Dangerous Times (31 page)

Kirk knew what was coming. His clamped hand
detected a slight shift in Frank’s balance. Kirk kept hold of the
gun while his other hand released the forearm. Kirk drove his fist
down hard, cracking into the knee that headed for his groin. Frank
in pain and off-guard, Kirk got him into a hammerlock and took
possession of the weapon.

Frank spun around. Kirk felt the straight
razor slash his hand. The gun flew from his grip and he backed off,
the razor slicing the air.

Kirk dropped flat to the floor, kicked a
booted foot against Frank and toppled him backward over the
suitcase. Kirk was up on his feet in a flash, and on his way had
taken hold of Frank’s legs. Frank tried to kick them free, bending
upward, razor slashing, unable to reach its target.

Kirk dragged him quickly, backing his way up
the stairs, into the pilothouse and then out on deck. Frank
hollering, “Take you to hell with me and watch you burn!”

Kirk stopped on deck, twisted Frank’s legs
and flipped him facedown. He locked the booted ankles under his
crooked left arm. He unwound the lifeline with his right hand and
eyed the blood that wormed over his fingers.

In that same moment Frank curled like a
lizard toward Kirk’s leg, razor lifted to where he knew the artery
was. In mid-swing a black hand grabbed Frank’s wrist.

Hicks’ six-foot-four mass bumped Kirk aside.
Kirk let Frank’s legs slip free of his hold as Hicks hauled Frank
to his feet. Hicks crushed the wrist until the razor fell and
landed between his soggy shoes.

Kirk was struck silent by Hicks’ sudden
appearance. He watched him push Frank against the stern rail, one
hand gathering the marine jacket’s material. With the other came
the power of Hicks’ fist against Frank’s face, the sound of crushed
bone, the sight of spurting blood.

Hicks let go of the jacket. Frank collapsed
on deck, out cold, his once handsome face shattered.

Kirk picked up the razor with his good hand
and saw seaweed in Hicks’ empty holster. “What did you do,” he
asked him, “swim out here?”

The soaked detective glared at him. “No,
man,” he said, “I was dropped on deck by helicopter.”

Folding the razor Kirk knew he was being
toyed with.

“Yeah, right,” Hicks smirked. He pulled the
seaweed from his holster, flung it overboard and eyed Kirk’s bloody
hand. “Looks bad,” he said.

Hicks ripped his other shirt sleeve off and
used it as a tourniquet. “Better watch ourselves,” he said. “Got no
sleeves left an’ don’t want to have to use my pants.” Then said,
“Gotta be a first-aid kit aboard.”

“My watch and jacket,” Kirk said. Right hand
slashed, arm pulsating from the tourniquet, he had trouble using
only his left to get the jacket off Frank’s body.

Hicks knelt and got the jacket off. Kirk
used his good hand to take it from him, but couldn’t get it on
because of his bloody hand. He dropped the jacket on a secured
stack of folded deck chairs.

Hicks raised Frank’s limp arm, unstrapped
the Timex and saw that Kirk couldn’t get the Patek Philippe off
without getting blood on it. Hicks stood and did it for him, then
strapped the Timex onto Kirk’s wrist. “First-aid kit,” Hicks had to
remind him.

“Let’s get him hog-tied first.”

Hicks eyed the Patek Philippe he held.
“Pricey thing,” he said. “Too pricey for my sort.”

“Pricey or not,” Kirk told him, “I think it
ought to be yours because of the inscription.”

Hicks looked at the back and read it aloud:
“With all my love, Ty.” Then said, “Think she’d want me to have
it?”

“Would you want to wear such a ‘pricey
thing’?” Kirk asked.

“From her, damn right I would.” He pocketed
the watch and eyed Kirk’s sliced hand. “First-aid kit,” he had to
tell him again.

“Hog-tie him first,” Kirk had to tell him
again.

They went to the portside lifeline and
unwound it. The cruiser rocked at an idle. The West Channel waters
splashed at its hull. Hicks held the rope, and he and Kirk started
back to where Frank lay.

He was gone.

Chapter
102

Kirk stood at the wheel in his marine
jacket, hand bandaged, Timex on his wrist. “No, we didn’t,” he said
into the phone. “Too much to cover, too many places for him to
hide. And if he drowned, the body might be jammed under a docked
boat or pier.”

Kirk listened, then said, “We did what
seemed to make sense at the time, and that was to follow the
current. Led us toward Terminal Island, but no sign of him.”

