Deep Shadow

“In their pockets, I guess,” Arlis whispered as he lay back. His pupils appeared okay, his breathing was steady and the bleeding had stopped.

I told him, “You’re going to be okay. If I talk them into cutting you loose, take off. Don’t wait. You’ve got to go for help.”

“Not without you,” he replied.

“It’s not your decision to make. When you get the chance, start the damn truck and go. Hear me?”

I turned away from the window because Perry was jogging toward us, yelling to King, “You dumb shit, don’t let him near that truck. If the dude’s got the keys, he’ll drive off and leave us!”

Behind me, King was pointing the pistol at me, his voice oddly calm as he said, “Problem with you, Jock-o, is it’s so damn hard to get your attention.”

There was a pause before I heard Whap-WHAP! and realized that the man had pulled the trigger. I ducked reflexively, trying to shield my head with my arms. It sounded like two rapid-fire pistol shots, but, in fact, I’d heard only one shot, plus the simultaneous impact of a slug puckering the truck’s front door close to my knee.

As I ducked, I spun toward King, who was still pointing the pistol. He stood between me and the lake, ten long yards away, a bizarre grin fixed on his face like some kid who had just made a great discovery.

The power of pulling a trigger, that’s what he had discovered. A tiny little chunk of metal could make a big man jump.

“There!” he yelled. “Now I have your attention.” King took a step toward me but decided no, he was close enough. “If you have the keys, you better toss ’em my way. How about it?”

He leveled the weapon, enjoying himself as he thought about pulling the trigger again, letting the idea move through his brain. This time, put a slug closer . . . Maybe even wound me. He was sighting down the barrel, thinking about it.

I said, “In my BC, there’s something I want to show you.”

“The keys?”

“You’ll see.”

Perry was next to King now, rifle held at waist level. He said, “What are you talking about? BC—what’s that mean?”

Still grinning, King said, “Partner, haven’t you been paying attention? It’s the life-vest sort of thing divers wear. Pull a cord, the thing inflates and floats them to the top. But I guess Jock-o’s girlfriends sorta missed that lesson.” His attention returned to me. “Are they both dead?”

I said, “That’s right.”

“You don’t look too broken up about it.”

That’s what I wanted him to think.

He said, “If you found the bodies, you’ve got the keys. Hand them over.”

I made a gesture of impatience, and told him, “Put down that goddamn gun if you want answers. I can’t talk with a gun in my face.”

King began sidestepping toward my vest, not taking his eyes off me. “Not ’til I have those keys, Jock-o. Seems to me we’ve got us some serious trust issues.”

It was another one of those moments. King could shoot me or not shoot me—it was up to him. I waved the gun away and walked toward my vest, hoping his feral sense of boundaries would stop him in his tracks. It did.

I knelt, popped the air bottle free of the vest, then ripped open a Velcro pocket. I flipped one gold coin toward King’s feet but kept the other.

Perry said, “No shit! How many did you find down there?,” as he scrambled to get to the coin while King stared at me.

I stared back. “Not nearly as many as I could have. Some idiot screwed up the jet dredge when he yanked it out of my hands. Guess who?”

Perry’s eyes moved to King as King told me, “I was getting bored. What can I tell you?” Then he said, “If there’s so much of the stuff, why’d you come back with just two of these little beauties? And no gold bars.”

I said, “You. You’re the reason. You caused another landslide with your screwing around, playing games with the dredge. Now the whole bottom’s changed. Most of the coins are under a bunch of rock. Same with the bodies of my friends—including the one who has the keys to the truck.”

“Bullshit!”

I said, “I couldn’t agree more—but it’s your bullshit, King, and I’m sick of it. You want to leave here with a share of what’s down there? You want to take the truck and drive out? Then you’d better stop screwing around. All I want is you two assholes out of my life.”

As King smiled and said, “Assholes, huh?,” Perry snapped at him, “Shut up and let the dude talk.”

I said, “Why bother? He’s not going to listen. I want to finish what we’re doing and go our separate ways. No more of your partner’s asinine stunts, okay?”

Perry was paying attention. He gave King a look as he said, “The dude’s right. I saw your bullshit fisherman act. You need a job in the circus, numbnuts. Nothing but hicks in the audience because who else would want to watch?”

King attempted to laugh it off, but his face showed a childish irritation, eager to engage, but he was also unsettled by Perry’s assertiveness. The guy was afraid of his jittery partner, I could see it—a recent development, I guessed, in what had been a one-sided partnership.

There had to be a reason. The murders in Winter Haven maybe. Or maybe King had learned something about Perry while they’d killed five innocent people. More likely Perry had learned something about King.

Perry said, “Goddamn it, I want the money that’s down there and I want the truck. So shut your mouth and listen to what the man has to say.”

I had turned my back to them, rearranging my gear, pretending to be very busy and in a hurry. But I wasn’t. Not now. Sunset was a little after six—only half an hour away.

After a long silence, Perry said, “You got more air tanks, right? Fix yourself up another tank of air or whatever it is you need. This time, when you go down, you won’t have no problems. I promise. Deal?”

I stood and turned. “Cut Captain Futch loose and we’ll take it from there. That’s the only deal I’ll make.”

King said, “Tough guy like you, what’s it matter? You already screwed up and got two of your girlfriends killed. Third time’s a charm, haven’t you heard?”

I behaved as if King was invisible and spoke only to Perry, “The old man’s hurt too badly to be a threat to you. With a head injury like that, he could aspirate and die. There’s no way for him to move, or even roll over, because his hands are tied behind him.”

Perry said, “Aspirate? . . . Well, yeah, I guess he could,” not sure what the word meant, as King cut in, “How about I just shoot you in the goddamn knee unless you hand over those keys! I’ll give you exactly one minute.”

I continued speaking to Perry. “Your pal’s not very bright. Haven’t you figured that out yet? You could drive out of here a wealthy man. But instead you’re letting him do your thinking for you.” I shrugged, my expression saying It’s your choice, not mine.

“He’s a fucking genius, just ask him,” Perry replied, and I noted the subtle way Perry had turned, the rifle now pointing in King’s direction.

I found a mesh dive bag and held it up for Perry to see before tossing it toward him. “Because of the second landslide, most of the plane wreckage is covered up. That fisherman stunt cost us all a lot of time.”

King made a whining groan of protest as I continued, “The cargo’s scattered all over the bottom of the lake now. But if we do this right, and if your buddy stops clowning around, I’ll fill that bag with whatever I can find and surface with the keys. But it’s going to take me at least an hour—and I can’t do it by myself. Not now.”

King started to say something but Perry silenced him with a look. “What do you want us to do?”

I said, “Start by cutting the captain loose. I think he’s dying. At least let him die with his hands free. He needs water, too. There’s a bunch in the cooler—and I’m going to make a place for him to lie down. Under one of those trees would be good.”

“If we do that, then what?”

I said, “One of the guys on the bottom—the guy who has the keys—his body’s under about a ton of limestone. It would be better if I had a second diver with me. I could use the jet dredge while he moves rocks and