Thai Horse (60 page)

‘The world is divided into the shit-throwers and the shit-throwees, Hatcher,’ Sloan yelled after him. ‘Remember that. The throwees have damn little to recommend them.’

Sloan leaned back against the wall. The pain in his side burned deeper, but he turned his mind away from it as he worked up a story for the Thai major, the Mongoose, when he showed up.

He didn’t hear Tollie Fong drag himself painfully out of the river behind him, didn’t hear him creep across the dock, his feet squishing under him. Fong was almost on top of him before he became aware of his presence and turned
—
just in time to see the deadly dagger drop silently through the air and feel its awful point pierce his throat.

FISHING

Hatcher lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling. The boat rocked gently in the evening breeze, occasionally bumping the dock. He felt safe here and secure. It was good to be back home. After twelve hours of sleep his furnaces were beginning to fire up again. He watched a sliver of sunlight move slowly across the ceiling and vanish as the sun set. The mantle of darkness brought with it the night birds, who started calling to one another. He heard the car cruise slowly into the parking lot, its wheels crushing the oyster shells under them, and then the familiar footsteps. He felt the boat rock ever so gently. His eyes closed, and a moment later he felt her sit on the edge of the bed.

‘You’re late,’ he said without opening his eyes.

‘I went by the Crab Trap. Got us some shrimp and clam chowder,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think either of us felt like cooking tonight.’

He reached up, puller her gently down beside him, and she nuzzled his neck with her face.

I
was thinking,’ he said. Why don’t we crank up the old scow and take a run out to the reef, eat out there, maybe even go for a moonlight swim.’

‘The ocean’s getting cold,’ she said.

‘Sure, I’ll bet it’s a freezing se
v
enty-five degrees out there.’

There was a difference in their metabolism. She was always cold and he was always warm. What was comfortable to him raised goose bumps on her arms. In the heat of summer, air conditioning drove her crazy, while it was his salvation. But he had learned to compromise, something that had been alien to his experience before he met her. Ceiling fans and fast runs through the sound to the open sea worked for both of them.

She lay close to him, stroking his hard arms and hard stomach and wrapping one leg over his, pressing against him, drawing his strength to her.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. It was the first thing she had asked him since his return the night before.

‘Tired,’ he answered. ‘It’s been a rough two weeks.’

‘Was the trip successful?’

‘Yes.’

She did not ask why he had gone or what had happened on the trip; she was grateful that he had returned as quickly as he had.

As he lay there she noticed that the hair on his arm was singed and his fingernails were cracked and damaged. But she put her curiosity aside. She knew eventually he would tell her what he wanted her to know. The rest was part of the secretness she had come to accept.

‘I had some bad times on this trip,’ he said suddenly, surprising her.

‘Bad in what way?’

‘The Chinese have a saying, “Killing the past scars the soul.” I put a lot of scars on my soul this trip.’

‘Are you sure you want to talk about this?’

‘No, I think it would be better to forget it, but I
want you to know there were chapters in my life that needed closing and now they’re closed. There’s nothing more to be gained by looking back or talking about them.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. We learn fro
m
the past.’

‘There’s nothing I want to learn from mine.’

Unconsciously she rubbed the stubble on his arm as he spoke.

‘I put a lot of ghosts to rest.’ He sighed.

‘Is that why you went?’

He hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘That was part of
i
t. I also felt an obligation to an old friend.’

‘Did all this have to do with that man who came here?’

‘He was part of it. He was the catalyst. It’s much too complicated to explain. But I’m glad I went. I had to deal with some things I’ve been ignoring for a long time.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘The dark side of my nature.’

‘Ah, so there is a dark side after all.’

‘Yes. There sure is.’

‘I’ve never seen that side of you.’

‘You see only what people let you see, Ginia.’

‘Is this going to be some kind of confession?’

‘No. I’d like to forget it now.’

‘Then I’ll forget it,’ she said. ‘I only know I missed you. I missed you every day. I’d come by the boat and sit up there and wonder where you were and what you were doing and whether you were well. I had this awful feeling you weren’t coming back.’

