Tricky Business (31 page)

 

JOHNNY YANKED ON THE STEEL DOOR TO THE bridge. “It's locked,” he said.

Ted pounded on the door. “OPEN UP,” he shouted. “WE GOT A NURSE.”

Nothing.

Ted pounded some more, then Johnny took over, then Ted again. They pounded for a full minute.

Nothing.

“What do we do now?” said Johnny.

Ted thought. “We go ask that Coast Guard lady,” he said. “She's the one with the plan.”

“I dunno, man,” said Johnny. “She went back where the gun guys are.”

“I know,” said Ted. “So did Wally.”

“
Wally's
down there?” said Johnny.

“Yup,” said Ted.

“Oh,
man,
” said Johnny.

 

WALLY TROTTED THE LENGTH OF THE FIRST-DECK casino, looking for Fay. He reached the bar at the stern, where he found Joe Sarmino, for probably the tenth time, turning off and then turning on his cell phone, in hopes that this time it would say something besides NO SERVICE.

“Hey,” said Wally. “Have you seen Fay? The barmaid?”

“Yes,” said Joe. “She go running through here a minute ago, that way, after all those other people.”

“What other people?” said Wally.

Joe rolled his eyes.

“You wouldn't believe,” he said. “Couple big guys holding bags, then a guy with no clothes on, then a lady with a knife. Then your friend Fay.”

“That way?” said Wally, pointing toward the stairwell.

“That way,” said Joe, looking at his phone. NO SERVICE.

“Do you have a gun or anything I can use?”

Joe looked up. “A gun?” he said.

“Any kind of weapon,” said Wally.

“I got . . . lemme see . . I got this.” He held up a corkscrew.

“Can I borrow it?” said Wally. “It's an emergency.”

“OK,” said Joe, handing it to him. He was thinking maybe, after this trip, he would go back into the pool-service business.

“Thanks,” said Wally. Corkscrew in hand, he took off running toward the stern stairwell, thinking,
A guy with no clothes?

 

...ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM . . .

 

“DID YOU HEAR SOMETHING?” SAID PHIL. “I thought I maybe heard something.”

“I hear this guy moaning, is what I hear,” said Arnie.

“I thought maybe I heard something,” said Phil.

“So go look,” said Arnie.

“Are you kidding?” said Phil. “There's maniacs with guns out there.”

“He's waking up,” said Arnie.

Eddie's eyes were open now.

“It hurts,” he said.

“I know,” said Arnie. “Hang on, we got help coming.”

“Where the hell are they?” said Phil.

“Shut up,” said Arnie.

Eddie moved his head a little, looked around the bridge. “Who's running the ship?” he said.

“What?” said Arnie.

“It's moving,” said Eddie. “Who's running it?”

“Nobody,” said Phil, thinking about it. “Nobody's running the ship.”

“Shut up,” said Arnie, to Phil. To Eddie, he said, “It's under control, Captain. Nothing to worry about.”

“A nice, quiet evening, you said,” said Phil.

“Shut up,” said Arnie.

“I need to see,” said Eddie. He turned on his side. He groaned in agony, but kept turning. He was on his hands and knees now.

“Hey,” said Arnie, “hey, you're not supposed to move, OK?”

“I need to see,” said Eddie. He was struggling to his feet. Phil's handkerchief fell off Eddie's wound and dropped to the floor. It was drenched with blood.

“You're supposed to lie down,” said Arnie, struggling to get up, his old knees creaking. “You got shot, in case nobody told you.”

“What's he doing?” said Phil.

“I don't know what the hell he's doing,” said Arnie.

“I'm still trying to stand up, here.”

Eddie, groaning with each step, lurched over to the helm. He looked at the instruments for a moment.

“Northeast,” he said. “Out to sea.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Phil.

Eddie was leaning over now, left hand on the console, right hand waving unsteadily in front of the autopilot control pad. He punched some keys. Then he groaned again, much louder, and clutched his belly for a moment with both hands. He brought up his right hand, now covered with blood, and aimed it toward the autopilot. Then he yelped in agony and crumpled to the floor.

Arnie, who had just finished straightening up, sighed and started to get back down.

“They never listen,” he said.

On the floor, Eddie said, “It's off.”

“He said it's off,” said Phil.

“I heard him,” said Arnie. “I' m right here, remember?”

“What's off?” said Phil.

“How should I know what's off?” said Arnie. “He's the one said it was off.”

“The autopilot,” said Eddie, fighting to get the words out. “It's off. I was gonna reset it. It's off.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Phil.

“Shut up,” said Arnie. To Eddie, he said: “What do we do?”

Eddie was barely conscious now. “Steer,” he whispered.

“Steer?” said Arnie.

“He wants
us
to steer?” said Phil.

“Steer west,” said Eddie, and closed his eyes.

TARK DOVE HEADFIRST OFF THE PLATFORM AND landed on a bed of cash-filled duffel bags in the Zodiac. He turned and squeezed off three quick shots in the general direction of the ship, with no idea who or what he was firing at. He didn't see Kaz anywhere.
Where the hell was Kaz?
He saw somebody getting up off the platform and swiveled the TEC-9 that way and . . .
Jesus, was that a naked man?