Hicks came up the salon steps, Frank’s
silenced pistol in his .38 holster. He was barefoot, out of his wet
shoes and socks, and carried a jacket he had found below. He joined
Kirk at the wheel.

Phone at his ear, Kirk watched Hicks lift
the straight razor off the instrument panel, flip it open and slice
the armpit seams of the jacket.

Kirk looked him the question.

“Too tight,” Hicks answered.

“No,” Kirk said into the phone, “we’re
holding behind the breakwater. Give me the coordinates, I can
handle it.” He took them down. “Okay, then,” he said, and he
disconnected.

“How’d he sound?” Hicks asked, replacing the
razor, tugging the jacket on.

“Pleased to get his money back. But unhappy,
not knowing if Frank is still alive.” Kirk paused. “Eddie said
you’ll be getting a bonus along with the finder’s fee.”

“Damn good news. How much?”

“For you, better than money,” Kirk told him.
“After Eddie gets the suitcase back, he’s casting off, leaving you
and his niece to whatever the future brings you.”

Hicks massaged his forehead, looked down at
his bare feet and muttered, “Eddie Jones…killed Ty’s parents.” He
raised his eyes to Kirk. “How we s’posed to let him go?”

“Rough one,” Kirk agreed. “Keeps his side of
the bargain with us, maybe he should get whatever his own future
brings him.” Then said, “Live by the sword, die by the sword.”

Hicks mulled it over. Kirk turned
thoughtful.

“What,” Hicks said.

“Or,” Kirk began. “Any idea how often Eddie
moors off our coast.”

“Hear tell ‘bout once a year,” Hicks said.
“Collects his West Coast take, then sails off to collect from other
places he supplies.”

“A year to make the rounds. Sounds like a
lot of profit.”

“Yeah,” Hicks frowned, “made from destroyin’
lives,” his long dead, drug-addicted father in mind.

“Got an idea,” Kirk said, “one that would
make us happy, Ty included.”

“What you got brewin’?”

“No plan yet,” Kirk said, “but we’ll have a
year to work it out.”

“Yeah…right,” Hicks understood with a
growing smile. “Plenty’a time to get Eddie in the crosshairs.”

Kirk put his bandaged hand on the wheel and
his other took hold of the throttle handle.

“Know what you’re doin’?” Hicks asked.

“Had to learn something in the marines,”
Kirk said.

“How come you left ‘em, all the bad shit
goin’ down in the world.”

Kirk eyed the GPS. “Shrapnel lodged in my
back.”

“Damn,” Hicks said, “never know it.”

And here’s where it began, the two men going
on to exchange histories, the good and the bad of what life had
dealt them.

The beam of the lighthouse guided them
through the Angels Gate breakwaters and they put out to sea. A
moment later the full moon broke through the splintering
clouds.

Chapter
103

Ty leaned against the kitchen entrance, arms
folded, fingers of both hands bandaged, big dark eyes on the
detective who sat on the sofa. When he had first arrived she
remembered Hicks telling her about his Irish detective friend. This
one sure looked Irish, but she thought it best to keep quiet about
Hicks.

Tim Burns ran a hand over his thinning red
hair and looked at Beverly. The coffee table between them, she was
fidgeting in the recliner.

From his questioning Burns was certain these
two women weren’t being honest with him. It didn’t bother him any.
He would have more to go on after the neighbors were questioned.
Only thing he was willing to believe was Mrs. Moore’s statement
about not knowing where her husband was.

Beverly sat with clenched hands in her lap,
thoughts cluttered with images: Lisa and Emily’s mangled bodies;
Bob Staub’s body, what she and Lisa had gone through in the hills.
She sighed then, thinking now of her son, worrying over him chasing
after Frank.

Beverly turned to Ty. “Would you mind
bringing out the bottle and some glasses?”

Ty disappeared into the kitchen. Beverly
called after her: “Careful with the glasses. Don’t want to break
’em and cut your hands again, like you did with that dish,” her
voice trailing off with a timid look at Burns.

Beverly’s performance didn’t work on him.
She had made it obvious that Ty hadn’t cut herself on a dish. He
held his eyes on Beverly. She lowered hers to the coffee table.

Burns studied the corners of her eyes and
mouth, the creases that seemed to make her all the more attractive.
The blue eyes, the silky blond hair falling over the shoulders. Her
trim figure; and about the same age as himself. Thinking there was
a good chance she had a bit or all of the Irish in her.

“Mrs. Kirk,” he asked, “where is your
husband?”

