Paradise Island

by Peter Guttridge

  He got off the bike a mile or so short of Bartram’s compound. He didn’t know the interior of the island anywhere near as well as Natasha but he had a pretty good idea she would be bringing the two thugs out somewhere around here.

  He guessed that he’d hear them coming from a long way off and smell them when they got closer. He’d got used to being in a permanent light sweat on this island but visitors unused to the humidity really suffered.

  He listened to the night noises around him. More of a racket, really: insects, night birds, the snuffling of predators and the screeches of their victims. The moon was up and the first clusters of stars. A thin breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees around him. And always, like a bass beat, the distant boom of waves on the off-shore breakers.

  He hoisted the big torch. His knife was in his belt. He could have done with his service revolver but there was no helping that. After this he needed to work out what to do about Mr Smith. The receptionist at the Golf Motel thought he might have been staying there but if it was the person she was thinking of, he had checked out – as Hanson had predicted. He wasn’t quite clear what to do but he had the certain feeling that a stage of his life was closing. He just hoped a new one, as yet unknowable, was going to open up.

  David watched as if from a great distance this killer manhandling his wife. Ruth was not the only person whose life had been turned upside down by the home invasion in Sussex. As time went on – and with a little help from alcohol – his feeling of humiliation had intensified and he’d been getting angrier and angrier. And he had Barbara to deal with. She freaked him out – he genuinely wondered if she was like the homicidal one-night-stand in Play Misty For Me.

  Whilst he was horribly aware of his wife’s suffering, he had been obliged to deal with his own suffering in silence. Jesus, he’d never known something could hurt so much as when that filthy, stinking guy had attacked him in the cottage. What only he and his attacker knew was that whilst Ruth was crying out for him to help her he had his face rammed into his pillow whilst this bastard was ramming into him.

  So these further humiliations – held hostage again by sub-humans and this guy fucking Ruth and then manhandling her – well, enough was enough. His focus tilted. He stood.

  Mr Smith looked at him.

  ‘Hey Limey?’ he said. ‘I know you can’t be Hanson so sit your skinny ass down.’

  David stepped towards him.

  ‘Take your frigging hands off my wife,’ he said.

  ‘Your wife?’ Parker said, looking down at Ruth and twisting her towards him. ‘Why, that’s right. I’d forgotten.’

  Ruth raised her other hand towards his face. The second Parker realised she was going for his eyes with her nails he reared back and jerked harder on her other arm.

  She let out a cry but kept going for his eyes. Then a weird thing happened. She missed his eyeballs with her nails but she caught the lids and the pouches beneath. He pushed her away and she slid across the floor.

  The Limey was still coming and Parker levelled his gun and then his eyes were burning and he couldn’t see for the tears flooding out of them. Jesus, they were on fire. He rubbed them with a knuckle and that was the wrong thing to do because now flames were licking the sockets.

  Fucking wasabi. He lurched away, shooting his gun wildly, and stumbled, colliding with something hard. Then, he was on the floor and rough hands were tearing at his fingers, prising them from round the gun in his hand. Ruth’s voice was in his ear:

  ‘Allyl isothiocyanate,’ she whispered. ‘Look it up - if you can ever see again.’

  Innocent’s thighs were aching as she led the way onto the gravel road.

  ‘The harbour is a mile up this road,’ she called behind her.

  ‘Hold up there,’ Jimmy said.

  The two brothers caught up with her. Donny put the leather pouches down on the road and tucked his gun in his waistband.

  ‘Your job is done,’ he said, running his eyes over her body.

  ‘It’s a private harbour,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to the owner about using his boat.’

  Donny and Jimmy exchanged looks.

  ‘It’s time for our fun,’ Donny said.

  ‘You need me, guys. If you hurt me I’m not going to be able to help you.’

  Donny grabbed her arm.

  ‘Jimmy!’ she cried.

  ‘Don’t worry about Donny,’ Jimmy said, grinning.

  Donny reached for her other arm.

  ‘She doesn’t get it, does she?’ he said to Jimmy.

  ‘She has no idea,’ Jimmy said.

