Secretariat Reborn (29 page)

After several hours, Christian’s leg and arm muscles burned with pain, and he neared exhaustion. Out of breath, he gasped and fought the waves that sometime engulfed them, but he kept going, encouraged by the lights he could finally see on Snead Island and Terra Ceia.

“Almost there, another mile, maybe two,” Christian said between puffs. No answer. “Vince, you still with me?” he asked, and heard a groan. “Good, hang in there.”

Hours later and a hundred feet from the dark beach, Christian stopped swimming and put his foot down. He felt the fringes of sea grass and closed his eyes with relief. Another forty feet, and he waded in the chest-deep water, towing Vince. The waves crashed over his head, but their wake helped push Vince toward shore.

Christian reached the shallows, grabbed Vince under his arms, and shuffled backward, dragging him onto the seaweed-covered beach. He collapsed on the sand next to Vince. “We made it.” Vince didn’t respond.

For few seconds, Christian thought he had died. “Vince!” He shook him and then leaned over, resting his ear on Vince’s chest. He heard his beating heart and felt his rising and falling chest.

Vince moaned, barely conscious.

“Jesus, Vince, I thought you had croaked.” Christian stood, wrapped his arms close, and shivered in his wet t-shirt and jeans. The cold rain and bitter wind penetrated his core. He glanced up and down the shadowy beach. “I’m going for help.”

It was summer, the off-season, and with a looming hurricane in
the gulf, most beach houses were vacant and dark. A block away, he saw an outside light and jogged toward it. Reaching the cottage, he climbed the wooden steps and banged on its back door. No one answered. He looked around the barren wooden deck for something to break the glass so he could get in and, he hoped, find a working phone.

He reached for a heavy conch shell and saw an inside light come on. He pounded the door again, and eventually an elderly man dressed in pajamas peered out the window at him.

“I need to call an ambulance,” Christian shouted, rubbing his arms for warmth.

The man cautiously opened the door.

“My buddy and I were in a boat accident,” Christian explained. “His chest hurts. He might have internal injuries.”

“Oh, heavens,” said the man. “What the heck were you doing out in a hurricane and in the middle of the night?”

“Look, just hurry. He’s a couple of hundred yards down the beach.” Christian pointed.

“Harold, who is it?” said an old woman behind the man.

“This young fella’s boat went down in the storm, and he’s got a hurt friend down the beach. Go call 911, Maud.”

“Oh, my,” she said and hurried off.

“Come in, come in,” said the old man.

Christian stepped a few feet inside. “I gotta get back to him.”

“Okay, but just wait here a minute. I’ll give you a flashlight and blanket. As soon as I put on some clothes, I’ll be down.”

“Thanks,” Christian said and stood by the door, shivering and dripping water. The man quickly returned with the light and quilt. Christian turned on the light and ran back down the beach.

He covered Vince with the blanket. “Just hold on, Vince. Help is coming.” He felt a little lightheaded and sat down in the sand near Vince. He hugged his legs and rested his head on his knees. He still shook violently in the cold rain and harsh wind.

•   •   •

In the emergency room, Christian sat on a gurney in a hospital gown, a blanket covering his shoulders as a doctor stitched up his head gash. “Where’s the closest phone? I need to get a ride home.”

“There’s one at the nurses’ station,” said the doctor, “but really, Mr. Roberts, I’d like you to stay twenty-four hours for observation. When you came in, that lightheadedness and shaking were the first stages of hypothermia.”

“Hypothermia?” Christian questioned.

“Yes, swimming for hours in cold water lowered your body temperature. You can suffer from hypothermia, even in Florida during the summer.”

“Well, I feel all right now and want to go.”

“I can’t keep you, but you’ll have to sign an AMA—an Against Medical Advice release.” The doctor finished and pushed the tray aside. “In ten days, your stitches can come out.”

“Thanks, doc,” Christian said and slid off the gurney. At the nurse’s station he placed a call to Allie.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said.

“My God, Christian, it’s five-thirty in morning. I’ve been up all night, worried sick about you. Where are you?”

“I’m at Manatee Memorial, the emergency room, but my SUV is still at Vince’s, so I need a ride home.”

“The emergency room!” said Allie with alarm. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Got a few stitches on my forehead. Vince and I were in a boat accident.”

“Jesus, you were on the water last night?”

