She was on her back and completely still, blood oozing slowly from a cut on her upper right forehead at the hairline. Her carotid pulse was intermittent and thready and, if she was breathing, Crockett couldn’t detect it. The fisherman bending over her across from him was wearing one of those advertising type buttons on the side of his hat that read Old Fishermen Never Die, They Just Smell That Way. Crockett ripped the hat from his head, extracted the button, and pulled the button’s heavy pin back to a right angle. Placing the tip of the pin against the end of the woman’s left middle finger just below the nail, he pushed until the pin struck bone and began to rock it back and forth.
She gasped and spit a small amount of water from the side of her mouth. Crockett ground brutally on the pin until she began to make a low mewing sound, rolling her head slowly back and forth. The wound on her forehead started to bleed a little more. Mazy approached the group. Crockett noticed her.
“‘Call an ambulance,” he said, and looked at Zeb. “Get over here and take this pin. Keep abusing her with it until she’s screaming or kicks your ass.” He turned to the nearest fisherman. “Get something to put under her head, and cover her with your jacket. Stay with her until help arrives. I think she’ll be okay. I’m going to the house.”
As he gave Zeb her hand, Crockett noticed the woman’s watch. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. Groaning, he struggled to his feet, turned his back on the lake, and began his slow walk to the Pequod.
It was almost noon. Crockett had been napping fitfully for nearly two hours when the pounding woke him. He grunted the recliner to an upright position and lurched to open the door. Looking up at him was a large man wearing a gray suit with an open-collared shirt. A black Lincoln Towne Car idled in front of the H2.
“’Scuse me,” the man said. “You the guy that got Christine outa the lake this morning?”
Crockett rubbed his forehead and squinted in the light. “Yeah.”
“Mister April wants to thank you. They’re back from the hospital. He’d like it if you came to his room with me.”
Crockett sighed. “Okay. May as well get it over with. Just a minute.”
He left his visitor standing in the open doorway as he picked up his keys and his last pack of Shermans. His wallet and contents were spread across the table, drying. His number one leg hung upside down in the shower, doing the same thing. With nothing left to get, Crockett stepped outside and followed his escort to the car. Less than three minutes later, they entered one of the two suites available at Watkins Inn.
Crockett’s host was a darkly handsome, tan and well-groomed man in his mid forties. He wore gray sharkskin slacks and an eggshell silk dress shirt with rolled-up French cuffs, open at the neck. His extended hand was graced by manicured and buffed nails and two diamond rings worth more than Crockett’s house. He smelled faintly of cologne. He smiled. His teeth were too white.
“Mister Crockett,” he said. “Good of you to come. I’m Johnathan April. My friends call me Johnny. I wish you would, too. Please sit. May I offer you a drink?”
“Scotch rocks?” Crockett asked.
“Scotch rocks it is,” his host said, and Crockett’s escort was immediately in motion at a suitcase bar that sat on a small table at the side of the room. Stifling a smile, Crockett took one of two armchairs near the door. Mister April took the other.
“Firstly,” he said, “I want to thank you for your unselfish act of earlier today. It was a brave and selfless thing to do.”
Crockett shrugged. “I just happened to be there,” he said.
“Exactly the response I would have expected from a man such as you. Are you all right? Did you suffer any injury as a result of your actions?”
Crockett accepted his drink and smiled. “I’ll survive,” he said. “The only injury to me was the brutal reminder that I’m not as young as I used to be. How is the lady?”
“She is recovering,” April said. “She has a cut on her forehead that should heal with very little scarring and an extremely painful finger.”
Crockett sampled his scotch. “I’ll bet she does,” he said. “I shoved a pin in it.”
“Really?”
“She was unconscious and not breathing. I wanted to cause her as much pain as possible to get her attention and bring her back.”
“It seems to have worked. She certainly was complaining about it.” His smile vanished and he looked at Crockett. “She would have died without you, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Spoil me with another two fingers of this excellent scotch,” Crockett said.
“Of course. What else?”
“Not a thing. Just glad I could help.”
“What brings you to the lake?”
“I’m on vacation. I’ve been traveling for a few weeks.”
“From where, if I may ask?”
“Kansas City.”
“Kansas or Missouri?”
“Missouri.”
“Indeed? And what do you do there?”
“Actually, I’m retired.”
“How nice. From what?”
Crockett smiled. “Enough about me,” he said. “How ‘bout you, Johnny? Where you from?”
“Out west, but I also am based in Kansas City. At least for a while.”
“And what brings you to the lake?”
“Business.”
“Really? What kind?”
“Finance and acquisitions.”
“How nice. What do you finance and acquire?”
April shifted in his chair and Crockett could sense his irritation. “Nothing that would be of any interest to you, Mister Crockett. Tell me, do you have a connection with this marina?”
“Just passing through. I kinda like it here, though.”
April smiled. “It’s a lovely location, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Crockett said. “I’ll probably stay for a day or two before I move on. How ‘bout you, Johnny? How long you gonna be here, ya think?”
