Rum Runner

by Tricia Leedom

  She looked to her right, out the passenger side window, for an explanation, but a green murkiness pressed against the glass. She looked over at Jimmy. His unconscious body slumped toward her. Blood trickled from a small gash on his forehead above his left eye. Behind him, light streamed through a star-shaped crack in the glass. Beyond the window, there was nothing but cloudless blue sky.

  The fuselage had landed on its side and the green murkiness outside her window was the ocean. Tiny slivers of panic darted up her spine as she processed this information.

  The plane let out a long ticking sound and then a wounded creak before it suddenly lurched hard, propelling Sophie into action.

  Scrambling to unhook her seatbelt, she said, “Jimmy! Jimmy, wake up!” When she pushed free of the straps, she reached up and started on his. “You promised you wouldn’t let me drown! Wake up, damn you!”

  The buckle snapped free and his big body slumped toward her. She caught him, but it was a struggle to hold him up. “You’re…too…heavy!”

  His face mashed against her neck while his hard shoulder and the rest of his dead weight bore down on her chest. She spread her knees apart to kneel on the passenger side door and prayed she didn’t kick it open by accident.

  The plane lurched again.

  “No, please, no!”

  She slid an arm beneath his, braced his well-muscled 6’3” body as best she could, and tried to reach for his door handle. Her fingertips skimmed the window missing the handle by inches. She tried again, straining with all her might to hold up Jimmy’s dead weight as she did. She groaned and slapped his brawny shoulder in frustration. “Wake up, you big oaf! You can’t do this to me. I need you.”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life,” Jimmy murmured against her neck, “but never an ‘oaf.’ What is that exactly?”

  Hot tears sprang to her eyes. For a moment, she just held on to him in an awkward but relieved hug.

  Then suddenly his weight was gone as he was bracing himself between her seatback and the roof. She took his face between her hands and looked into his eyes, thrilled to see them open and alert. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve got a bitch of a headache, but I’ll live.”

  She smiled, sniffled, and then laughed a little until a metallic groan reminded her of their dire situation. “We have to get out of here!” She pushed on his chest, urging him to move.

  “I thought I told you to get out of this plane and not wait for me.”

  “You were unconscious!”

  “What were you gonna do, toss me over your shoulder and carry me out?”

  “I hadn’t thought it through.” The plane lurched again. She gasped and clutched his shoulders. “I think we’re sinking. Can we argue about this later?”

  “I suppose.” Jimmy popped his door open and climbed up and out of the plane with an ease that belied his head injury. He reached back for Sophie. “Give me your hands, darlin’.”

  His strong grasp wrapped around her wrists and he hauled her up as if she weighed nothing at all.

  The left wing of the plane had broken off too. It was floating nearby. Jimmy helped her onto it and ordered her to sit. He stood beside her, surefooted on their makeshift raft. With one big glug, the fuselage filled with water and sank like a stone.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jimmy said. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait! Where—”

  He dove cleanly into the water like a professional diver. Like a Navy SEAL.

  “—are you going?” she finished lamely. Stunned silent, she said at length, “He left me. I can’t believe he actually left me.”

  It was eerily quiet on the water. With the fuselage gone, it was hard to believe she had gotten to where she was by plane crash.

  Above her, a trio of seagulls cawed as they glided past.

  She was only fifty yards or so from shore, totally swimmable for someone who could swim.

  Panic fluttered in her breast. She stomped it out and said, “He said he would be back. Be patient and trust him. He hasn’t let you down yet, has he?”

  As the yawning silence stretched before her, she began to shiver. The impact must have thrown her against the door because her right arm ached. She touched it and her hand came away with blood. She made a quick scan of the water for sharks, half expecting to find a dorsal fin circling her. “Bloody hell. Where are you, Jimmy Panama? No one can hold his breath for that long, not even Aquaman.”

  She searched for something she might be able to use as a paddle. A propeller blade floated in the water not five feet away. “Brilliant!” She used her hands to doggie paddle toward the blade but the more progress she made the farther it seemed to drift out of reach.

