Three Vlog Night

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “All right, then,” Peter muted the phone. “All right. Fuck. You.” He pointed at Chet. “Bring him up here.”

  “No way.” Dmytro stood. “You’ve seen—”

  “He knows this is it. It’s too important for fucking around.” To Chet he said, “Do I make myself clear?”

  Chet nodded and scurried down the stairs.

  Peter trained his handgun on Dmytro before unmuting the sound. Violet Jackson was screeching at him to put her son on now. Peter shouted, “I hear you. Fuck off. I’m getting him.”

  A long, tense minute later, Chet dragged Ajax up to the bridge. His hands were still tied, but Chet had cut the tape at his ankles. Dmytro noticed one bled freely from a fresh gash.

  He met Chet’s gaze with one simple promise in his own: If we get out of here, you’re a dead man. And I’ll take my time.

  Chet stuttered to a halt, holding Ajax between them, pistol to his head. Peter holstered his weapon and grabbed Ajax’s hair.

  “Ow, Christ, stop with the grabby hands, will you? My hair is my glory.”

  “Be wise.” Dmytro suppressed a badly timed burst of gallows humor.

  “What’s it matter?” Ajax scoffed. “We’re dead men.”

  Dmytro lowered his gaze.

  “Your mommy wants to hear your voice now.” Peter shouted the words so Violet could hear them. He gave the phone to Ajax and nodded.

  Ajax hesitated. “That’s my mother?”

  Peter said nothing. He must have switched off the voice-changing app.

  “Now is not the time to be stubborn, Ajax.” Dmytro nodded to the phone.

  Ajax didn’t move. “I’m often stubborn at the worst possible time.”

  “Little mink.” Dmytro licked his lips nervously. “This is not that time.”

  He jerked his head toward Peter and Chet.

  Ajax nodded, but fresh tears welled in his eyes instead of bravado. Any hope they had was thin as spun sugar. Dmytro found his anguish mirrored in Ajax’s gaze. He saw betrayal too, even though he’d thought using Ajax’s special nickname would be some kind of clue—a reminder men like Peter and Dmytro played deep, deep games.

  Didn’t Ajax know? Dmytro lied for a living. In a situation like this one, only the last man standing shaped the truth.

  Peter took the phone off the speaker before holding it to Ajax’s ear. He shoved a pistol in his ribs with his free hand. Chet covered them both from six feet away. Too far to make a play.

  Ajax swallowed hard. “Mom?”

  Dmytro couldn’t hear her words, but he could imagine them.

  “No, I’m not scared, Mom. It’s just business. I… get it. I’m sorry, though. I’m so sorry.”

  A longer pause. A mother pouring out her terror, her grief, her advice. Maybe her final goodbyes to her only child.

  Empathy—anger and powerful grief—filled Dmytro, as though he were in the room with Violet Jackson and his own children’s lives were at stake.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Mom. Look, you know I don’t say this enough”—he winced—“no, stop crying, Mom, it’s going to be all right, I swear…. Oh…. Okay. Dad?”

  His and Ajax’s gazes met while Peter made hurry-this-along gestures. Dmytro could keep his face neutral only by imagining the horrible tortures he’d visit on Ajax’s tormentors.

  I will start with your eyes….

  “No, listen. I want to say how much I love you guys. How lucky I feel—” His voice broke. “No, listen. Listen to me, now, Dad. I love you both. So much. Do you understand? You are awesome parents. And I’m so goddamn proud to be your—”

  Peter jerked the phone away and fiddled with it before lifting it to his mouth. “That’s enough.”

  Chet huffed a sigh of relief tinged with displeasure. Dmytro could very well believe shit just got real for him.

  Had Chet never killed a man in cold blood? Made him beg for his life when he knew it was going to end anyway? Had he never tortured someone for information? Or because they stole from someone who could afford to make them pay?

  “You got that?” Peter shoved Ajax back toward Chet. “Then release the money. You know what to do.”

  Dmytro’s eyes snapped to Peter’s.

  Jesus. It wasn’t a cash drop. There was no second boat, or if there was, there was no cash on board.

  Was the rendezvous a ruse too?

  Peter grinned with unholy pleasure. “Surprise.”

