Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Box Set 2

by David Berens

  wavin’ at me as you wave goodbye.”

  -Ronnie “Wayfarer” Hobgood

  36

  We Oughta Regatta

  Troy Bodean and Ronnie “Wayfarer” Hobgood flew into the parking lot at the Black Dog Wharf at a blistering twenty-seven miles per hour. Troy had been holding on to the hope that they would make it to the dock before Jed got there and cast off, but as they approached, he saw the empty slip. The boat was gone.

  His heart sank. He had made a decision to turn back from following Country to come help Michael, and now that had failed. He was sure Country had been heading to pick up Prosperity—or at least get her body—but now he felt like the time for saving her was gone. She was most likely dead, and now Jed had his friend Michael out in the ocean, where he was almost certain he would kill the older man.

  “Dangit,” he muttered as they pulled into a parking space.

  “Which one were you looking for?” Ronnie asked.

  Troy pointed to the empty space where the boat had been parked. He stepped out of the ice cream truck and took a few steps toward the dock.

  “Is that the cop’s car?” Ronnie had his arm outstretched.

  Troy looked, and sure enough, there was a Martha’s Vineyard police cruiser sitting under a nearby tree. And right next to it was Country’s pickup truck. Double dangit. They’re both on the boat. Michael and Prosperity both were surely goners.

  “Yup,” he said, taking a deep breath. “And the truck is the other dude I’m worried about. But that boat has literally sailed. I don’t know what else to do.”

  The sound of the surf splashed gently on the pylons, slapping on the other boats. The breeze was warm on his face, and he wondered if that was his signal. The winds of change were blowing again. Was it time to leave this place? His friends were gone. The bad guys had won. There wasn’t much he could do now. He had no proof of any of the wrongdoings Buff and Boonesborough were involved in. Maybe he could sneak back into the Airbnb and takes some pictures of—

  “Why don’t we see if we can follow ’em?” Ronnie said, breaking Troy’s train of thought.

  Troy huffed. “Well, I don’t know where they’re headin’. And I’m not sure ’bout you, but I cain’t swim that far anyway.”

  “Don’t need to swim.” Ronnie nodded his head toward a row of boats on the other side of the marina. “We can take my brother-in-law’s boat.”

  “Your brother-in-law has a boat?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I told you. He’s got some kind of ski-boat expedition business out here. Makes a bundle of cash.”

  “Okay,” Troy said, taking a few steps toward the dock, but I’m not really sure where to start looking …”

  His voice trailed off. His mind flashed back to the first drop he’d made with Country. They had headed east and Troy had thought maybe the plan was to rendezvous with the drug dealers on Muskeget, or maybe even Tuckernuck. But they hadn’t made it that far. A seaplane had met them out in the deep water of Nantucket Sound, south of the ferry route. He started running out on the silvery wooden planks that led to Ronnie’s brother-in-law’s boat. He turned to see the big man standing in the parking lot in surprise.

  “C’mon, dude,” Troy called over his shoulder. “I figured it out!”

  Jed Manning stood behind the wheel of the boat, his hair pressed flat from the wind as he drove them out toward the drop zone. He had only done this a few times before, but he knew exactly where they always met their South American contacts. He’d been out on another boat not too long ago with the Coast Guard’s dive team looking for any evidence of wrongdoing out here. Naturally, they had found nothing.

  He knew to steer clear of the ferry route so as not to be spotted, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter anyway. This part of the sound was home to so many random boats that one sighting of this one wouldn’t place theirs at the drop site. Country was slumped in the passenger’s chair, an ice pack on his crotch. He had moaned annoyingly for half an hour, but now it seemed like he was unconscious … or maybe dead. Jed didn’t care either way, because Country wasn’t coming back to shore. He started putting together a mental picture of what was getting ready to happen.

