Skink--No Surrender (17 page)

“I’m good,” he said sullenly.

“Are not. Let me feel your forehead.” When she took a step toward him, he bellowed at her to stay back.

“I said I’m fine!”

“Fine! Be an ass.”

“Don’t mess with me!” Tommy said. Then he raised his arm and shot out one of the cabin windows.

Malley sat down sobbing. You could see the bullet hole in the flapping sheet, and hear the raindrops peppering the fabric. My ears rang, and I smelled the tang of gunpowder.

“Such drama,” Skink said.

Tommy was completely frazzled. He was trying his hardest to scare a man who couldn’t be scared.

“Know what? Maybe I should just kill you and Captain No-Beard. Dump you both overboard.”

“Well, that would be labor-intensive,” the governor responded, “not to mention messy. Your smarter option is to get a grip.”

Tommy lurched close and placed the pistol to Skink’s weed-capped head. “What’d you say, old man?”

“Don’t!” Malley cried.

“See, she knows me. She knows what I can do,” Tommy boasted, but he was trembling so much that the flashlight beam coming from his armpit jiggled all over the walls.

The revolver wasn’t moving that much because Tommy was pressing it hard against Skink’s temple.

One time I asked my father, who was super-laid-back, if he believed in evil. We’d been watching the TV news when an awful story came on about some guy who went to a crowded movie theater and started shooting everyone, people he’d never met before, even kids. The place looked like a war zone after he was done. The lawyer for the shooter said he had severe emotional problems (which was, like, no kidding), but in my mind that didn’t account for how and why he devised a plan so awful and coldblooded.

And I remember Dad mulling my question for a few moments before saying that true evil was rare, but, yes, it was real. He also said that it didn’t occur in any other species besides humans, and I believe he was right. Violence and brutal domination exist in the animal world as a means for survival, not as sport or sick amusement.

Whatever personal issues Tommy Chalmers might have had during his life, it was a streak of pure evil that made him go after my cousin. I felt that way then, and I still do.

Poking Skink with the pistol barrel, Tommy said, “Well, old man? What do you think now?”

“I think you remind me of someone.”

“Who’s that?”

“The last fool who pointed a gun in my direction.”

Tommy was on the verge of exploding.

My cousin said, “T.C., you’re gonna ruin everything. Just chillax.”

“What! Don’t you hear how he’s talkin’ to me?”

“So what? He’s nutty as a fruitcake.”

“Ouch,” said the governor.

Another crash of thunder rattled a wedge of glass from the shot-out windowpane. Malley used the distraction to scoot closer, and I felt her arm reaching behind me. At first I thought she was trying to loosen the knots, but actually she was placing an object in one of my hands.

It was the pocketknife from my backpack. She must have secretly removed it while retrieving the rope out of the hatch.

Tommy looked shakier by the minute. He backed away from Skink and braced himself against the frame of the doorway.

I said, “Just let us go, dude. Then you can get on with your cruise.”

He shook his head, muttering, “Too late for that. No way. Too late.” The flashlight flickered the way cheap ones do.

The governor turned slightly toward Malley. “How’d you two meet?”

Like we were all sitting in a booth at Applebee’s, waiting for our salads.

“He found me in a chat room,” my cousin said.

Tommy didn’t care for the insinuation that he was some kind of stalker. He said, “Hey, babe, get it right. Who found who?”

“They’re getting married in a couple days,” I cut in. “Tommy’s a poet. He wrote the wedding vows himself.”

“Sweet,” said Skink.

“He’s looking for a word that rhymes with orange.”

“Don’t be a dorkface,” Tommy snapped.

“He made it sound like we had a ton in common,” Malley went on. “YOLO and so forth.”

“YOLO?” said the governor.

“It stands for ‘you only live once,’ ” I explained.

“Ah.”

“My mom and dad were sending me off to boarding school,” Malley said, “up in freaking New Hampshire. The more I thought about it, the more it sounded like a prison sentence. I don’t do cold, okay? So then Tommy—he was calling himself ‘Talbo’ online—came up with this radical idea. He said hey, girl, why don’t we just take off together, you and me. A trip to the middle of nowhere. And I said let’s go for it.”

This was the first time I’d heard my cousin tell the story, and it sounded about right.

