Surface Tension

by Christine Kling

  I began to explore the inside of the closet. All the clothes appeared to be men’s clothes—slacks, shirts, jackets, shoes, nothing unusual or distinctive. The jackets smelled of a musky cologne and faintly of cigarette smoke, as though they had been worn only to parties or clubs. Clothes filled only half the closet. The other side was piled high with sealed cardboard boxes. I tried lifting one—it felt very heavy, like it might be filled with paper or books.

  There was a safe in there, too, about three feet high. I had bumped my head on the corner and I pulled a shirt off a hanger to wipe the encrusted blood off my head.

  The closet’s doorknob was a round ball, the old-fashioned sort of lockset found in the fifties houses in Lauderdale. These old doorknob locks were laughable. In the center was a depression, a hole, and if I had a bobby pin or a screwdriver I could stick it in there and turn the lock. I needed something about an inch long, maybe a little more—assuming this was the only lock on the door. I tried jiggling and rattling the knob. Sometimes in these old houses, things were loose enough you could just jiggle the lock free. It didn’t work this time, though, and from the sound of the throaty growl on the far side of the door I suddenly understood why they weren’t worried about the stupid little lock.

  “Hey, Chewy, good dog, good dog,” I said aloud, and my voice sounded funny in the darkness. He growled, and I heard him snuffling along the base of the door.

  “Good dog, nice dog. You don’t want to eat me now, do you?” I continued the soft friendly tone, saying lots of nonsense but giving him time to get used to my voice. I put my fingertips at the base of the door and let him smell me while I sweet-talked him.

  I stood and began going through the pockets of the clothing hanging in the closet, all the while continuing to talk softly to the dog. It was possible I’d get lucky and find a pocketknife, a nail clipper, something I could use to unlock that door. He (whoever he was) had shirts, jackets, parkas, robes, and racks of ties, belts, and shoes. He favored the molded plastic hangers—there was not a wire coat hanger in the place. I found lint balls, packs of gum and cruddy old wrappers, crumpled receipts, broken cigarettes, and lots of change, but nothing to help me open the door.

  I slid to the floor and leaned my back against the door. Chewy whined, this time for more attention.

  I got up and felt my way to the safe, shoved the hanging clothes aside, and climbed on top of the smooth metal box. When I stood, I whacked the back of my head against the edge of a wire rack, but by holding on to the bar I was able to lean back and feel what was on the shelf. Nothing on this side. I grabbed the wire shelf and tested it for sturdiness, then leaned across to feel the other side. Much of the shelf was empty, but shoved all the way to the back was another cardboard box. I could just get my fingernails into the crevice on the bottom of the box. Swinging my leg out, I searched for some of the boxes on the other side to prop my leg on. I found one and had just started to pull the box off the shelf when I lost my balance and fell, pulling the box down on top of me. My head avoided a blow for the first time in a while, and thankfully, the contents of the thing were not heavy. As I reached around the floor feeling for what had fallen, I found only scattered papers and a three-ring binder—nothing to work on the lock on that door.

  Damn. He’s got belts in here, I thought in frustration. I could always hang myself.

  Belts. I stood up and began feeling my way down the row of clothing until I came across the hanger containing the collection of belts. I felt my way to the buckles and began searching for one with a flat metal prong. The first one I tried wasn’t long enough to reach inside the locked knob, and the second was too big around to fit in the hole. The third slid right in, and after I jostled it around a bit, it slid into the slot, and I felt the lock turn.

  So far so good. Now I just had to keep from getting eaten alive by the friggin’ pit bull. Then I remembered ... the gum! I searched through several jackets before I found the first pack. 1 slid it into my pants pocket and kept on searching. I wound up with five partial packs of gum.

  I crouched by the door and called softly to Chewy while unwrapping a stick. I folded and stretched the gum, releasing more scent. The dog’s nose was snuffling, working overtime along the crack at the door base. I slid the gum through and heard the slobbering sound as he devoured the first piece.

