his arms over the clear, shallow water, holding the pouch effortlessly at one side. “Here we are, the Great Bahama Bank.”
Suddenly a sharp pain, the same shoulder that had taken a direct hit from an aluminum baseball bat. Shit, I’ve been shot, Harry Marlin thought. But he was wrong. He’d been gaffed, hit square on the shoulder blade with a four-foot gaff. The commodore had a death grip on the other end and was barking orders. “Now hear this! Under the law of the sea, Mr. Marlin, you’re under arrest. You will report below at once. We will arrange a suitable brig in conformance with the Geneva convention.”
What could have been the commodore’s finest moment crumbled. By some miracle Harry Marlin still held the gun. The thick army jacket had absorbed most of the blow. Breathing heavily, Harry pointed the. 38 directly at the commodore’s crotch and said, “Now hear this, Admiral. Get this tub back to Miami or I’ll blow your nuts from here to Hawaii.”
Hawaii being what was on Harry’s mind at the time, Hawaii where he figured the bastard was heading, not on the little seaplane, of course, probably from here to one of the other islands, then to Mexico City maybe, and then Honolulu, and then, what the fuck was the name of that other island?
“Where’s that thieving motherfucker from?” Harry demanded.
“Keaka Kealia?” the commodore asked.
“No, Michael Milken. Of course, Keaka Kealia, you asshole.”
“He’s from Maui.”
Maui. Wait’ll I tell Violet where her beach boy friend with the load in his drawers is off to, Harry thought. Violet and her big ideas, hire the jock. Well, fuck him, if he thinks he can screw Harry Marlin like that, ‘cause old Harry will be right behind, right on his tail. Thinks he’s tough. Let’s go at it on dry land, and the sooner the better.
Then Harry did something he’d wanted to do most of the day. He leaned over the rail and let go of four Bloody Marys and two dozen oysters that had been corroding his gut like battery acid.
He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of the camouflage jacket. “Maui, get ready, ‘cause here I come,” Harry Marlin said to the sea.
CHAPTER 22
The racers straggled in, tied up and sprawled out on the barge, exhausted. Most said to hell with the champagne, just leave a six-pack and lemme alone. Lila Summers had finished midway back, helped some by not falling when the Magnum roared by, but she was exhausted too. Jake Lassiter helped her climb aboard the barge, where she peeled off her wet suit and sprawled out on a deck chair, eyes closed, chest heaving. He covered her with a towel and asked what Keaka was up to, but she just shrugged and rolled her eyes.
Maybe Keaka snapped, Lassiter thought. The reincarnated warrior heading for his own Valhalla. But what the hell was going on with the commodore in the Magnum? He wouldn’t answer radio calls.
It was nearly dusk and the ABC producer kept asking when the awards would be given. P. J. Jeter stood nearby, microphone in hand, but with no one to interview. Presiding on the barge, Paul Flanigan convened an emergency meeting of the yacht club board which, after several rounds of Tequila Sunrises, concluded that there was no requirement to show up for the awards ceremony and declared Keaka Kealia the winner. “Victor in absentia,” Charlie Riggs agreed.
Lila Summers accepted the check for Keaka and brush-kissed Jake Lassiter, who handed it over, filling in for the missing commodore. Francoise Duvalier, the surprise women’s winner, gave Lassiter a better kiss than he deserved while Lila watched. He loved the look in Lila’s eyes, like she might have bashed Francoise with her daggerboard if she wasn’t so tired.
For a race with a bizarre finish — a windsurfer and a chase boat that disappeared — the atmosphere on Bimini was strangely calm. Bimini can do that, mellow you out. The judges’ boats ferried the racers to the Big Game Club, where some serious drinking was under way in the Rum Keg Bar. Lila Summers squeaked across the lobby on bare feet, carrying the yellow backpack. Lassiter brought her sail bag with a change of clothes that he had stowed on the Big Daddy.
