The Laughing Falcon (49 page)

Voices were drowned by the aircraft, stationary above them, Slack saw the logo of NBC News painted on it. He shouted to Frank above the din of its engine. “Shoot it!”

“The helicopter?” Frank hadn’t seen the crocodile.

Elmer tried to boost himself into the Zodiac but fell back, blinded by the copter’s searchlight. Slack jumped into the launch and grabbed the revolver from Frank’s hand, motioning to him to run to safety.

The croc’s eyes were above the waterline for a moment, then it disappeared, diving for Elmer’s legs. Slack fired, Elmer cowering below him, his face starkly lit, and whiter yet with fear, he assumed he was the target. Slack emptied the chamber, the tail thrashing now, a darkening of the water, blood. The copter pilot gunned it, sped to safety over the house.

Suddenly, the beast rose from the water, swivelling sideways, a flash of long white belly, its tail and claws fiercely spanking the water, majestic in its appalling death throes. Elmer, gasping, finally made it onto the Zodiac.

Slack retrieved the duffle bags and hurried to the house, calling back to Frank: “Look after Elmer. Where’s our boat?”

He pointed down the trail, the path cut by Slack.

The NBC copter was making another wide circle, drowning Elmer’s shouts: “Down here, asshole! Take me outta here!” How had a news crew got here so fast? Those Ticos at the dock, probably none of them had been able to keep their mouths shut, the broadcast media had been offering rewards for timely tips.

In the house, the candle stub at Halcón’s feet was struggling, barely holding its flame. Glo had gone limp with the release of tension, but Maggie still seemed stressed, her limbs stiff.

He drew his knife, carefully slicing through the tape that bound their wrists, rapidly relating to them the cause of the turbulence outside. “You’re going to have to boot it, Johnny, network news is about to descend on us. I cut a trail through the bush, we have a boat waiting for you there, plenty of gas.” He separated the last strands of tape and their hands came free.

A roar of engine from the canal brought Slack to the window. He saw a high wake behind the fleeing Zodiac, Elmer was eloping, Frank standing by helplessly, his gun empty. But there’d be nowhere safe for Elmer to hide, Walker’s Rangers might want to run him down, too, maybe with a tank.

Halcón and Glo were on their feet now, pulling the tape from their mouths. Glo worked the stiffness from her face, then whooped a rebel yell. Maggie, still seated, was staring up at Slack, hardly moving a muscle.

“You okay?”

She nodded, slowly manoeuvred her hands to her face, began picking at the tape with her fingernails. As Slack bent
to help, Glo sprung at him like a cat, took him off his feet as she planted a wet kiss on his lips. Slack winced.

“Oh, shit, sorry, honey, you’re hurting.”

Halcón’s first of act of freedom was to light a cigarette, he was smiling, not rushing off anywhere. “You are bleeding,
maje
. You must seek attention.”

“I lost some rear padding, that’s all.”

“Let me take off that diaper.” Glo peeled away his shirt first, it was clinging to him, the blood congealing. Then she tugged at his belt, unzipping his fly.

He clamped his hands to her wrists. “I’m okay.”

“Johnny, get the first-aid kit.”

The helicopter clattered by again, lower this time, still looking for a spot to set down. “Get going, Johnny, where there’s press there’ll soon be cops.”

Slack grabbed at his undershorts as Glo wrestled his pants off. “Over there, bashful, on the cot, assume the usual position.”

He stretched out on it, unresisting now as Glo slipped his briefs down, studying his ass. Halcón handed her gauze and bandages from the emergency kit.

“I don’t understand this, Slack, you are letting me escape?” Halcón seemed more confused than pleased. “But I know who you are now, from Gloria-May, you are a police agent. Why are you doing this?”

“Take the money, you earned it.”

Halcón’s mouth was agape. “But I cannot believe this.”

“I’ll ask the courts to deduct it from Chester’s alimony,” said Glo as she finished dressing the wound. She handed Slack some clean clothes, jeans and a shirt.