  First, he’d have Country help him get the unwanted passengers—Florence, Michael, and T.J.—off the boat and headed to the deep. He knew of several locations they could drop them that would ensure lots of shark activity. His hope was that the bodies would be eaten before anyone ever discovered them. After that, he’d put Country out of his misery and send him to the deep as well. The next step was to head out a little farther and sink the boat—

  The panic of a plan gone wrong slapped him in the face. He had missed a key detail when he was concocting his perfect scenario. The boat.

  “If you sink the damn thing,” he said under his breath, how the hell are you going to get back to shore?”

  Country moaned and shifted in his seat. Blood oozed out on the man’s thighs. Jed shook his head in disgust. The man didn’t deserve to be in charge of this operation—or any operation—for The Sharks. Jed had been the man who made it all possible. He steered law enforcement away from their activity and covered their tracks. And finally, it seemed as if he was getting the promotion that he so richly deserved. If he could figure out this one detail.

  A ride, he thought. I need a ride. He remembered the number Buff had texted him to contact the new drop person. He cocked his head to the side. It wasn’t perfect, but it might work. And he’d have to sink the boat first, before making the drop and getting the ride. There was a lot of risk in that plan, but it was all he had right now. He decided to call, rather than text the new contact. It was too much to type out, and he didn’t want any kind of physical trail of the arrangement either. He punched in the number and waited.

  “Go ahead,” the female voice said on the other end of the line.

  “Yeah, hello,” Jed started. “Um, this is, um … the uh—”

  “I know who this is,” she interrupted him. “Are you at the drop site?”

  “Oh, uh good. Um, no. Not yet.” Jed took a deep breath. Now or never. “So, there has been a complication and I need a bit of assistance.”

  “A complication?” Her voice sounded angry.

  “Yes. But the goods are still with me and they’ll be intact when we meet.”

  “Then what is the complication?”

  “I’ve got a … let’s say a problem … with my boat.”

  “A problem with your boat?”

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be sinking soon.”

  “What the—oh, wait. I see. Evidence clean up?”

  “Ha, yeah. I guess you could say that.” Jed decided that was as good an explanation as any and let it ride. “Anyhow, I’ll be in the water when you get here, so I was thinking if maybe you could give me a ride?”

  “And there will be two of you?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll be alone. And the crates will be floating along with me. I suppose you could say I’ll be using them for a raft.”

  “Oh, okay. But the contents won’t be wet?”

  “Nope,” Jed lied. “They’re all sealed up and will be in perfect condition for delivery.”

  There was a long silence and Jed wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake.

  “Sure. No problem. I can get you close enough to Nantucket to swim in. You’re on your own from there.”

  A huge weight lifted from Jed’s shoulders. Things were back on track.

  “Great. That’s great. Thank you so much.” He glanced down at his watch. “How ’bout we meet at the drop zone in say … thirty minutes?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Me too.”

  He hung up the phone and the dark cloud began to lift from his mind. He was going to make this happen. Finally.

  “How … could … you?” Country’s croaking voice startled him.

  Jed turned to see that Country was standing next to him.

  “Hey, Country,” Jed said, trying to sound jovial. “Look who’s a
wake.”

  “Shut the fuck up, you traitor. I heard.”

  Country’s skin was more gray now than before, and tears streamed from his sunken eyes down over his sticky looking beard. He had one hand on his groin and the other held a pocket knife. He had it pointed menacingly at Jed.

  “Heard? Heard what? I think you were dreaming.”

  “I said shut up!”

  Country jabbed Jed in the side with the knife. Jed yelped at the stick and saw it had done just enough to cause a little trickle of blood to blossom on his uniform shirt.

  “Dammit, Country,” he said holding his side. “Cut it out, man. We’ve got a drop to make and I need you to be ready to work.”

  He saw the uncertainty in Country’s eyes. He thought for a second that the order had worked. The inner debate ended in Country’s mouth becoming a scowl. He growled and lunged at Jed. Caught off guard by the sudden adrenaline-fueled strength, Jed fell backward and bumped the throttle, causing the boat to speed up and start circling. Both men were thrown off balance and tumbled against the side of the boat.

