Rogue Wave

by Isabel Jolie

  “I owe you jack shit.”

  “Now, that’s not true.” He wagged his finger in the air. “And I happen to know you’ve already taken your fuck toy and that nigger and tried to hide ’em away.”

  I peered over the dunes. The same cargo ship from last night docked offshore.

  “That ship’s yours.”

  He licked his lips and grinned. “Let’s go inside.”

  I sat down on the top stair and glared up at him, my hands balled into fists. “Nope. Tell me what you want. Out here.”

  His trench coat had long slits for pockets, and he thrust his right hand into the pocket as his nostrils flared. His beady, angled eyes reminded me of a shark, circling, debating the best attack point. He pivoted, casting glances at windows once more, then lifted his hand partially out of the deep pocket, enough to show me the butt of a pistol.

  “Inside. Now.”

  I debated my options. If he killed me, he’d get nothing, so flashing a gun was nothing more than an empty threat. I didn’t know what he wanted. All I wanted was to get him to leave us alone.

  I huffed loudly, spit at his feet, just to show the pissant I wasn’t scared, and let the screen door slam behind me.

  He followed me inside. Scanned the place, taking stock of the interior like a thief. Translation workbooks and Learn to Read books sat in a neat stack on the kitchen table, along with pens. Jasmine’s flip-flops rested near the back door. Several throw blankets lined the sofa. A framed photo of Jasmine and my brother’s family in front of a lit Christmas tree decorated the side table.

  The photo grounded me and reminded me of my purpose.

  “What do you want?”

  “I need your help.”

  “So you sent threatening photos?”

  “Wanted to grease the wheels. You know how it works.”

  “I told you, I don’t work for you anymore. Plus, I’ve got a family now.”

  “Thought you might say that.” He scratched his jaw and pivoted on his boot. “Are the rumors true? Did you torch Rising Tide?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t believe you. Transfer ten million to my account, and we’ll call it even.”

  “Ten million? Are you out of your mind?” I’d expected he was after money, but…

  “You blew up a fucking ship. Native Shipping figured out who did it. They’re coming after me now since you were my employee. You can work it off or pay it off.”

  The god damn fucker. Same logic he used on the indentured slaves they kept on ships. Yeah, the ship might have cost ten million, but I knew his game. He pegged numbers high enough that he’d think I had to work and find ways to keep me in his employ. Maybe not as long as the men sleeping with rats, but he’d find something. To a guy like Zane, I was only a means to an end, and that end was money in his pocket. I glared at him, hating I’d ever gotten wrapped up with this guy or that world. The dark underbelly of the manmade lawless ocean.

  He traced a finger over my television and lifted it, examining the pad of his finger as if checking for dust. “Why’d you do it?”

  “What?” I barely heard the question, he said it so low, under his breath.

  “Why’d you blow the ship up? You delivered it. Did your job. What the fuck happened? Did you decide you had to go all martial law? Did something happen on that ship?”

  “Native Shipping has slaves on those ships. Rising Tide wasn’t a cargo ship. And you know it.”

  He shook his head, slow and sure.

  “Unless you’re counting humans as cargo, it wasn’t cargo.”

  “You didn’t think it was a wee bit suspicious that you quit right after the ship you returned mysteriously blew up out in the harbor?” I’d known it was suspicious. That was why I’d dumped my cell before returning to the States. That captain had men in chains. Someone had to do something. The Haitian officials were corrupt. Options were limited.

  I rubbed my forehead. There was no point in debating anything with a guy like Zane. He saw himself as a good guy. An arbiter on the seas. Sometimes, the term repo man probably did fit. The times he reclaimed ships for banks when the shipping companies fell behind on payments. Other times, he was in deep on bilking schemes. Corrupt local officials fined boats in port and effectively captured them. Sometimes he instigated the charges. Other times he escaped with the ship and took it out to the twelve-mile line, out of the jurisdiction of local authorities.

