Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 02 - A Deadly Bargain, Plan C (12 page)

Chapter
Sixteen

I
groaned as I rolled over in my sleeping bag
that was
spread out on the floor of the
Little Maria
.  Long gone were the days of youth when I could sleep all night on the hard floor at a girlfriend’s slumber party and wake up without a stiff back or a painful shoulder.  I would have given anything for an air mattress or even a pillow.  I rolled up in a ball on my knees and moaned some more as I crawled out of the warm bag, shivering in the cold air.

My stomach growled and I thought about where my next meal would come from.  I still had so
me of the money Spencer lent me,
so
  I
decided to treat myself and walk down to the little restaurant on the corner.  They’ve got a veggie omelet that’s to die for.

As I laced up my shoes, I thought I heard a strange noise outside.  I stopped and listened. 
Nothing.
  I continued with the other shoe.  There it was again. 
An intermittent squawk, like a radio.
  I stood up straight and cocked my head to get a better listen.  There was definitely something going on outside.

I climbed up the steps and peeked over the railing toward Clancy’s office.  Five police cars were parked around the little shack, blocking any passage in or out.  Uniformed policemen milled around, obviously looking for something.  Two men worked on getting the front door opened while others snooped around, peering in the windows and looking under tarps and canvas sails piled on the porch.

There was one other boat tied up next to the
Little Maria
.  It was a smaller fishing boat, but it could have easily given the larger boat a run for her money.  I quietly climbed over the railing onto the dock, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to my activities.  I stepped onto the other boat and hurried into the main cabin.  The keys were dangling from the ignition.  What is it with these fishermen?  They’ve never heard of boat thieves? 
I pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed them out into the water as I made my way back to the
Little Maria
.

I released the line holding the stern to the dock
, then
snuck to the bow of the Little Maria and untied th
e other line
.  I grabbed an old oar
lying
on the deck and shoved the boat away from the dock.  The boat drifted a little,
then
sat motionless, just a few feet from solid ground.  I tiptoed back to the pilot seat and started the engine. 

The sound of the diesel caught the attention of several police officers wandering around Clancy’s office.

“Hey!  There’s someone on that boat!” one of them yelled, pointing in my direction.

I shoved the lever full throttle ahead and the
Little Maria
lunged forward.  I turned the wheel sharply and away we went. 
On the run, again.
  I looked back to see the small army of policemen racing down the dock.  As I expected, they immediately jumped
onto the other boat
.  I glanced back to see their frustration at not finding the keys.  They waved their arms, stamped their feet, and watched helplessly as my wake grew longer
—
increasing
the distance between us.

I motored past the mouth of the harbor and headed southwest along the coastline, keeping fairly close to the shore.  The morning fog was light and already lifting.  I eased back on the throttle and watched the shore
as
I tried to remember the boat landings I’d seen along this section of coastline.

I decided to just hang off the shoreline for a while
—
to think.  I didn’t know what my next move should be.  What were those policemen looking for?  Me? 

The sun burned
off what remained of the
fog and its warmth felt good on my back.  I forgot how cold I had been this morning, but I couldn’t forget how hungry I was.  I remembered I had a couple of apples and a banana stashed in a bag down below deck.  I reached for the throttle to stop the boat when I noticed
an
annoying sound heading my direction.  I spun around and scanned the horizon.

A helicopter.
 

For the first time ever, I cursed the sunshine for chasing the fog away.  It wasn’t far off and there’d be no outrunning it.  Still, I shoved the throttle forward and turned toward the coast.  I
was about a mile from shore.  The chopper
gained on the
Little Maria
quickly.  The next sound I heard
made me feel sick to my stomach—
the diesel engine sputtered and coughed as it swallowed its la
st ounce of fuel before it quit.

“No,” I said, staring at the fuel gauge.  “Please, don’t be out of fuel,” I begged.  I turned the key and listened to the e
ngine crank
.  “Please, please
, please,” I pleaded.

I jumped out of the pilot seat and hurried below deck.  The helicopter couldn’t land on the boat.  They could only keep me in sight and radio my position to another boat.  I was sure that’s what they were doing. 

I found a plastic zip-lock bag with the crumbs of some potato chips still inside.  I dumped the contents of my purse on the floor, dropped to my knees and picked out what I determined to be most important. 
I put a
ll my cash
,
the photos of the
Gigabyte
,
the keys from the trunk
, and the gum I was forced to purchase in order to get change—not because it was important but because
I was hungry
and it was the closest thing to food I had
—
in
the baggie
and zipped it up tight
, then
slipped the small package into the waistband of my pants and rushed to the tank racks.

I checked the gauges on the remaining scuba tanks.  I picked the fullest one and hoisted it on my back
, then
grabbed a mask and flippers and struggled to get back up to the deck.  Adrenaline gave me the strength I needed to haul my body, plus all that equipment, up the steps. 
Once o
n deck, I removed my shoes
, tied the laces together,
then
attached them to
one of my belt-loops.  I slipped the mask on my face, dropped the fins over the side, and jumped in.

