Driving Big Davie (Dan Starkey) (26 page)

Michelle surfed away towards the shore.

And I thought: What the fuck am I playing at! Sex in the sea with a beautiful woman! Nobody for miles! Leaving this afternoon! Who could possibly find out?!

'Michelle!' She didn't stop. 'Michelle! I'm sorry! I was wrong! Come back!'

She glanced back for a moment, but she kept moving towards the beach.

'Please! Come on!'

She stepped out of the sea and onto the shingle. I strode towards her through the water, which always looks rather ungainly. Then I followed her up the beach. We were both naked. It was Tarzan and Jane. Or from some points of view Laurel and Jane. She was gaining speed, hopping from rock to rock like a rock-hopping expert. I followed, erect, tough, determined. She was luring me into the long grass. She was playing hard to get. She would have me, but she would now set the rules, call the shots.

As she passed by where we'd been sitting Michelle scooped up her T-shirt and shorts with her foot and clasped them under one flipper. I was bounding up the beach towards her now, with the long loping strides of a baby giraffe. She grinned back at me, then scooped up my clothes as well. She secured them beneath her second flipper. Then she took off again across the rocks.

'Hey!' I shouted.

She laughed mischievously as she went.

She was as nimble as a gazelle.

I sped after her. More than once I slipped to my knees and cursed as I scraped them over the surface of the rocks, but I doggedly continued my pursuit. She was a woman. She could keep this going for ever, or until my erection faded. Which it showed no sign of doing. If anyone had been watching it would have looked very strange indeed. And if anyone had been video-taping, it could have been worth a fortune. At least on the Internet. Horned-up naked man pursues nude armless woman, pausing only to gash knees.

She was really enjoying herself; she was laughing aloud — so was I, in between curses.

'Come on, Michelle! You've had your fun! Come on! We can talk about this! We can lie down and talk about this! Come on! You know you want me!'

She threw her head back and cackled. Nice cackle. Women have to get cackles just right, otherwise they can sound like a fishwife. But she did it perfectly.

'Michelle!' I reached for her, but I was flapping at air. I grabbed out again, but missed by a fraction.

She jumped to another rock, I followed.

'You'll never get me!' she cried.

'Just you wait!'

I leaped after her. My arm extended, the very tips of my fingers touched her shoulder. It was hardly more than a butterfly's touch, but it was enough to knock her off-balance as she jumped to the next rock. She landed on it, but her feet failed to find the proper grip. Her left foot slipped to one side on a strand of seaweed; she stubbed a toe of her right. She let out a yelp.

She fell.

Anyone else could have put their arms out to protect themselves. But she couldn't.

'Michelle!'

She fell behind the rock, and for a moment she was out of my sight. I landed on the same rock.

'Michelle!'

I expected her to look up slightly dazed, slimed by seaweed, but with a cheeky grin. But she lay face down, motionless.

I jumped off the rock and landed beside her. Her forehead was sitting flush against another, smaller rock; blood from her head was rapidly oozing out across it. I groaned and bent to turn her. She was limp — her eyes were closed.

It wasn't straight out of the medical manual, but I shook her and bellowed, 'Michelle!'

There was a deep gash across her head; blood was now cascading down her face, her chest, across me. Her mouth opened and I thought she was going to say something, but there was only a cough of blood. A deep sigh followed it and then her mouth closed and her head sagged to one side. Her chest wasn't moving. I checked her pulse. I know nothing about checking pulses. But I was pretty sure she didn't have one.

'Michelle?' I said weakly.

There was no response. There was the gentle beat of the waves on the shore, the easy hissing of the wild grass back beyond the beach, and the wild, wild thump of my heart, but there was no response.

Michelle was dead.

There is an inevitability about certain things. That beautiful people will marry beautiful people, that Africans will starve, that America will invade, that teenagers will rebel and that the three chords of rock'n'roll will be revived every ten years or so. That once you set out on a course of evil it will inevitably lead you towards a sticky end, pausing only to slide a knife between your ribs wherever possible along the way. Michelle was dead and I was scraping out her grave in the windblown sand beyond the beach. Then I was carrying her in my arms. Then I was putting her in her grave and piling sand on top of her. Then I was collecting rocks and laying them out over the sand in a kind of random pattern that I hoped didn't look too much like a grave but which would nevertheless provide enough protection from the wind to prevent her young lifeless body from being exposed.