  “Ten million, and you leave me alone, for good?” I asked. Going back to work for him wasn’t going to happen. The whites of the eyes of the men on those boats visited all too often.

  He stepped back, studied me. He ground his teeth as if he had a small wad of chewing tobacco tucked into the side of a cheek. His expression shifted, and I could tell the moment he decided his first number hadn’t been high enough.

  “You’ll transfer the funds to the account I give you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Today?”

  “I’ll get my laptop. Do it now.”

  “There’s no way to get you to come back out and work with us?”

  “No.”

  “Do it.” He pulled out his cell and opened it to a screen with account information to a bank in the Seychelles.

  I flipped open my laptop and debated my next move.

  I stood to find my phone.

  Zane pulled the gun out of his pocket and held it casually by his side, pointed at the ground, watching me. The shark circling prey.

  “I need to call someone. I don’t have that kind of money sitting around.”

  “Didn’t think you did.”

  The way he said it gave him away. Somehow, he had access to all my accounts. Gabe had been right. He’d been monitoring me.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  Zane’s thumb rubbed up and down on the butt of the gun.

  “Gabriel, I need you to transfer ten million for me. I don’t have it in my accounts. Is there any chance I can borrow the funds from you, then pay you back?”

  For Gabe, ten million was the equivalent of loaning Taco Bell money back when we were in high school. Still, I hated the idea of borrowing money. My brother had set up a payment plan to pay me back for my shares of our family company, so no matter what happened, I’d eventually pay Gabe back. Plus, I had some gigs in play working as a consultant.

  A door closed on Gabe’s end. “Is someone with you right now?”

  “Yes.” Zane glared at me, tracking my every move, but he’d relaxed enough to return his gun to his coat pocket. I backed up and leaned against the far wall, hoping I was far enough away he couldn’t hear Gabe.

  “Are you in danger?”

  “To some extent. Can you help me out? I’ll pay you back.”

  “You know if you do this, chances are this won’t be the end of it.”

  “Yep.” Gabe wasn’t saying anything I didn’t know. Guys like this were sharks. Blood in the water, and there was a good chance they’d come back if they got hungry again.

  “No problem, man. I made a lot more than that yesterday. Plan G in effect. My contact at the New York Times got back to me. I think he’s gonna want to meet you.”

  I smashed the screen against my ear, uncertain what Zane could hear.

  “Let me send you over the account details for the wire transfer.” I ended the call then texted the details Zane provided while looking over my shoulder. Gabe texted back a transfer confirmation. The money wouldn’t immediately transfer. There would be a temporary hold on an amount that large. Zane requested the wire details, and he sent the information off into the ether. Deal done.

  “Can you give me a ride back to the marina?”

  “You have a boat there?” I’d assumed he had a dinghy or something up on the beach.

  “Small craft.”

  “Sure. Come on.” The sooner he got off the island, the better. Then I could go pick up Luna and Jasmine and tell them everything was okay.

  Left down Wynd Road would be the most direct path, but Zane pointed r
ight. “Can we go that way? I’ve been watching this island, and I’d like to see the middle. I’m curious.”

  Turning right then driving down the middle of the island would add maybe five to ten minutes, tops. I didn’t see any harm in taking the longer route. I also didn’t have a choice.

  “Sure.” I turned right.

  He shifted in the seat to study the beach houses that lined the path. Pretty much standard for anyone going this way. The cool breeze stung my cheeks, and my tension eased. Those fucking photos had had me edgy. The unspoken threat terrified me, as intended. All I needed to do was borrow from a friend who had more money than a small country. Problem solved.

  “My sources say you’re thinking of downloading info on Native Shipping. You do that, you’ll make enemies.” There was no threat in the statement. He dropped the comment in an offhanded, casual manner.

  “Not sure what your sources are saying, but I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

  “Really? No plans to share information with the New York Times?”

  I felt his eyes on me even as I stared straight ahead. We entered the shade of the middle island, the path covered by overhead tree branches. The hum of crickets, frogs, and birds surrounded us.

