by John Avery
It was obvious to Holt that his partner had little concern for how this affected him. “If you want the truth, sir,” he said. “I think you’re outa your damn mind.”
Harness closed Jason’s file and sat up in his chair. He didn’t have to take crap from a subordinate, even if he was his partner. “You know what I think, Holt? I think you should go find a quiet place and fuck yourself.”
Holt stood up from the sofa. “Glad I could help, sir,” he said and started for the door.
“I don’t need your help,” Harness barked after him, “or anyone else’s. You got that?”
Holt paused in the doorway, his back to Detective Harness. “So, I guess this means I ain’t going with you.”
Harness hesitated, surprised. “What are you talking about? You weren’t thinking about joining me in this insanity…”
Holt kept his back turned and said nothing.
“If headquarters finds out what we’re up to, it’ll be the end of both our careers,” Harness said.
Holt remained quiet.
“We could die, Holt… or worse. Jason Souther’s as cold-blooded as they come.”
Holt turned and looked at Harness. “Cut the bullshit, Detective. I’m a damn good cop, okay? And this may come as a shock to you, but I have some money saved. Why not just get the hell outa your own way and let me help you find this asshole? Am I your damn partner or ain’t I?”
Harness looked at him, feeling foolish. He had seriously underestimated his new recruit. Who knew an officer as green as Holt could be so loyal, willing to risk everything for his partner’s irrational vendetta, a mission that would likely collapse into a career-ending fiasco?
He stood and gave Holt’s huge hand a firm two-handed shake. “My sincerest apologies, Officer Holt. Welcome to my nightmare.”
Grand Cayman
Chapter 13
Jason Souther pulled an old lawn chair up to the starboard railing of his run-down 24-foot cabin-cruiser and sat down, shading his gray eyes from the intensity of the western Caribbean sun. He had been tracking the Cayman Jewel, a foreign tourist’s 65-foot, custom motor yacht since early that morning, and when, at long last, the man had set anchor, Jason had anchored as well, at a safe distance of nearly half a mile.
He surveyed the luxury yacht through a pair of high-powered binoculars. The only man aboard moved about the boat dressed in a white robe, and judging by the two young women lounging on deck in bikinis Jason had a pretty good idea what was coming next.
“Keep her on this heading,” Jason called to the wheelhouse.
Even though they were safely anchored, Brandy Fine got excited whenever Jason let her take the helm. But after two years in the Caymans she’d grown tired of living aboard a dilapidated tub, and what Jason was preparing to do excited her even more. “Aye aye, Captain,” she replied.
Jason turned his gaze toward shore. They were barely within sight of the small Cayman Island town of Grand Cayman, the town they called home. The skies were clear and the seas dead calm. Conditions were perfect.
He folded a clean white towel over the railing and gently nestled the barrel of his new Accuracy International AWSM .338 Lapua Magnum sniper rifle into the soft terry padding. Then he put his eye to the powerful 10x42 telescopic sight.
Jason had learned to handle a sniper rifle during his stint in the Navy (his friends in the Army used to kid him about being a sniper on a submarine) and although the target was over half a mile away, in the hands of an expert marksman it was easily within the AWSM’s effective range.
He dialed in the scope and spotted an unopened bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti (vintage 1997) on a silver tray next to one of the girls. It seemed a shame to waste such an expensive bottle of wine, so Jason made a mental note to share it with Brandy later.
He had killed twice before: once when he was helping Johnny pull one of his bank jobs and a guard got too frisky; and more recently the cop with the shotgun back at Sally’s Diner.
Jason didn’t enjoy killing — had even thrown up once, after the incident with the bank guard. But the money was all gone, and sometimes a man must do what a man must do. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand then returned his attention to the Cayman Jewel.
The girls were obviously having a great time, the sun warming their skin, their hair blowing in the soft tropical breeze. One appeared to look in Jason’s direction, but he knew that at over 1,500 yards, his little cabin-cruiser would be a mere pimple on the horizon.