Close, he thought, your instincts are pretty damn good.

‘I thought a lot about you, too,’ he said.

‘I realized how little I know about you in those two weeks,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything about you
before you came to the island. You could be married for all I know.’

He laughed. ‘No, no wife. No children. No ugly surprises like that.’

‘I didn’t know you went to Annapolis, although I suppose I should have guessed, you’re so good with boats.’

‘Where did you learn that?’

‘From Jim Cirillo. I was over one day cleaning the boat and he came by. He really loves you, you know, I don’t think I ever realized that before. You’re like a son to him. He worries about you.’

‘And do you?’

She smiled, nuzzling harder. ‘Not when you’re here.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for a long time now.

‘That’s good news.’

‘It is?’

‘I’ve become too accustomed to being with you, Hatcher. It’s screwed up my life-style.’

‘Screwed it up?’

‘Well, not in a bad sense. I suppose that was the wrong way of putting it. I’ve become
—
dependent on you for certain things. I was always radically independent before you. That kind of thing can be, uh, uncomfortable.’

He rose on his elbows and stared down at her. The lights from the wharf reflected off the water and danced on the ceiling of the cabin. She turned her eyes away from his and rolled over, swinging her legs to the floor.

‘Why don’t I get our dinner ready,’ she said. ‘You must be starved.’

He reached out and pulled her back across his lap.

‘Not for food,’ he said.

‘See,’ she said, ‘that’s what I mean—’

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I’m attracted to you like I’ve never been attracted to any other woman. It’s not just sex, it’s everything. It’s this island that you’re part of.

It’s the way you think, your independence, your sense of humor. The mystery of you.’

‘Mystery?’

‘We both have dark times in our past—everybody does.’

‘And you think that’s good?’

‘I think it’s interesting. There are some things that don’t need to be shared.’

‘Well, I think your mysteries are probably one hell of a lot more interesting than mine.’

‘What I did on this trip, it was like cleaning out the attic, throwing away things that don’t really matter anymore. The friends I said good-bye to will always be friends. It’s just that our wavelengths have changed. My life is here, not there.’

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth. Her lips, soft and yielding at first, became demanding. Her hand moved up the back of his neck, pressed his face harder against hers. Then suddenly she broke away and sat up. ‘Going to the reef is a wonderful idea,’ she said. ‘Besides, some of your fishing pals are liable to drop by if we stay here.’

‘I’ll put out the “Do not disturb” sign.’

She stood up and shook her clothes back in place.

‘No. Get some clothes on and crank this thing up.’

‘Done, mate,’ he whispered. He slipped on a pair of gray jogging pants, a T-shirt and sneakers and went up on deck. A southeasterly wind blew in off the ocean, carrying with it a hint of rain. The sky was dark, moonless and cloud-cluttered.

‘It tastes like rain,’
h
e said.

‘Good. I like to make love in the rain.’

‘It could get choppy out there.’

‘Are you backing out?’ she demanded.

‘Oh hell no, just making observations.’

A hundred feet away in the darkness of the parking lot, a skulking figure watched the boat, saw Hatcher and the woman come out on deck, heard their laughter, watched them kiss each other.

Tollie Fong leered into the darkness. Perfect, he thought. Two
gwai-lo
for the price of one.

Hatcher put the
key in the ignition, primed the engine and cranked it up. In the stern the two big engines rumbled to life and muttered cantankerously for a minute or two before settling into a low, steady growl. Ginia went up on the wharf and loosened the bowline, coiling it over elbow, and hand before dropping it on deck. Then she went to the rear and did the same, dropping the coiled line near the stern.

Hatcher was a formidable foe, but this time surprise would be on Fong’s side. He moved closer through the shadows, focusing on Hatcher. lie could tell he was unarmed. And there did not appear to be any weapons secreted in the cockpit.

Safe and secure, they thought. Focused on each other.

That would make it all the sweeter and easier. Fong thought.

Hatcher was busy turning on radar and sonar and radio and other switches. He completed his usual check of engines and rpm’s and fuel.

‘How about a beer for the captain?’ he said.