  This was it. She was going to drown after all. This was her destiny, wasn’t it?

  Feeling sorry for herself, she laid down, resting her cheek on the cool surface of the wing. The sun beat down on her, warming her cold body. The gentle sway of the water moved her toward the shore and away again rocking her into an eerily resigned state of mind.

  Jimmy broke free of the water not ten feet away from her. Sophie sat up and stared at him in disbelief. He dragged his black duffel bag behind him but still managed to reach her in three powerful strokes. Treading water in front of her, he smoothed his hair back and rubbed his eyes. “Damn thing was trapped inside the fuselage,” he said. “Good thing the bag’s waterproof.”

  “How—But how did you get it?”

  “The rear passenger door was stuck. Had to climb in through the pilot’s door to get it out. Luckily, it was floating within reach or I would have had a damn time getting it loose without my knife.”

  He’d gone inside the sunken airplane? Was he insane? “I thought you drowned.”

  “No such luck. Come on, darlin’, we need to get to shore before the authorities arrive. You can bet your sweet patootie they’re on their way. If we get caught, we’re going straight to jail.”

  “But we didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “We didn’t file a flight plan. We disobeyed a direct order to land. I’m sure they could come up with a whole laundry list of crimes. We pissed them off good. Let’s go. Into the water.” He reached for her and she shied away from him.

  “I can’t. You go on without me.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Yes. And I can’t…” She took a deep breath and blinked to soothe the burning in the back of her eyes.

  “Can’t what, darlin’? Spit it out, time’s ticking.”

  “I don’t know how to swim.”

  “Are you frickin’ serious?”

  Sophie nodded.

  Jimmy let out a long-suffering sigh, and then he passed his duffel bag up to her. “Here, hold this.” Without further explanation, he swam underneath the wing and came up on the other side. “I guess if you can’t swim, you’ve never surfed before. We’re gonna use this wing here as a makeshift long board. Hold on tight, darlin’. Let’s catch us a wave.”

  Sophie gripped the edges of the wing and held on as he used his powerful legs to propel them through the water until the waves took over and brought them the rest of the way in. When the water was waist deep, he stopped swimming and came alongside the board. “No sense both of us getting soaked,” he said picking her up. She held on to his neck as he carried her to shore cradled in his arms.

  She sagged against his chest when he lowered her to her feet in the sand. His arms came around her waist, holding her steady. “You’re bleeding,” he said, referring to the gash on her arm. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s just a scratch. I’ll live, thanks to you.”

  His arms tightened around her back and she sank into his hug.

  “Yeah, you’ll live, Duchess. You’re a hell of a lot tougher than you look.”

  “Sophie.”

  “Hmm?” His mouth rested against her temple.

  “You called me Sophie on the plane. It was nice.”

  He expelled a small, dry laugh and his warm breat
h caressed her skin. “Sophie,” he said, testing out the word. “Do you think you can run, ‘cause we’ve got to light a fire under our feet?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then let’s move it.” He picked up his duffel bag, grabbed her hand, and together they plunged into the jungle.

  At eight fifty-two in the evening, Papine Square in the parish of St. Andrews was lit up like the Vegas Strip and it was just as crowded. Jimmy stopped at a street corner to mop the sweat off his brow with the front of his T-shirt and mentally cursed the tropical climate he loved so much. It was as hot as a firecracker on the Fourth of July, but the humidity hadn’t kept the tourists away. Rows of blue-topped craft tents lined the streets in celebration of the festival du jour. Local vendors were peddling everything from red, gold, and green Rastafarian flags and hemp clothing to a bonanza of handmade jewelry and souvenirs.

  Jimmy tugged the Duchess’ hand, urging her to keep moving, and they slipped into the crowd. They needed to lose the tail they’d picked up at the bus depot. After coming to shore in Ocho Rios, they had traveled through the dense thicket for about an hour before coming to a dirt road. They’d walked another two miles when a short flatbed truck carrying a dozen laborers on their way home from the fields stopped and offered to take them to the next major town. A midpoint on the island, Moneague offered regular bus service in both directions. They chose to go south toward Kingston.