  Chapter 24

  AJAX CRIED. He couldn’t help it. He cried and he kept on crying, even though Chet and Peter were shouting and Dmytro looked like someone had just murdered his girls right in front of him.

  Had Dmytro thought he could control the situation? Ajax didn’t know what was going on, but seeing Dmytro at a loss was like… hearing his father cry on the phone.

  Or if El Capitan crumbled to dust.

  Without moving a muscle, Dmytro told him everything he needed to know: they were fucked.

  Ajax couldn’t look at him. Or maybe he should. Maybe he should go to Dmytro and they should both admit the jig was up, and if they were lucky, they’d get the chance to hold each other once more before Peter and his little pal threw them overboard.

  Because that had to be his endgame. It had to be.

  So why didn’t he get it over with?

  Because if there was the tiniest bit of hope for them to get away—even if only for Dmytro—if he could keep himself alive and get back to his girls, Ajax Fairchild would not ruin it for him.

  “Get out. Move onto the deck.” Peter killed the engine and dropped anchor. “Chet, bring the tape.”

  Jesus. Jesus. This was it.

  It had all come down to this.

  Now Ajax was sure he knew what “plummet to soar” meant. It wasn’t about living or dying. It wasn’t about surviving a fall or being heroic or fighting some enemy.

  It was only about being in this one moment.

  About being fully alive in the time you had. And if he’d known that sooner….

  What?

  What would he have done differently if he’d known this was his last few minutes on earth?

  He’d have told Dmytro he loved him. “Dmytro—”

  “No.” Dmytro gave him a quick head shake.

  Ajax reeled back as if Dmytro slapped him. Did he still think he had a prayer?

  Some hope, which, as he’d learned in freshman English, was that thing with feathers that perched in Emily Dickinson’s soul?

  Now that he was struggling “in the chillest land” and “on the strangest Sea,” there seemed to be no hope to hold on to.

  What could he even hope for? Rescue? A few moments alone with Dmytro? An honorable death? A painless, quick death?

  His heart had started knocking against his rib cage, and his breath came in shallow puffs. He choked back nausea.

  “Don’t look at the water, Ajax. Look straight out.”

  Dmytro’s voice sounded… resigned.

  Oh God. Oh God. They weren’t going to make Dmytro shoot him, were they?

  “If we look at the horizon,” Dmytro reminded him, “we won’t be as seasick.”

  Relief washed over Ajax. He glanced back to find Dmytro wasn’t armed anyway. Peter was, but his weapon hand had relaxed for now.

  Chet came on deck with his thick roll of goddamn duct tape. Ajax hated that silver fucking bullshit now. He could still feel the abrasions where tape had taken off his skin. If Chet put on more….

  Peter switched to his PC carbine and aimed it at Ajax. “Over to the rail. You too, Dmytro.”

  “What’d I say? Joke’s on you, Boris.” Chet grinned maniacally as he shoved the unarmed Dmytro next to Ajax. “Kneel down and put your hands through the railing.”

  He tore off long strips of duct tape and bound their wrists around the railing of the Charioteer. Water churned beneath them. It was at least a twenty-foot drop. Looking down, Ajax knew he was going to be sick.

  Dmytro reminded him, “Look at the horizon, Ajax.”

  Aja
x lifted his gaze and tried to breathe in the cool, refreshing air.

  The sky where it met the horizon was blue as the Caribbean Sea. Above them, it was streaked with mare’s tail clouds and condensation trails. Sunlight glimmered off green water, creating a path he could almost walk along toward the east and presumably home.

  If only.

  In the far distance there came the noise of an engine, and if he looked hard, a speck of a boat, tiny now, made its way toward them. The rendezvous vessel? Or only an unrelated traveler oblivious to their problems in this vast, deep ocean.

  The ocean was full of boats.

  He glanced at Dmytro, whose face remained impassive as always.

  “There’s our ride. Chet,” Peter said, “you know what to do.”

  “God, those two.” Ajax gave a head shake. “It’s like watching Pinky and the Brain.”

  Dmytro’s lips twisted, but he made no comment.

  “Sorry about this, Dmytro.” Peter aimed a shrug Dmytro’s way. “But I think we both know I’d be a fool to let you live.”

