The 56th Man

by J. Clayton Rogers

  "Okay...stay there."

  There was a soft thud as the kayak hit the land shelf about ten feet from shore. As Ari expected, it was the same two-man craft the Mackenzies had summoned to their yard. The paddlers wore black wetsuits and Viper night vision goggles. More commandos. Masked by their suits, goggles and head gear mounts, it took Ari a moment to determine they were white. The man in front squeezed out of his cockpit, rolling his legs over the side until he was shin-deep in water. The second man stayed in the kayak, holding it in place with one end of his paddle braced on the shallow riverbottom, the other hand free. The hollow between his legs could harbor a gun, Ari theorized. Even with a sprayskirt it would have to be covered to guarantee the weapon stayed dry. That would cause a delay when he reached down for it.

  The man who came on shore was in his early to mid twenties. He removed his goggles and gear mount, leaving his helmet strapped under his chin. A strand of hair slid out from the brim and lay like a dark "C" on his forehead. He was wary, but also strangely shy, as if apologizing in advance for his line of business. He carried a black rubber bag that made an odd zippery suction sound when he opened it.

  "What's your poison?"

  Ari's English wasn't that good. His confusion was apparent. When it dawned on the young man that he was dealing with a non-native, he grinned broadly. "That's right. Your neighbors said you were an Arab. What are you, some kind of Saudi oil minister?"

  "Alas, Allah hasn't been that kind to me."

  "Freaky." The young man turned to his companion and called out, "A fucking Muslim cokehead!"

  "Great," said the other from the kayak.

  Ari calculated he could handle the two of them then and there, gun or no gun, if he was willing to get his new suit wet. He wasn't. The young man seemed delighted to be dealing to a foreigner. That seemed promising.

  "You...want...coke?" the young man said, turning back to Ari and holding two rubber-gloved fingers to his nose. "How...much?"

  "Coke?" Ari said uncertainly, grinning with stupid politeness. "I no want Coke. I not thirsty."

  "Oh great." The young man slowed his voice even further, accompanying his words with broad sign language. "You...know...about...us? They..." He pointed next door. "...tell...you?"

  Ari looked at him blankly. "They have Coca-Cola."

  "Oh boy..."

  "You want to hurry it up?" the guy in the kayak complained.

  "Hold on," his partner shot back. "We're dealing with international relations here." He smiled at Ari. "Do you know...the meaning...of a buck?"

  "I'm sorry?" Ari wanted to laugh. The dealer was friendly but greedy. He was going to apply some artificial inflation.

  "How...much...you...want...spend?"

  "I don't know. Here, I show--"

  "Whoa! Where are you going?"

  "Over here. Keep money in..." Ari cupped his fingers and made a screwing motion over them.

  "Oh man, the sheik keeps his money in a jar!"

  "Let's go!" said the voice from the kayak.

  "Hold on!" The young man was yelling at both his partner and Ari, who was walking slowly to the gazebo. Then he repeated, for Ari's benefit, "Hold...on!"

  Ari paused and turned, raising his arms as though being crucified on his ignorance. To his dismay, as the young man strode up he trod on the new sports jacket. Ari contained his wrath with difficulty.

  "Where are you going!" the guy in the kayak shouted.

  "He's got his money up here! He'll probably give me the whole shebang!" He came abreast of Ari and said, "Okay, let's go."

  Ari had only once allowed a cashier to pluck money out of his wallet. After that, he quickly taught himself the rate of exchange.

  Dark shadows crisscrossed the gazebo interior. When Ari reached down for the Tec-9, the young man reasoned it could be a jar. When Ari pointed it at his head he began to reach out for his money. When he saw his mistake, he looked ready to burst into tears.

  "I should've known."

  "Yes, you should have," said Ari pedagogically.

  And then the young man swelled up. He was going to yell a warning to his partner despite the threat of being shot. Ari admired his loyalty and clipped him on the jaw. He dropped.

  Ari stepped off the gazebo platform and marched down to the beach. When the man in the kayak saw the gun at his side he reached down.

