Blood, Ash, and Bone

by Tina Whittle

  The shivering intensified. I kept my hand on the gun.

  Jasper moved from shadow to shadow, letting the darkness provide concealment. So he remembered I had a gun. He kept his own gun in low ready, like Trey did. Like professionals did.

  “And it’s not like you’re going anywhere without the boat keys.” He examined the dockhouse, then plinked one shot into it, shattering a window. Trying to flush me out.

  I wanted to hurt him, kill him, over and over and over. I fingered the semi-automatic. It would be smooth and accurate, even wet. I could kill Jasper, take the keys and head for…where? Until I knew where Trey was, shooting Jasper was his death sentence. But we were already dead, it seemed, both of us. The rush to the inevitable, one agonizing second at a time.

  Jasper kicked in the dockhouse door, punching the light on as he did. He disappeared inside, confident now that he could get the drop on me. He kicked the door to the gear room open next.

  I swam silently to the swim ladder and hauled myself up with my mangled burning hands. My sneakers squished as I took my stance with Trey’s gun—arms straight, chest forward, feet apart. I waited, dripping.

  Jasper came out, framed for a second in the backlight. I squeezed the cocking mechanism, and he froze.

  He gave me a twisted smile. “I knew you were around somewhere, cuz.”

  I waved the H&K at him. “Drop your guns, both of them. Right in the water.”

  He did, still smiling.

  “Now the knife.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I know you got a knife. Drop it.”

  He reached for his ankle. I held the gun on him, cocked and ready, finger on the trigger. Trey’s gun was like him—reliable and obedient and relentless. It would not fail me.

  Jasper pulled out a hunting knife and dropped it in the water, where it disappeared with a soft plunk. He was being too submissive. Something was wrong.

  “All this for a little old book,” he said.

  He opened his jacket. I caught a glimpse of burgundy velvet peeking from the interior pocket. He pulled it out with two fingers, carefully, its gilt-edge dull in the night. He tossed it on the dock. It made a thump as it hit the boards.

  “There,” he said. “All yours. You happy?”

  I didn’t reply.

  He kept his eyes on me. “It’s a piece of desecration. That old man in Florida took the Good Book and ruined it with the names of those traitors.”

  “You’ve had it all along.”

  “Only since my boys took it off of Winston’s dead body. Found it in the briefcase instead of what we were looking for. I had plans for it, but not anymore. Not since your friend Hope called you.”

  He kicked it into the river. It splashed and hung at the surface, slowly soaking up the dark water, soon to sink and be gone forever.

  “It’s a fake,” I said.

  “I know. It would’ve been worth something, though, to somebody who didn’t know better. But this ain’t about money, cuz. That’s what you’ve been missing all along.”

  “What’s it about then?”

  “Honor. Justice. By any means necessary.”

  “You’re quoting Malcolm X.”

  The insult didn’t hit home. “He knew that much of the truth. The races must be separate because they are not equal. And I will no longer swear allegiance to those who have abandoned the fight for the white man’s rightful place.”

  “You mean the Klan?”

  Jasper’s eyes blazed. “Traitors. Prostitutes. Selling our name for profit, hiding behind the ACLU.” He spat the words out like bitter poison. “They’ll see. Judgment is coming.”

  “Oh it’s coming, all right.” I held the gun on him with both hands. “Right in your face unless you tell me where Trey is.”

  I squeezed the handle, and the cocking mechanism responded. Jasper shook his head, that infuriating half-smile twisting his mouth.

  “You shoot me, and your boyfriend’s dead.”

  “So you’ll be telling me where he is now. And handing over your cell phone and boat keys.”

  Jasper pulled the phone and keys from his pocket. Before I could take a step, he dropped them, and the black water swallowed them whole.

  “Doesn’t matter where he is now,” he said, “you can’t get to him.”

  My vision reddened at the edges. I leveled the gun at his chest. He shook his head.

  “You got a choice, cuz. We can go back to the house, get the car, and go get your boyfriend. Or you can kill me here, and he dies alone.”