“Ohhh,” Beverly whimpered, “passed away a
long time ago.” Her shoulders sagged. It was Saturday night, still
Ray’s birthday, and she never got to visit him at the cemetery.

“I know how you must feel,” Burns said,
“what a burden such a loss can be.” He inhaled slowly. Not since
Colleen had he met a woman…finding himself saying, “My wife left
this world too young, as I’m sure your husband had.”

Ty returned with the Johnny Walker Red on a
tray with glasses. She set it down on the coffee table, then
glanced at Burns at one end of the sofa. Ty sat at the other end,
curious about the way he stared at the bottle.

Beverly gazed at Burns, as if he had just
appeared. She hadn’t noticed until now that he had hazel eyes. A
good-looking man in his dark suit. But there was something else
about him, something comforting, something only a gentleman could
possess.

He looked up from the bottle and met her
eyes.

Ty sat feeling left out, not sure what was
going on here.

Beverly wanted to tell Burns the truth about
everything. She suppressed the urge. Save it for a better time and
place, she told herself, hoping there would be one.

Beverly smiled tentatively and said to him,
“Guess I don’t have to be a detective to know you’re Irish.”

It was the first time Burns saw any kind of
a smile from her, and he liked it. “And you, too, seem to have some
of the Irish,” he smiled back.

“‘Scuse me,” Ty interrupted, the picture
quite clear to her now. “I been up a long time,” she said to Burns.
Then to Beverly, “Mind if I use one’a the bedrooms?”

“That’d be all right,” Beverly said.

Ty looked at the detective. “Okay with you?”
she asked, pretty sure it would be.

“Fine with himself,” Burns said.
“Myself—me,” arriving at the proper English.

Beverly snickered as Ty headed for the back
rooms. “I’m Irish, too,” she said to him. “Yup, both sides. Parents
born in County Cork.”

“Know it well, I do,” Burns said.

The phone rang. Beverly flinched at the
sound and snatched it up. She said hello, then listened. Her
expression told Burns that it was good news. Beverly saying only,
“Yup…nope…Jesus H…ohhh…yup, you bet…”

She hung up, got to her feet and politely
said, “Excuse me for a minute.”

Burns watched her hurry toward the back
rooms. He heard her muted voice: “They’re okay, Ty, both of them
are okay.”

The two women returned in high spirits.
“We’re going to celebrate,” Beverly said to Burns. “My son’ll be
home by morning,” leaving Hicks’ return out of it. “Have one with
us, won’t you?”

Burns got up off the sofa. “Thank you, no,”
he said. “I’m sleepy,” he told the women. “It has been a busy night
out there. I was pulled from bed by the phone to assist on the
‘drive-by,’ as I must report it.” His cop eyes narrowed on Beverly.
Patience, he thought, confident the truth would come out at another
time.

Burns took a card from his pocket and held
it out to Beverly. “If you should remember anything…”

Ty shifted on the sofa and folded her arms.
She watched Beverly take hold of the card, Burns not letting go of
his end, the two of them seemingly at a loss for words.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Beverly spoke finally.
Burns let go of the card, and she continued: “My son and I—maybe, I
guess we will—visit Donald at the hospital.”

“There may be a few more things to clear
up,” Burns said. “About what time might that be, Mrs. Kirk?”

“Noonish?” came out between her nervous lips
as a question, and a rosiness tinted her cheekbones.

“There is a, a patient I had planned to
visit,” Burns fumbled. “Perhaps I will see you there.”

“Yup, that’d be good, Detective Burns.”

Burns glanced between the two women.
“Goodnight to you both.” He headed out and paused at the door Hicks
had kicked in. “Our division repair service is on the way,
compliments of the City of San Pedro,” and he was gone.

Ty got off the sofa. “Naughty girl,” she
singsonged.

Beverly couldn’t keep back the smile that
lit up her face. “Jesus H, not in my whole life did I ever do a
thing like that.”

Ty’s bandaged fingers lifted the Johnny
Walker Red. “More cause for celebratin’.”

Beverly shifted her eyes from the bottle to
the broken door. “Aww, gosh,” she said, nibbling on her lip. “I
want to look good tomorrow…maybe I better wait ’til both our boys
come home.”

Chapter
104

The rail lights on the 280-foot yacht were
angled down on the starboard waters. More than a dozen moored cabin
cruisers rocked in the brightness. Dance music blared from the
yacht and sailed on the ocean air. The full-moon party at an end,
Eddie’s speedboats delivered the sated guests from the docking
platform to their cruisers.