Dreamboat (40 page)

Crissy was stunned by the question, and for a moment didn't know what to say.

“He tried to rape her, for God's sake,” Luca said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

The captain nodded. “I'm aware of that,” he said. “He also saved all of our lives last night by maneuvering the ship out of harm's way.”

“Only because Crissy knew the ship was going to be blown up and only because Crissy knew that Mark was the one person left who knew how to run the ship,” Luca said.

“That's true, too,” the captain said, “but I want to hear what Crissy has to say. Understand, we'll have to take him back to Athens, where the ship originated and was registered.”

Crissy looked at the captain thoughtfully. “I'm tempted to say let him go,” she said, “and drop the charges.” She cleared her throat. “But what concerns me is that other women out there might end up being raped by him. I don't know if a court in Greece or anywhere else will find him guilty, but I'll do my best to see that he's prosecuted.”

Luca hugged her to him.

“I understand,” the captain said. “You realize that you may have to come to Athens.”

She nodded. “I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

The captain stood up. “Very well. I'll be going now. I wish the two of you the best of luck.” He turned and left.

“I'm so proud of you,” Luca said.

“Thanks,” she replied, “but I'm doing what comes naturally. I don't care who he is, how good-looking he is, or how much he knows about ships. Mark Vilos is potentially dangerous.”

“Yes,” Luca agreed. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about before Voula gets here.”

“What's that?” she asked.

“You're going to be losing an entire week of your trip,” he said. “What do you plan to do with that time now?”

Crissy smiled. “I don't have any idea,” she said. “I could always go back to work early.”

“Work?” he said. “After losing a week of your vacation? I don't think so.”

“Well . . . did you have something in mind?”

He nodded. “I certainly do. I was thinking that since you're missing the Caribbean portion of the trip, I might take you on a trip to one of the islands. “Maybe St. Bart's. I have a friend who has a house there and would gladly let us use it. There'll be sun and water and . . . us. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful,” Crissy said.

“It could be a prehoneymoon honeymoon, I was thinking,” he said. “What do you think?”

Crissy felt a frisson of excitement rush through her body. “Are . . . are you joking, Luca?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I want you to marry me.”

Crissy felt herself blush, but she didn't care. “You really mean it?”

“I've never meant anything more in my life. I love you Crissy, and I want you to be my wife.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He put his arms around her and kissed her deeply.

The door opened, and Voula walked in. “Oh, Jesus,” she said. “I'm sorry. I'll come back later.”

“No,” Luca said. “You don't have to leave. You can have a congratulatory lunch with us.”

“For what?” she said, her orange lips already spreading in a smile.

“We're going to get married,” Luca said.

About ten feet from shore, he'd killed the engine and let the boat drift in, ignoring the loud scraping of the bottom of the boat against the sand and rock. Even before the boat had hit shore, he saw two men running from a house along the shore.

“Friend,” he'd called to them. “Amigo.” He didn't know any Portuguese, but had hoped they would get the message. As they neared the boat, they looked at him with curiosity. Valentin held out his hands, showing them he was roped and duct-taped.

The men laughed uproariously, then waded into the water toward him. One of them pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt and in quick, expert strokes, freed Valentin's hands and feet.

“Thank you,” he said. “
Gracias.
”

“You're welcome,” they told him in good but accented English. They'd pulled the boat farther up on the beach and tied it to a palm tree, then escorted him, gym bag in hand, up to the house, laughing and punching him playfully.

In the house, a wooden shack on stilts, were two women, one spread out on a makeshift couch smoking, the other on a mattress on the floor. They both appeared to be very drunk, as were the men. One of the men offered him a cigarette, which he took, although he wasn't a smoker. He
didn't want to appear ungrateful. When they poured him a drink, he looked at it in the light.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Rum, my friend,” one of the men said. “Very fresh. Very good. We make it.”

Valentin took a sip and discovered that, although it was fiery, it felt good burning its way down to his stomach. He'd asked them if they could take him to Belém to the airport in the next couple of days. He would pay them generously. He took his wallet out of the gym bag and let them get a glance of the money in it, but he didn't show them the stash he had in the Teflon belt he wore inside his jumpsuit.

They assured him that they could get him to the airport, with much slapping of his back and another round of drinks. One of the women got up, adjusting the halter top she wore as she went to the radio, and turned up the Latin dance music. He could kill them all now, he thought, and take his chances on reaching Belém another way. But his boat might be recognized, so it would be better to travel with the locals.

One of the couples began to dance, the woman obscenely writhing all over the short, paunchy man, pulling down her halter to expose her breasts and jerking up her sarong to give him glimpses of her naked pubis. The other couple laughed raucously, clapping, egging them on, and Valentin laughed with them, clapping when they did, pretending to enjoy the show.