  I tightened my grip. Here at least it was one-on-one, and until I figured out where Trey was…

  And then I knew. I knew it as clearly as I’d known anything in my life. The dropped keys, the ticking engine, the three men coming from the dock. Jasper’s calmness, Trey’s explanation of the one security hole at the ball.

  I steadied the gun. “Get in the dock box.”

  “What?”

  “I said, get in the dock box.”

  Jasper didn’t move. I put one bullet into the board in front of his feet and leveled the gun at his chest again.

  “Don’t fuck with me, cuz. I’m not that girl anymore.”

  He opened the lid of the coffin-shaped box and climbed in. Mounted at the end of the dock, it was a tight space, crammed with tackle and netting, smelling of brackish water and bait. I slammed the lid on top of him and shoved a fishing pole through the latch to hold it closed. Jasper spewed obscenities the whole time, kicking at the sides, his voice muffled through the plastic.

  “He’s dead now, bitch! And it’s all your fucking fault!”

  I aimed the gun at the box. I wanted to empty the magazine, give him a reason to scream. It seemed so right, so easy.

  Instead, I put another bullet into the dock, inches from the box. “Shut up, Jasper, before I kill you here and now. I’m not that girl yet, but I might become her any second.”

  He shut up. I shoved an anchor of top of the box for good measure. He’d eventually kick his way out, but his crew would find him first most likely. Still, it would buy me enough time to get a head start.

  I jumped on the deck of the boat, shoes squishing, ears ringing from the gun’s blast. I put both hands to my mouth. “Trey!”

  Chapter Forty-three

  I did a quick survey—twenty feet of deck space, a head, the engine compartment, the pilot station. Fish cleaning area, gear boxes. Lots of hidden places too, for stashing contraband and weapons.

  “Trey! Where are you?”

  No answer. So I started with the engine compartment, dark and dank and smelling of oil. I pulled out my phone, and Trey’s. Both were soaked and ruined, as I expected.

  “Trey!” I yelled again.

  I almost didn’t hear it. One thump, then another, coming from the head. I yanked at the door. Deadbolted.

  “Hang on, I’m coming!”

  I took a quick inventory—oil cans, boxes, ropes. Then I saw the gaff hook. I hoisted it, and beat at the lock until it snapped. I snatched open the door, hit the light.

  Trey raised his head. He was bound in the corner, back against the wall, hands behind his back. He was barefoot, his ankles duct-taped. They’d taped his mouth too, but his eyes blazed in the dingy light

  I scrambled down the steps and fell to my knees in front of him. “Oh God, are you okay?”

  He nodded. But he wasn’t okay. He was in bad shape, his face mottled with blood. I steadied myself against the rising shock.

  “Hang on.” I reached for him. “I’m gonna get your mouth.”

  I grabbed the tape and tried to peel it off easy. Trey glared at me and stamped his feet. So I ripped it off in one slash. He exhaled sharply, his eyes watering as he coughed.

  “Where’s Jasper?” he said.

  “Locked in the dock box.”

  “And the other three?”

  “Up at the house. Are you okay?”

  “Get a knife.”

  I scrambled back up the stairs to the fish cleaning st
ation. I yanked open the drawer and pulled out a serrated knife, then clambered back down the steps and fell at his feet once more. I sawed at the tape, trying not to see the bruises, the slicing wounds.

  His voice was raw. “They’re Savannah metro, all three. One’s the sniper. ”

  “I know.” I moved behind him with the knife only to see handcuffs. “Oh shit. Now what?”

  “Give me a bobby pin.”

  It took me a second to make the connection. I sank my fingers into my tangled hair and pulled out a pin.

  “Put it in my hands,” he said.

  I did as he asked. He stayed calm, his brow furrowed in concentration, but his eyes were electric.

  He looked up at me. “Boone isn’t a part of this. He doesn’t know.”

  In the distance, I heard the pop-pop of gunfire, muffled yelling. My stomach dropped.

