Sharky's Machine (35 page)

Sharky did not answer.

‘1 ask you again, where is the woman?’ Kershman was almost screaming.

Sharky kept his teeth clamped shut.

‘Where is she?’ Kershman said and there was an almost feline quality to his panicked tone.

Somebody’s putting the heat on him.

‘You’re a fool,’ Fat Boy screeched. ‘Jaw sao.’

Liung picked up the sharpening steel and the blade rang across the rough metal. It grated Sharky’s nerves, turning them raw. His finger began throbbing from anticipation. Fear was a lump in his throat.

The Chin stuck the knife point into the table next to his finger and waited.

‘Kan ni ti ch’ua pa,’ Kershman said.

This time Sharky was more aware of what was happening. He heard the knife slice through bone and gristle a second before the pain stabbed up his arm to his shoulder. The cabin whirled around him and he groaned into his clenched teeth, stifling his agony. The finger was already numb when Liung cauterized it.

Sharky slumped forward, let his body go limp, felt them unstrap him, drag him back to the cot, and drop him on it. They tied his leg.

He was going to pass out again, he could feel himself slipping into that dark pit. He thought about The Nosh and the anger sustained him for a few minutes. He began to slip. He thought about Fat Boy, about his Mauser stuck there in his belt. That was good, that helped, but then he began to drop off again.

He thought about Domino and that was fine. Was she worth all this? The answer came back instantly. Yes. And how about the tape with the Chinese orgy? It was clear now. The man trying to kill her was with her the night he had been monitoring her. Why was she protecting him?

The worst of it passed and Sharky’s mind began to clear again. His hand was a pulsating lump at the end of his arm. He tried to ignore it, to concentrate on Fat Boy.

There has to be a way to get the little asshole in here.

There is, stupid. The slant-eyed bastards are the answer.

They don’t speak English. Fat Boy speaks English. Lie has to hear you, right?

Right.

He rolled over with his back to the door, and reaching down with his good hand, he undid the belt buckle and then slowly, inch by inch, he slipped it through the loops. The belt fell loose and he relaxed for a. minute.

He was lying on his left side. The only way to get any leverage and keep his back to the door was to swing the belt with his crippled hand.

Jesus!

He pressed the end of the belt into his palm and, gritting his teeth from the pain, held it in place with his thumb. With his left hand he slowly wrapped the belt around his fist until about six inches were left. The heavy brass buckle hung on the end of the belt like a ball on the end of a mace.

One shot, kiddo, that’s all you get. And don’t forget Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod. They ain’t gonna be hanging around sipping tea.

One thing at a time.

He had one shot and he had to make it good. If they got the belt, he was dead.

There was movement on the deck above him again. Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod were probably up there, doing their homework. Fat Boy was on the phone again. His voice was up a notch. More panic.

There were nine shots left in the Mauser, counting out the one he had used in the dark.

Two each for Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod.

One for Fat Boy.

One for the rope.

One for luck.

Go for it, kiddo. Go for the bomb. Time’s running out.

He heard Fat Boy hang up the phone. He was coming down the passageway. Sharky rolled over almost on his face. He slid one knee up under his leg.

Fat Boy was at the door. He was coming in.

Sharky moaned.

Fat Boy edged a little closer.

He groaned again, a little lower.

Fat Boy moved in.

‘Help me,’ Sharky said, almost in a whisper.

From behind him be heard Fat Boy’s voice, close to his ear, ‘The address, Sharky. Where is Domino? Tell me and I’ll help you.’

A 1ile closer, Sharky thought. A foot or two.

‘Domino?’

‘Damn you!’ Fat Boy said, leaning closer, his lips wet with saliva, his frog eyes bulging with anger.

Sharky hunched his shoulders and with a massive effort, he rolled over, straightening his arm. The buckle snapped at the end of the belt. The belt whipped in a full arc and whooshed into the side of Kershman’s nose. It burst like a raw egg. The bone shattered. Blood gushed out like water from a pump. The fat man screamed in pain, his eyes bulging with horror as he saw Sharky reach out and grab at his belt.