  Country jabbed at Jed with his knife, but Jed was back on his feet quickly. He wouldn’t be caught off guard again. Country tried to lunge again, but the centrifugal force of the circling boat threw him back against the rail and the knife flew out of his hand and into the water. He screamed and shoved himself up from the wall.

  “Country, stop!” Jed yelled over the noise of the revving engine. “This isn’t going to end well.”

  Country stumbled and fell against the captain’s chair. He reached toward the throttle, but Jed pulled him away. He punched Country in the face, and the man’s nose crunched and blood poured down his face and onto his chest. Country howled and charged at Jed. Country landed on top and started punching Jed in the face. Even in his weakened state, he was landing some serious blows. At first, Jed was covering his head, protecting himself from the onslaught, but Country slowed down and Jed went on the offensive.

  He put his hands on Country’s chest and shoved him backward. Country whirled back and slammed into the captain’s chair. He reached over and put his hand on the throttle. Jed stood up, drew his gun and aimed it at him.

  “Country, stop this shit, right now!”

  “Screw you! How could you, Jed? I thought we was friends. I wanted to be like you and—”

  The gun went off.

  37

  Smoke On The Water

  The shot hit Country’s right shoulder. His body twisted and jerked back over the chair. His hand flung up and caught the throttle and wrenched it back to a full stop. The boat lurched and Jed fell at the sudden halt. The gun toppled out of his hand and slid toward Country. Jed scrambled toward his Glock, but the boat rocked back and forth and he fell short. Country’s left arm shot out from under the captain’s chair and his fingers closed over the gun’s handle. Jed rolled away as Country pulled the trigger. The shot fired wildly and didn’t hit anywhere near him.

  He got to his feet at the same time Country found his. He pointed the gun at Jed’s chest. He was still bleeding from his nose and now his shorts were a mess again too. The blood coming from the wound in Country’s groin had soaked through the towel he had stuffed into his pants.

  “Jesus, Country,” Jed said. “You need to get to a hospital.”

  “Shoulda done that a long time ago, Jed. Ain’t no time for that now. Me ’n you has got a score to settle.”

  Jed watched Country’s eyes. Most people had a tell, when they were going to squeeze a trigger. Most people blinked, or squinted, just before they fired. Country’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. Now or never. Jed lowered his shoulders and charged at Country. The bullet hit Jed in the throat. He felt it go in, hit something and explode. He felt like his head was going to come off his neck. Blood rushed into his mouth, and he choked but he didn’t stop. He powered forward with his legs pumping as hard as they would go. He barreled into Country and grabbed for the gun.

  Another bang echoed somewhere. It sounded like it was far away. Everything slowed to a crawl and Jed saw his hands fall short of the Glock. He felt the second shot go into his chest, and the explosion of pain told him it had pierced his heart. Well, Country finally won, he thought. His hands slid down Country’s torso and hooked on his belt. The last thing Jed saw was the khaki shorts sliding down and the blood soaked towel falling away from Country’s underwear. What a disgusting mess. And then the darkness took him.

  Country woke up to the sound of someone’s voice calling out. A woman. Her voice drifted over the ocean with a short echo from the water. She was close, whoever she was.

  “Hey, there. What’s the weather over there?” she called, in a sing-song voice.

  Country recognized the code phrase and answered accordingly. “Raining sharks and minnows over here. What’s it doin’ over there?”

  The voice paused. He wondered if maybe she was looking for some kind of note she’d scrawled down with the secret passwords.

  “Yeah,” she said finally. “It’s a regular sharknado over here, too.”

  Country pushed himself up to his knees and scanned the surrounding waves. He saw the boat easing around his. At the wheel was a beautiful woman. For a split second, he wondered if he was dreaming. Not only was she a knockout, but also—he looked skyward and thanked God—topless. Her big, round, tan breasts were bared for all the world to see, and right now he was the only boat around for miles.

  He reached down and grabbed a towel nearby. He wrapped it around his waist to cover the gore below his belt line and stood all the way up to his feet.

  “Howdy.” He put on his best smile and waved to her.