  “Damn right.” The words tore away Ajax’s composure. “Dmytro is worth ten of you.”

  “That he is,” Peter said with an honesty that surprised him. “He’s worth a hundred of Chet—”

  “Hey!” Chet was not amused. “I heard that.”

  “But good men are bad for criminal business. I doubt anyone could buy you, Dmytro. Not even with your children’s lives.”

  “Don’t count me out. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth if you harm one hair on their heads.”

  “I lied about that,” Peter said. “Your girls are safe from me.”

  If Ajax expected to feel Dmytro’s body sag with relief, as his wanted to do, it didn’t happen. He simply turned away and watched as the little boat—a trawler, if Ajax wasn’t mistaken—chugged nearer and nearer.

  No hope for a last-minute rescue from Iphicles, then. None of the ex-military snobs who worked there would look at that tub, much less board it.

  Dmytro still didn’t say a word, and he wouldn’t look at Ajax directly either. He kept his eyes on the horizon, on the boat as it neared. On Chet and Peter, who grabbed duffel bags from the bridge and waited until the vessel drew alongside.

  Peter’s smile reminded Ajax he’d originally thought him charming, in a hipster way. “I hope you know, I’m truly sorry you and Bartosz got in the way of my plans. Anyone might have caught babysitting duty, only you and he drew the short straws.”

  “I understand,” Dmytro said calmly.

  Ajax had definitely gained a passionate hatred for beards and flannel and fucking gages. He’d certainly never look at another man wearing them without wanting to kill them.

  Not that he had much longer to live.

  “Here’s where we leave you.” Peter threw his bag to the other boat. Chet followed suit and clambered aboard the railing, leaping onto the dirty thing without a backward glance.

  “You’re gonna leave us alive?” Ajax asked, astounded. Maybe they’d get out of this after all?

  He’d chew his way through that fucking tape if he had to.

  “Aw.” Peter laughed. “He lives in hope, doesn’t he? Wraps himself in it like he wrapped himself in all that cash his family had.”

  Ajax glanced to Dmytro for an explanation.

  Dmytro shook his head.

  Peter stood by the railing for a moment longer before he added, “I’m going to miss this barge.”

  Then he went over the railing to join Chet on the smaller boat.

  “What the hell just happened?” Ajax asked, but before Dmytro could answer, the trawler’s engines roared to life and it took off. “Dmytro, answer me.”

  Dmytro watched it go, saying nothing.

  “Is that it?” Ajax asked. “Seriously, if that’s it, then help me get out of this fucking tape.”

  “Here.” Dmytro scooted along the railing far enough to lift his foot near Ajax’s hands. “There’s a knife in my boot.”

  “Where?” Ajax couldn’t think clearly. Why had Peter left them alive? Why was the trawler turning again, its engines idling?

  “Inside, along the ankle, there’s a slim blade. Feel it? Hurry!”

  “You’ve had a knife all along? Couldn’t you have used this to save the day before now?”

  “Against two men armed with three handguns. Not really.”

  “All right. Got it.” Ajax twisted and turned until he could feel inside Dmytro’s boot. The blade was slim, more like a letter opener than a knife, but it was sharp enough to get through duct tape. He didn’t look forward to peeling off more of his skin, but that was the least of his worries.

  He sliced through his own and then through Dmytro’s. “Don’t you think it’s weird that they didn’t see this coming?”

  Was the trawler even moving now? It wasn’t. Maybe they were making sure they got away?

  Or… Ajax turned to Dmytro. “Oh God. Are they coming back?”

  “No.”

  “They why all this? Why leave us alive? Why the goddamn mind fuck?”

  “They probably didn’t want us found with bullet holes in our bodies,” Dmytro said grimly. “Pretend you’re still tied to the railing and stay down while I—”

  Whump. The deck of the Charioteer gave a mighty, mighty shudder, and water churned all around it like—like—

  “Oh my God.” From his sitting position at the rail, Ajax was thrown brutally against its bars. His ribs cracked against the metal and he let out a shocked cry. “Did they just blow us up?”

  Ajax’s body rolled when another shockwave hit, and the entire ship heaved from one side to the other. It pitched and dove without anywhere to go because they were still dragging the anchor.