Sharky’s fingers felt the butt of the gun, but the fat man was reeling backwards. He clutched at it frantically, pulling it loose, but it fell from his hand. Sharky lunged off the bunk to the floor and grabbed the automatic as Kershman grappled with the chair to keep his balance.

Sharky could hear the Chins coming on the run. He grabbed the gun, held it at arm’s length straight up at Kershman, saw the fear in his bleeding face.

‘Please!’ Kershman screamed as Sharky fired. The bullet tore straight up through his chin, his mouth, and into his brain. He went down on his back, his face frozen in terror.

Sharky whirled, still holding the gun at arm’s length, held it an inch from the knot around his ankle, and fired again. The heat from the blast scorched his ankle. The rope dis.. integrated.

Liung swept through the door with the grace of a ballet dancer, his arm whipping up from his belt, the glint of steel in his fist. Sharky fired, saw the disc sparkle towards him, felt it rip through the top of his shoulder and thud into the wall behind him. The bullet tore into Liung’s chest, jolted him, but did not stop him. He kept coming, his hand swept to his belt again. Sharky felt the Mauser jump and roar in his fist. He shot Lung in the stomach. The Chin made no sound. Blood spurted from both wounds. And he still came.

Jesus, it’s like shooting an elephants

His kneecap, idiot, his kneecap.

Sharky lowered the pistol and shattered Liung’s kneecap with the next shot. He wobbled and fell straight forward, reaching out and grabbing Sharky’s ankle. Sharky thrust the Mauser an inch from Liung’s temple and fired. The Chinese died without a sound.

Six shots.

Three left.

He was on his feet when the second Chin charged the door. Sharky stepped over Kershman’s body and tilted the table on end, dropping behind it as the Chin flung out his band and sent three steel discs into the tabletop. Sharky raised on his knees and squeezed off a shot straight into the Chin’s face, but he was moving too fast. It hit the corner of his jaw and tore half his ear off.

Two left.

The Chin leaped at him, kicked the table, split it in two as Sharky rolled over and slammed his back into the side of the bunk. The Chin rose over him, his hand raised, the fingers rigid, and started to chop down on him. The gun roared in Sharky’s fist and the Chin’s left eye exploded. He plunged over Sharky’s head and died face down on the cot.

Sharky spun towards the door. The third one was there, his hooded eyes gleaming through the latticework, not six feet away.

One shot left.

Sharky swung the gun out, holding it with both hands, the belt still dangling from his ruined hand.

The Chin whirled and was gone. Sharky was on his feet. He jumped to the doorway and swung into the passage in time to see his adversary leap through the hatchway to the deck. Sharky ran to the bottom of the hatch ladder and stopped. He listened.

Nothing.

The Chin too was motionless. He had jumped up on the cabin roof and was poised there, over the batch, every muscle tensed, his fingers curved in a classic karate pose. Waiting.

Sharky peered through the hatch and checked out the afterdeck. The Chin was not there. There was no place to bide. Against one railing there was a large emergency box. Two fuel tanks on the stern. Nothing else.

He looked overhead, wondering whether the Chin was up there. He had one shot left and the Chin had God knows how many of those whatchamacallit discs.

Sharky could take a chance, run out on the deck cowboy- style, and try to drop him with a John Wayne shot.

Suicide.

He had to get in close, put him away with one shot.

The Chin crept towards the bow of the boat, moving as soundlessly as a puff of smoke

Sharky reasoned that the longer he waited, the slimmer the odds were. The Chin was trained to be patient. He could outwait Sharky until they were both too weak to walk. Sharky’s patience was already running thin. If he missed with his last shot, the Chin could kill him with his big toe. He looked at the emergency box. Perhaps there was something in there he could use as a weapon. An axe, anything.

His finger began to throb. His nerves were screaming.