“Can we please talk about it later? Right now I just want to get to the house, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed.”

“With this rain, it’ll take me at least forty-five minutes to get there.”

“Okay, and Allie, could you bring me some clothes? Mine are soaking wet, and I’m wearing a hospital gown.”

He hung up and turned to a middle-aged nurse, sitting in front
of a computer. “I came in with a guy. Can you check and see how he’s doing?” He told her Vince’s whole name.

She tapped the computer keys and looked up. “Mr. Florio is in serious but stable condition—no visitors, unless you’re a relative.”

Christian leaned over the counter and flashed his pearly whites. “I’m his adopted son. I really would like to see him.”

The nurse blushed with an ear-to-ear grin. “Oh, all right.” She jotted down Vince’s room number and handed him the paper.

Christian entered the hospital room and saw Vince lying on the bed with his eyes closed. With an oxygen mask over his face, he resembled Christian’s father.

“Hey,” Christian whispered, “are you sleeping?”

One of Vince’s eyes squinted open, and his expression brightened in recognition.

“I’ll let you rest,” Christian said. “I just wanted to check on you before I left.”

Vince frowned and moved his fingers, motioning him to stay. He pulled the mask down. “That boat trip—it cost me,” he uttered. “It’s your fault.”

Christian raised his eyebrows. “My fault?” he said with an elevated voice. “Vince, there’s no way I could’ve avoided that sailboat. I’m sorry you lost your shipment. I’m even sorry about Vito, but it couldn’t—”

“Shut up.” Vince scowled. “While you were draggin’ me through the water, I was thinking—here I am a rich guy, risking going to jail, risking my life, and for what—more money? Christian, I thought I was a goner.”

Vince took a deep breath. “They say a near-death experience can scare you straight. Fucker’s true. So it’s your fault I survived and am retiring. Quitting while ahead.”

“That’s good, Vince.”

“All those Gs you still owe me—”

“I swear I’ll pay you back.”

“Will you please shut up and let me finish. You don’t owe me a
dime. That horse loan was obviously the best investment I’ve ever made. I’m just sorry I’ll lose a good fishin’ guide.”

Christian smiled and lightly patted Vince’s arm. “Get well, Vince. We’ll go fishin’ again.”

Allie arrived at the hospital and gave Christian his change of clothes. They left the hospital under gloomy skies that hindered the morning sun. The couple walked through the shadowy parking lot with the wind whipping at their hair. The sprinkling rain and strong breeze were the remnants of Hurricane Blanche, which had moved north of Tampa.

Allie asked how many stitches he had received. He told her twelve. Other than that, she was unusually quiet.

He felt her silent questions boiling within her like a pressure cooker about to explode. They reached her pickup, and he asked, “How did the farm and horses make out in the storm?”

She spun on her heels and glared. “They’re fine, Christian,” she said in a huff. “They’re in better shape than you. Now are you going to tell me about last night, or are we stashing it away with your other secrets?”

At her pickup he lowered his head and released a long, weary sigh. To say he wanted to discuss it later wouldn’t fly, but should he tell her the whole complicated truth—the gangster loan on Mystery, his failure to pay the loan sharks that placed her and his family in danger, the drug smuggling, the reason he was out in a hurricane on Tampa Bay?

He was too exhausted to think clearly and come up with another halfway believable story. He glanced down at her determined little face. She wanted an explanation and wanted it right away.

He scratched his head and gave her a halfhearted grin. “Well,” he started, “Vince and I weren’t fishing.”

“Really?” She rolled her eyes.

He glanced up, hearing tires squeal. A car raced through the hospital parking lot. He recognized Sal’s black Cadillac. “Let’s go, Allie.
I’ll tell you on the way home.” He opened the passenger door, and Allie walked to the driver’s side and started to climb in.

The Cadillac slammed to a stop behind Allie’s pickup and blocked it in the parking space. Sal, in the driver’s seat, stuck his head out the window. “Christian, you little fucker,” he shouted. “Don’t you move, goddamn it.”

Allie stood by the open door, her eyes the size of baseballs. “Who is he?”

“Get in the truck,” Christian said. “I’ll handle this.” He walked to the back of the truck. Allie still stood by the open door, not budging. “Get in,” he repeated.