The man came into view carrying a tray of drinks. He approached his lady friends and took a seat between them. After a quick toast, the girls wasted no time getting the party started, and in the blink of an eye, the only thing they were wearing were their diamonds.
Jason smiled. After months of struggle, botched attempts, and several close calls, he had begun to doubt the wisdom of his decision to try pirating for a living. But now, with the tactical advantage of his new sniper rifle, his luck was about to change.
He waited until the man’s sunscreen-caked forehead was centered in his crosshairs, and then he slowly squeezed the trigger.
POP!
The top third of the man’s head disappeared in a puff of red mist, spitting bits of brain and bone on the girls and their diamonds. To their infinite horror, the man remained conscious long enough to look into their eyes — as if to say, What the fuck just happened?
Jason watched through his scope as the body slumped forward and rolled onto the deck. The girls screamed — distant, silent screams — and looked around, mortified, clutching white beach towels to their soiled breasts.
Jason smiled, proud of his marksmanship. He preferred killing at a distance. Watching someone die through the scope was like watching it on a movie screen — it was unreal, surreal even, and much easier on the stomach.
Today would be a good day — a very good day. At last, for him and for Brandy, things were about to change. The beautiful, 65-foot Cayman Jewel and all of its bounty would soon be theirs, carrying with the distinct, if not dubious, honor of being their ticket out of poverty.
* * *
Brandy heard the pop of the rifle’s suppressor and poked her head out of the wheel house. “Well?” she said. “You spent our last dollar on that damn rifle… did it work?”
“Of course it worked,” Jason said, carefully wiping his expensive rifle down with the towel to remove any salt spray.
“I can’t believe the range it has,” Brandy said. “I couldn’t even see the boat, much less the target.”
“The AWSM is rated at over 1,600 yards,” Jason said. “Back in 2009, in Afghanistan, a UK sniper used the same rifle to hit two enemy machine gunners consecutively at a range of 2,707 yards. That’s over a mile and a half. Longest kill on record.”
“Unbelievable,” Brandy said.
“I’ll take the helm now,” Jason said, returning the rifle to its case. “Put on something sexy. You’re going to look really good in diamonds.”
Chapter 14
Jason maneuvered his boat up next to the Cayman Jewel. Brandy tossed two dock fenders over the side, and Jason tied up toward the Jewel’s stern near her swim step where she was lower to the water and they could more easily board.
He instructed Brandy to stay behind and stand ready to untie if necessary; then he pulled his pistol and stepped aboard their new yacht.
* * *
Jason had been on some nice boats before but never one as nice at this. The exquisite luxury yacht felt huge when compared with his, and exquisite in every detail. If ever a king’s palace could float, this would be it.
The dead man lay face down in a pool of blood that had soaked into the teak decking. Jason kicked himself for not doing the deed when the man was over an area decked with fiberglass — this was going to be difficult to clean.
The girls were nowhere to be seen. Jason walked every inch of the upper decks and then headed downstairs to check below.
* * *
Having checked ever
y conceivable hiding place, Jason found no one. He made his way topside and looked back across the water toward Grand Cayman. Only an experienced ocean swimmer could reach shore from this far out, and after seeing how they were built, Jason knew these girls didn’t qualify. He spotted one of the white beach towels floating nearby and his suspicion was confirmed: The girls had chosen drowning over the horror of ending up like their boyfriend, basically committing suicide.
* * *
Jason weighted the body with some SCUBA weights and several yards of duct tape, and then tossed it overboard. He did a cursory cleaning and covered the remaining bloodstains with a clean towel — as he had expected, a thorough scrubbing was required. Then he jumped back over onto his old cabin-cruiser.
* * *
“Pack your things,” he said to Brandy.
“Really?” Brandy said. She kissed Jason on the cheek and touched her hand on her throat as if she were already wearing her new diamond necklace.