Go for the box. If it’s empty, take your best shot and go overboard. Maybe the son of a bitch can’t swim.

Sharky climbed to the top of the hatch ladder, hesitated for a moment, and then ran towards the emergency box. He looked back over his shoulder. The Chin was walking on the roof in the other direction, maybe sixty feet away. Sharky slid up to the box and flipped open the lid.

The Chin came after him like an antelope.

Sharky did a two-second inventory. Blankets, life preservers, flare gun, water bottles, radio . . . flare gun! He grabbed it and snapped it open. It was loaded.

The Chin leaped off the roof and landed running.

Sharky had to slow him down. He swung the pistol over the edge of the box and aimed at the biggest target he saw, the Chin’s chest. The Mauser roared and Sharky heard the bullet thud home. The Chin was knocked sideways. He fell, sliding past Sharky into the stern railing.

Sharky’s hand was shaking, his eyes were fogged with pain. He saw the Chin Jump to his feet and be pointed the bulky flare pistol at him and fired. The flare spiralled out of the short barrel with a chunk. The Chin twisted as he fired and the blazing flare streaked across his chest, scorching his shirt, and ripped into the valve of one of the gas tanks. The nozzle blew off, releasing a flood of gasoline. The gas hit the blazing flare and burst into flames. The Chin, distracted by the sudden fire, turned for an instant and as he did Sharky fired again. The second flare bit the Chin in the chest, shattered his ribs and lodged there, knocking him backwards to the railing. He floundered there with the phosphorous flare shell sizzling in his chest and then plunged backwards into the lake. Sharky looked down into the dark water at the flare, still burning fiercely, its bubbles boiling to the surface, bursting into puffs of acrid smoke, as the Chin sank deeper into the lake, the glowing shell growing smaller and smaller.

A moment later the tank went.

The explosion knocked Sharky halfway across the deck. A ball of fire roared out of the ruptured tank and swept up into the mast and furled sails of the junk. The sails burst into flames.

Sharky ran from one side of the junk to the other, looking over the side. The motor launch was lashed to a floating pier.

The keys. Fat Boy had to have them. He raced to the cabin and leaped down the stairs. Kershman was still lying on his back, his crazed eyes staring at the ceiling. Sharky ran the fingers of his good hand through the pockets and found not one but two sets of keys.

The other gas tank blew up. Fire spewed out along the deck and poured through the hatchway. Sharky ran down through the main cabin and up the bow hatchway. He went over the side and dropped down to the pier.

The junk was burning like a piece of scrap paper. Bits of flaming sailcloth drifted out over Sharky’s head and hissed into the lake. He tried the keys and finally found one that fitted and cranked up the launch, jamming the throttle forward and twisting the wheel away from the blazing junk. The launch roared out into the lake, tearing the pier to pieces as it went.

Sharky did not look back. He flipped on the night lights and headed off into the darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The high energy from the fight and the cold wind biting at him kept him alert. He found the main body of the lake and drove maniacally down its winding byways, keeping in the centre of the lake to avoid debris along the shoreline. It was almost an hour before he saw the green light blinking on the end of the marina dock.

He pulled alongside and got out, tying the front of the launch down. It was easy to find Fat Boy’s car, at that time of the. year there were only half a dozen cars in the lot. He cranked it up and sat huddled in the front seat. A wave of dizziness shook him.
Hell,
he thought,
I’ve come this far, don’t let me pass out now.
It passed and he flipped on the heater switch, slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car screamed out of the lot.

He drove the seventy miles back to Atlanta in less than an hour.

All the lights in the house seemed to be on. Livingston had the front door open and was standing just inside it, his gun out, before Sharky got out of the car.

‘Hold it right there,’ he yelled.

‘It’s me
—
Sharky.’

‘Sharky! Goddammit to hell, where you been? Where’s The Nosh? What
—,

Sharky reeled into the light from the doorway and Livingston swallowed the rest of the sentence.

‘Jesus Christ, what happened to you?’

