Thomas Prescott Superpack (82 page)

Of course, the only person who didn’t like the plan was Gilroy. He said, “That plan is shit. Why do I have to carry you?”

I said, “You’re the only one who can do it. Frank will pass out halfway up the walkway.”

Frank nodded. “There’s no way.”

“Why don’t you carry
me
,” spat Gilroy.

Now I was strong. But, the odds of my carrying Gilroy’s 260 pounds up a 120 foot incline ramp were about as good as Mike Tyson winning the Nobel Prize.

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

It appeared to appease him that he could do something I couldn’t. At that precise moment, the door opened and Little Wayne returned. I watched out of my peripheral as he reported his findings to Tupac. From his body language, I inferred he was saying, “I didn’t find Swahiliahishisi,” and not, “I found Swahiliahishisi and half his face has been steam pressed.”

That was our green light.

DISTRICT 9
12:09
a.m.

They had been playing Hangman for the last couple hours. Rikki couldn’t believe how smart the little guy was. He’d guessed correctly on
Afrikaans, Captain,
and even
Star Wars
. But two hours of Hangman was about her limit and her mind was starting to wander. To her attack. She could only imagine what would have happened if
he
hadn’t shown up. Would she be dead right now? Or even worse, she might still be alive. She couldn’t bear to think about living a single second after that man had been inside her. The idea made her shudder in horror. But she wasn’t dead. He was. She thought about Thomas. About those blue eyes that looked like two pieces of sapphire. His hard body; the muscles long and lithe. His smell, an intoxicating musk. She’d been with many men, she collected them much like she collected books, and Thomas had been a first edition Mark Twain. The second she’d laid eyes on him that night in the club, she’d instantly craved him. He was different than the other men aboard the ship, the rich banker from Austria, the real estate mogul from Hungary, the tall oiler from Georgia. They just expected her to jump at the chance to sleep with them. But Thomas had been so aloof, as if he didn’t even know every woman in the club had cut their eyes at him as he sat down at the bar.

Then after their night, their amazing night, he had come knocking on her door the next day. She’d wanted to answer, but she also didn’t want to ruin the perfect memory. To find out that he was the same as the others, some accountant, and forever tarnish the delicious memory.

But he wasn’t an accountant. The way he’d killed the pirate, the way he’d handled the gun, the way he moved. She felt another shudder. This one pleasant.

“How about we try something else?” she said to Bheka.

He shrugged.

“Why don’t we go see what’s going on up there.”

He shook his head disapprovingly.

“We’ll just take a peek. You said yourself that you’ve been up there before.” And that’s all she intended to do. Take a quick peek around. See what all the hubbub was about. Maybe see Thomas.

“I think we should stay here.”

“Do you?”

Bheka nodded.

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna take a peek.”

Rikki nodded to Baxter, who was asleep on the table and said, “”Watch him.” She walked towards the door, then realized she needed a card to open it. She smiled at Bheka and said, “He took the card didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“But you’ve got another one.” She eyed him. “Don’t you?”

He shook his head. But he was smiling. She ran towards him, then started tickling him until he finally gave up its location in his back pocket.

A moment later, she ran the card through the reader and eased the door open.

Bheka came up
beside her holding the sleeping pug like a football and said, “Just a peek, then we’re going back down.”

She nodded.

SHOW LOUNGE
12:12
a.m.

I started coughing. Just once. Then another. Then another. Then two together. Then a series of three. Then a string of five.

I pushed myself out of my chair and stumbled past Lacy, Susie, and Frank, meanwhile coughing up a storm, then falling into the walkway. The plan was for me to lie there for a long minute, hacking away, then Gilroy would come and pick me up and carry me up to the pirates with a concerned look on his face. I would continue to cough as though no man has ever coughed before, until said time when I would pull the gun out and give each of the pirates a third eye. As I’d already been lying there for going on two minutes and my throat was starting to hurt from my forced hacks, I wondered why I wasn’t being hefted up in the massive arms of Gilroy Andrews.

I opened one eye and peered up. Gilroy was still in his seat. I looked at Lacy. She shrugged with her face. Then I watched as she leaned forward. I could almost hear her whisper into Gilroy’s ear, “Stand up you prick and go pick him up.”

Whatever she said had no effect. I guess he’d had a change of heart. I made a mental note to kick him in the balls if I didn’t get myself killed in the next minute. Which without his help, would be more than likely.

I could feel a hundred heads glancing in my direction, praying for me to shut up.

I pushed myself up with a groan and gazed up at the pirates. They were both staring at me, but they seemed more entertained than anything else. I braced myself with the nearest chair, which was one chair from where Gilroy sat, and continued hacking away. Gilroy looked at me with a deadpan expression as if to say, “I don’t take orders from God himself, let alone your little twink ass.”

But I wasn’t a Twink. I was a Bear.

I leaned forward and let loose the mother of all gut wrenching—spittle flying—mucus enriched—almost on the verge of puking—15 mph—coughs directly into Gilroy’s face and said, “Pussy.”

He whipped his head around, but I didn’t get to see his face—which I’m sure looked a lot like when that Ghostbuster got slimed in the first movie—as I was already on the move. Still coughing away, and more or less doubled over, I started up the lengthy incline. I could feel the heaviness of the gun in my waistband. I should mention when I was a detective in Seattle I’d been a decent enough shot—not one of those standouts who could put it between the perp’s eyes every time—but my paper man’s face and chest usually resembled a block of Swiss cheese. But the shooting range was one thing. Real life was another. Now, without the aid of Gilroy, I had a feeling the two pirates would be a bit more circumspect if I tried to get any closer than twenty feet. That meant I had maybe one second to get the gun out of my waist and get off two shots. Two kill shots. If I didn’t stop these guy’s hearts with one bullet, I was going to end up looking like a
Connect 4
board.

