Tortugas Rising (21 page)

“Don’t worry. We’ll throw Nelson in with you.”

Steve felt his weight shifting for the worse and looked ahead to his watery and really dirty demise.

The gunfire startled him. It must be Paul. Why else would they start shooting?

Jefferson and his men swarmed the deck screaming, “Homeland Security, drop your weapons!”

This warning came well after they had started shooting. Half of the mercenary force was caught dead on their feet. The other half returned fire and the boarding party was forced behind cover.

“Don’t worry, rich boy. There’s still time for us.” Savage shoved at Steve’s legs.

Steve’s hand found the rail; he clamped on and stopped the forward momentum. He prayed for the gunfire to stop and for the Feds to pull him back from the brink, even though he knew Savage had a better chance of dumping him into the slurry below.

His hand ached but he held tight and began to turn to face his attacker.

Savage sneered. The crimson scar had never glowed brighter. Steve kicked. His kicks were weak; Savage held his grip.

Unexpectedly, his grip weakened. Savage jerked wildly as three shots found their way into his right side. He tumbled back, reeling from the impact of the .45 slugs. Steve grabbed the rail with his other hand and pulled himself back to the safety of the deck.

Savage twisted around to face his shooter. An empty Colt .45 struck him in the chest and bounced into the hopper. Steve followed Savage’s stunned gaze, and saw Paul running full tilt with a red and blue bandana tied around his head.

Paul collided with Savage shoulder first, knocking the bleeding brute to the ground. Savage didn’t get back up.

Paul grabbed Steve and pulled him to his feet. Bullets buzzed around them. This time it was fire from their would-be rescuers. Paul helped his friend across the catwalk over the hopper to relative safety of the port side. They moved to the front of the ship. It was as far from the gunfight as they could get.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked when they were positioned behind cover. He had to shout over the roar of the pumps.

Steve grimaced with every breath. Every movement aggravated the broken rib. He rested against the rail. He couldn’t respond.

“You should have blocked or something.”

Steve looked at his friend’s head and wheezed, “You should have ducked.”

Savage screamed behind them and clanged across the catwalk toward them. Paul turned to intercept him, but he was too slow.

Savage didn’t stop. He drove all three of them over the rail of the ship. Paul caught the railing, and felt his shoulder muscle tear as his weight dropped against the hull.

Steve and Savage hit the water ahead of the boom. Paul screamed after his friend.

A large hand grasped his wrist. “Your other hand.”

Paul hesitated.

“Nelson. Give me your hand!”

He complied. Special Agent Jefferson pulled him back on deck. Paul lurched forward and caught the rail of the hopper. The water inside the tank flowed red.

“Stop the pumps! Stop the pumps! Stop the pumps!” Paul shouted, collapsing to the ground.

An agent found the kill switch and the roar of the cutter suction arm whirred to a stop. Water stopped flowing into the hopper, but the surface glistened with blood of its victims.

# # #

Paul heard nothing. He stared at the diamond plate, mouth agape. He did nothing. Spit ran from his mouth. He couldn’t think. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.

He wanted to pound the floor. He wanted to kill Savage again and again. But he could only stare at the blood-and-mud infused deck of the dredge.

“We’ve taken the ship.” The voice came from outside the ship. It was calm. A job well done. They had gotten their man.

David Jefferson placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder. He didn’t really feel it. The voice in his ear seemed distant. He didn’t recognize it as the man who had just saved his life. It was quieter than it had ever been. Almost soothing. The gruff exterior of the Federal Agent was shattered by the graphic scene before them all.

“Nelson?”

Paul did not react.

“Nelson. He caught the rope. He made it.” Paul snapped back to reality. He stood and turned to the rail. Below the ship was the other boat from the Rainbow Connection; on the floor of the small Zodiac was his friend. He looked like shit, but he was alive.

Paul continued to weep. But the tears streaming down his face didn’t sting like they had a moment before.

Three weeks later it didn’t hurt to breathe. But it still hurt to laugh, and Paul wasn’t helping ease the pain. Steve sat across from his friend at a Blackjack table in the Aria casino.

Paul wore an eye patch over his left eye; his right arm was in a sling. The four of them sat around the table in the high limit area.

Katherine was up in chips. Brittany was holding her own, and Paul was pulling stacks of black markers from the pile in front of Steve.

