by Lyle Howard
Geiger pouted as his voice echoed off the steel bulkheads. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. It’s all like a bad dream, you know? How did I let you rope me into this?”
Cal surreptitiously lowered his voice. “So, you wouldn’t go along with me, even if I told you there might be an outside shot that I could get us out of here?”
Artie began to whine sarcastically. “Oh God, why are you doing this to me?” he pleaded toward the ceiling. “What did I ever do so wrong to deserve this?”
Cal motioned for his partner to tone down the volume. “Hey, I really think this can work.”
Artie covered his eyes. “There’s nothing I can do to stop you from telling me this cockamamie plan, is there?”
Cal knelt down beside the bunk. “All we have to do is to wait until they bring us some food...”
Geiger shook his head. “No, Cal.”
“And when the guard turns to leave...”
Geiger covered his ears. “La-la-la-la-la I’m not listening to any of this!”
“It’ll only be one guy, but even if they send two...”
Geiger began singing “Do-Wah-Ditty” to drown out his friend’s voice.
Cal was persistent. “It can work. I know it can.”
With the reflexes of a cornered animal, Artie Geiger grabbed his friend by the front of his shirt. “Hasn’t it sunk in yet?” he growled as he began shaking Mackey. “We’re fucked! We’re prisoners on a Coast Guard cutter thirty miles out to sea! What do you think you’re gonna do? Where you gonna go? Planning on jumping overboard again?”
Cal could feel the spittle from Geiger’s mouth as it peppered his face. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time.”
Artie was seething. “You’ve gone off the map, pal! My cardiologist has limited my jumping overboard to only once every six hours! You need to come up with more than dealing with one thing at a time before I lift my ass off that bunk again.”
Now it was the Mackey’s turn to vent his frustration. If it had been anyone else but Artie Geiger, Cal would have broken both his assailant’s arms the moment the front of his shirt had started to wrinkle. “Are you done?”
The muscles in Artie’s face were still twitching. “What? Am I done?”
Cal brushed away Geiger’s hands with one quick movement. “You finished feeling sorry for yourself?”
Geiger was uncertain of how to gauge Cal’s sudden change of demeanor as he sat back down on the cot. “What…?”
Cal pointed down at the tattered gray mattress Geiger was perched on. “You’ve been sittin’ there like you just ran over life’s dog.”
Geiger sat back, feeling the cold steel bulkhead against his neck. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now.”
“Go ahead, tell me,” Mackey demanded.
Geiger shrugged slightly. “I’m starting to think this whole thing has been about you trying to find out if you’ve still got it.”
Cal stared at Artie incredulously. “Is that what you really think? That I’m only in this for the damned adrenalin rush?”
Geiger nodded his head. “Sure sounds like that to me. I don’t know what the hell kind of sneaky shit you used to do for the government, but after watching you out there tonight, I know sure as hell it wasn’t tending a bar in an officer’s club somewhere!”
Cal thumbed his chest. “Whatever I’ve done in the past is no concern of yours. But I’m not alive today through just sitting on my ass and waiting for life to shit on me. So stop your whimpering because this situation is a walk to your nana’s house compared to what I’ve been through.”
Artie looked down and frowned. “I don’t need to be saved again!”
Suddenly, Cal pulled back. For the first time, he thought he understood the torment in his friend’s eyes. “Is that what this is all about, Artie? You’re afraid to stare down your demons?”
Geiger shrugged, as Cal sat down on the mattress next to him. “Bud, you can’t go through life like this. Life is too short. Trust me … I’ve seen it firsthand. If you keep looking back over your shoulder, you’re bound to be run over by something coming at you head on!”
Artie wouldn’t look at Cal directly. “I just don’t see the need to take so many risks. That’s all.”
Cal put his arm around the deputy. “Let me ask you a question: how did you feel when I pulled you out of the water last night?”
Artie didn’t have to think long. “You want the truth? I was scared shitless.”
Cal nudged him. “That’s all? That’s all you felt?”
“I don’t know ... excited ... maybe.”
“The word you’re looking for is invigorated!”
Geiger struggled not to let a faint smile overtake his lips. “Yeah, could be invigorated.”
Cal smiled. “You’re damned right you were fired up! You spend every evening cruising up and down US1 handing out tickets to tourists and rousting drunks,” Mackey said, as he tilted his head side to side to make his neck crack. “Don’t get me wrong. Yours is a noble profession, Artie—but you haven’t been this juiced since that night with the bikers in the parking lot.”
Geiger was saddened that his life had been summed up so easily. “You could be right.”
“You’re damned skippy I’m right!” Cal said, punching his friend gently in the shoulder. “Pardon the pun, but I’m in the same boat you are,” he added. “All I do is pour umbrella drinks all night and sweep the floor for cigarette butts in the morning. That’s what I thought I wanted. It’s what I thought I needed … but I was wrong. I’ve been living a lie. You believe my dad and the others are on that ship, don’t you?” he asked.
The deputy nodded. “You know I do.”
“Then we’ve gotta do it ourselves. It’s obvious that the authorities are not going to believe a word we tell them.”