“Well, you picked a fine river,” Skink said. “There’s a
special bird lives here that can’t be found anywhere else in the country. Make that the entire planet.”

Malley smiled. “You’re talkin’ about ivorybills. I saw one.” She glanced at me. “It was
amazing
.”

I assumed she said this because Tommy had overheard her talking about the woodpeckers when she’d called to give me a clue to her whereabouts—back when we both had working cell phones and laptops, when we were actually connected to the rest of civilization. It seemed like a long time ago.

“Young Thomas,” said Skink, “what happened to your nose?”

“Some dirtbag sucker-punched me and I had to kick his butt. It’s none a your flippin’ business.”

“You a North Florida boy? I am, too.”

“Get me some water,” Tommy said to Malley.

“She mentioned you called yourself ‘Talbo’ in the chitchat room. That a family nickname?” The governor’s tone was perfectly harmless.

“Talbo Chock. He was a friend of mine got killed in Iraq.”

“Afghanistan,” I said.

Skink nodded. “Always sad to hear that.”

“He was in the Marines,” added Tommy.

“You guys serve together?”

“Naw.”

Malley poured water into Tommy’s mouth, since he
couldn’t hold the bottle with his catfish hand. If it was me, I might have grabbed for his gun, though I understood why she didn’t. If she’d missed, he likely would have started shooting again.

In the meantime, I’d opened my knife, and I was making progress on the rope. Skink kept the conversation rolling. “Are your folks coming to the wedding?”

“What for? God, no,” said Tommy.

“It’s a big day, that’s why. I’ve never been married myself.”

“Who cares?”

“Never married?” Malley said. “Why not?”

The governor laughed and laughed. “There’s a great song called ‘Heart of Gold,’ and that’s what it would take to be married to me—someone with a heart of pure gold. Your parents know the words.”

“I’ve heard it,” I said.

“Me, too,” said my cousin.

“Seriously? Shut up!” Tommy croaked. He was fighting tremors that made his shoulders pinch.

Skink asked Tommy how old he was and got no answer.

“He’s twenty-four,” Malley said.

“Old enough to know a blue heron isn’t a game bird, right? Meaning it’s against the law to kill one. A duck or a bobwhite quail—that’s different. But there’s no hunting season on herons.”

The governor was hung up on the bird that Tommy almost shot. I sensed that he put Tommy in the same sleazy category as Dodge Olney, the turtle-egg poacher.

“Ever been to jail?” Skink inquired.

“Maybe I have,” said Tommy, trying to sound proud of it.

“How about your father? Possibly there’s a genetic explanation.”

“My old man’s a saint. Just ask him.”

At this point I was sawing vigorously on the rope, hoping I didn’t accidentally cut my wrists. I couldn’t actually see what the knife was doing behind me.

My cousin brought up Tommy’s supposed career as a big-time party DJ, which made no impression at all on Skink.

“The only DJs I ever heard were on the radio,” he said.

“You mean, like, when, back in the Stone Age?” Tommy sniped.

The situation inside was heading downhill. Outside, the storm gave no signs of letting up. Skink began to croon the heart-of-gold song. He had an okay voice, but Tommy wasn’t in the mood for a serenade.

Another powerful gust of wind came up the river swinging the bow hard, only this time the bow didn’t swing back. The houseboat continued to spin.

“We just lost our anchor,” Skink casually announced.

It was true. We were bobbing down the Choctawhatchee like a waterlogged cork. Tommy swore loudly. He ordered Malley to start the engine, and make it fast.

Just then the knots binding me went slack under a hard stroke of the blade. I kept my arms in the same position so Tommy wouldn’t notice I was free. He was busy at the control console coaching my cousin, who pretended to be totally baffled by the ignition switch.

Slowly I slid the pocketknife behind Skink, and he palmed it. Time had run out for Malley’s kidnapper.

Or so I thought.

SEVENTEEN

The engine wouldn’t start.

Tommy Chalmers didn’t know that the houseboat was equipped with a bilge pump that automatically switched on whenever water accumulated. The pump had been running nonstop during the heavy squall, draining so much juice from the boat’s battery that there wasn’t enough left to spark the big outboard.

“Unbelievable!” Tommy seethed. “You
got
to be kidding.” For a moment I thought he might put a bullet in the ignition switch.

Malley sighed and stepped away from the controls. “Hey, I’m done. This is not my deal.”