  I had this dog eating out of the palm of my hand, literally. I slid another piece under the door. My heart was coming up my throat as I turned the knob and slowly swung the door open. The dog’s dark shape slowly advanced on me. I held a stick of gum at arm’s length and watched the huge muzzle closing in on my hand. Chewy opened his mouth and licked my fingers before taking the last stick of Cinnamint. The lump that should have been his tail waggled back and forth on his rump.

  The dark bedroom appeared bright to me after what had seemed like hours in the closet. The drapes were drawn, and the door to the hall was closed, but I could see a sliver of light under the door. I scratched Chewy’s ears and checked my gum supply. Nothing but Juicy Fruit left. I gave him another piece, thinking he was going to be sorry in the morning.

  I listened for noises out in the hall. The house seemed eerily quiet. Judging from the size of the waterbed that dominated the center of the room, I was in the master bedroom. I checked the desk and both nightstands, but there was no telephone. Most of the desk drawers were empty, with not even a letter opener to use as a weapon.

  Across the hall, I heard voices, and I darted back into the closet and closed the door. I picked up the three-ring binder disappointed that there was not more weight to it, and held it high, ready to bean the first person who walked through the door. But the low murmur of voices stayed at a distance, just conversation, men’s laughter. I opened the door a crack, and Chewy pushed his nose inside, demanding to be petted.

  “Okay, okay,” I whispered, scratching him behind his ears. I was still carrying the three-ring binder and when I turned to return it to the closet, I noticed the name written on the cover in black Magic Marker. Bahama Belle.

  At the window, in the silver moonlight, I read the log of the Bahama Belle as captained by one Zeke Moss. Four seemingly uneventful trips to the Cayman Islands were chronicled. They were hauling American consumer goods, washers and dryers mostly, on the way down, and then bringing back a much smaller load of craft items and cases of Tortuga rum. Each time they came back into the port of Miami, U.S. Customs thoroughly searched the boat and her cargo, and each time they found nothing. Captain Moss seemed very smug in the entries where he noted that nothing illegal had been found aboard.

  Then my eye was drawn to the last few entries. Moss noted that the vessel had gone into dry dock and was undergoing the usual assortment of repairs. He wrote that Neal Garrett had come aboard and was doing some kind of work for Crystal. Neal wouldn’t explain to the captain just what he was doing, and that really irked Moss. Finally, Moss was ordered by Crystal to take three days off, leaving Garrett in charge. When Zeke returned, Neal had vanished and the boat was unmanned in the Miami River yard. Moss noted that they were very fortunate nothing was stolen.

  The log stopped on the date of Crystal’s arrest. Zeke must have called Crystal and complained about Neal’s irresponsibility, and that’s when Crystal came over with a gift of a little dope to appease the angry captain. He didn’t tell him what Neal had been up to.

  Thinking about the drawings I had found inside my copy of Bowditch, it was becoming clear that Neal had created some kind of hidden compartment aboard the Bahama Belle, and had done so on orders from Crystal. But whatever was there, neither Crystal nor the Coasties nor the demolition crew had been able to find it.

  The voices from down the hall grew louder: It was clearly an argument.

  I hurried back into the closet and returned the ship’s log to the box. I grabbed some other papers out of the box and carried them to the window. Chewy followed me across the room, and I reached down to scratch his ears as I read. There were pages and pages of financial records. I c
ould easily see that the transactions amounted to hundreds of thousands of dollars. Given the number of cardboard boxes in there, the totals must be in the millions. Maybe Crystal wasn’t trying to smuggle anything into the country, but was smuggling something out: cash.

  I certainly knew enough now to interest Collazo. I just had to get out of this place.

  I drew one corner of the drape back slowly and found that the window opened onto a tiny courtyard on the side of the house. A small, dried-up fountain stood at the center of the brick patio, lit only by the moonlight. I unlatched the window and slid up the wood-framed glass. Warm, humid night air flowed into the air-conditioned room, along with the night noises of crickets, frogs, and cicadas. I looked back over my shoulder at the door and down at Chewy. The dog’s dark eyes followed my every move.

  I pushed the bottom of the screen outward and slid it to the grass, then ducked through and dropped to the ground. Chewy stood on his hind legs, poking his massive head out the window.