  “He knows now.”

  Trey brought his hands forward and shook them out. His wrists were bloody and raw. He tried to stand, toppling as his legs gave way beneath him. I grabbed his shoulder to catch him, and he sucked in a jagged breath of pain.

  “Trey?”

  “Broken rib. We need to—”

  The sputter of the radio on the bridge interrupted him. I heard Boone’s voice, crackling and urgent. “Tai! Answer me, girl!”

  I ran up the steps and snatched the radio. “Boone! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Where are you?”

  “At the dock, with Trey. I—”

  “Get the hell out. Me and Jefferson got one, but the other two are headed your way. Where’s Jasper?”

  “Locked in the dock box.”

  “You kill him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s a dead man anyway.” Boone coughed, then spat, his voice rough. “Get to open water. And don’t call for help. These guys are cops. They have friends we don’t know about. If they hear a call go out…”

  “I know. Can you get to the dock?”

  Trey limped to the wheel, breathing hard, listening. The rain hissed, and another fork of lightning split the darkness.

  Boone coughed again. “No, but we got things under control here. Go!”

  “But—”

  “Go, I said!”

  In the distance I heard shouting and more gunfire. I shoved past Trey and hit the dock. I unhitched the dock line and threw it into the boat. Then I went to the console, remembering Jasper’s smug expression as he’d dropped the keys into the water. He’d always underestimated me, the chauvinistic pig.

  I pulled open the access panel. Reached in and snatched the wires off the back of the keyswitch, twisted the power wires together and touched them to the starter. The motor sputtered, and I moved to the wheel. I slid it into gear then threw open the throttle, and the boat roared into the dark river. Behind me, I heard Trey slam into the rail.

  I looked over my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine!”

  He pulled himself upright, then lurched for the cleaning station. He yanked at the drawer, tumbling silverware all over the floor. Another thump, heavy, flesh against wood.

  I picked up the radio again. “Boone! You there?”

  “Still here. You on the water?”

  “Good and gone. What the hell is going on?”

  “Jasper decided to have himself a little armed rebellion against the Klan. Jeff’s here with me. He says this is about some speech, that the selectmen council—”

  I heard gunshots at Boone’s end, Jefferson yelling.

  “Boone!”

  “It’s okay, they can’t get in here.”

  “Call for help, Boone.”

  “Like hell! He’s got the cops in on this, the ignorant—”

  “You got a cell phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look up Kendrick Underwood. He’s Savannah metro, straight and narrow. Call his home phone and tell him what’s going on. Use my name. Tell him to keep it QT.”

  I got no answer. I cursed and tried to call him up two more times before I gave up. Behind me, I heard the metallic clash of another drawer being dumped on the floor. Then Trey kicked the cabinets. Hard. I heard other words, bad words.

  “What’s wrong?” I hollered.

  “Drive the boat!”

  “I’m just—”

  “Goddamn it, Tai, drive the fucking boat!”

  I hit the throttle. Behind me, the carnage continued.

  “Sit down!” I yelled.

  “I’m looking for the weapons cache!”

  “Can’t you—”

  The first bullet pinged the hull. I dropped to my knees, hands still on the wheel.

  “Get down!” Trey yelled. “Now!”

  “I am down!”

  Behind me, I heard the buzz of a motor. One look revealed exactly what I didn’t want to see—two of Jasper’s men on a flat fishing skiff, right behind us and gaining fast. Another bullet shattered the left windshield. I cursed and tried to stay low.

  “Trey!”

  “I found the guns! Keep the boat steady!”

  He jammed a mag into a semi-automatic .45, a gun like a cannon. I turned my attention back to the water as he dropped to one knee behind the leaning post.

  “Damn it!” he said. “I can’t get a shot!”

  I stayed low. “Wait until we’re through the next curve. You can get a side shot, take out the motor.”

  “I can’t see them!”

  “Hang on!”

  I hit the docking lights, and the bright white beams illuminated the water behind us, including the skiff. It also made us a much easier target. Another shot pinged the canopy. Another flood of adrenalin as I slung the boat around the steep turn.