‘Aye, aye,’ she said, vanishing into the cabin for a minute.

As she appeared back in the hatchway with a beer in each hand, he felt the boat dip ever so slightly to port. But before he could turn he saw her eyes widen, heard her gasp, then heard the voice.

‘Hatcher,’ it hissed.

He turned quickly. Fong was twenty feet away, standing in the bow of the boat, a pistol pointed at Hatcher’s head. Fear streaked through him for a moment, a lightning flash dispelled instantly by the thought of Ginia. He moved to his left in front of her.

‘What—’ she began and Hatcher said, softly, ‘Shh.’

‘Always the hero, eh?’ Fong snarled, his yellow eyes eager with anticipation. ‘You think standing in front of
her will help? What a futile little gesture. I will kill her first, Hatcher, before I skin you alive.’

‘My God,’ Ginia whispered behind Hatcher.

There was a twisted ugly patch of skin on one side of Fong’s lace, the result of a burn that would be a perpetual scar. His eye was half closed. The hair on one side of his head had been scorched to within an inch of his scalp. One hand was bandaged. Fong had avoided painkillers to stay alert as he followed Hatcher halfway across the world. Now hatred, mixed with the pain, oozed out of him, fired his eyes, distorted what was left of his ruined face.

‘How appropriate,’ Fong said in a voice that was soft but trembling with fury. ‘First my boat, then yours.’

Hatcher still did not respond. He was standing squarely in front of Ginia now. He knew where she was standing, knew he could make a backward tumble and knock her back into the cabin. But then what? He was unarmed. The closest weapon was a knife in the galley. His weapons were locked away in the hold.

The thought flashed in Hatcher’s mind that he was going to die, and he accepted that as a reality. But he also knew Fong would kill Ginia. And probably first.

Fong stood in the bow of the boat, his automatic aimed at Hatcher’s head.

‘Surprised?’ Fong said.

Hatcher still did not answer. Within his peripheral vision he could see Fong step closer to the coil of rope on the deck. But the throttles were just out of reach and to go for them, to try to throw him off-balance, would leave Ginia exposed.

The gleaming blade of Fong’s stiletto appeared at Fong’s sleeve. His fingers clutched the hilt. He held the knife up, twisting it slightly so its evil blade glittered in the light from the dock.

‘Just for you,’ Fong said. ‘I used it on Sloan, too. Just after you left him there
—
alone.’

Hatcher still did not respond.

What’s the matter, Hatcher, can’t you talk anymore?
’

‘You’re going to die too, you know,’ he said finally.

‘Don’t you wish. I’ll be back in Hong Kong before they even find you.’

Fong took another step closer. Hatcher’s muscles tensed. He spread his feet a little farther apart.

‘Why don’t you beg for the lady’s life at least,’ Fong sneered. ‘Why don’t you get down on your knees and do that.’

He took another step. His foot was inside the ring of rope on the deck.

‘You’d really like that, wouldn’t you,’ Hatcher whispered.

Fong smiled, an ugly leer, bubbling over with satisfaction.

‘Yes,’ he hissed, ‘I would like that a lot.’

‘Forget it,’ Hatcher snapped. He shoved backward, knocking G
in
ia back down the stairs into the cabin, dodged to his left and then just as quickly jumped to the right. Fong’s eyes widened. He fired once. The bullet sighed past Hatcher’s ear and arced off the corner of the windscreen as Hatcher’s hand found the throttles.

A second shot rang out. But it did not come from Fong’s gun; it came from up the pier somewhere in the dark, hitting Fong squarely in the chest. His shirt burst open and blood splashed from his heart. He shrieked with pain.

Hatcher dived forward, grabbing the coil of rope and pulling it so it snapped around Fong’s ankle. The Chinese flew backward off the boat and hit the water with a flat, hard splash. Hatcher wrapped the other end of the line around a rail hitch. He turned and crawled back to the cabin.

Ginia was sitting flat on the lower deck, her eyes wide with shock. Hatcher grabbed her hand and pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her, ‘It’s okay, it’s all over,’ he said.