“Take the money and run, Johnny. That’s the deal we made, we’re not going to let Chuck welsh on it. You can forget about the plane, though, that’s a set-up.”

“As I suspected. The good people of Cinco de Mayo are waiting by a river landing with a vehicle.”

“You going to look after them?”

“Of course.” Halcón picked up just one duffle bag. “The rest of the money is yours, Jacques.”

“Give it to Greenpeace. It would only be wasted on Walker’s lawyers, he’s going to need a few.”

“I am not thinking, of course you could not easily hide the money from them. I will find a more discreet way to thank you.” Retrieving a pen, Halcón wrote a name and phone number on an empty Derby pack. Mendez, it read, Panama City. “He is a trusted contact, use a safe phone.”

The candle had gone out now, but Glo had found a flashlight, and was beaming it at Maggie, still on the floor, slowly and carefully peeling the tape from her mouth. “Honey, get up, don’t just sit there, let me help you with that.”

Maggie was staring hard at Slack, he thought she was trying to communicate something, but he had to focus all his attention on getting Halcón out of here. He heard a distant thrumming out on the canal, it sounded like boat engines.

Halcón took Glo’s hand. “Come,
mi amor
, the night has not many hours left.”

“Whoa,” Slack said. “She’s staying.”

Glo shook her head. “It’s been right nice knowing y’all, Slack.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Halcón shrugged helplessly. “I am now the prisoner.”

Slack saw a softness in his eyes, not quick and darting now, but distant and hazy. Maybe he should have guessed, Halcón had been prepared to give away the entire ransom for Glo, the loot had been in the Suzuki, Johnny could have grabbed the keys, blown Maggie a kiss, and driven off with it.

“You been out in the moonlight too long, Glo?” Slack asked.

“I’m not sure what hit me, maybe a gamma ray burster.”

“You are
going
with him?”

“He’s a Sagittarius.”

Slack found that answer insufficient. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Hell, I’ve finally come to my senses, I have a life all of a sudden. Y’all don’t suppose I’m going back to Chester and what passes for
his
life? Didn’t I hear he was planning my funeral?”

“I will escort them,” said Frank. He was outside the door, he’d been watching this interplay, fascinated.

“Two seconds,” said Glo. She bent to Maggie’s forehead and kissed it, then began whispering in her ear as she peeled the last of the tape from her mouth.

The noises from outside grew louder. Slack looked out, an entire
son et lumière
seemed to be advancing up the lagoon, an invading force of launches. “All aboard, anyone who’s going. In ten minutes, it’s going to be like Mardi Gras around here.”

Glo kissed Maggie on the lips, gave her a fist, said, “Go for it, baby,” then took Halcón’s hand and followed him out the door.

Halcón paused, took Slack’s hand. “Until God brings us together,
maje. Adiós.”

“Buena suerte.”

On the stairs, Halcón received Frank Sierra cordially, with a bow of respect to the man who had so long and doggedly pursued him. As they hurried down the trail, they were laughing, maybe at some old private joke. Glo turned and blew Slack a kiss. “Good luck, lover,” she called.

Maggie was still sitting, she hadn’t moved an inch.

“You paralyzed? What’s wrong?”

“Scorpion.” She barely breathed the word.

T
he gruesome little beast had been on the rafters, where Maggie had been watching it sporadically for the last hour, seeking to distract herself, to focus on a lesser horror than her own impending death. Several minutes ago it had dropped, alighting with a soft plopping sound on her shoulder before finding refuge under her T-shirt, between the Pura and the Vida.

“Don’t just stand there,” she whispered.

He lit a fresh candle, knelt and inspected the bulge made by tail and stinger curled to strike. From outside, she could hear boat horns, shouts.

“The preferred approach is to grab it from beneath the tail while praying.” He plucked the trespasser between two fingers, drawing it from her skin by pinching a tent in the T-shirt. “This is nothing. I had one land on me in bed, a damn mother, covered with her babies, about a hundred of them.”

“Get rid of that thing.”

“We haven’t a strong case against the perpetrator; we have to let him go. I’m dealing with guilt enough. I executed a beautiful animal out there, a crocodile. I’m afraid you’re going to have to slip out of that shirt.”