  “Keep it steady!” Trey said.

  “I’m trying!”

  I wrenched the wheel. The boat heaved, heavy. The skiff followed. I kept my eyes forward, even when I heard Trey’s gun, four quick staccato shots. I heard yelling behind me and risked another look. The skiff floundered in the water. I saw one man swimming for shore, the other staying on the boat. As I switched off the lights, another bullet zipped by, then another, but we took the next curve and moved out of range.

  Trey limped to stand beside me, busy reloading. His left eye was a welter of blood, his lip split. Dried blood caked his collar, his shirtsleeves.

  “They’re down,” he said.

  He grabbed a spare mag and proceeded to fill it with ammo. We were alone on the waves, ten minutes from River Street, the rain a pummeling wall of water, the wind a banshee.

  Trey kept his eyes on the gun. “There were two of them. There’s a third man, smaller.”

  I switched on the running lights. “Boone said he and Jefferson took care of him.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.” We hit the curve just past the bridge. Close now, very close. “How’d they manage to take you down?”

  “The one posted in the hall had a stun gun.”

  I winced. “Damn. You can’t fight a stun gun.”

  Trey slammed the mag into the chamber. “They put me in a laundry cart, taped and handcuffed. Then they locked me down below on the boat, at least one of them always standing guard.”

  “It’s how they bypassed the security detail at the gate, isn’t it? It’s how they got into our room so easily. Fitzhugh’s room too. They’re cops, in uniform. Safety protocols don’t work against the people who are supposed to protect you.”

  He reached for a new gun, a Sig Sauer nine-millimeter. “It wasn’t supposed to be a kidnapping. They were looking for…I don’t know what it is.”

  “Boone said something about a speech.”

  “They did too. But I don’t know what that means.”

  I hauled the boat around a curve. “Neither do I.”

  He finished loading the nine and picked up a new gun. “I surprised them as they were searching. But Jasper—”

  “Jasper was there?”r />
  “No, he was with Boone on the island. They called him when I arrived. He decided I would make good leverage, so he told them to take me. I didn’t know it was Jasper on the other end of the line, of course—”

  “Or you would have told me. I know.”

  “Right.” Another sharp glance. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Because you said the dock was the weak point in the security plan. Plus the boat’s motor was still hot when I got there, with a quick and messy tie-up. But it wasn’t until Jasper dropped the keys in the marsh that everything clicked.”

  He gave me another look. “I didn’t know you could hotwire a boat.”

  “Are you kidding? Someone who loses keys as much as I do learns to hotwire all kinds of things.” I sent him a look too. “I didn’t know you could pick handcuffs.”

  “Garrity taught me. He also taught me to keep a spare cuff key in my shoe. Which they took, along with my wallet.”

  He was skipping the part of the story where he got bloodied and beaten. I couldn’t see his eyes in the low light, but I knew they’d gone flat blue, steely and opaque.

  “Where is Hope meeting you?” he said.

  “In the alley behind the tattoo shop.”

  “Head that way.”

  He kept jamming bullets into magazines with machinelike efficiency. It took that long for me to realize what was happening. In the relief of finding him, of making the getaway, of hearing Boone’s voice and knowing he was safe and on my side, I’d forgotten Hope. She was still in danger. And we were on a direct course for her location.

  I felt sick to my stomach. “We’re going to save her, aren’t we?”

  Trey opened another box of ammo. “I’ll need to get as close as possible to the meet point. Where can you dock?”

  I stared at him, the water peeling away in front of me. The men would have let Jasper out of the dock box, but he wasn’t on that skiff. I knew what Trey had figured out. Jasper was headed for Hope, probably by car, the faster route. And when he found her, he would not negotiate or hesitate.

  Did I care if Hope died? Not at that moment. Would I care later? No answer came.

  “Trey?”

  He didn’t look up. “What?”

  “Why are we doing this?”

  “Because it’s…because she’s…”