Tricky Business (23 page)

“Sounded like that,” said Arnie.

“Six people dead in this storm,” said Phil, “and I let you get me out on a boat.”

“Don't be an old lady,” said Arnie. “This is a big boat here, run by professionals. They wouldn't leave the dock if it wasn't safe. You see anybody dying out here?”

“Not yet,” said Phil.

 

FRANK LAY ON HIS SIDE WITH HIS FACE TOWARD the gunwale, keeping his mouth open so the blood could flow out. It felt like the bleeding was worse now. He wondered how much longer he could keep losing blood at this rate. Although currently that was not his biggest concern. His biggest concern was what Tark was going to do to him. He understood now that Tark wasn't keeping him alive for any rational purpose, something that might give Frank a tactical chance, a bargaining lever. No, Tark was keeping him alive because Tark was a psycho dirtbag who enjoyed hurting people. He had taken his time doing whatever he did to Juan, Kaz telling him hurry up, man, get it
over
with, Tark answering relax, we got plenty of time, then resuming his knife work, humming along to Juan's agony, sometimes whistling.

Juan had still been alive when they heaved him over the side. Even in the noise of the storm, Frank could hear him moaning. Then the splash. Frank hoped for his friend's sake that he would die quickly.

That had been a few minutes ago. Frank thought he'd heard somebody go back into the cabin, but he wasn't sure; he couldn't tell if Tark was still out here, behind him. And he didn't want to roll over and look. He hated to admit it, but he was
afraid
to look. He felt like a child, pretending that if he held still and closed his eyes, the monster wouldn't see him.

More minutes went by. Frank still heard nobody behind him. He began to feel a tiny tickling of hope. It had to be time for the rendezvous. That would keep Tark busy. Obviously, Tark was planning some kind of ambush, but maybe somebody on the ship would notice something wrong. Maybe somebody would see Frank lying here. Maybe they'd be ready for whatever Tark was planning to do. Maybe they'd rescue Frank. Maybe . . .

“Hey there, Chief,” said Tark's rasping voice, right in his ear. “Bet you thought I forgot about you, huh?”

 

FAY UNLOADED HER DRINKS, COLLECTED HER money, pretended not to see a couple of customers waving her over, looked around for Manny, and started for the port door to the outside second deck. She was almost there when she was intercepted by Wally, who was pretending that he just happened to spontaneously be in the area.

“Oh, hey there,” he said, in an unnaturally perky voice.

“Hi,” said Fay. “I'm just on my way out to . . .”

“Lovely weather, huh?” he said. He sounded to Fay as though he were reading a script.

She said, “Yeah, well, I don't mean to be rude, but . . .”

“I thought I saw Leonardo da Vinci,” said Wally.

“What?” said Fay.

“
DiCaprio,
I mean,” said Wally. “Leonardo
DiCaprio.
” Sweat beads were popping out on his upper lip.

“Leonardo DiCaprio?” said Fay.

“From the
Titanic,
” said Wally. “Leonardo DiCaprio. So I don't want to make you nervous. Ha ha!” He wiped his lip with his sleeve.

“Listen,” said Fay. “I'm going to walk away now, and you're going to stay right here, OK?”

“OK,” said Wally. “I just meant, the weather . . .”

“I have to go now,” said Fay, going.

Wally watched her until she was through the door, then he turned and began slowly and methodically banging his forehead against the front of a slot machine. A large woman, a veteran slots player holding a plastic cup of quarters, paused on her way to the ladies' room and watched Wally for a moment. Then she put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Honey, I know
exactly
how you feel.”

 

AT THE STERN OF THE
EXTRAVAGANZA,
MANNY Arquero, Hank Wilde, and four other men stood on the deck above a platform that jutted out from the ship, just above the water, illuminated by two bluish lights mounted flush on the ship's hull. Arquero was holding an AK-47 set on full automatic. Wilde was holding a cell phone. Stacked behind them were twenty-two extra-large black polyester duffel bags, each one jammed with cash.

“There he is,” said Arquero.

Wilde peered through the rain and saw the pale shape of the fishing boat, its lights out, moving slowly toward the ship. He speed-dialed a number on his cell phone.

Lou Tarant answered immediately.

“What,” he said.

“We're bringing home Chinese food tonight,” said Wilde.

“OK, good,” said Tarant. “Before you hang up, you seen the guy that owns the restaurant?”

“The guy that
owns
it?”

“Yeah. Is he there? At the restaurant?”

“Nope. Least not as far as I know.”

“Well, keep an eye out, and let me know if you see him, OK? Because I want to talk to him right away. I don't want him to go nowhere 'til I talk to him, understand?”

“OK,” said Wilde, but Tarant had hung up. Wilde turned to Arquero.

“You seen Bobby Kemp tonight?” he said.

“No,” said Arquero. “He don't come on the ship much. Why?”

“Lou is looking for him. Says he wants to talk to him right away. Says don't let him go nowhere.”

“That don't sound too good for Bobby,” said Arquero, smiling.

The fishing boat was close now, coming into the shelter of the massive bulk of the
Extravaganza,
which was pointing straight into the wind, not moving on its own power, just drifting with the Gulf Stream. The fishing boat began to turn, getting ready to back in and raft up with its stern against the ship. Arquero unclipped a two-way radio from his belt and held it to his lips.

“Captain,” he said.

“Right here,” said the voice of Eddie Smith.

“It's time,” said Arquero. “Hold it steady.”

“OK, lemme know when you're done.”

“This won't take long,” said Arquero.