“I’m beyond modesty.”

While he held the pulsing little creature, she raised her arms and slid free of the shirt. As he bore it outside, she took a deep breath,
struggled up on rubbery legs, and made her way to the bedroom, selecting a shirt and pants from the pile of clothes.

Slack stayed outside, his back to her while she changed. He was staring out at the flotilla approaching the shore: a dozen boats, a pontoon barge bearing a TV truck that bristled with antennae and transmitters.

Finally came the question she was dreading: “Why didn’t you wait for me in Limón?”

He probably thought she had been completely irrational. “I’m sorry, I panicked. Jericho was going to kill Glo if Halcón didn’t return with the money in two hours.”

“You were thinking with your heart, not your head.”

She must find words to thank him for his heroic acts, his kindnesses — though maybe words were not enough. “I think that sweet hunk has the hots for you,” Glo had whispered, “so go watch some damn birds with him, take the sunset cruise.” Maggie’s parting words were briefer: “Sisters in spirit forever, Glo.”

She joined Slack at the railing. The barge was nudging its way to shore; the smaller boats were jostling for rights to the two-log dock.

“You know where Halcón is taking her?” he asked.

“He said something about returning to the Andes. They both like to ski. What are we going to tell the press?”

“We stall them, give Bonnie and Clyde enough lead time.”

“Slack, you could be in a really bad spot. I’ll say I sneaked off with Halcón, okay? I gave him the ransom and you came later.”

“Hell, no.”

The helicopter had landed not far away; she could hear the engine throttling down. Another now appeared overhead, low and menacing, spearing them in its spotlight. “That’ll probably be Bakerfield,” Slack said.

She followed him inside, where he lit a few kerosene lamps, then poked among some bottles on a shelf, finding a half-filled
quart of
guaro
. He poured a generous ounce in a glass and took a swallow, then suddenly turned to her. “I have something to tell you. I’ve rehearsed various ways to say this, and I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble conveying what I feel, but … well, I admire you.”

That seemed not the verb he was really seeking. She waited in tense silence for elaboration.

“Maggie, I’m going to say this, and it’s not easy — in fact it’s damned scary, and maybe for you it’s phenomenally awkward news. But I’m developing a thing about you.” He drained his glass. “A fairly heavy thing.”

“A thing … well, that’s flattering.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“I was bowled over when we first met that time outside the Darkside; you were so damn tough and beautiful and caring … I read all your books, and I know I’m not your type; you like clean-shaven patricians with tuxedos and Ph.D.s. Or law degrees … forget I said that. Anyway, God knows how, but it happened. End of subject. We have visitors.”

From behind her came a ruckus: loud voices, feet stomping up the stairs. Her mind was still absorbing Slack’s “fairly heavy thing” as she turned, and she collided with a chair, almost falling over it. Before she steadied herself, several flashbulbs blinded her, and she realized — in a moment of crushed vanity — that tomorrow she would be looking ridiculous on the front page of the
Saskatoon Star-Phoenix
.

Within ten minutes, at least thirty media persons had filed inside; the house sagged dangerously with their weight and was loud with gabble and shouted questions. “What happened to the kidnappers?” “Where’s Gloria-May?”

Many of the reporters seemed to know him — he had been the source of many caustic sound bites. A grinning Ed Creeley shook their hands. “Bolshevik, eh? You should get the bullshit-artist award, Slack. What the fuck’s going on here? We got a
whole bunch of eyewitness accounts that Halcón was seen boating up this way with a woman.”

“Okay, folks, I’ll say this slowly so you can catch every word: the kidnapping was engineered by Senator Chester Walker; he set the whole damn thing up.”

That was met with a sudden shocked silence while Slack calmly poured another two fingers of
guaro
. “Chuck also hired a drug dealer by the name of Elmer Jericho to murder his wife. That contract was not completed, Ms. Walker is safe, and Jericho is at this moment on his way to an airfield. That’s my opening statement. Maggie?”