  I swallowed. He waited.

  “No plans. Besides, even if I was going to do something like that, it wouldn’t make sense now, right? I’ve paid you. You and I are even. Native Shipping and I are even.”

  “Yeah, but you’re one of those environmentalists. You probably have a problem with what they do.”

  “Oh, you mean illegal fishing? Or are you talking about smuggling guns and drugs? Or the human trafficking bit? Because, like you said, they’re massive. Billion-dollar company, right? Have they ventured into all the areas of the trade? Or are they still staying out of piracy?”

  “You publish any nonsense, and it means pressure from some countries might increase and make life difficult. Don’t do it.”

  “What countries do they care about? Haiti? Liberia? Ghana? Somalia?” The list could go on and on. Ports of call to cater to the high sea criminals weren’t exactly small in number.

  “God damn. You’re such a fucking bleeding heart.”

  My grip on the steering wheel tightened. “You know, I think people use the term bleeding heart because it’s the only negative they can come up with for someone who wants to do good. And the only reason people like you don’t like it is that doing good stymies your ability to commit crimes against nature.”

  A hard object jammed into my ribcage, and I twisted away from it, right as his large, gloved hand fell over mine. My attention zoned in on the black leather glove. The temperature hung in the fifties. Chilly, but not glove weather.

  “Stop the cart.”

  I pulled to a stop. A bone deep chill penetrated my hands, then deep within my chest.

  I’d paid him. Now, his only remaining objective would be to shut me up. Another rogue wave, never entirely unexpected. Keep your head and ride it.

  “It’s not like what I know matters. Plenty of articles about crimes on the high seas exist. TV shows, even movies. There’s nothing in it for me to share what I know.”

  “Probably. But there’s no reason to take on unnecessary risk. Tensions between China and the U.S. and Iran are sky-high. If a story breaks, impossible to say who’d try to use it to their advantage. Better to nip the small fires before they spread.”

  He pointed his gun down a nature trail through the marsh. “Walk.”

  I didn’t move, and he walked around to my side and pointed the gun at my head.

  I lifted my phone and dialed Gabe’s number, said, “Cancel the wire transfer,” and disconnected.

  Zane’s eyes bulged. “What the fuck? You have a death wish?”

  “You’re going to kill me anyway, right? That’s the plan?” He raised his gun, and perspiration kicked in. I slipped into negotiation mode. He taught me how to do this. Stay calm. Be in control. “Where’d you want to walk to?”

  He muttered a string of expletives. Called someone. Paced. Gritted his teeth. Cursed. Kicked a rock.

  “Transfer canceled.” The cold metal of his pistol pressed hard against my forehead.

  “Go ahead. Shoot.”

  He cocked the gun. “Wire. That. Money.”

  “Your plan is to kill me. Why would I wire you the funds?”

  “All right. Take me back to my boat. Then wire the money. I’ll leave you alone. You have my word.”

  “Get in.”

  We drove back to the marina in silence. I ran through scenarios in my head as I drove. Negotiating with Zane would never lead to a win. Especially now that I had people in my life to protect. As soon as the marina came into view, I stopped the cart.

  “You always said repo men aren’t bad guys. You told me we make threats, but we don’t actually break the law. No violence. No guns. That’s what you said.”

  “And you were naive enough to believe me. Now, call your friend back. Wire that money. If you don’t, you’ll always be looking over your shoulder.”

  “See, here’s the trouble, Zane. Even if I do wire the money, I’d have to look over my shoulder. As it stands, all that information has already gone out to the New York Times. There’s a journalist there who’s been covering ocean crimes for a decade now. It’s done. Whether you kill me or not, I’ve shared everything I know.”

  “You’re bullshitting me.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “You just fucking told me—”

  “I was scared.” An island safety patrol pickup truck with lights on top of the cab pulled up behind my cart. I nodded to Logan, the driver and the island’s police chief, and the strobe lights flicked on. “I’m not now.”