For any normal, moral, sane human being this was not the obvious course of action. The normal reaction would be to raise the alarm, go for help, carry her to the nearest house. Explain the dreadful accident.

But normal, moral and sane are three strands of human experience which do not figure heavily in my own, particularly here in Everglades City, with millions of dollars' worth of stolen gold in the bank, and there in St Pete's Beach with The Colonel mouldering on a slab. I was a murderer and a thief. I would not be believed. My only choice was flight.

I dived back into the water, washed the blood and sand from my body, dressed quickly and walked back into town along the beach. There were even fewer people on the sand now. When I reached the main drag I made a determined effort to move slowly and casually. I paused to check out a tourist store. From under the peak of my baseball cap I studied the front of the Mountain View Bar and Grill. It was lunchtime, customers went back and forth unconcerned. I crossed to our hotel. EC for once wasn't reading his paper, but chatting on the phone. He saw me cross the lobby, but didn't acknowledge me. When I was out of sight, I took the stairs three at a time.

Davie wasn't in the room. Lunch. I cursed. I packed my bag; then I packed his. I sat on the bed. I should wait for him to come back. Not make a fuss ― just explain calmly that we had to get the fuck out of town. But Davie was half-smitten. He wouldn't be content with just lunch. He'd take Kelly Cortez for a walk or a drive: he might not return for hours. What if, in the meantime, someone was to discover Michelle's body?

Christ.

Michelle.

Dead.

She was a beautiful temptress. And I had killed her. If I'd given in to her advances while in the sea, there would have been no chase, no slip on a rock, no head with a fissure in it.

My fault for showing moral courage.

I should have known better. Or I should not then have changed my mind and pursued her like a caveman. I had all but clubbed her around the head. Fred Flintstone had whacked out Wilma. Worse, he'd murdered Betty.

Shit. I couldn't just sit on the bed and wait for discovery. I had to get Davie; we had to get moving. I didn't even need to ask where he'd gone. There was only one decent restaurant in town.

With luck it would be busy enough for me to slip in and out without anyone really noticing; a quick word in Davie's ear, an apology to the good doctor and we'd be off. With luck, which is always my strong point.

I walked up to the Mountain View Bar and Grill and slipped inside. The bar was as busy as ever. DJ was looking hassled behind it. Good. The restaurant area was off to the right. Most of the tables were filled. I saw Davie sitting opposite Kelly Cortez. She was laughing. So was he, at least until he saw me coming towards him.

'Hi, Doc,' I said. Before she could respond, I said, 'Davie, I need a word.'

He spread his hands and said, 'Fire away.'

'No really — a word.' I indicated with my head that I wanted him outside.

'Relax,' he said. 'Pull up a chair.'

'Davie, I really need to talk to you.'

'Well, do it. Sit down and enjoy a beer at the same time. She's a doctor, man, she can't pass on your sordid little secrets. It's like being a priest, except she can cure your boils as well.'

Kelly giggled.

'Davie,
please.'

A voice from behind said, 'Excuse me,' and I turned to find DJ. My heart fluttered. He had a tray in his hand. He was trying to get a meal to the next table.

'Sorry,' I said, and moved out of his way.

He set the tray down and an elderly couple thanked him. DJ turned back and said, 'Typical of this town. Here's a man with bleeding knees and the doctor just sits there and ignores him.'

I looked at my knees. Davie, Kelly and DJ looked at my knees. 'Slipped on some rocks,' I said. 'They're fine.'

'Come on, Doc, help the man!' DJ laughed. He returned to the bar.

'You're like a big kid,' said Davie. 'Always wreckin' your knees.'

'Davie, I need to talk to you.'

'Come by the surgery after lunch, I'll clean those up,' said Kelly.

'Davie!'

This time he hissed at me: 'What's so fucking important?' He glanced at Kelly. 'Sorry, Kelly. I'm just,' and he looked back to me, 'trying to have a nice time.'

Kelly blushed again.

I said, 'I'm sorry, but it's an
emergency.'
I raised an eyebrow. I gave him a surreptitious wink. He ignored them both.