‘You’re not gonna believe me when I tell you. Is she all right?’

‘Sure she’s all r……

Sharky stormed past him and into the house. Domino was coming out of the bedroom, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep.

‘Oh, thank God,’ she said and then her face registered the shock as she saw his burned-out eyes blazing with pain and fury, his cheeks mottled with a two-day growth of beard, his shoulder ravaged and bleeding, the torn edge of a
bloody
rag hanging from his fist.

He stood in front of her, his body shaking from hypertension, fatigue, and anger.

Livingston kicked the door shut and put away his gun.

‘What the hell happened, Shark?’ he asked.

‘The Nosh is dead,’ Sharky said. ‘They got him the same way they got Tiffany. Sawed-off shotgun...’

‘1 gotta call Friscoe right now. They been lookin’ for you two all night.’

‘Don’t call anybody yet.’

‘Where have you been?’ Domino said. Tears were building up in her eyes.

‘Where have I been? I’ll tell you where I’ve been, lady. My best friend was ambushed. I been beat up, kidnapped, hauled out to a goddamn Chinese junk in the middle of the lake, had my finger chopped off by three wildass China- men. I’ve killed four people, blown up a boat, stolen a car. Shit, I’ve had a great night! And you know why? Because they want you, that’s why.’

His eyes danced crazily in his head.

‘We’ve got to get you to a hospital,’ she said.

‘A hospital. Shit, I don’t need a hospital. I need answers. Who do you know has a Chinese junk? Who do you know has Oriental assassins doing his dirty work? Who do you know digs Chinese orgies? Your pal, Confucius, that’s who. You lied to me. Told me the bastard went to Europe. Why? Don’t you see it? He’s the one behind it all, the one who’s trying to kill you!’

He ripped the bloody bandage off his hand and held it out in front of her, the burned stump of his finger a foot from her eyes.

‘Look at it. That’s what they did to me.’

She moaned and turned her face to the wall. He grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around. ‘Look at it. Don’t turn your face away from me. That’s what your life cost. That and a little guy who never hurt anybody in his life ended up on a stinking tenement floor with his face blown off. And Tiffany, what about her?’

‘Please stop,’ she cried.

‘Me stop? These are the bastards you’re protecting.’

‘Slow down, Shark,’ Livingston said, moving closer to him.

He turned to his partner and said, ‘The crazy thing is, we had it figured right, Arch. We were right on it. Scardi, the rip-off in Italy, Scardi’s connection here. We had it by the ass.’ Then he turned back to Domino. ‘And we would’ve tied it up if you hadn’t lied to me.’

‘No.’

‘Bullshit. You told me that creep went to Europe, that he couldn’t have had anything to do with It. If you had given me his name, levelled with me, The Nosh would be alive now. We could have taken the son of a bitch last night. But I trusted you. You told me. . . I believed you. Should have known better. Should have. . . Goddammit, are you so much in love with him that you’re willing to —,

His fury exploded and he lashed out at her with the back of his good hand, slashing her across the face with such force that it knocked her back against the wall. Livingston grabbed his arm.

‘C’mon, pal, you’re acting like a jealous lover, for Christ’s sake.’

Sharky leaned against him. His hand was throbbing and he had a splitting headache. Was that it, was he jealous? He shook his head violently.

‘No, nothing like that, nothing like that. Too many lies. Nobody’s what they seem. All lies!’

‘Shark, I gotta get you down. You need —‘

‘I need Scardi. And the motherless son of a bitch that brought Scardi in. I want them and if we can’t take them legally, I’m gonna rip that cocksucker’s heart out with my bare hands. I need to get even!’

He had turned back to Domino, glaring at her. Here was a Sharky she had never seen before. Gone was the roguish smile, the rough charm. In its place was a raw power that frightened her. Stripped of any elegance, finesse, cleverness, or caution

He leaned against the wall, his knees shaking, turning to mud, his body wracked with chills, his mind teetering on the edge of insanity and bent on destruction, his strength coming from an almost carnal need for vengeance. The room began to swim around him.