  "If you take out a gun I'll kill you," Ari said matter-of-factly.

  The kayaker sensed the truth of the warning and bolted upright, his hand still empty. He filled it quickly with paddle-shaft and began to push off.

  "If you do that I'll shoot your boat full of holes and you'll have to swim ashore anyway. You'll find that difficult, because I intend to shoot you in the arms, too."

  The kayaker stopped, the two blades of his paddle hanging equidistant to either side.

  "You didn't say 'freeze'," the second young man said.

  "No."

  "You're not a cop..."

  "Freeze," said Ari. "And fast. You're drifting away."

  The kayaker seemed inclined to float with the current. His night goggles allowed him to clearly see Ari aiming the Tec-9 at his head. With sluggish reluctance he paddled to the shore.

  "Get out and drag the boat up here."

  Squeezing past the sprayskirt, the young man jumped in the water. He glanced up at Ari and the gun, then hooked his hand on the rim of the front cockpit and hauled the kayak up onto the lawn.

  "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

  "Why don't you--"

  Ari sucker-punched him in the solar plexus and used the zip ties as flex-cuffs when he doubled over. He planted a foot on his buttocks and pushed him forward onto his stomach, the young man howling when the goggles banged into his head. Ari flex-cuffed his ankles.

  Going back to gazebo, he found the first kayaker woozily coming to. He offered only feeble resistance when Ari applied the zip ties and took away his goggles. He went up to the house and switched off the porch light. He then donned the goggles and checked the perimeter of his yard. The Viper allowed him to see into the woods. Satisfied no one was watching, he walked down to the kayak. The second man began to yell. Ari told him to shut up, or he would shoot him. He shut up.

  He tilted the kayak sideways and reached below the sprayskirt. He found another waterproof pouch similar to the one the first man had opened, plus a Ziploc bag containing a flashlight, a knife, a cell phone and a .38 Smith & Wesson Special with a stylish red handle. He opened the black pouch. It contained small plastic bags. There were three sizes, it seemed. Gram, half-gram, quarter-gram. He went over to the second man.

  "Where is the money?"

  "What are you talking--"

  Ari kicked him in the stomach and walked up to the gazebo.

  "Where is the money?"

  "What money?" the first kayaker said.

  Ari kicked him in the stomach and went back to the second man, who was beginning to recover his breath.

  "Where is the money?"

  "I..."

  "I believe you've already been on the river for several hours. This is the last stop before the rapids. You wouldn't risk losing your cargo. I suspect you have a car waiting for you at the park entrance just a little way down from here. You will hand your money over to the driver, then. Where is it?"

  "You crazy--"

  Ari kicked him in the stomach and returned to the gazebo. He repeated his story of where they had been and where they were headed. The young man stared at him. Several locks of hair had dropped down to join the original "C".

  "You're not a cop."

  "Actually, I am. Or was. Where is the money?"

  "Under Mark's wetsuit," the young man said.

  "Mark is your partner there?"

  "Don't be stupid."

  "You're right, it was a stupid question." Ari kicked him again and went back to Mark. Turning him over, he pulled off the kayaker's headgear and studied the monocular scope. He had seen many of these and had often wondered what the
U.S. Government shelled out for them. "How much is this worth?"

  The young man grunted.

  "I said--"

  "Around three-hundred."

  "Mmmm..." Ari said, putting the goggles next to his jacket. "Now, is the money under your wetsuit?"

  Another grunt. Ari reached down, unzipped the wetsuit to the waist, and found a money belt. He pulled apart the Velcro strap and took out a wad of bills.

  "Mmmm..." he murmured. He stood back, jammed the money into his pocket. As he strolled up the lawn to the gazebo he removed a cigarette from his pack. When he flicked his lighter the world exploded. Cursing, he whipped off the set of goggles from his head, temporarily blinded by the magnified flash of the lighter. The man on the lawn barked a mirthless laugh.

  "Very amusing," said Ari, waiting for his vision to return. He considered kicking the second kayaker again, then decided against it.

