Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense (15 page)

I clamor to my feet and step onto the rocking boat. It sways underneath my feet and I feel myself losing my balance. I grip the starboard side of the boat with both hands to steady myself, a shooting pain radiating through my hand.
Or maybe it’s the port side. I guess it would be the port side because we’re docking from it, right? Or do rowboats even have port and starboard sides? Roger would know. He’s always watching documentaries on boats. Once when he was drunk he even told me he thinks he was Captain Smith of the Titanic in a former life
.

“Now just wait a minute fellas,” I can hear Roger saying. “I think you have the wrong people. We’re on vacation. From New Jersey? You must be looking for someone else. I’m a principal, you see. And my wife is just a housewife…”

He trails off with the words, “just a housewife”
,
and I can feel my blood boiling.
Just a housewife, Roger? Is that all I am to you? I see. That must be why you had to go looking for a girl half your age, who’s more than just a housewife.

“Well, she’s definitely not
just a housewife
,” Roger is explaining as Jerry pushes me down on the seat. “She keeps the house running. I don’t know what I would do without her.” Roger’s voice holds a nostalgic quality, and I can’t help but turn my head in his direction.
Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to trade me in for a newer model,
I think bitterly.

“Yeah,” Mario agrees with him. “My wife is the reason our household runs like a well-oiled machine.”

Even in the dark, I can see Roger bobbing his head up and down in that annoying manner of his. “Oh yes. And even with all that she has on her plate, Amy is a mommy blogger, too. Did you ever read her blog? It’s quite funny.” I can actually hear Roger swelling up with pride. I am momentarily taken aback by his rare display of appreciation for me, until my senses take over.

Read her blog? Roger, we are not having tea with the duke and duchess right now! We are being dragged onto a rowboat by two thugs we met in an alley for God’s sakes!

“My wife doesn’t blog, but I bet she reads your wife’s blog. She’s always reading mommy blogs and reading them out loud to me. They’re funny, but it’s a little annoying sometimes,” Mario is saying. “What’s it called?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Jerry sputters. “Can we move the coffee klatch to the boat please, ladies?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mario stammers and prods my husband forward. Roger quickly loses his balance and stumbles, falling face first into the water, emitting a high-pitched scream that would put both of my daughters to shame.

“Jesus Christ!” Jerry spits as Roger quickly bobs to the surface. He slaps Mario in the back of the head. “Can’t you do anything right?” He glances around nervously. “You better hope to God nobody heard that.”

“Sorry,” Mario says sheepishly, holding out his hand to help a soaked Roger back into the boat.

I also glance around, but unlike Jerry, I am
hoping
someone heard my husband’s girlie scream and subsequent splash. Although most people would think it was just a bunch of kids playing around and not think it was anything sinister. This is, after all, a vacation place. Not where you would imagine something like this happening.

My drowned rat of a husband climbs back into the boat, gasping. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes!”

I roll my eyes as Jerry scoffs, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, buddy.”

His words send a shiver up my spine as our captors row the dinky little boat away from the dock and into the blackened night.

~Seventeen~

You would think because my brain registered the danger of the situation, my body, specifically my
stomach
, would have been slightly cooperative and understanding of the situation. But no. Instead, it launched an all-out revolt on me in the middle of the ocean (or bay or whatever body of water we were floating in). My nails gripped the wood—getting splinters underneath the beds—as I hurled over the side of the boat in a very unladylike fashion. The sea was nearly silent, other than the waves lapping on the sides of the boat and my wretched heaving. Once I started throwing up, Jerry and Mario just stared at me, with Mario rowing the boat single-handedly. Unapologetically, I managed to splatter both my captors with vomit—Jerry’s left arm as he held me firmly (you know, in case I wanted to jump over the side and swim the five miles back to the resort), and Mario’s shoes as I sat back in my seat a little too quickly after a bout of puking. I apparently still had just a little bit left in my stomach. Oops. They both scowled darkly at me like
that
was what sealed our fate. Excuse me for breathing. Well, I’m not really sorry. I warned them. Roger warned them, too.

“Are you quite done with that?” Jerry sneers as I sit back down on the floor of the boat for the tenth time. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Slimy saliva is still attached to my lip. “I think so.” I manage to spray spit everywhere. The spittle hits Jerry directly in the eye.

He frowns at me, but doesn’t wipe his eye. I guess he is used to a lot worse in his line of work.
What is his line of work? Hitman? What are they actually up to?

“You need to stop making so much damn noise. We’re going to be docking shortly, and we don’t need everyone in a ten mile radius to know we’re arriving."

His words spark hope in my mind.
If there are people where we are going, maybe some well-timed screams can alert them to the fact we are in need of help? And by help, I mean...send a swat team.

The boat slams into the dock without fanfare. It’s like the dock rose out of the sea. I glance around to get a glimpse of land, but it’s still incredibly dark and hard to see anything.