He looked back at Domino.

‘Who did you tell?’

‘W-w-what?

‘Who did you tell? You told somebody about me. That’s how they knew. They were after me, goddammit. Don’t you get it? They suckered me by setting up my best friend. They told him it was all right if I came with him. Not Arch, not Papa, or Friscoe. Me.’

He jabbed his wounded hand at her. ‘You blew the whistle on me. You gave somebody my name.’

He was shaking almost uncontrollably and he began to sweat again.

‘They were gonna cut them off. Those crazy goddamn monkeys were gonna cut all my fingers off, one at a time, until I told them where you were. Can you believe that, hunh? Cut off all my fingers. Now what’s his name?’

‘Please,’ she said. She was crying hard. ‘Please, let us help you.,

‘Only one way to help me. Gimme the name. Just say it.’

His fingers pressed into her arm.

‘DeLaroza,’ she whispered. ‘Victor DeLaroza.’ It was all happening too fast. Could Donald also be part of ii? Of course — he had to be. It was Donald she had given Sharky’s name to, not DeLaroza. And yet, could there be an explanation? She needed time, time to reason it out.

Sharky began to sag, like a drunk losing control. It was almost an anticlimax, hearing it. ‘Shit,’ he said inanely. ‘Wouldn’t you know it? I never even heard of the motherfucker.’ He looked at Livingston. ‘You gotta promise me, Arch, promise me you won’t go after them without me. Tell Friscoe, tell him nobody’s stealin’ my melons this time.’

‘Sure, Shark, just take it easy.’

‘Promise me, damn it.’

‘I promise.’

‘Don’t let him flush it at roll call. Make him hold off, okay?’

‘Right.’

‘All I need.. . see, I need. . . couple hours’ sleep. .

He took a step towards Livingston and his legs went. He sagged into the black man’s arms.

‘Shit, where’s everybody going?’ he said and passed out.

When Sharky awoke the first time, Twigs was sitting by the bed with his black bag open, taking his blood pressure. Sharky looked around the room and it was filled with fog. Vaguely, faces appeared and disappeared through the mist.

What the hell you doin’ here, Twigs?’ Sharky said. ‘Am I dead?’

‘Not quite. But I can’t remember anybody recently who tried any harder.’

‘I’m okay. Just, uh. . . just . Tired?

‘Yeah, that’s it.’

‘Sure, just a little tired. In a state of shock. Blood pressure reads like a basketball score. Nothing at all.’

He took a hypodermic needle out of the bag.

‘Whatcha gonna do?’ Sharky said fuzzily.

‘Antibiotics. Also got to get a little snooze juice in you.’

‘Doandothat. . . gottastay. . . wake. ..‘

‘You got someplace to go at five in the morning?

‘Nawbdystealenm’melons...’

‘Sure.’

‘Right here, buddy.’

‘Doand. . . nuthin . . . outme. . ...‘

‘Right.’

‘Is be going to be all right?’ Domino said.

‘He’s got the constitution of a horse. Didn’t lose as much blood as I thought. Just keep him warm so he doesn’t go into shock. If he makes it until noon he’ll live forever.’

‘I’ll keep him warm,’ she said.

He felt the needle enter his arm, felt the warmth from its fluid flooding his body. The room did a Little dance for him and he faded out again.

He was dreaming. A crazy dream without form, Faces floated in and out of focus. The Nosh. The fat man on the junk. And Domino, like a face looking at him through smoke. He was on fire. And then suddenly he felt cold and began to shiver.

‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ she said, and he opened his eyes. There was only one light in the room, a lamp in the corner. He had a hard time separating light and shadow. Another chill passed over him.

‘Easy,’ she said. She was talking softly and he felt her hands moving over his body.

‘Cold,’ he said.

‘It’s alcohol,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to break your fever.’

His lips felt scorched and his throat was like dust. He could hardly swallow.