April’s reply was stopped by the opening of the bedroom door. In the doorway, wearing a long white terry robe with white three-inch mules, her head swathed in a light blue towel, stood the lady of the lake. Crockett got to his feet. She looked in his direction.
“You him?” she asked, stepping into the room.
“Yes.”
“They tell me you saved my life.”
“How’s your finger?”
She smiled. “It hurts.”
“Christine,” April said, moving in her direction, “this is Mister Crockett. Mister Crockett, this my companion, Christine.”
Crockett stood his ground and inclined his head. “Very nice to see you again,” he said. “You look much better than when we last parted company.”
With careful steps, Christine advanced on him. Even without makeup she was striking. She stopped about two feet away. Crockett looked up at her.
“I’m a mess,” she said, “but without you it wouldn’t make any difference. May I kiss you?”
Crockett smiled. “May I offer you encouragement?” he said.
She leaned in and down and touched his cheek with her lips. “I owe you my life,” she whispered.
“You owe you your life,” Crockett murmured. “Nobody else.”
Christine backed up. Her smile was sad. “Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure,” Crockett replied.
“Mister Crockett,” Johnny said, insinuating himself in the moment, “how’s your drink?”
“Drained,” Crockett smiled, “as am I. It’s been nice to meet all of you, but with your permission, I’ll excuse myself and go finish my nap. Swimming seems to take a lot out of me these days.”
“I’ll have Paul drive you back.”
“No thanks. Paul is sterling company and a sparkling conversationalist, but an unfamiliar companion carrying a concealed weapon makes me nervous.”
He nodded to Christine and escaped the density of the room. On his way back to the Pequod he stopped once to rest and breathe.
> Christ he was tired.
Crockett substituted a cup of coffee for lunch, hit the recliner, and napped until a little after two. He woke up stiff and sore and walked down to the bait shop to loosen up a bit. Maggie sat on the dock and watched him. Mazy and Zeb were nowhere to be found. The only waitress in the restaurant told him they were in a meeting up at the Inn, then rustled him up a ham sandwich and a glass of milk. He sat out on the dock to eat in the sun, feeding the dog bits of his bread crust. Halfway through his sandwich he noticed Christine, now dressed in blue jeans, running shoes, and a red satin windbreaker, walking down the slope toward him. He tossed the rest of his sandwich to Maggie and met Christine at the beginning of the walkway to the dock. A small white bandage was taped to her forehead at the hairline.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he smiled. “Management requests you refrain from entering the area. Swimming off the dock is not allowed.”
Christine flashed a dazzling grin. “You’re pretty much of a smartass for a hero,” she said.
“It’s my only fault. Otherwise they’d let me wear a cape. You okay?”
She nodded. “I slept for a little while, then came to find you. I’m not as shaky as I was.”
“Why are you looking for me?”
“You’re friends with the people that own this place, huh?”
“I know them.”
“I saw you sitting down here with them last night. Are they nice?”
“Yeah, they are. Very nice.”
Christine’s brow furrowed. “Johnny isn’t,” she said. “He wants to buy this place to put in a casino. If these people don’t sell to him, he can make it real tough on them, y’know?”
“He make it tough on you?” Crockett asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I figured. Who does he work for?”
“Some guys with lotsa money that he’s trying to impress. Johnny isn’t used to taking no for an answer.”
“How come you stay with him?”
“Johnny doesn’t like people leaving without permission.” She glanced up the hill at the Inn. “I gotta get back before the meeting breaks up. You seem like a nice man. Just wanted you to know.”
Crockett smiled. “Got a piece of paper? I wanna give you my cell number.”
“I don’t need any paper. I have a good memory. I’m a lot smarter than I look.”
Crockett told her his number and watched her walk back up to the slope, wishing somebody would tell him to mind his own business.
He walked into the bait shop and gave the kid behind the counter a buck and a quarter for a package of roasted cashews. “How much to rent a boat?”
“Twenty bucks an hour for crappie boats, bass boats start at forty-five an hour, pontoons start at two hundred a day. It’s late. You can take the little pontoon for fifty and be back by six.”
Crockett dropped two twenties and a ten on the counter. The kid looked at the money.
“You know how to drive a boat?” the kid asked.
“I was with Blackthorn when he made it to the Japans.”
The kid shrugged. “It’s the little red and white one at the end of the dock. Got gas and the battery’s fresh. Just be back by six.”
“Aaaarrrrrgh,” Crocket replied, and sauntered out of the shop.
The Mercury outboard flogged the twenty-foot pontoon boat along at a rapid enough rate to suit Crockett’s less than immense need for speed, and he spent an hour or so cruising up and down the lake, never getting more than one blind turn away from the marina, the fear of getting lost ever present in his less than seaworthy mind. It was fun. The scent and slap of the water, the damp air whipping his ponytail, the mysteries gliding by just below the surface, all combined to free him up a little and when he made his final turn for the marina and saw Mazy waving at him from the dock, he actually broke into his own off-key version of The Love Boat theme. She was still giggling when he missed his shot at the slip and ricocheted off the bumper with a mighty thunk.
“Getting ready for the America’s Cup?”