“Where are we?” Roger asks. He yawns and I want to punch him in the mouth.
How the hell can you yawn when someone is shoving a gun into your rib cage?

“Nowhere that you need to concern yourself with,” Jerry replies snottily, yanking me to my feet. “Watch your step,” he says as he climbs out of the boat onto the dock, still holding my arm. Probably not out of concern for my welfare, but because he doesn’t want to have to deal with any more of my injuries or illnesses.

Shakily, I step over the side of the boat onto a rickety dock. The planks appear to be rotted and several are missing. Carefully, our party of four traverses the precarious terrain and our feet hit the beach. At least, I think it’s the beach. I feel the sand slide into my flip flops. Squinting, I try to make out landmarks, but there’s nothing but pitch blackness surrounding us. I can barely see the outline of palm trees as Jerry and Mario blindly lead us down a path, pushing foliage out of the way as we walk. A high-pitched animal-like screech breaks up the sound of crickets chirping in the darkened cracks and crevices around us. It stops us dead in our tracks, and I shudder, finding myself moving in closer to Jerry.

“Where are we going?” Roger asks, this time he seems concerned.
Gee, way to get with the program, honey.

“I told you. No concern of yours,” Jerry retorts in his gruff voice and we start walking again. We seem to be walking slowly to avoid roots and tree branches that litter our path. I don’t feel sand underneath my feet anymore—the terrain seems more like packed earth.

“I think I have a right to know,” Roger argues. “We need to get back to the kids. And I’ve already told you that you have us confused with someone else. My wife snoops, but she’s harmless.”

Harmless?
I kick him in the back of his calf so he can see how “harmless” I am.

“Ouch! Amy, cut it out,” Roger whimpers. Then he tries to plead with Jerry again. “You can just take us back to the resort. We won’t tell anybody anything.”

“Even if that were true, it’s a little too late for that,” Jerry replies.

“What does that mean?” Roger asks with confusion.

“Even if we
did
have you confused with someone else, and you
are
just a harmless couple on vacation from New Jersey, you’ve seen us and we can’t have that. You’re gonna have to disappear.” Mario shrugs as he explains.

“Huh?” Roger turns his head to stare at Mario. “I still don’t understand what that means.”

Exasperated, I shout, “It means they’re planning to kill us, Roger!” Geez, for a guy who is supposed to be so smart and watches so much TV, he is incredibly dense some times.

“Kill us? But what? Why?” Now Roger is recoiling from Mario, who reaches out to pull Roger closer so he can’t escape into the darkened jungle. Or whatever is out there. Honestly, now I’m not sure which is worse; Jerry and Mario and their plans for us, or whatever is out there.

Mario opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he can get the chance. “Because basically we’ve seen them, can identify them, and lead the police to capturing them. Whatever their nefarious business may be, of course, because since we are actually
not
narcs, we can’t be certain that they’re doing something illegal. But since they’ve taken us on this lovely night time cruise, we can only assume that they are up to no good, so therefore they must dispose of us.” I smile sweetly at the two men, who I can now see due to the fact that my eyes have finally adjusted to night vision. It takes a lot longer than it used to nowadays...side effect of getting old, I guess. Oh, but good news! Jerry and Mario will see to it that I don’t need to worry about the disadvantages to getting old any longer.

“Yeah, that about covers it,” Mario says, almost guiltily. I have a feeling he isn’t the brains behind this operation and Jerry is just using him to do the heavy lifting. I wonder how Jerry managed to recruit him—he seems like he might actually have a shred of decency underneath that gruff exterior.

“Okay, can we stop with all the theorizating?” Jerry asks as I see a small hut come into view.
Theorizating? What the heck does that mean? Did he mean theorizing? Geez, scratch that about him being the brains.

I don’t have time to ask what he means because the door of the hut swings wide open, and I see a very tall, dark-skinned man who is completely naked. Okay, he does have some sort of covering over his private area that resembles a fig leaf. The covering...not his private area. In his hand, he is holding a spear. A
very pointy
spear. He looks like a photograph right off the glossy pages of
National Geographic.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Roger swears.

“What took you so long?” he calls out. Only...he doesn’t. The voice
seems
to be coming from the man in the doorway, but not only does the voice not match what I was expecting, his lips don’t even move.

“Huh?” Obviously Roger is just as confused by this as I am.

Stepping out from behind the tall man is a squat, dumpy man, about five foot two, wearing a khaki pants that clearly are two sizes too small and a button-down polo shirt. His receding hairline and red bulbous nose ring a bell with me. He is the other guy I saw with Jerry in the vending machine alcove a few days ago. The Danny DeVito type. For the purpose of this story, I will call him Danny from now on. What can I say; I lack originality.

He is clearly the source of the voice as he continues to squawk at Jerry and Mario, while stepping forward into the mud, hitching up his pant legs. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago and...sweet baby Jesus, who are these two?”

“They got in the way, boss,” Jerry says, sounding contrite.