  Several minutes passed before he could see well enough to finish his transit to the gazebo. He sat on the bench, lit his cigarette, and regarded his first prisoner. Without the goggles he was little more than a lump in the dark.

  "You have a .38 caliber gun in your boat. That's the same caliber used to kill the Riggins family."

  "Oh no," the young man gasped. "No, not us."

  "I'm sure the police will be interested to check the ballistics on your gun."

  "Yeah, and they'll be interested when they see you've beat the shit out of us."

  "A few kicks?" Ari said breezily. "I've watched men have their eyes burned out with these." He waved the cigarette in the air, the glowing end like a sharp comet.

  "You can kill someone kicking them like this."

  "Sometimes. But I've found that a few good kicks can be most salubrious," said Ari.

  "Where did you learn English?"

  "A female cosmonaut taught me." Ari stood and went down to his second prisoner. "Why did you shoot the Riggins family? Why did you kill the boys?"

  "I didn't..."

  "I mean the two of you." Ari crouched easily beside him.

  "Okay, we didn't."

  Ari looked up and saw the Mackenzie's porch light was still on. Whether they were sleeping or bar-hopping, it provided a false note of occupation.

  Glancing down, he could just make out Mark's rapid blinking, as though he was trying to clear water out of his eyes. Perhaps he wore glasses when he was not prowling the night like some mutated rodent.

  "Let us reconstruct that night," Ari began, sounding a little too enthusiastic for the prisoner's comfort. He complained that he did not feel well. "Yes, police brutality is sickening," Ari nodded. "Now, on the night of the murders, the two of you rowed up in your boat, dressed just as you are now. Gaining access to the house was probably easy. You took the Rigginses by surprise and shot them all. The motive was obviously drug-related, which usually means money-related. Perhaps you found out that Moria was re-selling what she bought from you and you didn't like the competition. Or she had simply failed to pay you and you did what drug-dealers worldwide do when they collect a debt."

  "Wrong, wrong and wrong," the kayaker gasped. He really wasn't feeling well. It would complicate matters enormously if he died, but Ari didn't think he had kicked him hard enough to cause a fatal hemorrhage. Then again, he had misjudged the damage he had inflicted on the robber at the Chinese grocery.

  "There was jewelry missing," said Ari. "Did you take that in lieu of payment?"

  "Oh god..."

  "If you die, I'll eat you. I really enjoyed those cannibal movies with...I can't recall the actor's name. They're very good, very realistic. I'm sure you saw them."

  The thought that he might end up being served with couscous breathed new life into the kayaker. His eyes went wide, with scarcely a blink.

  "We didn't kill anyone."

  "Then I suppose you keep this out of your love of humanity. I'm holding up your Smith & Wesson, in case you can't see."

  "It's for protection. You meet all kinds of loonies in this business." His tone inferred that Ari was living proof of his assertion.

  "If you choose to live dangerously, you must expect to encounter danger every so often."

  "Aw shut up."

  "What was that?" Ari asked.

  "Nothing."

  "I think I'll kick you again and then go up to your partner and ask the same questions."

  "Oh shit, no! No! No--awshit! Oh! Oh!"

  Ari went back to the gazebo and sat on the bench.

  "What did he say that made you kick him again?" the first kayaker asked breathlessly.

  "You are wise to ask. His answers were insufficient and his attitude was insufferable."

  "I'll try to do better," the first man said contritely.

  "Excellent. Did either or both of you kill the Rigginses?"

  "No."

  "You were out here the night of the murders, weren't you?" said Ari. "Mark says you killed them because you wanted to take over the territory. That Moria Riggins was 'Mr. Big.' She was your source.”

  "Mark wouldn't say that because it isn't true."

  "Kick a man enough times and he'll say anything." Ari leaned back and took a philosophical puff on his Winston. "Only a few years before I was born there was in my country a place called Qasr al-Nihayah. This can be translated as the Palace of the End. It was one of the largest torture chambers in history. You would say the inmates were political prisoners, although many were there simply because someone didn't like them. Well, political prisoners aren't very likable in the first place. You would know that if you had to deal with them on a regular basis. They're always up in arms about something or other. If we put them all in a cage, they would kill each other off. Ideologues, all of them. Fanatics."