  As they headed deeper into the crowd now, a quintet of bass drums resonated through the square. Rastafarians dressed in colorful robes and tam-covered dreadlocks converged on the park, creating the perfect diversion.

  Jimmy spotted Romario beneath a vandalized statue of some underappreciated Jamaican folk hero. The short, scrawny young teenager had a dozen miniature flags tucked into his belt and two in his hand. The gullible tourists buying them for five bucks a pop were probably charmed by his easy grin, but knowing Romario, the flags were likely stolen.

  His face lit with recognition when he saw Jimmy.

  “How’s it going, kid?”

  “Yes, sah! Rispec,” Romario said in his creolized version of English. He eyed the front of the Duchess’ clingy top. “For yu, lady,” he said, offering her a flag. “For saving de Ta-Ta’s.”

  The Duchess turned as pink as her T-shirt.

  Jimmy pushed the flag away. “She ain’t interested, Romeo.”

  “It’s Romario, sah,” he said and continued to grin at the Duchess’ chest.

  Jimmy trusted Romario Keylard about as far as he could shot-put him across the square, but his uncle, Sabato Banton, was an old friend.

  “I thought Uncle Sabato taught you better manners than that?”

  “Sorry, sah.” The kid dragged his eyes away from the Duchess to look up at Jimmy. “Yu jus come off de ironbud?”

  “We landed this afternoon. Did your uncle come through for me?”

  A little American girl shoved some money at Romario. He took the bills and handed the kid a flag without missing a beat. “Yu always inna crosses.”

  “Seems that way,” he shot a sideways glance at the Duchess. She was distracted by the Rastafarian drummers who had moved into the square.

  Jimmy did a quick sweep of the crowd, searching for their pursuer. He’d recognized him as Winston Wade, a Jamaican PI who operated out of Kingston. Wade was a former special agent for C-TOG, Jamaica’s premier Counter Terrorism Operations Group. Jimmy knew him from his SEAL days when his team was sent in to help C-TOG deal with a militant terrorist cell that had set up shop in the Blue Mountains. Wallace was bad news even then. Taking bribes and doing things his own way. Jimmy heard he’d retired several years ago to operate in the private sector. It was rumored he’d held on to some of the shadier contacts he’d made in the Jamaican Special Forces and profited off his knowledge of the system, paying off his friends to look the other way when he took on jobs that skirted the law.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Jimmy said. “You got what I requested?”

  “Yes, sah!”

  “Where is it?”

  The kid’s hands went up as he gave the universal sign for cool your jets. “Balance, mon.”

  “We’re kinda in a hurry here.” Jimmy glanced over his shoulder half expecting to find Wade breathing down his neck.

  “Truss mi, sah. De tings inna de bag.” He gestured to the gunnysack at his feet.

  Jimmy crouched down and rooted through its contents. A fake passport for the Duchess, a cache of bullets for his Sig Sauer, and a generic navy blue baseball cap. “Hold up, little man. Where are the travel instructions?”

  “No worries. De come along soon.”

  Jimmy stood up and peeled several crispy Ben Franklins off his bill roll. He handed them to the kid. “Half now, half when I get the instructions. Bring them to the St. Andrews Motel, or yu gonna be inna crosses wit mi. Got it?”

  Romario’s eyes widened. “Yes, sah!” He grinned at the Duchess before he darted off into the crowd.

  Jimmy slipped on the baseball cap and pulled the brim low. “Let’s go, Duchess.”

  “Are you going to tell me what just happened? Who was that?”

  “The nephew of an old friend.” Jimmy took her arm and hustled her toward the far side of the square. “He’s gonna bring us the—”

  Jimmy nearly plowed into Winston Wade. He backed up a step, preparing to grab the Duchess and run in the opposite direction.

  “Not so fast, Mr. Panama. You’re surrounded.” The cool cucumber wore a three-piece business suit and a smarmy smile.

  “I thought you didn’t work for the government anymore, Wade? You taking orders from Big Brother again?”

