‘Friend of yours?’
‘No. Cat litter has more brains than Stoney. He’s all into the treasure hunter mystique. He’s financed treasure dives in the Florida Keys, where a lot of the Spanish galleons wrecked over the years. Tried to finance a partnership to dive on galleon wrecks down off Padre, but the state blocked him. The Texas Historical Commission, they hate treasure hunters. Any treasure in state waters or buried on public land is theirs by law, and they make sure you don’t dive without their approval.’
‘He finances treasure hunts?’ Whit kept his voice flat.
‘Yeah, well, in Florida. Lot more wrecks there, in the shallows along the Keys. I think he might have been in the group that financed Barry Clifford diving on Whydah, up off Cape Cod. That’s the only sunken pirate ship ever recovered. They got a shitload of gold, silver, and jewels off it. At least Stoney likes to talk big about it. He paid for a trip for about a dozen of the Leaguers last year to go to Yucatan, see the town where Laffite’s brother died.’
‘Were Stoney and Patch buddies?’
‘Don’t think they knew each other, but they probably met at the meeting,’ Jason said. ‘Okay, now you got me hooked. You ask about Laffite’s treasure and then you ask about a guy who does treasure hunts.’
‘If there’s anything to say… I’ll give you the exclusive story. But don’t hold your breath. And if you say a thing too early, no story.’
Jason raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay.’
‘Are there any other… treasure-hunter types around here, or in the Laffite League?’
‘Stoney did have a friend who came along on the Yucatan trip, a guy he knew from Florida. Allen Eck, I think his name was. Yeah. Looked like a professor. Comes across as very cool. But, Jesus, what an asshole. We were taking a tour of Merida, a small town down there. The tour guide was telling about Laffite history, but got a couple of really minor details wrong. I mean, most people would never know. Allen told him he was wrong, very quietly, and the guide firmly said, no, he was right. Maybe just thinking Allen’s some dumb tourist. I’ll never forget the look Allen gave him, just beyond cold, like this poor stupid guide wasn’t worth a roach’s ass. But he didn’t say anything more. Next day, they find the tour guide in an alleyway. Both arms broken, face a solid bruise, nose broken. Guy wouldn’t say who attacked him – either he didn’t see or he was too scared.’ Jason shook his head. ‘I know it’s crazy, but I kept thinking maybe Allen beat up that man.’
21
Stoney tossed all night, like he slept on rocks, lying on a blanket in front of the big French doors leading to the dock. He’d switched all the lights on along the dock, waiting. No boats came out of the night. Alex got comfortable at the dinner table, gun in front of him, reading a thick book on seventeenth-century Asian piracy he’d found on Stoney’s shelves, making noises of agreement and disapproval as he scanned the pages.
Finally he’d fallen asleep. He awoke once to hear Alex talking quietly on a cell phone. He heard Alex say, ‘Fine. I agree.’ Then nothing more but the sound of Alex clicking off his phone. He played possum, felt Alex’s gaze go along his back. Stoney didn’t go to sleep again for a while, but the whiskey he’d drunk earlier caught up with him and he drifted off.
He awoke at seven, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his back a solid ache. Along the dock the lights still gleamed. No boat, no Danny, dead or alive. He got up, went into the kitchen. No Alex.
He should have felt relief. He knew Alex wanted to kill him last night. Wanted to burn his face. Instead he felt panic at Alex’s absence. Where the hell was he? And if Danny or his gang showed up while Alex was gone…
He went to the phone. No messages. He called the satellite phone system on Jupiter. No answer. He turned on the television, watched the Friday morning local news. No reports of a millionaire’s brother kidnapped at sea, nothing on a missing boat or Ben and Claudia’s bodies washing ashore.
He heard the front door open, hurried to the foyer, saw Alex coming in, closing the door behind him.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘They show?’
‘No. Where were you?’
‘Attending to some business.’ Alex dusted his hands. ‘You can cook, right? Eggs. Bacon. Black coffee. I need some protein.’
‘What business, Alex?’
Alex’s mood seemed ominously good. He patted Stoney’s cheek. ‘They may not be coming. Danny and his friends must have lost their nerve. Or maybe Danny killed his buddies.’
‘Or he killed Ben,’ Stoney said. ‘He’s got nothing to bargain with, except an accusation against me that won’t hold up.’
Alex went into the kitchen, washed his hands. ‘This girlfriend of Ben’s. The cop?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe she took them all out.’
‘She’s one person. And a woman.’
‘A gun and the knowledge and will to use it are a great equalizer. Call your boat again.’
‘I already tried. There wasn’t an answer.’
‘Danny Laffite, he has a boat? Presumably they had a boat to board Jupiter with.’
‘Yes.’
‘You remember the name?’
‘Miss Catherine. After Catherine Villars.’
Alex rolled his eyes. ‘Start hailing that boat on the radio. Maybe they’re trying to figure out how to trick us. Maybe they’re playing it safe. Maybe they didn’t want to come in at night.’ He gave a wicked smile. ‘Maybe they found the Eye hidden on your boat and they’ve sailed off to China.’ The smile – wry, like he didn’t care – stayed in place. It made Stoney’s stomach sink.
‘I got an extra marine radio in my office, high-end, long-range.’
‘Let’s see if anyone wants to talk to us,’ Alex said.
Claudia awoke slowly because waking meant pain. Hard, throbbing pain that pulsed in her head like a heartbeat, each pu-pump a double shot of eye-clenching agony. The pain roared hard enough for her first cogent thought to be: Don’t move, because your brains will leak out your ears.
She opened her eyes. Coldness – from air-conditioning – prickled her skin. Morning light, soft in color but a slap against her eyes. A slow awareness of the rest of her body – not welcome, everything hurt – crept along her nerves. She was tied again, hands behind her this time, wrists raw, foot a dull ache. A coppery, sour taste made her want to spit out her tongue. Bed sheets – smelling unwashed and of suntan lotion – lay greasy against her skin.
Tied up and tucked into bed.
‘Danny?’ Claudia called weakly. ‘Danny?’
The door cracked open, light hit her eyes like a fist.
‘You’re awake,’ Danny said. ‘You worried me. You wouldn’t wake up before.’
‘What… what happened? I hurt…’
‘You’ll be fine.’ A pause. ‘It’s good you didn’t die, because then how could you help me?’
He sat by her on the bed, put a moist cloth dispenser next to her head, plucked a cloth free, gently wiped her face and her hands. ‘Moist towelettes help you stay clean. You should wash each day,’ he said, as if by rote. It sounded like a rule mentioned in a hospital, a mantra of nurses.
His tone was a little different today. She didn’t like it.
She stayed still while he wiped her face, cleaning her skin and hair of dried extinguisher foam and her own spittle and blood. He brought her a glass of cold water. The water tasted bitter, but her mouth craved the wetness. He held her head up gently and she gulped the glass dry.
‘Good girl,’ he said.
‘Untie me.’