Sal climbed out of the Cadillac along with three other men, their faces dark and mean. They marched up and surrounded Christian.

“What the fuck happened?” Sal yelled, inches from Christian’s face.

“Have you talked to Vince?” Christian asked, forcing himself to stay calm.

“Fuck, no,” said Sal. “I was waiting for you guys to come back so I could help unload the goods. Then some goddamn nurse called, said Vince was here and had been in a boating accident. Now what the fuck is going on?”

“Vince is okay. He’ll tell you everything,” said Christian, reluctant to discuss events in front of Allie. He turned to leave, but Sal grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him hard up against the truck bed.

“Listen, you lil’ shit,” Sal growled, pinning and pressing his weight against Christian. “You might have Vince twisted around your finger, but not me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an arrogant prick that should’ve been taken out after that first goddamn boat ride.”

“Hey, dickhead,” Allie yelled and stepped to them. She pointed a gun at Sal’s face. “Get away from him.”

The men were startled, Christian most of all. She wasn’t holding a little .22 girl’s gun, or even a snub-nosed .38, but a .44 Magnum,
Dirty Harry’s cannon. Two of the men reached for weapons concealed under their jackets.

“Pull ’em and I’ll blow this fat fuck’s head off,” she said.

Sal glanced at his men, and with a slight shake of his head, they lowered their arms to their sides.

“Jesus, Allie,” Christian said. “Put that gun away.”

“Uh-uh.” Her voice and stare were as steady as her gun hand. “Not till this ape gets his paws off you.”

Christian looked back at Sal. “I swear I’ll tell you everything, Sal. This is all a misunderstanding.”

Sal released Christian’s shirt and gave him slight shove. “Start explaining.”

Christian’s eyes darted back and forth between Sal and Allie’s weapon. “It was all going as planned,” he said. “We picked up the goods from the freighter, no problem, and were heading back from Tampa Bay when the Scarab hit a submerged sailboat. With those huge waves and the poor visibility, there was no way to avoid it. We crashed, and Vito and Vince were thrown clear of the boat. I found Vince, grabbed him, swam to shore, then called an ambulance. That’s pretty much it, Sal.”

“You brought Vince in?” Sal asked, more composed.

“Yeah,” Christian said, “dragged him probably seven miles, halfway across Tampa Bay through the surf. He’s not pissed at me.” He looked at Allie. “Please put that gun down.” She lowered the weapon and shook her head.

“And Vito?” Sal asked.

Christian looked down. “He didn’t make it.”

“Damn.” Sal grimaced. “What about the goods?”

“There was no time to store them in the hatch, and they were on the open deck. They probably floated away when the Scarab sank. If they’re found, the cops can’t tie them to Vince’s boat.”

Sal rubbed the back of his thick neck. “Well, that’s good, but a hell of an expensive loss.” He looked at Allie. “This is the girlfriend you’ve been trying to protect?”

Christian nodded.

Sal exhaled a yuk-yuk chuckle. “Kid, that little doll don’t need your protection.”

“Apparently not,” Christian muttered.

Sal slapped Christian’s back. “All right, kid, you can go. If your story checks out with Vince, then you got nothin’ to worry about.” He motioned to one of his men. “Move my car so these kids can get out.”

“Sal, I’m sorry about Vito,” Christian said.

Sal looked down and nodded. “Yeah, he was a good soldier. He actually mentioned he was startin’ to like ya. For Vito, that’s a stretch.” The Cadillac pulled away, and Sal and his other two men walked toward the hospital.

Christian reached for the passenger door handle and saw Allie slide the .44 into its holster and place it back under the driver’s seat. She then climbed behind the wheel.

He got in, shut the door, and took a long, profound breath. “I can’t believe you pulled that gun.”

She started the engine. “And I can’t believe you got involved with those guys.”

“Those guys are loan sharks, mobsters. They wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.”

“No kidding,” she sniped. She turned to him. “But Christian, if they had hurt you, I also wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.” She drove out of the parking lot and turned toward home.

Christian caressed his jaw, feeling the five o’clock shadow, and watched her. Allie stood only five foot two and weighed roughly a hundred and ten pounds, but she was tough, the toughest woman he had ever dated. She trained and rode dangerous horses and held her own in the male-dominated world of racing and, rather than have a little pet pooch, she preferred to sit by the lake with her ten-foot alligator.