The governor said, “We’re all part of something bigger now. Enjoy the drift.”

At any moment I expected to see him shake off the rope and pounce on Tommy. I wondered if he would use my knife or only his bare hands. My cousin must have been anticipating a scuffle, too. She moved to a corner of the cabin, took off the bush hat and sat down on her travel bag.

“This is no good, Malley!” Tommy kicked the steering console. “Can you say total flippin’ disaster?”

Skink waited until Tommy calmed down before asking why his right hand was wrapped in a bloody T-shirt. Tommy refused to answer, so Malley provided a brief account of the catfish episode.

“Been there,” said Skink with a sympathetic wince.

Tommy grunted. “Who cares?”

“He won’t let me put any medicine on it,” Malley said.

“Why not?” the governor asked. “Tommy, are you a fan of pain?”

“No, he’s just stubborn.”

Tommy positioned the flashlight on the console with the feeble beam aimed at us. I peeked behind Skink and observed the knife blade going back and forth.

When he makes his big move, I thought, it’ll be epic. Already I was imagining a triumphant phone call to my mother:
We got Malley back! She’s okay!
I could picture Uncle Dan and Aunt Sandy rushing out of the house when we pulled up. They’d be crying and hugging my cousin so hard that her eyes would bulge. I could see myself down at the police station, telling Detective Trujillo how the rescue went down—he’d be totally blown away.

But back in real time, in the real world, Tommy Chalmers still held a loaded gun, and Skink still sat there wearing a crown of green waterweeds and a snail shell crammed into one eye socket. Lightning crackled around
us as the houseboat spun in slow motion, pushed by the storm and pulled by the river’s current.

And my cousin, for reasons known only to her, decided to stir things up even more. “T.C., there’s something we should tell you.”

“Who’s we?” Tommy asked.

I had no idea what Malley was going to say. Looking back, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. She wanted Tommy to know he’d been outwitted.

Matter-of-factly she announced, “Carson’s real name is Richard. He’s the cousin I told you about.”

Tommy needed a few seconds to process the information.

“What the hell’s he doing here?” he huffed.

“What do you think? He came to save me from you.”

“Okay, that’s bull. Nobody knew which way we went! I made sure a that.”

“Well, he found us, didn’t he?” Malley said. “See, some people really care, T.C. They don’t just fake it. It’s called a conscience.”

Tommy blinked sweat beads off his eyelashes. “And some people don’t slug their boyfriends in the nose.”

“You’re not my boyfriend. You were
never
my boyfriend.”

“Ha! Yeah, right.” He turned a bloodshot glare on me. “I never bought your stupid story. I knew you definitely didn’t steal no yacht and run for Cuba. What about him, the old man?”

I said, “He’s just a friend who offered to help.”

“You lie. Look at him—he’s a bum off the street!”

“Very classy, T.C.,” said Malley. “Like you’re one of the Kennedys. Or maybe you’re a royal and you just forgot to tell me. Prince Thomas Chalmers of Kensington Palace, right?”

Now she was doing her British accent, but with a nasty edge.

Skink said, “I take no offense at the man’s remarks. Often I’m misjudged due to my appearance.”

I thought:
Enough talking already
. He had finished cutting himself free. I could see the rope in pieces behind him, the pocketknife twirling in his fingers.

“He looks like some hobo got run over by a train!” Tommy chortled.

“Actually, it was a truck,” I said.

“Partially run over,” Skink added for clarification, “although I make no excuses.”

My cousin reminded Tommy that he looked awfully sketchy himself. “You’re one to talk, with your fat nose and club hand!”

It was like pouring gasoline on a fire, but that’s how Malley’s anger was coming out, as sarcastic digs.

“Don’t listen to him—he’s just jealous,” Malley said to the governor. “You’ve got epic teeth. Do you whiten?”

“Pardon?”

“Crest strips, right?”

“I floss like a fiend,” Skink replied with a straight face, “sometimes using barbed wire.”

“Okay, that’s it. Let’s move on,” I said.

What I wanted was the night to be over. Even wracked with fever, Tommy was able to comprehend that he couldn’t allow me and Skink to leave. You can’t just tie up a couple of strangers, wave a gun in their faces and then say never mind, see ya later. They’re going to call the cops as soon as they can.