Artie held his arms open to their sparse surroundings. “Well, we’re not doing a very good job of it so far.”
Cal slapped Geiger’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “But we’re trying our damnedest, Artie! You gotta remember that’s the most important thing—at least we’re trying!”
The sound of a metal bolt being released interrupted Cal’s inspirational sermon from the bunk.
Mackey wiggled his eyebrows and whispered deviously. “Get ready, pal. It’s time to leave!”
Twenty Five
Von Robles stood pensively on the deck as the thick, coarse mooring ropes were tossed between the two ships. Heavy black rubber bumpers were hoisted over the railings of both vessels to prevent the hulls from scraping against each other. Unlike the previous few hours, the sea had turned cooperative, creating very little wake as the gangway was lowered from the side of the Nocturne. Everything seemed so tranquil now—from the feathery white clouds that sojourned across the soft aquamarine sky to the family of bottle-nosed dolphins that cavorted just aft of the supply ship’s transom.
The serenity of the calm surroundings painted a stark contrast to the palpable tension that permeated the atmosphere. Von Robles waited for the usual exchange of pleasantries between the two crews and was very cognizant of the fact that they never came. Each crew member went about his assigned tasks in silence, the only sounds coming from the drone of the supply ship’s engines and the slapping of water between the hulls of the two vessels. Even the birds circling overhead seemed to be doing it quietly in deference to the approaching confrontation.
Von Robles waited at the end of the gangway for his counterpart from the supply ship. For a long, awkward moment, the two men chose to stare at each other from opposite ends of the wooden walkway, sizing the other one up. Both were formidable men to be reckoned with. Neither man was known to flinch in the face of an adversary.
Out of mutual caution, they met halfway. Warily, like two seasoned prize fighters feeling each other out in the first round, they shook hands before Von Robles offered the hospitality of the Nocturne. The captain of the supply ship ungraciously declined, instead suggesting they remai
n on deck while the supplies were being transferred. Without mincing words, he informed Von Robles they would not be staying long and that they had a lot to talk about.
Twenty Six
The sound of footsteps echoed down the long empty passageway. Lieutenant Crawford strolled up to the cell and grinned mockingly through the bars. Next to him, CPO Bingham scrutinized the two prisoners as though they were convicted child molesters. “The accommodations to your liking, fellas?” Crawford asked cynically.
Geiger, sensing that Cal’s escape plot had just exceeded critical mass, looked at him as if to say “Have any other brilliant ideas?”
“Back away from the door you two!” Crawford snarled.
The pair of reluctant captives did as they were told.
“Why’d we stop moving?” Cal asked, suddenly aware of the steady bobbing of the deck beneath his feet.
Crawford waited while the CPO fumbled for the correct key. “You guys look like you’ve been chompin’ at the bit waiting for your time to come! You weren’t thinking about doing anything really stupid, were you?”
Neither man took their eyes off of the lieutenant, nor did they let their faces reveal the slightest hint of their intentions.
Crawford unsnapped the leather flap on his holster, a gesture that made Geiger instinctively reach for his missing gun. “Nah, I didn’t think so. You boys look too intelligent!”
Something didn’t make sense to Mackey. There must have been a change of plans. “What are you doing here, Lieutenant?” Cal asked. “I thought we were supposed to be locked up until we reached Key West?”
The CPO inserted the key into the lock and moved out of his superior’s way. “That’s the beauty of life, mister,” Crawford said, stepping into the cell. “Things change!”
Geiger looked over at Cal suspiciously as the lieutenant withdrew his sidearm and tugged open the heavy door.
Having seen too many old time swashbuckler movies as a child, a thousand ghastly scenarios slashed and dashed their way through the deputy’s mind. From being tossed overboard into shark-infested waters, to being keelhauled behind the cutter (Did they still do that?). “What if we don’t want to go?” The deputy inquired hesitantly.
Crawford turned to Geiger, speaking somberly. “That’s the beauty of life, boy. Some men don’t have a choice.”
Cal saw his opening...
Using the skills that he had tried desperately to forget, Cal pounced at Crawford with a flurry of moves that any mixed martial arts competitor would be jealous of. In a blur of speed and agility, he twisted the lieutenant’s arm behind his back. With another simple snap of the wrist, he wrested the pistol from Crawford’s grip and placed the barrel against his twitching brow. “That’s the beauty of life, Lieutenant,” Mackey whispered coolly into his ear, “some men spend too much time talking!”
The CPO was halfway to his gun when Cal thumbed the hammer. “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “Bad idea. The last thing you want is bits’o brain messing up that sharp-looking uniform of yours!”
The CPO’s hand dropped to his side.
“Get his gun, Artie.”
“You sure about this, Cal?” Geiger asked hesitantly.
Mackey thought he could grow to like how he suddenly sounded growling through his clenched teeth. “The gun, Artie … now!”
Geiger reached over and cautiously unsnapped the flap and removed the CPO’s pistol.