  “Chewy, sit.” He immediately dropped to the floor and obeyed. Abaco had never listened to me the way this dog did. “Stay.” I slid the window far enough closed to prevent his escape.

  From the patio, a brick path led toward the street along the side of the house past the other bedroom windows. The overgrown areca palms grew like a massive hedge to ensure total privacy in the compound. I had to dodge the overhanging fronds to make my way down the walk, and I stepped carefully around the fanlike branches on the ground lest they crunch underfoot and call the attention of someone inside. This side of the house had not seen a gardener’s care in months, and after the rain, the night air was thick with the sweet smell of layers of rotting vegetation.

  The middle bedroom’s mini blinds were drawn, but one of the bottom slats was twisted, and I could see a tiny sliver of the bedroom. The bright lights were on, and a couple of video cameras were focused on the far side of the room. I inhaled sharply when I moved my head to the right and recognized the people in the brightly lit bed. All three were nude. The ponytailed man was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sunny lay on her back spreadeagled, her hands bound at the head of the bed, her eyes wide, and Alexis, the dancer from the Top Ten Club, was kneeling between her legs. All three were listening to Crystal, who was standing beside the bed, giving directions, waving his hands around, evidently shouting, though I couldn’t hear him over the noise of the air conditioner a few feet away from me. Sunny’s eyes held the same look of terror I had seen on Ely’s on the video screen.

  Crystal went over to Alexis as though to demonstrate something and suddenly backhanded her, knocking her off the bed. Sunny struggled, but the ponytailed man held her legs, laughing. Crystal turned to yell something at one of the cameramen. As the lights lit his eyes, I saw the raw sexual excitement there, and I felt my throat constrict. He advanced toward Sunny, opened his mouth wide, and stuck out his tongue, running it around his lips in what he must have thought was a sexy gesture, but instead only made him look more hideous. His bug eyes stared at her as he began to unbuckle his pants. I moved away from the window. Running for help now was out of the question.

  XXIII

  Chewy was still sitting beneath the window like an obedient sentry when I slid the glass open again and reentered the room. His rump twitched and he dog-smiled at me, his tongue falling out the side of his mouth.

  I had to get the men to leave that room, leaving the girls behind. I stood in the middle of the room and stared at the closet door thinking that my idea just might work.

  Walking over to the window, I tried to imagine what they would think when they ran into the room and saw the open window. I kicked off one of my worn old deck shoes and dropped it on the carpet in front of the window. I thought about whom I was dealing with and kicked off the other shoe as well, dropping it on the lawn outside the window. Stepping into the closet, I made sure that I could fit behind the clothes with my legs hidden by the safe. Yes, it just might work.

  I opened the door to the hall and peered out. All was quiet. The next bedroom door was closed. I felt in my pocket for the last piece of gum.

  I stepped into the hall and held the gum out for Chewy. “Here, boy.” He ambled into the hall and I eased around him, then backed into the doorway.

  “Chewy,” I whispered. “Go get Zeke! Where’s Zeke?” The dog’s ears pricked up, and he trotted to the next door. I closed my door dashed into the closet, and hid. I

  heard Chewy whining and scratching at the door down the hall, then I heard the door open. “What the fuck? Hey, Cesar come here, quick. We left the dog in there with her.”

  The door to my room flew open, and the two of them raced in and went straight to the window. “Shit, son of a bitch! She got out.” They pounded out of the bedroom and back next door.

  Soon more footsteps headed down the hall. Crystal was shouting incomprehensibly in a mixture of Spanish and English. The dog was barking, excited by the men’s agitation. I heard the front door open and slam several times, as well as the sound of cars starting up.

  I tiptoed to the closet door and peered out. So far so good. The hall was empty. I padded barefoot to the studio room, and as I had hoped, the two girls were there. Sunny was curled up in a fetal position crying, while Lex sat smoking a cigarette. Lex saw me first.

  “You’re shittin’ me,” she said.

  I held my fingers to my Ups. “Shh.”

  The knots in the leather thongs that bound Sunny’s hands were tight, but after several seconds, I had loosened them and set her free. I smiled at her then and jerked my head to indicate they should follow me.

