I noted that Perry’s hands were shaking as he knelt over the air bottle and then reached for the regulator hose. He didn’t look up as he replied, “We’re fucked. I should’ve kept the goddamn rifle!”
I said in a pleasant voice, “Shut up and don’t panic. You’re okay,” then looked up at the chopper. I shrugged and shook my head,
“If you see two males who fit that description—if you see
I nodded another emphatic yes as I watched the cop with the microphone listen to something the man behind him was saying. Again, the voice echoed down through the chopper wash. “Are you
I nodded.
The two men conversed again before the PA boomed, “It’s late in the day to be diving. Is there some kind of trouble?”
As I shook my head no I touched my watch, then I pointed to the sun. Next, I pointed at the lake. I punctuated the response by flashing an
They could interpret that any way they wanted. The cops were trained in air recovery, which meant they knew something about diving. Novice divers often do their first night dive in the safe confines of a quarry. Maybe they would make the connection.
They did.
The PA system boomed, “Have a good day, gentlemen, but stay on your toes. The guys we’re after could be somewhere in this area.”
I offered a final thumbs-up, feeling the binoculars fixed on us, seeing the pilot inspect our scuba gear strewn around the truck, as the chopper tilted, then lifted slowly. The noise of the rotor blade rumbled louder as the aircraft spun sharply to port, then accelerated away.
Not moving, I said to Perry, “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Do it until they’re out of sight.”
I gave it a few beats before I stood, turned and yelled to King, “Stay where you are, you dumb-ass. Don’t move! This is the second time you’ve screwed up—and it had better be the last!”
When the chopper was gone, I walked toward the truck to check on Arlis. King emerged from the trees. He held the pistol in his right hand, not smiling. His face was different—a blanched, wide-eyed look that told me I’d finally gotten to him. The manipulator had been manipulated.
King hollered, “No more of your smart-ass remarks—you hear me, you piece of shit? Mister high-and-mighty! Don’t think the King won’t shoot you ’cause I will.” His voice had a different quality, too. All the smirking subtleties were gone.
I was thinking,
The real King had finally made an appearance—a fragile ego masked by bluster and all the machinations of a vicious child.
I didn’t look at him. I continued walking. I thought he might pull the trigger again, but felt confident that he would intentionally miss. Cuban gold pesos and a vehicle—without me, King had no venue of escape.
From behind, I heard Perry gliding up beside me, walking fast, saying, “Hey—you gotta answer my question, dude. I want to know. Why’d you do that? You got rid of the cops—
King heard him as he intercepted us. He was nodding his head, his face was mottled with anger. “There’s something weird going on here, Perry. I don’t like it, man. I don’t trust this dweeb. What he just did makes no sense. Jock-o, what is your story?”
I said, “I don’t have a story. You’re too dumb to understand it if I did.”
In the back of the truck was an Igloo cooler. I opened it, took out two bottles of water and turned to Perry. “Captain Futch needs his hands free. Cut him loose. Let me give him some water. I’m not discussing our next move until his hands are free.”
“You’re not going near the old man,” King snapped. “For all I know, you’ve got the truck keys stashed in your wet suit.”
I pushed the bottles toward King. “Then you do it, but I’m watching every move you make.”
I stood near the window as Perry helped Arlis sit, then used my big survival knife to cut the plastic that bound his wrists. The knife was sharp and it took only a swipe. From Arlis, I expected threats and insults, but the man had been paying attention. For an instant, his eyes locked onto mine, and I understood. He was playing a new role now, the role of the injured old cripple. Let them think he was beaten. Arlis was still in the game.
I said, “Cut his ankles free, too. If he vomits again, he’s got to be able to climb out of the truck.”
Perry was in charge and he let me know it, saying, “Shut your mouth. Grandpa can puke all he wants, I don’t give a shit. I’m not watching the old bastard every second. His feet stay tied.”
Arlis was gulping water. I had never seen him so quiet and meek. “I ain’t going anywhere,” he mumbled through the window. “Just leave me alone, let me be.” Without risking eye contact, he pulled the passenger door closed, then flopped his head on his chest as if he wanted to sleep.
I knew that Arlis had the keys. His hands were free. All he needed now was an opportunity to start the truck and go.
I took two bottles of water for myself and walked toward the lake, expecting Perry and King to follow. They did. I was calculating Arlis’s chances, picturing how it would shake out. With his ankles bound, it would be tough for him to manage the clutch and accelerator without stalling the engine. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Once he got the truck started, he would have to bounce through fifty yards of palmettos and bushes before the tree line offered him any cover. Until then, Perry would be able to plink away with the Winchester. A 30-30 slug would pierce the thin metal of the cab, no problem.
Now I wished I had told Arlis to wait until dark. As King and Perry followed me to the lake, I tried to contrive a reason for returning to the truck so I could pass along the message, but Perry wouldn’t let me near the thing.
“You’re staying right here with me until you explain what the hell’s going on. You could have ratted us to the cops but you didn’t. Why?”
King couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Maybe he’s flush out of friends. He probably wants to spend some quality time with his new playmates. Just the three of us, alone. Isn’t that right, Jock-o?”
I almost smiled. That was exactly what I wanted—me alone with Perry and King, just the three of us. Instead I said, “I lied to the cops because I had to.”
“That answer doesn’t cut it, man. Lied to the cops because you had to?” Perry found that funny. “Jesus Christ, who doesn’t?”
“We don’t have permission to dive this lake,” I told him. “But that’s only part of it. The old man doesn’t really own the property. If the real owner finds out about the plane wreck, who do you think owns the salvage rights? Even if we do all the work, he can still claim everything we recover. That’s why I didn’t want the cops to land.”
Perry thought about that until he decided it made sense, but King wasn’t buying. Maybe it was because he didn’t believe me, but more likely it was because he was pissed off and looking for an excuse to shoot me. It was all there in his face and his body language. Trouble was, King couldn’t piece together an alternative motive. Why would I refuse help from the police?
King didn’t understand because he knew nothing about me. He soon would.
King said, “Even with his two buddies dead and the old man bad hurt, he still didn’t want the cops to land? This is weird, Perry, very weird.” The man was shaking his head as he studied me. “Your pals are down there—we saw all three of you go in the water. The cops would’ve called in help. Other divers would’ve showed up to retrieve their bodies.”
I said, “So what? There’s no rush now.”
“That’s cold, Jock-o. One look at you, I can tell you never spent day one in the joint. But, man”—he allowed himself to smile—“you got all the qualifications. You don’t give a damn about anybody but yourself. A marine biologist, huh?”