They plied him with drink after drink of the homemade rum, and both couples were soon dancing, switching partners, back and forth. Then one of the women grabbed Valentin's hand with hers. He almost drew back from her touch, so repulsed was he, but he let her pull him up to his feet to dance with her. Now the others gathered around Valentin and the short, dark woman as they danced, clapping, singing, and laughing. Drinking more rum, he gave them a show, letting loose and dancing like a madman to please them. They were filthy peasants, he thought, but they were his ticket out, too.

Later in the morning, he realized suddenly that he was very drunk. He couldn't pass out. That was unthinkable. So he kept dancing, letting the woman slither all over him, teasing him mercilessly—or so she thought. Then, without warning, the room and everything in it began to spin like nothing he'd known before, and he lost his footing. He fell helplessly to the floor, and before he passed out, he could see the dark faces gathered
above him, still laughing and clapping, their teeth very white against their skin.

He didn't know how long he'd been out, but when he came to he could feel the sun on his naked body. And he could feel movement. But he wasn't in a boat. No. Then he realized with horror that his hands and feet were tied around a length of palm trunk, and he was swinging back and forth on the palm as the two men carried him somewhere, one at each end of the trunk.

He found his voice to ask them what they were doing, but when he tried to speak, he became aware of the tape across his mouth. He couldn't utter a sound. Sweat—the sweat of fear—began to pour down his face, and he tried to kick loose the rope that bound his feet.

But the men abruptly stopped and lowered him to the ground, laying the palm on top of him. He looked up at the one who'd been on the end to which his feet were bound, and saw him smiling. He couldn't see the other man, who stood behind him. He looked to his right and could see nothing but thick vegetation. He swung his head to the left and saw a pond or something like one.

Without warning, the men picked up the palm trunk again and began to swing it slowly back and forth, coordinating their movements. Valentin felt his body swinging out to the left, then to the right, then he suddenly felt the great heave the men gave the palm. He went swinging out to the left, to what had looked like a pond. The moment his body hit the water, he felt a great thrashing around him, then the terrifying hard scales of alligators as they brushed under him, against him, all over him.

The first bite took his feet. The second bite took most of his stomach.

Valentin didn't feel the third bite.

Luca had booked a room at the Belém Palace for the night, and made airline reservations for the morning that would take them to St. Bart's via St. Vincent. In the elegant dining room that night, Monika, Dr. Von Meckling, and Jenny had arrived shortly after they did and came by their table.

“Oh, such a pity you're at a table for two,” Monika declared. “Would you care to move? We could have a lovely dinner party togther.”

“We've already begun eating,” Luca said with a slight edge. “Otherwise we would have been glad to.”

“So where are you two off to?” Jenny asked.

“We're going to St. Bart's tomorrow,” Crissy said.

“St. Bart's!” Jenny exclaimed. “I've always wanted to go there. It's the hottest party island—” Her voice trailed off as Crissy saw Monika squeeze Jenny's arm. Perhaps, Crissy thought, Jenny wasn't permitted to express such desires in the presence of Dr. Von Meckling.

“It's to celebrate,” Luca said.

“Oh, and what are you celebrating?” Monika asked.

“We're going to be married,” Crissy said. She saw Jenny's face fall, and an expression of hatred come into her eyes. Monika, however, seemed genuinely delighted by the prospect.

“My darling Crissy,” she gushed. “You must come to see me in Vienna or have me come to you. You have my card and I have yours, so I'm sure we'll be seeing each another in Florence or wherever it is you settle down.”

“That would be lovely,” Crissy said.

“Yes,” Luca agreed tightly.

“Do keep in touch,” Monika said, air-kissing Crissy on both cheeks. “I'll be thinking of you, my sweet.”

“Thank you, Monika.”

When they'd finally left the table, Crissy and Luca restrained the laughter that they felt. “She's really a dragon, that Monika Graf,” he said.

“Yes,” Crissy replied, “but she was nice to me in the beginning for whatever reasons, and she taught me a few things.”

“Your friend doesn't seem too happy,” Luca said.

“No. She told me she's marrying him for his money and can't wait for him to die,” Crissy said.

Luca nodded. “She'll be unhappy to discover that he has very good genes for longevity.”

“What?”

“It's true,” Luca said. “The Von Meckling family all live into their nineties; some of them past a hundred.”

“Oh, she will be unhappy to hear that.”

“And Monika's going to drive her crazy,” Luca said, “putting her nose in everywhere.”

“I can only imagine,” Crissy agreed.

“But let's change the subject and talk about us,” he said, smiling.

“I think that's an excellent suggestion,” Crissy agreed.

“Then let's go straight upstairs after we eat.”

“I think that's just what the doctor ordered.”

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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