  Dmytro used one of his powerful arms to drag himself upright while he tried to cushion Ajax’s next fall with his body. “Hold on to the railing. Hold tight, Ajax. Don’t let go until I tell you to.”

  “I saw this movie,” Ajax said, stricken. “One of us dies.”

  Despite Dmytro’s death grip, they were tossed around like dolls.

  Ajax shouted, “Are they watching this? Watching us until we go down?”

  “Probably. Keep your head down. They’ll start shooting if they think we have a chance.” Dmytro grabbed Ajax’s hand. “Come with me. Stay low. We might still be able to transmit a—”

  Hot mist spattered Ajax’s face. A microsecond later, the crack of gunfire came over the wind. Ajax watched, unable to comprehend, as Dmytro hit the railing and fell overboard.

  As if in a dream, Ajax watched him hit the water. Everything in his life narrowed down to one man, one choice. He glanced back at the trawler to find it had turned again and was chugging away.

  Leaving them. Leaving him on a sinking boat. Leaving Dmytro to plunge, unconscious, to the bottom of the sea, and Ajax—Ajax was a strong, well-trained swimmer, and he would fight, but no one could fight forever.

  There was nothing else to do but get on the rail, take a deep breath, and jump into the water.

  Chapter 25

  THE SEA rushed at Ajax hard as concrete. When his feet hit the frigid water, his breath rushed out, instantaneous and reflexive. Already he knew that this was going to be like nothing he’d ever experienced. For one thing, he couldn’t see. Debris from the sinking boat, papers and rags. Oil and fuel and filthy water he didn’t want to think about boiled up around them.

  Giving his body the chance to acknowledge the chill, he pumped as hard as he could to the surface for a deep breath, and then dove again lower, making wide, frantic arcs with his arms. Just when he felt like he couldn’t hold his breath a second longer, he brushed Dmytro’s hand, made a grab for it, and kicked as hard as he could to the surface.

  Dmytro was a rock. A fucking mountain. Once they were at the surface, it took all Ajax’s strength to pull his head up and out of the water. He dragged Dmytro into a rescue hold, keeping Dmytro’s head on his shoulder, praying he wasn’t too late, but it took every ounce of his strength
to keep him afloat. He had three, maybe four minutes like this. No more.

  Dmytro lay limply while Ajax kicked hard to keep them on the surface. He was too pale and still. Ajax wanted to cry, to scream.

  He couldn’t do both—hold Dmytro’s head above water and perform CPR.

  He resorted to desperation and rage at the world, slapping Dmytro’s face as best he could from that angle. Once. Twice. Nothing happened.

  Then he wrapped both arms around Dmytro’s belly and compressed them as if to administer the Heimlich.

  On the third try, Dmytro coughed. He vomited water. He gagged and gasped for breath. Dmytro showed no other signs of consciousness.

  Ajax could not allow himself to panic. The boat was going down absurdly fast. As it did, water churned menacingly all around him. But Ajax was a geek who’d grown up watching MythBusters, and they’d proven sinking boats don’t pull a swimmer under. But he did have other things to worry about.

  He had no rescue tube. And he had no hope of keeping both of them alive for any length of time without some kind of flotation. Against every ancient fear, he swam toward the wreck, looking for something he could use.

  Already the sea was a wasteland of plastic water bottles, aluminum cans, rags, and paper, and now he hoped there might be more. Something he could use as makeshift flotation until rescue came.

  If rescue came.

  Shit. Shit, shit, there. The ship’s life ring buoy was still looped over the hook outside the bridge, and if only he could get the both of them over there before the ship sank, he could get it.

  Maybe there were other things? Had there been flotation vests on the bridge?

  The ship gave another violent shudder.

  Shit, shit, she was going down fast. He had to go now. He put his arm across Dmytro’s chest and swam for his life. Air from the sinking vessel caused the water to foam around him. It churned and eddied, pulling at their bodies, dragging at their clothes.

  He let his deck shoes fall off and kept swimming. He was close. So close. He’d just reached for the buoy when the ship gave another horrible groan and a shudder. It heaved again, but this time the bridge sank under water and the buoyant ring floated free.