Nearly a mile off shore, I’d be swimming for a long time.  I only surfaced as often as necessary to verify my position.  I decided on a direct route to the shore for the shortest swim.  That’s probably exactly what my pursuers expected, but I wasn’t too keen on becoming shark food, either.

As I got closer to the beach, I headed for a pier that looked promising for giving me some cover.  When I finally reached it, I clung to a barnacle-covered
support
and rested for a few minutes. 
After liberating
myself from the scuba equipment, I
let the ocean have it. 
Staying
under the pier as I made my way to the beach,
I was
carefu
l not to get tangled in any
fishing line
s
. 

I crawled through the wet sand, then out from under the shade of the huge wooden structure into the sunshine.  I
lay
there for a while and let the sun
dry
my soaked clothes. 

A day like this would normally bring droves of people to the beach if it had been a weekend.  Since it was midweek, the crowds were thin.  I didn’t see any policemen roaming around, but I thought I’d better not make like a sitting duck and find some dark inconspicuous place to hide out.

First, I had to try to contact the cavalry.  I jogged up the steps of the pier and went straight for the first restaurant I came to.  I brushed the sand off and walked inside.

I sat down on a bench near the front door and waited
for the payphone to become available
.  Someone had left
today’s paper on the bench
.  I picked it up and leafed through it.

The headlines were the same ones I’d been reading for the last several months:
Iraq ousted more U.N. weapons inspectors.  Threats were being made.  Troops were being deployed.  Planes were being put in the air.  Missiles were being aimed. 

I
flipped
the pages
to the horoscope section.
“It may seem as though the world is against you right now.  You may be right, but be patient.  This, too, shall pass.”

What?  I read it again.  Whatever happened to those happy little horoscopes I remember reading as a kid? 
The ones that hinted at the promise of new love, or the rekindling of an old love?
 
Or the possibility of wealth and good fortune?
  Who wants to be hit in the face with the reality of a forecast that borderlines on depressing?

I
slapped the paper
down on the seat next to me. 

Finally, the phone was available, so I grabbed it
an
dialed
.
“Please be there,” I whispered as I counted the rings echoing in my ear.

“Hello?
”

“Jason?  You’re home!”  Hallelujah.  I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Dev?”

“Oh, Jason.
  Am I glad to hear your
voice.
”

“What’s the matter?
”

“
I
need you to come and get me.  My Jeep was stolen.  The police are catching up to me, and the
Little Maria
conked out a mile from shore.” 

“
Little what?
  What are you talking about?”

“I’ll fill you in when you get here.  I’m in Huntington Beach, at a pi
er.  I don’t know the name, but—
“  I
turned to see a pair of uniforms standing in the doorway.  I estimated the length of the phone cord and pulled it with me as I slipped around the corner.  It just barely reached.  “Wait a minute,” I whispered.  I peeked around the corner.  The two policemen were being escorted through some doors, I presumed to the kitchen
, to conduct a search.  I sa
t the phone down then quickly
snatched up
the newspaper
from the bench and
hurried back
.  I opened it up to the movie section.  “Here it is.”  I put the phone back to my ear.  “Get here as fast as you can.  I’ll meet you at the
Pierside
Cinemas in Huntington Beach.  It’s right on the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“Cinema?
  What are we going to see?”

“
The Killing of
Devonie
Lace
if you don’t get here right away.”

“Okay.  Okay.  I get the picture.  How will I find you?”

“Cinderella is playing.  I’ll be in the back row.”

“Okay.  I’ll get there as fast as I can.  Be careful.”

“Thanks, Jason. 
You, too.”

I stepped around the corner to hang up the phone.  The two cops pushed through the swinging doors and headed
in
my direction.  I did an about-face and
marched back down the hall to the restrooms.  The obvious choice would be the door with the figure wearing a skirt.  That’s probably exactly the room they’d search
, so
I pushed through the other door.  A man, washing his hands at the sink, glanced up at me, surprised.  He looked around the otherwise empty lavatory, ready to correct my mistake.

I took the upper hand. 
“Uh, oh.
  You’re in the wrong one,” I said, smiling.

His face turned red.  “I am?  I could’ve sw
orn—
“

“It’s okay.  I won’t tell,” I promised.

He quickly dried his hands and rushed out.  I watched as he inspected the sign on the door.  He turned and looked at me.  “
You’re
in the wrong one
,” he
said
.

“
Oops.”

A high window leading outside looked promising.  I dragged the large trash can to the wall under it and climbed up.  It would only open a few inches.  Scrap that idea.  I could hide in one of the two stalls, but if they came in searching, I’d literally be a sitting duck.  I moved the trash can back to its original position.  It was big enough, and it was nearly empty.  It would have to do.  I lifted the swinging lid off and climbed inside, lowering the lid back in place over my head.  I listened as the squeaky door swung open.