“What do you hope to accomplish by this little stunt?” Crawford asked, straining to keep his eyes on the gun pressed against the right side of his head. “There are thirty-two crewmembers aboard this vessel, and we’re twenty miles out to sea! Just how far do you think you’re going to get?”
Cal was getting awfully tired of this arrogant jerk. “You know what?” he asked the Lieutenant as he un-cocked the pistol.
Crawford cautiously inched his head to the side to catch Cal’s vexed expression. “Hmm?”
With a flick of his wrist, Cal brought down the butt of the gun on the back of the lieutenant’s skull. “Life’s getting more and more beautiful by the second!”
Crawford crumbled into a motionless heap at Cal’s feet. The next few moments took place in silence. Cal wiggled his finger at the CPO for him to step closer. The CPO shook his head in refusal of the ominous command. Cal smiled and nodded to the contrary. The CPO continued to shake his head to the contrary.
“Oh this is bullshit,” Geiger blurted out before sending the CPO to dreamland by the same means as his superior officer.
“Grab the keys and lock them in here!” Cal whispered. “We don’t have much time!”
Artie slipped the key ring into his pocket and softly closed the heavy door until the lock engaged. “So you do have a plan then?”
Cal moved down the corridor with his back pressed firmly against the cold steel bulkhead. The deputy followed closely behind him, his head darting back and forth vigilantly, like a spectator at a tennis match.
“Hey, I’ve gotten you this far, haven’t I?”
Sweat was pouring down the deputy’s face. “You don’t have one, do you?”
Cal reached the end of the corridor and peered around the corner. Luckily, the adjoining passageway was empty. “Plan, shman! Just follow me!”
They could distinguish voices in the distance... but in this maze of steel passageways, the conversations could be coming from anywhere! Cal shoved Artie through an open hatchway. “Inside ... quick!”
A pair of recruits shuffled past the doorway, wheeling a steel drum of marine grade fuel oil between them. Artie eavesdropped as one of the recruits complained about the distance to the elevator between decks. The other one told the first to stop yammering because they had two more just like it still below.
“We’re never gonna get out of here in one piece,” Geiger groaned. “Just wait until someone misses those two guys. Jeez, we’re gonna be shot on sight!”
Cal put his finger over his mouth in a gesture he hoped would quiet Artie. “We’ll make it,” he whispered confidently. “They must have taken Bushkin’s boat in tow! If we can just get to it, or to one of the lifeboats, we can make a run for it!”
Geiger looked at Cal as though he had just announced that the earth was flat. “Outrun a Coast Guard cutter in Bushkin’s Bayliner?”
Cal’s face exuded determination, and, although Artie knew it was only a front, it was still a damned comforting sight. “What? You don’t think it can be done?”
Artie slapped his forehead. He prayed that this was the worst nightmare he ever had and that he would wake up any second screaming. “What color is the sky on your planet, Cal?”
Mackey checked the clip in the pistol he had confiscated. It would be useless if it was empty. Thankfully, it wasn’t. “Trust me, Artie. I’m gonna get us out of here, but I need you to listen to me if you want it to happen!”
Geiger grabbed Cal by the elbow just as he moved back out into the passageway. Their eyes locked in a moment of grim realization. “You know, this is gonna square us for that night in the parking lot!”
Cal winked sincerely. “That’s fair enough.”
Moving like shadows at midnight, the pair of escapees worked their way up toward sunlight and to freedom. Twice they had to duck behind ladders, or take cover in a secluded nook behind a bulkhead as the crew continued to haul their steady caravan of cargo through the ship.
“This place is really bustling,” Artie whispered.
“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing myself,” Cal affirmed.
“What’s all the commotion about?”
Cal shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. We’re almost top side.”
Artie poked the Mackey in the back. “Which direction?”
Cal tried to visualize the layout of the ship from memory. He should have paid better attention when they were brought onboard. “I’m all turned around. You got a preference?”
The deputy wiped a bead of sweat out of his eye. “Left?”
Cal sh
rugged. “Got a 50/50 chance, right?”
Artie smiled. “Even money. Better odds than we’ve had all day!”
With their pistols poised to subdue even the feeblest of threats, the deputy and bartender stepped out into the harsh, bright daylight. The sun was situated directly overhead in all of its blazing glory, causing visible ripples of blistering heat to rise off of the gray steel deck. The ocean surrounding the ships shimmered like a carpet of diamonds. Cal shielded his eyes until they could adjust. Geiger’s eyes adapted quicker. He was already fossilized in stunned confusion.
Fifteen rifles were zeroed in on their chests. They stood isolated, flanked on all sides by a hunting party of recruits, all poised to shoot them if they even flinched.
“You two have turned out to be a real pain in the ass!”
Cal had to squint to see where Wolcott’s voice was coming from. The captain of the Paladin was standing at the far end of an elaborate gangway, next to a well-dressed civilian who glared at Cal as contemptuously as the captain. In true Mackey fashion, he flashed his million-dollar smile at both of them. Cal had always prided himself on finding it easy to make new friends.
Artie’s voice floated nervously over his shoulder. “Cal!”
Mackey kept his body very still as he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I know, Artie. I’m not blind!”
