2 Dog River Blues (21 page)

“Does Fish know what you’re planning?” I asked. Beneath me the pounding grew in intensity and I figured that if Fish didn’t know, he suspected.

“No more questions. We need to get rid of Fish before it gets light.”

“I’m stiff as hell, Rusty,” I said. I stretched once again, this time grabbing my ankles and pulling my shoulders and head toward the floor. “But I’m with you.” When I bent forward I reached up my pant leg with my right hand and palmed the dive knife, tucking it up my sleeve as I stood and walked over to the stairs.

I looked at Rusty and gauged my chances. There was maybe four feet separating us and I knew this was as close as I was likely to get to him. He let the pistol hang in one hand and held up a camera in the other. I was pretty sure he could raise the gun faster than I could strike with the knife.

“Do we have to kill him?” I asked.

Rusty slapped the automatic against his leg, and then did it again. Before I could do anything he jumped up and moved toward me with his gun pointed at my gut. At this range there was no way he could miss, and I couldn’t defend myself. “Get down there,” he said.

As I started down the steps Rusty swung the gun over the railing and fired two shots. Before I could move, he had me covered again.
  

 
Below, Fish Conners had gone still.

“So much for matching incriminating pictures,” I said.

“It’s not a problem.” He held out the camera and pointed the gun down the steps. “We’ll go down below and while I point the gun at Fish, you can take the damn picture. We’d better get a move on. It will be light soon.”

I continued down the steps. When I reached the bottom I looked up and waited. He started to follow me down, paused, and shifted the gun away from me. As he searched for a handhold, I slid the knife from my sleeve and lashed out at his leg. I caught him in the calf and felt the tip of the blade scrape against bone. Rusty let out a yell that sounded more like a battle cry than a sob of pain, and warm blood dripped on my hand.

Rusty kicked out with his good leg and caught me on the side of the head, stunning me. At the same time he dragged himself upward. I shook myself and made a half-hearted grab for the hilt of the knife. My hand was slippery with his blood and the blade slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor before bouncing out of sight.

I crept up the steps, listening for any sounds from Rusty. When I poked my head through the opening I saw that he had moved over to the far side of the boat. His hip rested on the rail and he was twisting his belt around his bleeding leg with one hand and pointing the gun at me with the other.

“I should have killed you right away,” he said, raising the gun. There was no way he could miss.

I was thrown off my feet when something big hit the boat, passed under the hull, and hit the propeller. When I looked up Rusty was gone, tossed over the rail by whatever had hit us.

I jumped to my feet, ran to the control console, and shut off the autopilot. As I eased back on the throttle I glanced over the side and tried to spot Rusty. No luck.

The sky was a palette of red and purple and the edge of the sun was just becoming visible as I turned the wheel and went back to search for him. A large tree trunk about a foot in diameter with a tangle of roots shot to the surface off the port side of the boat. I spotted a gaping cut in the bark where the prop had hit, but no Rusty.

I made a half dozen passes around the tree trunk, driving the boat in ever-widening circles. Once again, I failed to find Rusty or his body. When I’d convinced myself I wasn’t going to find him, I turned the boat in the direction we had been headed earlier. I set the auto pilot, slowed to near idle speed, and went below.

Fish’s unseeing eyes were open. Stepping over his body, I moved into the cabin. I wondered if the manuscript was cursed. How many men had died for this book before my grandfather took possession? Would Rusty be the last?

The manuscript was hidden in the same drawer where I’d found it earlier. It was wrapped in several plastic bags and nestled under the same pair of jeans. I grabbed the book and headed for the main salon where I stopped at the chart table and spent several minutes figuring out where I was headed.

We were a couple of miles from a small cove listed as Prince Cove, just off the Intracoastal Waterway. I figured that if I took my dinghy into the cove, I could call Roy and have him drive over and pick me up.

Entering the cove, I was glad to see that there were no other boats anchored there. I chose a spot not far from the shore and lowered the anchor. As soon as I had
Carpe Diem
secured, I pulled out my phone and called Roy. When he answered, I filled him in on what had happened, emphasizing the dilemma I was in.

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Take me maybe an hour to get there.”

“I’m taking my dinghy into shore. I see a boat ramp and the road. I’ll meet you there.”

“I know where it is. Do you want me to call the police?”

I looked down at Fish’s body and said, “No. I’ll explain when you get here.”

I hung up and ran below. I’d seen a hand held VHF radio sitting on a shelf over the navigation table when I was checking my position. I turned it on, switched it to the local weather channel and was relieved when the mechanical voice of the announcer came in loud and clear. I could use it to notify the Coast Guard of
Carpe Diem’s
location after Roy picked me up. Sticking the radio in my sweatshirt pocket, I pulled out my handkerchief and began wiping down the boat for fingerprints.

It was full blown daylight by the time I was ready to leave. As an afterthought, I took a minute to grab a fishing pole out of the rack near where Fish’s body lie. It had a small lure already attached, and I hoped that if I ran into anyone I could use the fishing pole as my excuse for being out on the water so early in the morning.

I climbed into the dinghy and untied the two registration boards and tucked them under the seat. I didn’t want anyone to be able to identify my dinghy. Finally, I drew my sweatshirt hood around my face and reached out to start the motor.

Maybe it was because I was nervous and not paying attention, perhaps it was the cold morning air drifting across the water, or God playing a joke on me, but the outboard refused to start.

I fiddled with the choke, primed the bulb, and pulled the starting cord over and over, all to no avail. Running out of patience, I tilted the prop out of the water, and began rowing toward the distant shore. In my haste, I knocked the fishing pole overboard. So much for excuses, I thought.