  The woman’s eyes were suddenly skeptical and she grabbed her throttle like she might speed away. He noticed that she was studying him, her gaze moving from his legs up to his chest, then finally his face.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Had a bit of a run-in with a shark. I got the best of him though.”

  “Is your nose broken?” she asked, as she pulled her boat alongside and tossed a rope over onto his.

  He had forgotten Jed had punched him. He wrapped the rope around a cleat on the side rail. He reached up and touched his nose. A flash of pain shot across his face and tears popped into his eyes. He pulled his fingers away to find them covered in sticky, black blood.

  “Oh, that?” he said. “I fell down the stairs gettin’ a … um …”

  “Another beer?” she asked. “I’d say you’ve had one too many.”

  He cackled out a laugh and a rivulet of blood and snot popped out of his left nostril. Without thinking, he unwrapped the towel from his waist and brought it up to wipe his nose. Upon hearing her gasp, he knew he’d made a mistake.

  “Christ, friend,” she said, “what did the shark do? Bite your dink off?”

  Anger flared into Country’s mind. Just like a fancy bitch to think a man is only as good as what he’s got between his legs. He took a step, and his foot nudged Jed’s pistol laying on the deck in front of him. In one smooth motion, he bent down and grabbed the gun and lunged toward her. It might not have been as pretty as a linebacker crossing the goal line, but he cleared the narrow gap between their boats in one leap. She fell backward and he grabbed at her.

  To his and her mutual surprise, his hand landed on her left breast. His eyes widened and a grin splashed across his face. He gave it a squeeze.

  “Fuck you, freak,” the woman screamed and slapped his face.

  The blood began to flow from his nose again and Country growled in rage. He let go of her boob and lunged at her, but she was ready for him. She lifted her knee and caught him square in the crotch. He was almost certain he felt his scrotum pop open. The pain was so intense, he almost blacked out. Realizing he still had the gun in his hand, he swung it hard at her head. It connected satisfyingly and she slumped down like a marionette cut from its strings. She was unconscious.

  Country laid his head back and let loose a cry that was somewhere between a howl and a shriek. He ig
nored his throbbing groin and heaved the girl up onto his shoulder. In his mind, he felt like a caveman returning home with his conquest. The reality was quite different. He tossed her over onto his boat and she hit the deck with a thud.

  “What’s one more body?” he muttered. “Gonna blow this thing sky high anyhow.”

  T.J. Gallop woke to find himself lying across a bed next to the girl from the prison. They were both wrapped in tarps and strapped in tight. The girl was struggling against her bonds and had almost freed one of her arms when she saw he was awake.

  “Oh, thank God,” she said. “Can you get loose? Try to get your arms free. We’ve got to get the hell out of here or we’re both going to die.”

  T.J. experimented with one of his arms, but he couldn’t budge. With his arms strapped to his sides, he couldn’t get any leverage. He rolled over to the edge of the bed, thinking he might try to stand up. He hadn’t counted on the fact that his momentum and the soft end of the bed would add up to him being dumped onto the floor. He fell fast and braced for the hard impact of the floor.

  Instead, he was met with a soft, lumpy surface. He arched his back and saw that he was lying on top of Santa Claus.

  “Somebody’s gon’ be on the naughty list, that’s for sure,” he muttered.

  “What?” the girl asked. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Did you get free?”

  “Fell on a dude,” he said. “Guy looks a lot like—”

  “Is he dead?”

  T.J. could see the man’s chest rise and fall. In fact, the man was snoring softly.

  “Nah,” he said. “He’s asleep.”

  “Well, wake him up. See if he can get us untied.”

  He ignored her and tried to sit up. He couldn’t. He looked down to see that the cord around his feet had gotten tangled up on the edge of the bed frame. He jerked his knees up and like he had guessed might happen, the cord slid down and off. It went slack and he was able to wriggle enough to give his arms more space. Once he had a hand free, he was out of the tarp in seconds. He jumped up and went to the door. He turned the knob, but it was locked.