  ‘I told you that you still need me.’ She stared at Jimmy. ‘What don’t I get?’

  ‘You think I’m the badass?’ Donny said. He shook his head very slowly. ‘I’m the pussycat.’

  Innocent looked at Jimmy.

  ‘He’s the pussycat,’ Jimmy repeated. ‘His claws barely make a mark.’

  Donny nodded. Jimmy came up to her.

  ‘See, I told you not to worry about Donny. All the way along, I’ve been saying: don’t worry about Donny. You know why? Because you don’t need to worry about Donny.’ He showed her the serrated edge of his knife. ‘You need to worry about me.’

  Sheriff Wilson had decided it was time to act. He rose, adjusted his holster and went out the front door of Natasha’s house. He strode across the street feeling less Clint Eastwood more Gary Cooper, outnumbered and outgunned in High Noon.

  As he’d suspected the front door was unlocked. As he entered the firing started. He flattened himself against the corridor wall, edged down towards the living area, gun drawn.

  He put his head round the corner and took a moment to make sense of the scene. Parker was writhing on the floor over by the far wall, clutching at his eyes. Gus and Grady were standing over him, Grady dripping blood from his nose. Karen and - Wilson assumed - Chris were standing by the breakfast bar. The others were milling around the sofas. Except for Barbara, who was kneeling beside the Limey, lying motionless on the floor. She was looking up at Ruth, who was holding a gun pointed at her.

  Nobody noticed Wilson until he was almost beside Barbara and the Limey.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he said to Ruth.

  She jerked her eyes and the gun away from Barbara in Wilson’s direction.

  ‘Steady now,’ he said, putting his gun in his holster and raising his other hand. ‘I’m one of the good guys.’

  ‘We’ll take care of him,’ Ruth said, gesturing at her husband. ‘You’d better help Natasha and Johnny. They’re headed to the north of the island with the paintings and the two rednecks.’

  ‘Did you shoot him?’

  Ruth looked puzzled.

  ‘My husband? No, of course not.’ She gestured behind her. ‘That man over there…Bob shot him.’

  ‘Well, would you mind lowering the gun?’ Wilson said. ‘It looks like a Sig Sauer and that means it has a pretty fast trigger.’

  ‘It’s alright, Harry,’ Barbara said. ‘She was vaguely thinking of killing me for attempting to steal her husband but I think she decided against.’

  ‘Don’t bet on it,’ Ruth whispered, tossing the gun on the sofa.

  ‘No!’ Wilson called as the gun bounced and hit the floor hard. There was an explosion on impact. ‘Fuck!’ he groaned as the stray bullet went into his thigh.

  Luke Hanson knew one thing well. How to inflict maximum damage. He watched the two men with Natasha. Studied Donny. Massive guy. Must have outweighed Hanson by nearly a hundred pounds. Hanson liked that riff Woody Allen used to do in his stand-up routine about judo and fighting a bigger guy: the bigger the other guy the bigger the beating he’s going to give you.

  But Hanson had studied kempo and aikido and knew his akemi. He could see that Donny with his muscle mass could absorb a lot of punishment. But everybody had nerve endings, as police forces around the world understood when they were training their officers. With men like Donny they were harder to find beneath the layers of fat and muscle but they were there.r />
  Then there was Hanson’s party trick.

  He stood and raised his hands either side of his head.

  ‘Evening, fellas.’

  They turned to look at him, saw him with his hands up.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Jimmy said.

  ‘Johnny,’ Natasha said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Hanson could hear both relief and doubt in her voice. Relief he was there, doubt he could do anything to help.

  He walked straight up to Donny. They were of a height but Donny was twice as wide.

  ‘Fuck you want, penis breath?’ Donny said, reaching for the gun in his belt.

  Hanson cupped his hands and swooped down, making a simultaneous compression strike on both Donny’s ears.

  Atmospheric pressure out here on the road at ground level matched that in Donny’s ears: 14.7psi. The air trapped in Hanson’s cupped hands added around 4psi to the air pressure in Donny’s ear canals. Which was a disaster for Donny.

