Yeah, O can’t hear that stream-of-consciousness gurgling.
Good thing—even through the Oxy she’s terrified, then—
Lado mimes pulling the starter cord of a chain saw.
Makes a noise—
103
Chon divides the world into two categories of people:
Him, Ben, and O
Everybody Else.
He’d do anything for Ben and O.
For Ben and O he’d do anything to Everybody Else.
It’s just that simple.
104
Chon screws the silencer onto the pistol
Puts it into the wetbag
Zips the bag up tight.
Beyond the harbor the lights of the San Diego skyline reflect on the smooth black bay.
A layer of color painted on the water.
A Photoshop trick.
Life imitating (graphic) art.
Chon blackens his face, ties the bag’s lanyard to his wrist, and checks the Ka-Bar strapped to his right leg.
Lowers himself into the water.
Soundlessly.
MOS.
It’s a short distance to the boat but he has to do most of it underwater so as not to be seen as he passes the other sailboats moored in the harbor. All the training the navy paid for and put him through and didn’t use he uses now.
Glides just under the surface, makes barely a ripple.
A water snake.
A sea otter.
He comes up twice to check his position, see the boat’s mooring lamps.
Behind curtains, a light on in the cabin.
Twenty yards from the boat he angles to the left, toward the aft. Swims to the ladder and holds on to a rung as he opens the bag and takes out the pistol.
One clip—nine rounds.
Nine oughta do it.
He climbs on board.
105
They give O more OxyContin.
They don’t have to force it down her throat, either, she’s glad to take it.
Because she’s fucking terrified, right?
She doesn’t know where she is, she doesn’t know what they’re going to do with her, she has images of floating heads floating around her head.
You sit on a bed in a small locked room for hours and hours with nothing to do but imagine someone putting a chain saw to your neck, you’d take as many sedatives as they want to give you.
You just want to go to sleep.
When O was little she’d lie on her bed in her room listening to Paqu and One screech at each other and all she’d want to do was sleep to stop the sounds. She’d pull her knees up, stick her hands between her legs, shut her eyes tight.
Asking herself
Am I Sleeping Beauty
Will my Prince(s) Charming come wake me?
106
Chon opens the cabin door.
With his left hand.
Gun in his right.
The problem is out cold.
With a woman beside him.
Very pretty. Honey hair splayed on the pillow, naked shoulders above the sheet, full, kiss-swollen lips slightly open. Chon hears her breathing.
She’s the lighter sleeper. Opens her eyes and then sits up and looks at Chon incredulously. Is he a dream? A nightmare? No, he’s real, but who is he? A burglar? On a boat?
She sees the gun, knows how the man asleep beside her has the money for the boat and her honey hair. Looks at Chon and murmurs, “No. Please. No.”
Chon shoots twice.
Into his head.
Problem solved.
Swallowing a scream, she jumps out of the bed, lunges into the head, slams and locks the door behind her.
Chon knows what he needs to do.
107
Back in the water.
Under the water.
Powerful strokes propelling him
Chon cuts through the blackness
Swimming strong and fast
For an O-lympic gold medal.
Where he knows the water is deep he drops the gun and lets it sink to the murky bottom.
He knows it was a mistake
Not killing the woman, but—
he thinks, as he plunges up through the painted water—
I’m not a savage.