Despite the cold, I was sweating by the time I pulled the inflatable onto the beach. Sunshine sparkled on the near still water and a gull circled the beach above me. His lonesome call seemed to mock me as I looked at my watch and realized that I still had at least a half an hour left before I could expect
 
Roy.

Dragging the boat along the sand, I managed to push and pull it up to, and behind a clump of trees. I disconnected the motor from the gas tank, pulled it off the inflatable, tucked the book under my shirt, and deflated the dinghy.

I stumbled over to a piece of log on the westerly edge of the beach and sat down to wait for Roy.

I was beginning to appreciate this southern family more and more. If not for Roy, I’d be stuck not three hundred yards from
Carpe Diem
and Fish Conners’ bullet riddled body.

The mind is a well-trained trickster, especially when loaded with guilt and anxiety. The guilt was a byproduct of my Catholic upbringing. The anxiety was something I’d acquired working as a P.I.

There are certain facts you live with when you’re out there chasing the shit-heads that have overrun our cities. Number one is that the laws are rigged in their favor. Number two is that if something you’ve anticipated doesn’t go wrong, there’s always the unanticipated to look forward to.

The unanticipated was the arrival of a large motor yacht. The day was bright and still, and I heard it before I saw it. By the time it poked its nose into the calm waters of the cove I had carried the motor and gas tank over to edge of the road. I ran back to the dinghy and half dragged, half carried it halfway to where I’d left everything else. I stopped and watched the yacht motor to within a hundred feet of
Carpe Diem
and begin to let out its anchor.

I estimated it to be in the eighty-foot size range. As I watched, two men appeared on the deck and began lowering an inflatable into the water.

Taking the VHF radio from my pocket I turned it on and tuned it to channel sixteen in time to hear the query, “
Carpe Diem
, this is
Winds Low
. Do you copy?”

I cursed at my luck. It had to be the buyers looking for Rusty, and I didn’t want anything to do with them. Just as I was wondering if they had seen me, my phone rang. I grabbed it, but a tall stick figure dressed in a yellow rain jacket looked up and seemed to be studying the beach.

He pointed in my direction as I answered the phone. “I hope you’re nearby.”

“I’m about three minutes away,” Roy said.

The dinghy was in the water now and the man who had pointed at me climbed in to join the first two. The engine roared to life and they headed for
Carpe Diem
at a fast clip.

“I’ve got company,” I said, “and I don’t think they’re friendly.”

As if to confirm my fears the inflatable stopped just long enough at the side of
Carpe Diem
for two of the men to climb out. The third, the man in the yellow jacket, gunned the engine as soon as his partners were on the boat and headed for the beach.

Grabbing my own rolled up dinghy I flung it to my shoulder and with short, lumbering steps began to run to where I’d left the engine.

“Hey,” Yellow Jacket called out across the water. “Hey, I want to talk to you.”

Ignoring the man’s hail, I pushed myself for speed just as Roy pulled up in Jessica’s car. It ground to a stop alongside where I’d left my outboard and Roy jumped out. He was loading the motor when a sharp crack filled the air.

A bullet slammed into the side of my dinghy with enough force to knock it from my shoulder, carrying me to the ground with it. Three more gunshots echoed across the water and I scrambled behind a tree.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Roy reach into the trunk. He grabbed two pistols, spun around, and came running toward me like a two-fisted gunfighter, squeezing off two shots with each gun toward the dinghy.

Peering out from behind the tree, I watched Yellow Jacket swing the inflatable around and head back toward
Carpe Diem
.

“You missed,” I said.

“On purpose. I don’t want to kill anyone. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” He handed me the guns and picked up my dinghy with an easy jerk that I found humbling. I followed as he carried it over to the back of the car, where he shoved it in next to the outboard. As he fought to close the trunk, I took the VHF radio from my pocket.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“Go ahead and get into the car,” I said. “Be ready to get the hell out of here. The shit’s about to hit the fan.”

Once Roy was behind the wheel I hit the send button and spoke into the radio. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Coast Guard this is
Carpe Diem
. We are currently located at Prince Cove and are under attack. I repeat, under attack. Shots have been fired and my crewman has been shot.”

I released the send button and heard, “
Carpe Diem, Carpe Diem
, this is the Coast Guard, please repeat.” There was a pause and then, “
Carpe Diem,
this is the Coast Guard. We have your position at Prince Cove, if this is correct, please repeat.”

“Did you have to call a Mayday? I heard they get too many of those. Big fine too.”

“Roy, they were shooting real bullets at me and they had no idea who I was. Not to mention that there’s a dead body on board. I kind of think that’s an emergency.”

“Rusty?”

“Fish,” I said, giving him a brief rundown of what had happened.

“You get the manuscript?” he asked.

“I did.”

Roy floored the car. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I’m not sure it was worth it,” I said. “Rusty and Fish are dead and Cathy may never be able to enter her boat in the dark again. Still, I guess the outcome beats the alternative.”

“What’s that?” Roy asked.

“We could be the dead ones.”

If he had a comeback, I didn’t hear. I dropped off to la-la land.

Chapter 23

When we got to the marina I held out the manuscript to Roy.

“I talked this over with Jessica. We both think you should be the one to give it to Ma,” Roy said.

I hesitated, and then tucked it back beneath my sweatshirt. “When?”

Roy chuckled. “I’m sure Jessica will call and let you know.”

I felt myself flush. I had no doubt Jessica would be calling. It was one of the reasons I wanted to get rid of the book. I needed to get out of Mobile—quick.

I climbed out of the car and turned back to face Roy. “Can you do me a favor,” I asked.

“What do you need?”