  The air surged through the bony labyrinth of each ear, whacking the utricle and the saccule balance sensors. It hit the semi-circular canals in the inner ears and knocked out the other balance sensor, the crista ampullaris, before rushing down the Eustachian tube connecting the middle ear to the back of the nose and the throat.

  In half a second, Donny’s inner ear was ruptured, his eardrums had burst and his balance had gone. Hanson watched Donny’s eyes roll up. Donny’s knees buckled and Hanson stepped aside as he fell flat on his face.

  ‘What the fuck did you just do to him?’ Jimmy said.

  ‘Thunderclap,’ Hanson said. ‘Barotrauma. Call it what you will. Designed to distract, sometimes stun.’ He looked down at Donny. ‘Occasionally disable entirely.’

  Hanson had seen the ugly serrated knife in Jimmy’s hand so was ready when he lunged at him. Hanson stepped inside the lunge and grabbed Jimmy’s other hand by the thumb. He twisted then pulled forward and the thumb popped out of its socket.

  Jimmy howled and dropped the knife, reaching for his injured hand. Hanson hit him in the throat then the belly. Jimmy dropped to his knees.

  Natasha moved quickly and swept the knife away with her foot. She looked at Hanson with calculation behind her eyes.

  ‘Johnny Finch – or do I mean Luke Hanson?’

  He nodded and picked up the knife, putting it in his belt. Innocent looked down the road then at Donny.

  ‘He’s got stuff coming out of his ears,’ she said.

  Hanson knelt beside Donny and took the gun tucked in his belt. He passed it up to Natasha. He did the same with Jimmy’s two guns.

  ‘What do you want to do with them?’ he said, standing.

  She looked from him to them.

  ‘I was expecting to have to kill them. I just wasn’t sure how.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘It seems too cold-blooded.’ She looked at Hanson. ‘Though maybe you don’t think like that?’

  Hanson’s voice was level.

  ‘I’m not a killer. Never have been. I have killed when I’ve needed to but I see the distinction.’

  Innocent touched his arm.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘No need to be. I can see how it looks.’

  ‘What are you going to do about Mr Smith?’

  ‘I’ll come to him in due course.’

  Jimmy’s breath was coming in sobs but he had been listening to their conversation.

  ‘If you’re not going to kill us, may as well just let us go. Hell, we’re no danger to anyone, shape we’re in.’

  He reached over and with his good hand slapped Donny in the face.

  ‘Donny, wake up.’ He slapped his brother again. Donny opened his eyes. ‘Donny, speak to me.’

  Donny slurred some words.

  ‘You got twigs in your throat boy?’ Jimmy said. ‘Wabash fog and sycamore?’

  ‘He’s deaf,’ Hanson said. ‘He can’t hear his own voice.’

  Jimmy squinted up at Hanson.

  ‘He going to recover?’

  Hanson shrugged.

  ‘We didn’t cover that in class.’

  He gestured with one of the guns.

  ‘Come on. Get him to his feet. We’re heading down the road.’

  ‘Bartram’s place?’ Innocent said.

  Hanson indicated the leather pouches.

  ‘He’ll want his property back.’

  ‘The paintings are his?’

  Hanson nodded.

  ‘Or his wife’s, I’m guessing.’

  ‘You’re best letting us go,’ Jimmy said.

  ‘Listen,’ Hanson said. ‘We don’t have time to mess with you, it’s true, so I see two options. You can walk ahead of us, meek as mice, and give us no trouble and don’t try anything dumb.’

  ‘Or?’ Jimmy said.

  Hanson levered a cartridge into the chamber of the gun he was loosely pointing at Jimmy.

  ‘Or I shoot you both in the kneecaps and leave you on the road here until we get back.’ He aimed at Jimmy’s left leg. ‘And don’t think I’d be squeamish about doing that.’

  Jimmy scrambled to his feet and grabbed at Donny’s arm.

  ‘Let’s go, brother.’

  ‘Is he going to be able to walk?’ Natasha murmured to Hanson. ‘You’ve messed up his balance, haven’t you?’