'Give me half an hour,' was the best he could manage. 'I'm sure we can—'

'We haven't got . . .' I trailed off. I sighed. I looked back to the bar. DJ was pouring a drink for JJ.
Christ.
The car.

I said, 'Hold on a minute,' and hurried across to where the mechanic was sitting with several of his cronies. I touched him on the shoulder. He took about a year to look round. Then he grunted.

'She ready?' I said.

'Who?' said JJ.

'The car — our car — the Land Cruiser.'

He looked vague for a moment, and then the gas finally caught. 'Oh yeah. He who drives into ditches. Sure, she's ready.' He indicated his glass of Bud with a grin. 'Gimme a chance to finish lunch, I be right with you.'

'Look, I really need her now.'

'Her? She's not a woman. She's a
car.'
He giggled. Beside him, CJ and MJ giggled too. He was showing off for the benefit of his friends. Take the piss out of the tourist. 'A car you can fix, but women — you can't fix them, that's for sure.' He grinned again and his mates nodded in agreement.

I tried to stay calm. It was important. 'I need it now.'

'Can't do it, man. Shop's all locked up. Need to get your credit card, receipt . . .'

I moved a little closer. 'Look, JJ, I'm in a hurry. What if I pay you thirty dollars extra, you go and get the car for me now. You bring it down here.'

'Thirty?'

'Fifty.'

'Fifty?'

'Fifty.'

He thought for a moment, looked to his friends, raised an eyebrow, and they nodded. So he nodded at me. He got off his bar stool. I turned back to Davie. I heard JJ say, 'Asshole,' for the benefit of his friends, but I ignored it.

Sticks and stones. I was really worried about sticks and stones.

Davie was just ordering his dessert from a waitress.

'I shouldn't really,' said Kelly.

'Be a devil,' said Davie.

'Davie
. . .'

'Oh, for Christ's sake!' The waitress jumped a little at Davie's outburst. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I'll have the Key Lime Pie. Kelly — just give me a minute, eh?'

She smiled and nodded. He got up from his chair and hissed, 'Come on then, Big Ears, this better be good.'

I led him outside. The sun whacked me about the head again. I caught a glimpse of JJ disappearing behind the Mountain View, walking in the opposite direction to his auto-shop.

'What the fuck's got into you?' Davie said irritably.

I took hold of his good arm and led him down off the veranda onto the road so that we wouldn't be overheard. There were a couple of tourists sitting at the coffee-table where I'd chatted with the Sheriff the night before. Down the road, EC had emerged from the hotel and was sitting in the shade reading his newspaper. Outside the bank BJ stood with his arms folded talking to Sheriff Baines, who was sitting on the hood of his police ve-hicle.

'Jesus, Dan,' Davie said, 'your eyes are darting about like you're on fucking speed.'

'There's been an accident,' I said.

'What sort of an accident?'

'The worst fucking kind.' I took a big gulp of air. 'Davie — I didn't mean . . . I mean . . . it just happened. She just fucking slipped!'

He finally saw that it wasn't speed, it was terror. He moved a little closer, and this time he gripped my arm. 'Dan, what have you done?'

'I haven't done anything. She just . . .
fell.'

'Who?'

'Michelle.'

'Michelle? Who's she?'

'The girl in the bar! For fuck's sake, Davie, the girl in the bar with the no-arms.'

'Okay.' He nodded. 'What were you doing?'

'I wasn't doing anything. We went for a swim, all right? We were just messing around, then she slipped on the rocks. Oh Christ, she cracked her head, Davie.'

He was staring at me. I was trying to continue but for the moment the devil was squeezing my windpipe.

'Is she hurt?' Davie asked. 'Come on, Dan. Kelly's in there, she's a doctor. She can take a look at her.'

'It's too late for that!' I spat, clearing the blockage.

'What do you mean?
Dan?'

I couldn't meet his eyes.

He stared at me. 'Is she dead?'

'Yes. She is.'

For fuck sake. You're not serious?'

'No, I'm fuckin' jokin'.'

'Jesus Christ.'

'I know.'

'And she's . . . she's out there?'

'Yes. Up to a point.' I swallowed. 'I . . . buried her.'

'Christ.'

'What was I supposed to do? Call the fucking cops?'

Davie put his hand to his jaw and rubbed it vigorously. 'What're we supposed to do now?'