  “It’s true that every member of the Jamaica Constabulary Force is looking for you, or rather, the occupants of the floatplane the military shot from the sky. I just want the woman.”

  The Duchess squeezed Jimmy’s hand.

  The festival crowd continued their revelry, oblivious to the drama unfolding in their midst.

  Wade opened his jacket to flash his gun. “Let’s do this as quietly as possible. I wouldn’t want any innocent bystanders getting hurt.”

  “What do you want with the woman?”

  “A client hired me to track her down.”

  Jimmy snorted. “Would that client happen to be Albatross?”

  Wade’s poker face was too good to let anything slip. “I’m not at liberty to reveal my client’s identity.”

  “Who’s Albatross?” the Duchess said.

  It was high time she understood the danger. As if being shot out of the sky wasn’t a big enough clue. “Albatross is an international arms dealer,” Jimmy explained. “He makes men like Hector Bautista look like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Those bozos back in Key West were working for him, and I suspect Wade here is too.”

  The Duchess looked surprisingly unfazed by the news, but then she frowned and stepped forward, getting into Wade’s face before Jimmy could stop her. “What the bloody hell would an international arms dealer want with my father? And why is he trying to kill me?”

  Wade’s eyebrows shot up. “The rumors must be true. I can see the family resemblance now. You are Mad Dog Mitch Thompson’s daughter.”

  “I am,” the Duchess said, lifting her chin a notch. “What’s it to you?”

  Wade chuckled. “Ten thousand dollars US. The exact amount your father owes me for a longstanding debt. I’ll earn it back and then some by simply delivering you to my client. Dead or alive. I suggest you come along quietly if you prefer it be the latter of the two.” He reached for the Duchess’ arm.

  She tore it away and stepped back, bumping into Jimmy who slid his right arm around her waist to hold her still. He tucked the nose of his Sig Sauer under her left arm to hide it from onlookers.

  “Tell your boys to back off.” He knew from experience Wade wasn’t bluffing about having them surrounded. He never worked alone.

  Jimmy smelled the smoke seconds before the string of firecrackers landed at Wade’s feet. The pops a
nd white flashes did a respectable imitation of machinegun fire making the PI jump backward, trip, and land on his ass. His men spun around with their guns drawn searching for the source of the threat.

  The bystanders in the square screamed and scrambled for cover.

  Romario’s voice broke through the chaos. “Flee, sah, flee!”

  Jimmy grabbed the Duchess’ wrist and ducked between two police officers who suddenly appeared. He headed back toward the center of the square, passing Romario. The kid was grinning from ear to ear as he lit another string of firecrackers and tossed them into the crowd.

  Jimmy lifted the Duchess up onto the base of the statue and then hopped up behind her. Keeping their heads low, they bypassed the mob. When they reached the street, he hooked her waist and hauled her against his chest. Then he caught the handhold of a passing delivery truck and swung them both up onto the bumper. The feel of her body plastered against his might have been nice if her death grip hadn’t been cutting off his circulation.

  “Relax, Duchess, we’re safe now. We got away.”

  “For how long? Someone is trying to kill me!”

  “That ain’t a news flash, darlin’.”

  She turned her face to look up at him and the expression on her face kicked his gut sideways. Raw fear shadowed her eyes, but it battled with her stubborn determination. She wasn’t going to let it consume her.

  “I just hadn’t believed it, you know? It didn’t seem real until today.”

  “Do you want to go home, Duchess?” The words were out of his mouth before he could call them back. Why the hell was he giving her the option to leave? He already took a huge gamble when he gave her the choice back in Key West.

  He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

  The truck bounced over a pothole and then turned the corner.

  The Duchess shook her head. “No, I’m not ready to go yet. If those men are willing to kill me, think of what they’ll do to my father.”

  Bullets of alarm ricocheted through Jimmy’s skull. Didn’t she realize how much frickin’ danger she was in? If she was smart, she’d take his offer and hightail it out of here. He tightened his grip around her waist. “Are you sure about that, darlin’?”