 

ON THE BRIDGE OF THE
EXTRAVAGANZA,
PHIL PUT his hands on the steering wheel gingerly, as if it might be hot.

“Which way is west?” he said.

“Whaddya mean, which way is west?” said Arnie, who had finally got back down to the floor with Eddie, who was now unconscious. “West is west, for Chrissakes. You got north, south, east, west. He said go west.”

“I
know
he said go west,” said Phil. “I'm asking, which way
is
west?”

Arnie sighed. “You got to look at the compass,” he said. “You look at the compass, and there's your west.”

Phil studied the instruments. “OK,” he said. “You know so much, which one is the compass?”

“Christ, do I have to do everything around here?” said Arnie, and he began the slow and painful process of getting back on his feet.

 

JOCK SPRANG TO HIS FEET.
SHOOTING.
SOMEBODY was
shooting
at him. His first thought was:
Tina. Tina got hold of a gun.
He swiveled his head around frantically and saw the Zodiac bouncing in the big ship's wake, saw a skinny guy in it, AIMING A GUN AT HIM.
Pop. Pop.
THE GUY WAS SHOOTING AT HIM. Jock dropped to his hands and knees and started to crawl back toward the doorway to the ship. Then he remembered that that was where Tina was.
Pop. Pop.
He could hear bullets zinging over his head. He had to get out of there. For a second or two, Jock, naked on all fours, lunged one way, then another, looking like a giant hairless squirrel caught in traffic on the interstate. Then, seeing what looked like his only hope for refuge, he got into a crouch, sprinted fifteen feet and launched himself headfirst over the transom, into Tark's fishing boat.

 

. . . ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM . . .

KAZ HAD BEEN VERY LUCKY, IN TWO WAYS. First, he'd fallen off the platform close to where Tark's boat was tied. Second, it had been tied sloppily, and one of the lines was trailing in the water. Kaz had had the presence of mind to grab the line and hang on, which is why he was now trailing in the
Extravaganza
's wake, as opposed to treading water in the dark rough sea as the ship steamed off without him. Kaz had no idea what had happened, who had hit him. For some reason, he had this feeling that it was a naked man, but that made no sense.

And right now he had more important things to worry about. Holding the line in both hands, he flipped his body so he could see the Zodiac. Tark, gun slung over his shoulder, was at the stern, messing with the outboard. It roared to life. He'd have to go to the bow now, and cast off. That would keep him busy for a second.

Kaz hauled himself forward on the line to the
Extravaganza,
got one hand on the platform, then the other, and pulled himself up. Lying flat, he looked to the right. Tark was working his way forward, over the duffel bags, still not looking Kaz's way. Kaz looked left and saw that he was in luck; a few feet away was one of Manny Arquero's crewmen, his dead hands gripping the TEC-9 Tark had planted on him. Kaz slid over, yanked it loose, and rose to his feet.

Shit.
Tark had seen him. The bastard was quick: He was already squeezing off shots. But Tark was at a serious marksmanship disadvantage, perched on a pile of duffel bags in a bouncing rubber boat. His first shots missed, and Kaz knew he had him as he squeezed the trigger and . . .

. . . and heard a scream of fury to his left. He turned to see a very tall, very pissed-off blonde woman coming right at him, holding aloft a knife strikingly similar to the one that perforated the Janet Leigh character in
Psycho.
He whirled toward her, and she, getting a good look at him, and his gun, screamed and tried to stop. But she skidded on the wet platform, and her momentum was unbroken as she, a woman with a fair amount of mass, slammed hard into Kaz, who fought to hold his balance but could not, and found himself falling, in what felt like slow motion—
This can't be happening
—back into the Atlantic Ocean.

 

FAY, HEARING THE SHOTS, STOPPED JUST BEFORE the doorway. Directly in front of her, lying on the stern platform, was an AK-47. Fay lay on her stomach, reached out carefully, grabbed the rifle and drew it toward her. She rose and checked to see if it had ammunition, made sure the safety was off. She leveled the gun and, half crouching, moved toward the doorway.

 

ON THE PLATFORM, TINA STAGGERED TO HER feet, disoriented. She'd thought the dark shape on the deck was that bastard Jock, but as she'd charged him, she'd seen that it was another man, a man wearing clothes. A man with a gun. She was also pretty sure she'd heard shooting.
Shooting.

She looked to her left and saw where the shooting had come from: a skinny guy, in a little boat, with a gun slung around his shoulder. He was untying the boat, but when he saw her, now standing, he grabbed his gun. Tina whirled to run back into the ship, but then she saw it: a gun barrel, poking out of the doorway. She whirled back: The skinny man was raising his gun.
Pop. Pop.
Tina screamed, turned, sprinted across the platform and dove over the transom, into Tark's boat.

 

WALLY WAS IN THE STAIRWELL, HEADED DOWN, when he heard it.
Shooting.
Somebody was shooting down there. He turned and started back up the stairs. Then he stopped and said, “NO, dammit.” Then he turned back around and started back down the stairs again, now holding his corkscrew in front of him, dagger-style.