  "I thought you said this was all before you were born," said the kayaker warily, seeking hints for what was to come.

  "There was a coup attempt in the late Seventies. The chief torturer wanted to take over the government. It didn't pan out that way and the palace staff--well, it was cut back drastically, shall we say. I was nine years old when all that happened. And the palace itself was blown to bits by a Tomahawk in 2003. But these political prisoners...they weren't anything to wet your tears about."

  "Wet your tears?"

  "Maybe that's the wrong expression. Well, they didn't go away. Your government expresses great concern about creating a new generation of terrorists, but there will always be these types. Personally, I prefer thugs and murders and...well, drug dealers like yourself. You have a clear idea of what you're about. Nothing fancy. They're much more pleasant to deal with. Take yourselves. I can see you're well-educated, well brought up. You might even have manners."

  "Thank you," said the kayaker.

  "See? You even go to the trouble to prove my point. That's real courtesy. You would have been an unlikely candidate for the Palace of the End. You'd end up in one of the common cells, with nothing worse than a few beatings--if you died it was accidental, at least half the time. The methods of torture they used at the Palace were unspeakable even to me, and I'm part Assyrian. We've had five thousand years of practice at this sort of thing. Once the monarchy was gone, there was a group that believed nothing like the Palace should ever exist in my country again. Turned out to be a dream, but not a bad one."

  "So which one were you?"

  "You mean later? I had no choice. I grew up under a tyrannical regime. Dreams are the first thing to go."

  "What are you going to do to me?" the kayaker asked, trembling. Such a long speech on Ari's part could not be leading up to anything good. "To us?"

  "I'll let you go, of course," said Ari. "I don't think you killed the Riggins family. You don't have the instinct for that sort of thing, or you would have put up a better fight. But I want you to prove your innocence to me. For example, did Moria Riggins see your rocket that night and did she come down to the shore?"

  "Yes," the young man said after a long pause.

  "What was she wearing?"

  "A robe and slippers."


  "You mean a dressing gown?"

  "A robe. You know, like you put over your pajamas."

  "That's what I meant." Ari paused to line up more questions in his mind. "Did you buy from her or did she buy from you?"

  "She bought a lot more than one person could ever use. She wasn't our supplier."

  "Is your supplier waiting for you at the park entrance?"

  The kayaker didn't answer. Ari stood.

  "Yes."

  Ari sat back down. "Does he have a lot of money?"

  "I don't know."

  "When do you usually arrive at his...what kind of car does he drive?"

  "A red Bronco. He'll be expecting us within the hour. There's no fixed time."

  "Do you think he'll come looking for you?"

  "I'm sure of it."

  "Do you think he'll come looking for me after you tell him what's happened?"

  "I'm sure of that, too," the young man answered grimly.

  "Excellent. We're doing very well. How long have you been selling product to Moria?"

  "A couple of years."

  "Did she always pay you in cash?"

  "She paid us with some jewelry last time. We took the chance, and it turned out not to be fake."

  "Do you have a key to this house?"

  "No. Why would I?"

  "To gain access to murder the family."

  "Are you back to that?" the kayaker said, his voice raising several notches.

  "I have to keep it in mind that you two might be the killers."

  "But you said--"

  "I might be wrong. You still haven't convinced me. Did you know Moria was the mother of two boys?"

  "Not then. I heard about it after."

  "Did she often come down here in her pajamas?"

  "Almost always."

  "Did you meet her husband?"

  "Near the end...he would stand up on the porch, watching. I got the feeling he didn't like what was going on."

  "Did Moria speak about it?"

  "I asked her if he would cause trouble. She said he was a dickless wonder. That she could handle him."

  "She used those words? 'Dickless wonder'?"

  "She was sort of a bitch, but I've met worse."