Jason saw this and said, “You can forget about the jewelry. The girls jumped overboard, taking their diamonds with them.”
“What? You’re kidding me!”
“With a million in diamonds weighing them down, they’d have sunk like stones. It all belongs to Davy Jones now.”
Brandy touched her fingers to her throat again and a tear rolled down her cheek.
* * *
Jason and Brandy abandoned their old boat and boarded the new one. Jason untied and set the cabin-cruiser adrift.
In spite of their losses, Jason and Brandy had plenty to celebrate. After all, the Cayman Jewel was worth ten times what the diamonds would have brought. Jason poured two glasses of Dom. Romane Conti, and he and Brandy toasted their success.
“I’m really sorry about the diamonds,” Jason said, stroking her hair.
Brandy was touched. Jason hadn’t appeared to care one way or the other. A million in diamonds would have suited her just fine, but she was content in their new home. “I’ll live,” she said, managing a little smile.
They finished the first bottle of wine and as Jason went to open another, Brandy took him by the arm and led him below decks to thank him for her new yacht.
Chapter 15
When Jason awoke the next day, it took a moment for his confusion to clear. Then he remembered he was aboard the Cayman Jewel.
He climbed out of bed and looked out the cabin’s large tinted window. The sun was nearly overhead.
He hadn’t slept much the night before. His plan to steal the luxury yacht had gone well, of course, but not that well. His chances of selling the yacht without getting caught were slim to none, and the diamonds he was counting on to raise some cash had gone to the bottom of the sea. How would they pay for fuel and maintenance — and food? How would they live?
He felt an urgent need to get off the yacht and go ashore for a while. He picked his jeans up off a chair and pulled what remaining cash he had out of the pocket: forty U.S. dollars — enough for one good lunch.
He reached over and shook Brandy awake. “Wake up,” he said. ”We’re going out to eat.”
Brandy raised her head and aimed one sleepy eye at the clock, and then flopped back down on the pillow. “It’s too early…” she whined.
“It’s 12:30,” Jason said. “Get dressed, I’m hungry.”
* * *
Brandy talked Jason into letting her take a quick shower, and then they went to lunch at a popular Grand Cayman, beach-front, burger restaurant.
* * *
The hostess seated them at a table by the water and their server took their drink and appetizer orders.
Jason had planned to talk to Brandy about their need for cash; but before he could get a word out, Brandy held her left hand out to him and wiggled her naked ring finger. “See this,” she said. “It’s been two years since you hauled me down here to the Caymans, and it’s still bare!”
This was the last thing on Jason’s mind and he couldn’t come up with a good answer. “I said I’d marry you and I will,” he said bluntly.
“You’ve told me that like a million times!” Brandy cried. “I’m growing old listening to your excuses.”
Even though they couldn’t afford their new yacht, Jason figured it still carried some weight in an argument. “I got you a new yacht, didn’t I? That should count for something.”
That statement was so utterly ridiculous, Brandy couldn’t even laugh. She held up her hands, shaking her head. “Whatever.” Then she turned to look out at the water.
She noticed a young man sitting in the booth next to them. He wore a ball cap pulled down over shoulder length, sun-bleached brown hair. She guessed he was eighteen or nineteen. The young man’s back was turned and he continued to work on a green-chili burger with no onions and no cheese. He had sailed 80 miles down to Grand Cayman from his home in Cayman Brac just for this meal, and he was savoring every morsel, washing each delicious bite down with a sip from a double Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.
“Excuse me,” Brandy said, tapping him on the shoulder.
The young man started and turned toward her. The stitching on his cap read, Tortuga Golden Original Rum Cake.
“Would you like to get married?” she asked.
This caught the young man like a well-placed right hook, and he was struck mute.
Brandy looked back at Jason, as if to say, Take that, you bastard. If you won’t give me what I want, I’ll find someone who will, damn it!