  Zane’s hand gripped the butt of his pistol. I feared he’d use it, and held my palm up, instructing Logan to remain in the relative safety of the vehicle. A U.S. Coast Guard boat pulled into the marina at a speed that ignored all no-wake guidelines. Zane turned his back on the uniformed officer, his focus intent on the incoming boat.

  “You’re coming with me.” He motioned for me to move.

  “Why? Is that how you want to go out? With a hostage? You’re smart enough to know no one ever wins with the hostage strategy.”

  “What do they know? What are they after?” His right hand gripped the butt of the pistol, but his focus centered on the marina. A police boat with flashing lights sped through the harbor entrance.

  “I’m not sure. What account did you give me to transfer money into?”

  Hatred spewed. “You motherfucker.”

  “I would’ve left you alone. But you came after my family.”

  He raised the pistol as his face contorted. The pickup truck door opened, and the officer raised his pistol into the air.

  “Put the gun down. On your hands and knees.”

  “Game’s over, Zane.”

  Chapter 33

  Luna

  * * *

  Sasquatch, one of Alice’s tabby cats, curled up on my lap the moment I perched on the papasan. To accommodate the large orange tabby cat with golden eyes, I had to sit farther back in the chair and eventually crossed my legs to create a comfy spot. Her purr grew into a soothing, rumbling engine. Alice draped a wool knit afghan around my shoulders and set a steaming cup of tea and a worn paperback romance on the side table. She set Jasmine up similarly on the futon against the wall.

  A long-haired gray cat circled Jasmine’s lap before cuddling up next to her. “Fresco will keep you company.” She cupped Jasmine’s chin and said something more, something I didn’t understand.

  I sat in a trance, lulled by Sasquatch, as Alice flitted about from the glass case filled with bowls and jars, out to the back yard, and then back in. She filled a small cotton pouch with white powder, then brushed her hands off on the front of her dress. The white powder floated through the air.

  “You two are in good care. I’ll be back.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “To
see to things. Stay here today. If you get hungry, you help yourself to anything you want in the fridge.”

  I would have asked more, but the door closed.

  The whites of Jasmine’s eyes glowed in Alice’s dimly lit den. Here on the marsh, trees surrounded her cottage, and a golden glow transcended through the back windows, and inside the house, shadows gathered along the walls.

  “Is Alice?” Jasmine paused and stroked the long-haired beast in her lap. “Is she?”

  “What?”

  “Voo. Doo?”

  I rested my head on the back of the cushiony chair and laughed. In Haiti, voodoo priests were held in high regard. I wasn’t sure if the same would be true in Somalia, or even if her understanding of the English word was the same, but based on her spooked expression, I imagined she had a fairly accurate understanding of the word.

  “No. I don’t think Alice does voodoo.”

  “Is she…witch?”

  I had to think about that question before answering. Sasquatch’s claws dug into my skin as he stretched. “Witch sounds bad. Alice is good.” I tried to keep my words basic. “Alice is spiritual.”

  Jasmine licked her bottom lip but gave no sign as to whether she understood that word.

  “Alice loves nature. Alice loves the Earth.” I stopped judging people for their chosen religious beliefs long ago. If Alice wanted to build an altar in her back yard to be closer to her chosen god, who was I to judge? If she wanted to go outside and pray and chant, which was what I suspected she had gone to do, why stop her?

  Fresco climbed up Jasmine and put his nose to hers. She giggled as his whiskers tickled her. He settled back down on her lap.

  I picked up my book, and Jasmine did the same.

  “I like Alice,” Jasmine told me, pronouncing each word with care.

  “Me too. You don’t have to share all of a person’s beliefs to like them.”

  I pretended to read and look natural and unworried, knowing Jasmine watched closely. Tate wanted me to look out for her, and I could do that. Even though my insides roiled intensely to the point of nausea, I could act like all was well, for Jasmine. I refused to pick up my phone or text Tate to check in. He had things he wanted to get done in the business center, and I didn’t want to interfere. But I wished he would text something…any kind of an update.