ON THE TOP DECK, JOHNNY AND TED HUDDLED behind a stack of rubber lifeboats, Johnny holding in a lungful of smoke, Ted examining the minuscule roach to see if there was any hope for it.

“OK,” said Johnny, exhaling, “here's my point.”

“What?” said Ted. He popped the roach into his mouth.

“They're in Hawaii, right?” said Johnny.

Ted swallowed, then said, “Who is?”

“The infomercial people,” said Johnny. “Who don't live in the refrigerator cartons.”

“You're still thinking about
that
?”

“I just want to explain my point, which is, some of them might be there already.”

“Be where?”

“In Hawaii.”

“Of course they're in Hawaii. Nobody said they weren't in Hawaii. The whole
point
is, if you sell real estate, you can go to Hawaii and party with the infomercial guy.”

“But my point is, they might be there
already.

“Who?”

“The Hawaiians.”

“What about them?”

“They're already there. In Hawaii.”

“So your point is, there's Hawaiians in Hawaii? That's your point?”

Johnny sighed, fished in his jacket pocket, pulled out another joint, lit it, took a deep hit, passed it to Ted, exhaled.

“OK, listen,” he said. “Try to follow me here, and don't interrupt all the time, OK? What I'm saying, there
could
be—I'm not saying I
know,
I'm just saying
could
be—some Hawaiians who were already in Hawaii when the infomercial guy got there, and so the infomercial guy has them come on the infomercial, and he saves on his hotel bill.”

“Why would he save on his hotel bill?”

“Not the infomercial guy's hotel bill. The
Hawaiians'
hotel bill.”

“Why would the Hawaiians have a hotel bill?”

“They
wouldn't
have a hotel bill. That's my
point.

“Why not?”

“Because they
live
there.”

“They live in the hotel?”

“No, they live in Hawaii. That's why they're
Hawaiians,
for Chrissakes.”

“I
know
that. We
established
that. Hawaiians live in Hawaii. You keep saying that like it's E equals M-I-T fucking squared. We
agree
on that, OK? Hawaiians live in Hawaii. No duh. What's your
point
?”

Johnny took the joint back, took a hit, looked at Ted for a few moments.

“OK,” he said, finally. “What I'm saying is, when the infomercial guy decides to go to Hawaii, it's
possible,
I'm not saying I know for sure, but it's
possible
there were some Hawaiians who were already
in
Hawaii, and the . . .”

“Hold it,” said Ted, holding up a hand. “Let's finish this in the back of the boat, OK? I'm getting wet here.”

“You're not supposed to go back there,” said Johnny. “That's crew only. Manny saw me and Wally coming outta there one night and he got really pissed.”

“Yeah, well, Manny's not gonna be out here tonight,” said Ted. “You coming?”

“OK,” said Johnny. “But you need to listen to the point I'm making, and not interrupt all the time, OK?”

“We might need another joint,” said Ted.

 

BREATHE THROUGH YOUR NOSE,
FRANK TOLD himself.
Breathe through your nose.
He felt panic again seeping into his brain, as he felt blood again seeping into his mouth.
Swallow,
he told himself.
Swallow it. Now breathe through your nose....

Frank had expected Tark to cut him. He had felt Tark crouching over him, had waited for the feel of the blade, wondering where it would come, eyes closed, body clenched, waiting . . .

“You think I'm gonna cut you, Chief?” Tark had said. “Like I cut your friend?” Frank had felt the tip of the knife touch his left eyelid, just touching it.
Not my eyes Jesus not my eyes nononono . . .

A bit more pressure now, the blade point digging into the thin eyelid skin just a little . . .

And then a raspy laugh, and the knife point had pulled away, and Tark had said, “Don't worry, Chief, I ain't gonna cut you. In fact, I'm gonna stop that bleeding.”

Frank had heard the sound then, a familiar, mundane sound: duct tape being ripped off a roll. Then he'd felt the tape across his mouth, Tark wrapping it around his head, then around again, then again, making a tight seal. Immediately, Frank had felt the blood backing up in his mouth. He'd begun to choke, to thrash, but he couldn't spit out the blood, couldn't reach the tape, couldn't do anything.

He'd heard Tark's voice again, rasping in his ear: “Best thing for you to do, Chief? Swallow that blood. That'll work for a while, anyways. How long you think a man can swallow his own blood, Chief? How about we find out?”

And that's what Frank was doing, forcing himself to swallow his blood, to breathe, to swallow again, keeping alive another minute, then another.

He felt the fishing boat slowing now. He rolled onto his back, looked up and saw, through the rainy gloom, the gaudy neon lights of the upper deck of the
Extravaganza.
He felt a momentary surge of hope. Then he felt himself choking again.

 

ON THE STARBOARD SIDE OF THE
EXTRAVAGANZA,
on the second deck, outside, Fay was on the cell phone, talking to her mother.

“She won't go to sleep, and I don't know what she wants,” her mother was saying. Estelle was crying in the background. “She's saying something over and over, but I don't know what it is.”

“Can I talk to her?” said Fay.

“Do you want to talk to your mommy, Estelle?” Fay's mom said.

“No!” shouted Estelle. “Namenowhy! Namenowhy!”

“She just keeps shouting that and crying,” said Fay's mother. “She's giving me a headache.”

“She's saying her name is Snow White,” said Fay. “She wants you to call her Snow White.”

“Why?”

“She's pretending. Sometimes she pretends she's Snow White, and you have to call her that, or she gets upset.”

“Well, it's driving me crazy. And she wouldn't eat anything tonight.”

“Did you give her that kiddy alphabet soup, in the microwave ?”