“Maybe you should quit doubling down on everything.”

“I have a system, and so far I haven’t lost a dime.”

“I’m down 10 grand.”

“Well, apparently, your system sucks.”

Steve laughed and grimaced.

“That rib still getting to you, wuss?”

“At least I escaped without a beauty mark.”

Paul flipped up the eye patch and felt the scar next to his eye. He shrugged. “Chicks dig scars. Right?” He turned to Brittany. She was busy doing the math on a string of cards. She busted and ordered another drink.

“I think it’s rugged.” Katherine said.

“Don’t encourage him. I still can’t get him to take the stupid eye patch off.”

“Careful, Steve. With you out of commission and her good taste, you may lose more than your money tonight.”

Katherine smirked, “He is not out of commission.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Ms. Bernelli. I’d hate for that suite upstairs to go to waste.”

“Thirteen,” the dealer laid a five on Paul’s eight.

Paul flipped the eye patch back into place and slid the rest of his chips in front of the cards. “Double.”

“Paul!”

“What? It’s a good bet.”

“Bust.” The dealer removed the thousand dollar stack. Paul was out. Again.

Steve pushed a stack his way.

Paul pushed it back. “No, I’m done here. It’s time for some table service. Let’s hit the bar.”

# # #

They settled into the bar’s VIP section. The girls excused themselves and the two friends watched them walk away. Katherine glanced back at Steve. Brittany kept walking.

“Paul, how do you know she’s not after money?”

“I don’t have any money. It’s your money, so I don’t mind.” Paul topped off his glass and sat back in the booth. “I got a call from David today.”

“And?”

“They found Baxter. They said he spent less than an hour in custody. He’s got an army of lawyers twice the size of the force he had on ImagiNation, and plausible deniability. He put so much distance between himself and Savage that none of the investors are losing any sleep.”

“What about the rest of Savage’s men?”

“Nothing. There wasn’t a real name among the files. The few that were guarding the hostages are probably working for a dictator somewhere. I just want to know how they got off the islands. I thought we took the only helicopter.”

“What about Campbell?”

“They’re looking into him. So far it looks like Baxter was bluffing when he said he was involved.”

Steve was quiet. “What did he say about revenge?”

“He said it was unlikely. Baxter’s goal is to distance himself from us as much as possible. But, he did say to keep an eye out.”

“I find myself looking over my shoulder quite a bit.”

“Me too. Like those guys over there.” Paul nodded to a table across the room. Steve followed the gesture.

“I doubt it’s anything. But they ordered a two hundred dollar bottle of Scotch just to get in here and haven’t touched a drop.”

Steve noted the full bottle. The men were large and unexpressive. They surveyed the room but never looked at each other.

“How long have they been sitting there?”

“They came in right after us. And I swear I saw them in the casino.”

“Do you think they’re following us?”

“Yes.” Paul leaned in close and whispered, “You’re paying them to.” He leaned back in his seat with a smile and somehow a full glass. He raised the glass to his friend. “I hereby tender my resignation as your Minister of Security. People don’t like you, my friend. And I am tired of getting the crap kicked out me for standing up for you.”

Steve raised his glass. “I accept your resignation, because you sucked at your job. What are you going to do now?”

“I’ve taken on a new role – one filled with delightful challenges that are more in line with my interests.”

“That is?”

“Grand Poohbah of squandering your fortune.”

The two friends clinked their glasses.

“Oh waitress! More booze!”

- END -

I was born in Canada; I grew up in Texas. In between I’ve had a thousand fascinations. Little things. Trivial things. Almost anything can catch my imagination and spur on a thought-a random article on Wikipedia can cost me hours of a day as I link from page to page. Mix this active imagination with poor time management skills and you get me.

I have more ideas for stories than I have time to tell. But, I’m trying; I write in the wee hours, the downtime hours, and the many hours when I should be sleeping. One day I hope to write in the daylight hours. Maybe then I’ll be able to stay a step ahead of my imagination.

Until then I’ll do my best to write books worth reading with jokes worth laughing at as fast as I can. The serious stuff is being taken care of by a world full of great writers. I don’t want to shock you or change your mind. I don’t even care if it makes you think. I just want you to squirt that drink out your nose.

Hope it’s not carbonated.

That tends to sting.

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