“Got in the
way? Got in the way?
” Danny glances from Jerry to Mario, who are both looking like they want to run away until they reach Mexico. Danny waddles over to me and Roger, peering up at both of us (I guess I’m on a hill, because nobody on this planet is shorter than I am). He inspects us from head to toe and then whirls around to face our captors, spraying mud in the air—it splatters Roger’s shirt. I silently beg him not to complain.

“How, pray tell, does a suburban couple
get in the way?
” Danny face resembles an overly ripe tomato at the moment. I’m curious to see if seeds will come spurting out if it bursts.

“Well you see, this one,” Jerry waves at me with the barrel of his gun, “was wandering around in the alley before the exchange. We had to get them out of there before Paulie showed up.” He smiles and ducks behind me, possibly hoping that Danny is completely relieved by the explanation and he forgives him for his mistake. Or maybe so he can use me as a human shield.

Danny’s face does not lighten up at this explanation. In fact, if anything, it turns a shade or two darker. “So by
get them out of there,
you mean you stuck them on a boat and brought them
here?
Of all places?”

Jerry seems to be at a loss for words. I can hear his uneven breathing and feel the labored puffs of air on my neck. “Well boss, what else were we supposed to do with them?”

Danny rolls his eyes in his fat little head. “Uh, duh, kill ‘em?”

I gasp. Not that I didn’t figure this out already, but it sounds super harsh the way Danny just lays it out there.

Roger reaches for my hand and squeezes it hard. I forget that I’m supposed to be mad at him, and I squeeze back. Danny pulls a gun out of his pocket and points it at his own head. “You know like, bam, bam, you’re dead? Isn’t that what I gave you the gun for? It certainly wasn’t to go squirrel hunting or whatever crap you used to do down in Alabama with your cousin Jimmy Joe.”

“I don’t have a cousin Jimmy Joe,” Jerry mutters, causing Danny seethe even more.

“Is that the point, you idiot? I ought to blow your shit for brains head off your shoulders.” He shakes the gun in Jerry’s direction.

Roger and I jump, certain that he is going to blow us into oblivion in his efforts to shoot Jerry, but instead, he waves his hand toward the house. “Stick ‘em there,” he says with an audible sigh.

Jerry shoves me forward, “Yes, boss.” I can feel him sigh with relief.

I trip over the uneven terrain as we enter the house. Or rather, hut. The floor is dirt, with a rug thrown here and there. I’m not sure if it’s to create a homey effect or simply for warmth and someplace to sit. Because apparently, there is nothing else in this hut except for a very expensive laptop and a few cardboard boxes strewn around. Actually, it’s more like a ton of cardboard boxes and they all look like they have passports in them.

Weird...how many passports do three people need? Or four if you count fig leaf boy.

Then, it dawns on me. Whatever sketchy activity this group is up to, they must need to change their identities. They must have all these passports in case they have to jump a plane quickly. Then, with shocking clarity, I recall what the guy in the airport had said to me about children missing and the interest that Jerry and Danny had shown in my “missing child”.
Dang it! They must be kidnapping children! Maybe to use as drug mules!

I bite my trembling lip as I attempt to reason with myself.
Okay, Amy isn’t that what you thought about Mary and Walter when you discovered that Sean was living with them? And it didn’t turn out to be true then and it’s probably not true now.

“Put them over there,” Danny growls, pointing to the dusty corner. I swear I see a daddy long legs swing across the room. So of course, I let out an ear-piercing screech. Jerry promptly clamps a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up, would ya?” He is clearly agitated, but not nearly as much as Danny is.

“Jesus H. Christ! You see now
why
it would have been a good idea to leave them behind? She’s screaming and hollering and someone’s bound to hear and start investigatin’!”

He is pacing the length of the tiny room, throwing his hands around in the air. His tomato face is leaking tomato juice. Actually, pacing is too mild of a word. Stomping about is more accurate.

“You mean kill them back at the resort, boss?” Mario asks. Apparently our friend Mario is a little slow on the uptake. Danny hops and smacks him on the back of the head with his hand.

“Yeah, you idiot!” He shakes his head with disgust. “Well, we don’t have time for that now. And it’ll make too much noise.” He turns to the guy with the fig leaf and starts clucking in a foreign language. It sounds like his tongue is smacking everywhere. The native guy starts clucking back and nodding his head in agreement. They carry on this conversation for a minute or so and then Danny bobs his head firmly, ending the conversation.

“Come on,” he says to his henchmen, shoving them forward. “We need to get back to the resort so you can get the package.”

“What about them, boss?” Mario asks, jerking his head toward me and Roger.

Yeah, boss. What about them?

“They’ll stay here.” He glowers at us. “No funny business. Waynedell has a spear and he won’t hesitate to use it.” Danny warns, waving his gun around. I stare at the incredibly imposing, nearly naked man in the door way.
Waynedell? The guy’s name is Waynedell? Sounds like a comedian or something.