She put her hand under his head and lifted him halfway up and held a glass of cold water against his lips. He gulped at it.

‘Not too much,’ she said. She reached over to the night table, to a bowl of ice cubes, and wrapped one in a washcloth, holding it against his lips.

‘Just suck on it,’ she said, and lowered his head back to the pillow.

She poured more alcohol in her hands and spread it on his chest, .moving her hands easily and lightly over his hot skin.

He closed his eyes. The fire was going out. He could feel it leaving his body.

‘Hey,’ he said, without opening his eyes.

‘Hey,’ she said back.

‘Sorry.’

‘For what? Saving my life?’

‘Slapping you. Dumb move.’

‘Please, it’s all right.’

‘No. I think....’

The words drifted off, as thou,1 he had fallen asleep. She touched his cheek, then his forehead. He seemed cooler. She started to move away but his fingers closed on her wrist.

‘I thought you were asleep again,’ she said.

‘No. What I think. I think maybe it was jealousy.’ ‘Sharky, you don’t —,

‘You gotta understand about 1’he Nosh. He shouldn’t have even been —‘

She put her fingertips to his lips.

‘Don’t, please. Arch told me abut him. I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.’

Tears flooded her eyes and she turned her face away from him. Her throat started to close up and she knew it would be difficult to say any more.

‘Point is, gotta stop them, okay?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She leaned back towards him and the tears dribbled down her cheeks and fell on his chest. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Then he reached up and brushed them away with his thumb.

‘Don’t.’

‘I want to tell you about it. You have a right to know. It was like’ — she swallowed and wanted to stop crying but the tears kept coming — ‘it was like...’

He pulled her gently down until her cheek lay against his chest. The tears poured down over him.

‘He was very good to me. For a long time. And I felt. . . I couldn’t believe he could.. . could. .

‘All I wanted was the name. What happened. . . what was between you.. . none of my business.’

‘But I want it to be.’

‘Baby, I don’t care.’

‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘I just want it to be over. I want it to be over with them. I don’t want to see Neil again. I —‘

He rubbed her neck with a weak hand.

‘Soon.’

And he fell asleep again.

The room was dark. She had turned out the light. He reached over and felt her beside him and sighed.

‘Do you need anything?’ she said.

‘Feeling better,’ he said. ‘Just pooped. What time is it? He felt her hand cross his chest and she moved close to him. For the first time he realized they were both naked. He put his hand on top of hers.

‘Don’t worry about the time.’

‘You feel good. Soft. And warm.’

He felt her cold hand on his forehead.

‘You’ve still got a little fever,’ she said. ‘But it’s going down.’

‘Yeah.’

She moved her hand on top of his and closed her fingers around it, squeezing it. Her head moved closer to him. He could feel her hair against the side of his face and he moved it closer to her.

‘Thanks for taking care of me,’ he said.

‘Ummm.’

‘Shhh.’

‘No.’

‘Go back to sleep.’

‘I want to tell you. I, uh. . . before I flake out again.

About The Nosh. It’s okay. Everything just got screwed up.’

‘Please. Go to sleep.’

‘Yeah. That time in the market, when I first talked to you, I, uh...’

He moved his head closer to her, and lying there in the lark, he began to drift again and a moment before he fell asleep he said, ‘I love you.’

A light awakened him the next time. It was a thin shaft coming from the bathroom. He held up his wrist, but his watch was gone. Water was running. He stirred, reached out for Domino, but she was gone. Then he saw her, standing naked in the doorway of the bathroom, a washcloth in her hand.

‘Your fever broke,’ she said. ‘I’m just drying you off.’

She came to him, sat beside him, put the cold cloth on his forehead. She leaned over him, her breasts crushed against him. She kissed his throat, then his dry lips. Then she slipped into the bed beside him.

The shot was wearing off. Sharky forgot the pain in his hand, the fever, how tired he was. He put his arm around her and kissed her and she reached around and stroked his back and slid her hand down over his buttocks and drew him against her.