After two years living together, Jason was no longer surprised by Brandy’s antics, but this childishly random marriage proposal irritated him. He gave her a look that left no doubt as to his displeasure.
“Just kidding,” she said, giving him a wry smile.
The young man felt foolish and returned to his burger.
Brandy leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder again. “I’m Brandy Fine,” she said, offering him her hand. “And you are?”
The young man coughed and took a sip of water then looked back at Brandy. She was beautiful, in an exotic kind of way, with long, flowing red hair, and a great little body, and he didn’t mind that she was probably ten or fifteen years older than he. However, she was obviously with someone, and for that reason she made him feel very uncomfortable.
“Uh — I’m Aaron Quinn,” he replied, returning her handshake. Her skin felt warm and soft to the touch, and he was certain her lips would as well.
Brandy saw that Aaron had a scar running down the left side of his face but it only added to his rugged, yet youthful charm. “This is Jason Beckham,” she said, cocking her head toward him.
The two men looked vaguely familiar to each other, but neither could pin down the reason, so they shook hands and let it go.
“Why don’t you join us, Aaron?” Brandy said.
Aaron hesitated — he was content being alone, and all he really wanted to do was finish his burger.
Brandy patted the red-vinyl seat cushion next to her. “Come on. It’s silly to make you talk over your shoulder.”
Aaron glanced at Jason, thinking, Are you down with where this is going? Surprisingly, Jason showed no hostility toward him.
Aaron gathered up his lunch, and when he stood and came over to join them, Brandy’s eyes went wide. He wore nothing but the cap, board shorts, and sandals, and at 5’10”, 165 pounds, tanned, and ripped, Aaron looked amazing.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she restrained herself and scooted over to make room for him. He slid in next to her, and she felt a little dizzy. Her impromptu marriage proposal was sounding better by the second.
Jason saw her drooling and broke the spell. “We’ve ordered a pitcher of beer,” he said to Aaron. “You want a glass?”
“Sounds good,” Aaron replied. He preferred whiskey over beer, but he thought it would be rude to turn down Jason’s offer.
Jason flagged down their server and asked for another glass, and when the beer and appetizers came, the three sat and enjoyed the food and the warm breezes coming off the Carib
bean Sea.
* * *
“You look familiar, Aaron,” Jason said, still trying to put a place with the face. “Do you live here in the Caymans?”
“I do,” Aaron replied. “Up on Cayman Brac, on the beach near Earl’s Reef Dive Shop. I’m a SCUBA instructor there. How about you guys? You from around here?”
“We’re originally from the States,” Jason said. “But for the last two years we’ve been living here on Grand Cayman aboard our boat.” He pointed out a large yacht moored in the marina just west of the restaurant. “There on the end, with the black windows and maroon canvases.”
Aaron followed Jason’s gaze to the biggest yacht in the marina. “The Cayman Jewel?” he asked, surprised. She was more impressive than Aaron had expected — considering the casual appearance of its owners.
“That’s her,” Jason said.
“I don’t remember seeing her here in Grand Cayman before.”
Jason had to think fast. He hadn’t had a chance to explain his new acquisition to anyone yet. “We just got her,” he said at last.
“She certainly is beautiful,” Aaron said. He pointed to a small sailboat rammed up on the beach near the restaurant. “That’s my transpo, there.”
Brandy could see the tiny craft leaning over on the sand. “You sailed all the way from Cayman Brac in that? That’s like seventy or eighty miles. You must be one hell of a sailor.”
Aaron blushed. It was true: After two years in the Caymans he’d become an expert sailor, but no one had ever pointed it out before. “I’m from the States, as well,” he said, changing the subject.
“Why did you leave?” Brandy asked.
“Two years ago I was in a bad accident, and I was basically homeless,” Aaron explained. “I didn’t tell the hospital that, of course. I was only thirteen at the time and they would never have let me go.”
You’re only fifteen? Brandy thought, having done the math. She wasn’t sure if that would change things for her or not, and decided it didn’t.