  “You coming with us?” I whispered to Lex.

  “Yeah,” she said, grinding her cigarette out on the wood nightstand. “They ain’t paying me enough to do Crystal. What a freak.”

  Neither of them had a stitch on, but that was the least of our worries. I led them back to the end bedroom, and we climbed out the window. This time we turned toward the river side. The brick patio led around the corner of the house and joined the pool and boat dock area. I turned to the girls.

  “We’re going to run for the river and swim for it. I can’t see anybody, but that doesn’t mean they won’t see us. We’re going to be really exposed running across that lawn.”

  “You can say that again,” Lex said, and smiled at me.

  “Yeah, right. Look, don’t stop for anything. The tide is flowing downriver right now. If somebody sees us, swim to the middle of the river and try to keep your head underwater as long as you can. If we get separated, we’ll meet up again on the far side of the river by the next bridge. Okay?”

  Sunny looked so scared.

  “You can swim, can’t you?”

  They nodded.

  “Then let’s do it.”

  We took off running across the lawn, jumped onto the wood deck around the pool, and leaped down the three steps to the dock. Right as I passed the Jacuzzi, I heard Crystal’s scream.

  “It’s them! Cesar, Zeke, they’re back here!”

  I jumped, stretched out, and flew through the air in one of the finest racing dives I have ever executed. I heard and felt the impact of the other two behind me. I was probably a much stronger swimmer than they were, but then, I was weighted down by my clothes. They didn’t have that problem.

  The first time I came up for air, I saw Sunny struggling far behind me. She really wasn’t much of a swimmer. She was dog-paddling and looking like she was trying to climb up out of the water.

  “Sunny, hold on. I’m coming.”

  Back at the dock, I could see three figures on the Hard Bottom, their muffled voices unintelligible across the water except for a few words: “Keys ... assholes ...”

  When I was about three strokes away from Sunny, I heard her take one of those desperate inhales, as she sucked water and went down.

  I filled my lungs as full as I could and dove. It was so black that there was no point in even trying to open my eyes. She had to be right here. I had lost too many lately, and I was
n’t about to lose this one. She was already deep when my fingers finally brushed through her hair. I twined my fingers in the strands and reached for her as my lungs started to ache. I pulled her to the surface, but mine was the only gasp for air.

  I heard the boat rumble to life about the same time the spotlight clicked on. I was almost to the far bank of the river with Sunny. She still wasn’t breathing, but I saw a sportfisherman with an aft swim step and folding boarding ladder. I had a heck of a time when I tried to pull her up onto the swim step. I stretched her out, cleared the airway, and started mouth-to-mouth. Before long she gagged, puking up river water, and I dragged her to the side deck, out of sight of that damn spotlight. She was groggy and confused, and I hushed her and lay down on the deck next to her exhausted, looking up at the stars, watching the spotlight glide along the riverbank and listening to the music of her breathing.

  After several minutes, she coughed a little and started to sit up.

  “Shh. Lie down. They’re looking for us,” I whispered.

  The spotlight lit up the superstructure of the boat and shone beyond into the bushes and pathways of the homes on the riverbank. Sunny lay quiet as we heard the burbling of Crystal’s boat passing just alongside ours. I could tell from the voices that Cesar was up on the bridge, Zeke down on deck level. Although I couldn’t understand most of the words, I knew they were arguing, shouting at one another.

  Suddenly, Cesar shouted, “Look! Over there! In the water!” The boat’s RPMs increased, and we heard the swoosh of the prop wash, followed by the creaking dock lines as our boat pulled against her moorings in the turbulent water. I crawled forward and watched over the bulwark as their white boat tied up to an empty dock and Cesar took off running across a lawn. I assumed it was Lex they’d seen or heard. I hoped she wouldn’t get caught.

  I turned around, leaned my back against the inside of the bulwark, and tried to think. Sunny was sitting on the deck, hugging her knees to her chest, shivering, and looking up at me like she thought I knew what we were going to do next. Naked and wet, she looked miserable. How the hell was I supposed to get all the way across downtown Fort Lauderdale with a gorgeous, naked fifteen-year-old girl?