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ Hanson said, watching Jimmy help Donny to his feet. He nudged Jimmy in the back with his gun. ‘Let’s go.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  It took twenty minutes to walk the mile to Bartram’s place, Donny weaving all over the road and groaning continually. It took a further ten minutes to persuade Bartram’s man to allow them onto the property to use the phone.

  Even then, Bartram’s tough-looking assistant insisted they wait in the garden whilst he brought a telephone out on a long extension lead for them to make their call from there.

  Frank Bartram brought the telephone out himself. He was dressed in flared trousers and a kind of kaftan top that made him look even taller. This casual look was spoiled by a pair of highly polished black leather brogues on his feet.

  His eyes swept from Innocent and Hanson past Jimmy and Donny to the two leather pouches lying on the table.

  “Officers, I hope those are my paintings,’ he said. He pointed at the brothers. ‘And the men who stole them? Excellent.’

  ‘The paintings are evidence and must remain in police custody, Mr Bartram,’ Innocent said. Adding pointedly: ‘I’m afraid your wife can’t have them back just yet.’

  Bartram looked sour.

  ‘But I spoke with Sheriff Wilson only a few hours ago and explained the urgency –‘

  ‘It’s Sheriff Wilson who has been very specific about the paintings remaining in police custody for the time being,’ Innocent said, making it up as she went along. ‘I’m sure the Sheriff will confirm that himself if I may use that phone to speak with him.’

  Bartram looked down on her for a long moment. Then smiled.

  ‘No phone call alas.’

  He looked across at Jimmy and Donny.

  ‘Are you the best Joey could find?’

  Donny didn’t respond – probably didn’t hear – but Jimmy frowned.

  ‘You know Joey?’ he said.

  ‘Who is Joey?’ Innocent said.

  Bartram turned to her and spread his hands.

  ‘I’m afraid things aren’t quite as straightforward as they might seem,’ he said.

  ‘They rarely are,’ Hanson said, glancing at the three men who had taken up positions around the perimeter of the garden.

  Bartram indicated the paintings.

  ‘May I at least look at them to verify they are mine?’

  ‘By all means,’ Innocent said, also aware of the three men. She moved her hand down towards the gun in her belt.

  Lester was working on Wilson’s leg in Barbara’s bedroom. A Brunswick ambulance and a police vehicle were on their way to take Parker to hospital and then to jail. The ambulance would also deliver David
to the morgue. For now Parker was handcuffed to a chair in the main room. Barbara had been sluicing his eyes with water. Lester told her to keep doing it until he could get to him.

  ‘Mustard oil,’ Lester said now to Wilson. ‘In the wasabi. It’s a lachrymator.’

  ‘Like tear gas, you mean?’

  ‘Literally so. The guy may have blurred vision for the rest of his life but he won’t actually go blind.’

  Karen and Chris were sitting against the wall opposite the end of the bed. They’d made no attempt to escape.

  Barbara came in.

  ‘Lester – are you going to be long? I’m sick of sluicing this ungrateful bastard’s eyes.’

  ‘I told you I’d be along presently,’ Lester said. ‘We don’t want Hopalong Cassidy for our Sheriff do we?’

  ‘Hey,’ Barbara said. Wilson followed her eyes. There were two rectangles of lighter paint on walls where something had been hanging yesterday. ‘Where are my pictures?’

  Frank Bartram was asking exactly the same question, although with an expletive added. He was looking at the two pictures he had taken from the leather pouches. Both were prints mounted on blocks. One of sunflowers, the other a David Hockney.

  He looked at Innocent and Hanson.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’

  The telephone rang. Bartram, still staring at the pictures, picked it up then held it out towards Innocent and Hanson.

  ‘It’s for you.’

  Sheriff Wilson put the phone down, still looking at the blank spaces on the wall. He turned to Karen and Chris. Karen gave an exaggerated blink and shrugged.

  ‘I figured Bartram would be pretty pissed that he hasn’t got his paintings. I thought I’d reassure him that a SWAT team is on its way to his compound and the coastguard has been alerted to watch for any boats leaving his harbour.’

  ‘Is a SWAT team on its way?’ Karen said.

  ‘It will be when I make the call.’