the two older Mexicans stood guarding him while the younger men dragged the Zodiac to the water’s edge. The black waves smashed against the granite rocks and the wind whipped in off the water.
Falkenham climbed into the stern of the boat and started the outboard. Gabriel and the fat Mexican wrestled Scarnum into the middle of the Zodiac, with his feet on one gunwale and his head on the other. They got in the bow of the boat.
Falkenham gave the motor some gas and angled the Zodiac through the waves.
Behind his back, Scarnum pulled the end of the rope out of his pants. His fingers were now very numb from the handcuffs.
“Don’t let them kill me,” he said to Falkenham as they moved along.
Falkenham winked at him. “You’d better hope the coke is on the boat,” he said.
Behind his back, Scarnum tied one end of the rope to the line that ran along the top of the Zodiac’s starboard inflatable tube. The other end he wrapped around his hand.
When he finished the knot, they were about halfway to the sailboat. Scarnum cleared his throat.
“Bobby,” he said. Falkenham looked down at him.
“I don’t know nothing about no cocaine,” he said, and he threw himself to his feet.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” said Falkenham, looking up at him with alarm. “Sit the fuck down or you’ll tip the fucking boat, Phillip, you fucking idiot.”
Scarnum hauled the rope tight behind him and stepped up onto the port gunwale, leaned as far out as he could, pushing himself out over the waves. His weight, pulling on the rope attached to the opposite side of the boat, jerked it up out of the water.
He stared down and grinned at the look of confusion on Falkenham’s face.
He let out a bit more of the line clutched between his fingers, and leaned out a bit more, until the other side of the boat lifted up out of the water. He was afraid for a moment that the boat wouldn’t flip, that it would settle again, but the fat Mexican made a lunge for him and his bulk made the difference, and the Zodiac went over upside down into the waves, and all four men were dumped into the water.
Scarnum untangled the line from his hand and dove down into the icy water. He turned onto his back and pulled his legs through his bound arms, so that his hands would be in front of him. His lungs screamed for air. Above him, he could see the upside-down Zodiac, with the legs of Falkenham and the two Mexicans kicking in the water around it. He swam back to the surface, angling to come up underneath the boat, gasping for air as he surfaced, trying to be very quiet.
In the darkness underneath the boat he felt for the stern, where the motor was attached. He could hear Falkenham outside the boat, screaming at the Mexicans.
“Find him!” he was shouting. “Grab hold of the cocksucker! Where is he?”
Scarnum worked as quickly as he could, unscrewing the clamps that held the motor in place with his clumsy, numb fingers. When it let go and sank to the ocean floor, he took a big gulp of air and dove down and as far away from the Zodiac as he could get.
When he came to the surface, he kicked his legs hard to lift his head above the water until he caught sight of his sailboat in the distance. He swam toward it as hard as he could, using his bound arms in an ineffective breaststroke, gasping for air and kicking his legs hard. He was terribly cold and exhausted and he had to force himself to keep swimming so hard.
It took him a long time to swim in the darkness, and he had to keep stopping to make sure he was still headed to the boat.
When he finally got in the lee of the boat, though, he could see Falkenham had gotten ahead of him and was hanging onto the ladder at the stern of the boat.
Falkenham wasn’t climbing the ladder. He was resting, his chest heaving, catching his breath.
He was finally moving to haul himself out of the water when Scarnum got to the stern of the boat. S
carnum reached up and managed to grab Falkenham’s shoe. Falkenham yelped in shock and kicked down at Scarnum, and his bound hands were so numb that he almost lost his grip. Scarnum took the kick in the face and his nose exploded in pain, but he managed to get his bound wrists locked around the front of Falkenham’s ankle. He bit him then, in the back of the ankle just above his boat shoe, as hard as he could, tasting blood as he forced his teeth together.
Falkenham screamed and tried to tear his foot away from Scarnum, then kicked him in the face with his other foot. He lost his footing and fell, and almost lost his grip on the ladder. Scarnum’s head was pushed below the water, but he kept biting, even as Falkenham kicked at him. He could faintly hear the other man screaming.
As Scarnum felt he was going to black out from lack of air, Falkenham, unable to take the painful bite, gave up and pushed himself off the ladder, wrenching his foot free at last. Scarnum let go of Falkenham and pushed himself up, gasping for air and reaching desperately for the ladder. Falkenham grabbed at him as he pulled himself out but it was too late, and Scarnum managed to haul himself into the cockpit.
Falkenham tried to pull himself up after him, but Scarnum jumped to his feet and kicked him in the face, hard. Falkenham fell back into the water, and Scarnum grabbed at the ladder, pulling it out of the water so that Falkenham had no way of getting up.
Without pausing to catch his breath, Scarnum started the diesel, then ran to the bow and untied the anchor line, letting it drop over the side. He ran back, popped the motor into gear, and steered the boat toward the open ocean.
When Scarnum was a few hundred yards offshore, he ran below and dug out a heavy pair of bolt cutters from a storage locker. It took some doing, but eventually he was able to cut through the chain that bound his hands together. It was harder still to cut through the cuffs themselves, but in the end he succeeded. His hands were purple and swollen, and when he freed them they throbbed terribly as the circulation came back, and he moaned and did a little dance of pain.
Salvage Page 15