“Give me twenty minutes,” she said, “then come to the room.” The mystery of the missing Hawaiian wasn’t so important now. Lila was supposed to be sharing a cottage with Keaka, but Lassiter was willing to pinch-hit. He stopped at the restaurant, got two bowls of conch chowder, four broiled Bahamian lobster tails, a loaf of Bimini bread, still warm, and a six-pack of Grolsch, ice-cold.
Twenty minutes later — okay, so maybe it was fifteen — he knocked on her door. Room service, he said. Lila was just stepping out of the shower, white towel wrapped around her, its folds revealing full hips and flat stomach. She smiled at him, a tired but happy smile, kissed him gently on the forehead and grabbed one of the beers.
They devoured the food and drank the Grolsch, and Lassiter stepped out of his shorts while Lila undraped the towel, and on a cool bed with a breeze rattling the latticed windows he held her, his face buried in her wet hair, her skin still faintly salty from the sea. He nibbled at her pouty lower hp and she responded, and he slipped down under the sheet, caressing her breasts, brushing her stomach with light kisses. She purred a sweet song and her breathing quickened and her body moved to a faster beat, but in a moment she stopped moving and her breathing became slow and regular, and in another moment he figured it out… Lila was fast asleep.
0 for 2. No hits in two at-bats. At least the first time I got some wood on the ball, he thought. This time I whiffed. Couldn’t even keep her awake. Damn, maybe the beer was a bad idea.
Jake Lassiter pulled the sheet over Lila, who lay on her side now, her silhouette of slopes and curves visible in the darkness. He crawled in beside her and fell asleep. He dreamed of a jungle covered with swampy mangrove roots that grabbed at his legs and snaked up to his neck, where they tied intricate knots and strangled him, and he yelled and kicked and woke up in a sweat with Lila Summers holding him and whispering that everything was all right. And soon it was, because she kissed him and aroused him and with Jake Lassiter on his back she straddled him and guided him into her. With strong legs she slowly eased up and down, telling him to He still and he obeyed, and she tightened herself onto him and rocked forward and back and when he finally gasped, she smiled, and he knew so he didn’t ask. He knew it had been for him, Lila’s way of saying not to worry about her, it didn’t matter. He thought about it and was happy and sad at the same time and then he slept again, this time without dreams.
When Jake Lassiter awoke, there was something wrong. The telephone jarring him awake was wrong. The space next to him was empty, the sheets cool, and that was all wrong. He could feel the emptiness in the room. The phone still clanged, an ugly sound.
“I hope you’re with the girl,” the husky voice on the phone said.
“What?” Lassiter asked, propping himself up on an elbow, clearing the cobwebs. “Who’s this?”
“Tubby Tubberville here, at your service. I’m at the front desk.”
“Tub, what the hell, didn’t know you could ride a chopper across the Straits. What’re you doing here?”
“Cindy sent me over on the first Chalk’s puddle jumper this morning. She was worried about you, what with the commodore hijacked and you not answering your phone all night. Plus all hell’s broken loose at the firm. According to Cindy, your partners had some kind of emergency meeting to consider your future, or lack thereof. Some dude at the bank claims you nearly broke his neck. Gonna charge you with assault.”
“Forget the firm and the bank. What do you mean about being with the girl?”
“The cottage you’re in is registered to a Mr. Kealia and Ms. Summers. Your room’s been empty all night so I hope you’re in there with the girl, not the guy. Don’t want any of my notions about you going down the drain.”
Lassiter struggled upright and swung his feet onto the cold tile floor. “What’s this about a hijacking?”
“If you’re both decent I’ll drop in and tell you.”
“Only seems to be one of us here. C’mon in, number four.”
Lassiter looked around. The wet suit was still hanging in the bathroom but Lila’s sail bag with a change of clothes was gone. So was the yellow backpack. He had last seen it sticking out from under the bed last night. And there was a note on the dresser.