“They made fun of Columbus, too,” Crockett said, trying to look offended as she manhandled his boat into the correct position and tied off the stern line. She was wearing a knee-length white pleated skirt, dock shoes, and a dark blue sport shirt with a little anchor embroidered on the breast. Feminine biceps were evident below the short sleeves.
“Don’t you look fetching?” he went on.
“I can look like a girl when I want to.”
“There’s no way you couldn’t look like a girl,” Crockett teased, stepping onto the dock.
“First time I’ve had a skirt on in months and you’re giving me trouble.”
“Not as much as you’re giving me,” he said. “You’ve got legs.”
“Yes I do. Having a good time?”
“You betcha. I love this shit. You gonna get all embarrassed and run away?”
“And spoil your fun? Not me, Crockett. You might sing some more. I’d hate to miss that.”
“Our new friends gone?”
“Changing the subject?” she asked.
“For the moment.”
“Yes. They left about thirty minutes ago, right after Zeb and I turned them down for the third time.”
“Then they didn’t make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”
“No, but they made it pretty clear that it was in our best interest to sell and that property values had a way of falling unexpectedly.”
“Really? Where’s Zeb?”
“He’ll be back in a little while. He jumped in that old truck he keeps parked down by the boat dealer to tail ‘em to the highway and make sure they were on the road out of Dodge.”
“You busy right now?”
“Not after I go change out of this monkey suit.”
“Aw. You gonna screw up my chance to peek at the dimples on your lovely knees?”
Mazy grinned. “Yep,” she said.
“When ya get back, the coffee’s on me.”
“Come with me now. I got coffee up at the apartment. Zeb’ll be there in a minute so you’ll be safe.”
“Thank God,” Crockett said. “You know how people talk.”
One corner of the motel’s ground floor was given over to living space for Mazy and Zeb. There was a large kitchen/living area that was shared in common. Off each side of that space was a bedroom and bath, and Zeb’s bedroom and bath were across the hall. It was a comfortable place and Crockett wandered around while Mazy went into the bedroom to change. When she came out she was wearing a Rolling Stones T-shirt, ragged blue jeans with both back pockets ripped off, and low cut Minnetonka moccasins. She smiled at Crockett.
“Melon?”
“Did you just call me a name?” Crockett asked.
Mazy grinned. “Possibly,” she said. “Hungry? Last decent cantaloupe of the season is on hand. I missed lunch. Want some?”
“Can I get gravy on that?”
“Not here.”
“Well, okay. I can rough it.”
As she opened, gutted, and sliced a very fragrant melon, Crockett admired her precision with a knife and the interplay of muscles and tendons in her forearms and hands.
“Very proficient,” he said.
“I’m pretty impressive with a blade. I can fillet a two pound crappie in less than three seconds.”
“Really?”
“Nope, but I’m real good.” She turned to a cabinet and removed a tin of Yuban. “I’ll start coffee. It’ll drip while the melon warms up.”
“We want warm melon?”
“That’s the key. Cold kills the sweetness, but makes preparing it easier. Cut a melon while it’s cold, serve it when it’s cool.”
“I never suspected,” Crockett said, patting his pocket and sliding toward the door.
“Where you off to?”
“Gonna have a cigarette. Thought I’d go outside.”
Mazy kicked on the stovetop exhaust fan and dragged an ashtray out of a cabinet. “Go ahead. I don
’t smoke, but I’m not a fanatic. Everybody needs a vice or two.”
“Even you?” Crockett asked, lighting up.
“I’m the exception.”
“Damn shame.”
“What’s a damn shame?” Zebulon asked, coming through the door.
“That I have no vices,” Mazy said. Crockett felt his ears get warm.
“That’s okay,” Zeb replied. “I keep up the average. Assholes is gone. I tailed ‘em halfway to Clinton. Gonna rain later, too. Probably late tonight and tomorrow morning. Oughta have a light day Sunday. This’ll pretty much end the season ‘cept for some of the usual diehards. If the weather holds, tomorrow I’ll haul out most of the rentals and put ‘em in the storage shed. Clean ‘em up as time allows.”
“Need some help?” Crockett asked.
“Got kids for that. Yer supposed to be a guest around here. Ya already wormed yer way into a position as lifeguard. You tryin’ to take over?”
“Yeah. How am I doin’?”
“Ya gotta stop payin’ to rent pontoon boats. Now yer fifty bucks in the hole. I’m supposed ta pay you. Lookin’ fer a job?”
“Not really.”
“Want one?”
“A job?”
“Sorta.”
Crockett looked at the old man. “What’s on your mind, Zeb?”
“I ain’t talked this over with Mazy none, but I think she’ll go for it. Why doan you hang around here fer a spell. We’ll feed ya, give ya a place to stay here in the Inn, or move yer bus up here by the back door. Got laundry facilities at no charge, free satellite TV, free boats, free bait, free booze within reason, an’ good company. Hell of a deal for a feller that’s footloose and fancy free. Beats the devil outa sittin’ in that big ol’ bus all by yerself.”
Crockett smiled. “And in return for all of these wonderful benefits?”
Abducted Page 5