As I gingerly made my way up the incline, hundreds of eyes bore into me as I walked. Some
of the eyes urged me on. Some begged me to go back. Others were disconnected, like a TV whose cord has been yanked from the wall.

I made sure my breathing was labored. I squinted my eyes. I licked my lips. I wanted these idiots to think I was barely holding on. That I didn’t have the strength to put up much of a fight, if it did indeed come to that. When I was thirty feet from the pirates, both reached for their guns. I thought about abandoning the mission, but it wasn’t like I could just turn around and walk back down. I had a friggin’ gun stuffed down the back of my pants.

I took five or six more strides, then stopped. The pirates had each taken a hesitant step forward and there was less than ten feet separating us. Both had their guns dangling at their sides, barrels pointed at the ground, fingers on the triggers.

Tupac barked, “What you want?”

I’d planned on this being the last words the pirate ever spoke. I reached behind my back.

≈

When they reached the back of the stage, Baxter’s eyes snapped open. He wiggled, flipped, and flopped his way out of Bheka’s grip. There was a sliver of light poking through where the curtains met in the middle and Baxter darted in that direction. Rikki ran after him. Just before reaching the curtain, Baxter stopped short, turned around, and shot through Rikki’s legs causing her to lose her footing. As Baxter headed back down the stairs, Bheka chasing after him, Rikki was reeling towards the curtain.

≈

As my fingers wrapped around the barrel of the gun, both pirates’ faces dropped. But they weren’t looking at me. They were looking over my shoulder.

I released my grip on the gun and looked over my shoulder. Splitting the curtains, on all fours, frozen like a wedding ice sculpture, was Rikki.

Before I could react, Tupac had pulled the radio from his belt and began talking into it excitedly. Little Wayne rushed past me and down toward the stage. I thought about pulling the gun and popping two shots into the back of his head, then taking out Tupac, but if he’d relayed his message about Rikki, then this party was about to get a whole lot bigger real fast. I decided my best bet, my only bet, was to get back in my seat as quickly as possible.

I let loose one last cough, pulled my shirt out, fluffed it—hoping it would cover the gun—then turned and started down the walkway. If Tupac noticed the outline of the gun, or that after
two steps, I had miraculously recovered from my tuberculosis as if touched by the hand of God, he let it slide.

As I made my way down the decline, I watched as Rikki tried desperately to get back behind the curtain. But she couldn’t find the opening and when she finally did, it was too late. Little Wayne clasped his hand on her shoulder and whipped her around. Her face was ashen. I watched as her eyes scanned the many faces staring at her, then found their way to mine. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. I thought I saw her mouth, “Sorry,” but I didn’t want to look directly at her. I didn’t want the pirates to connect the two of us.

Little Wayne pulled her off the stage.

I didn’t want the gun on me when this party doubled in size, so I continued coughing and pushed into the bathroom. I pulled the gun from my waist and looked for a place to hide it. I thought about hiding the gun in one of the toilet tanks, but there weren’t any tanks.

There was a paper towel dispenser, one of the automatic ones, against the far wall, and I appraised it. I wondered if I could hide the gun inside it. But I couldn’t even figure out how to open the thing. I had decided just to go back to my seat and hide the gun under my chair when the door to the bathroom opened.

“What you doing?”

My back was to the door, but I could tell it was Tupac. He hadn’t forgotten about me after all. I held the gun close to my chest with my left hand. I could have turned around and shot him, but there was a decent chance he had his gun leveled at my back this very second. And if I was somehow able to kill him, then I would be killed soon after by any number of pirates that were in route to the show lounge this very moment.

I moved my left hand near the paper towel dispenser. It whirred and six inches of paper towel appeared. I waved my hand again. Then coughing, I ripped the foot of paper towel off, then coughed hard three times while wrapping the gun in the paper towel. Then I sidestepped a foot to the trashcan and pushed the gun through the opening. I waited for a loud clunk, but it never came. There was enough padding from past paper towels to cushion the gun’s fall into a soft thud, one that I hoped the pirate was unable to hear beneath my ragged coughing.

I turned around, wiped my forearm over my mouth and said, “I had to go to the bathroom.”

Tupac leveled his gun at me and cocked his head to the side. I think he knew I was full of shit and could tell he was deciding whether or not to just get rid of me then and there.

He waved the gun at me and yelled, “Ged out!”

He kept the gun trained on me as I moved past him, pushing through the doors.

I plopped down next to Lacy, who probably hadn’t taken a breath since she’d watched the pirate walk into the bathroom, and patted her leg.

J.J. said, “What do we do now?”

I shook my head. I had no idea.

The door to the bathroom opened and Tupac emerged. He wasn’t holding an extra gun, so I assumed he hadn’t gone through the trash. He joined Little Wayne who was holding a kicking and screaming Rikki near the entrance.

Moments later, the doors opened and five men walked through. The Professor, the Warlord, Ganju, and two pirates.

The Warlord appraised Rikki. He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her top lip with his finger and smiled at the sight of the small jewel. He looked at the Professor and nodded. Both smiled. Then they dragged Rikki from the room.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC

1103 HOURS

The Boeing E-6 Mercury operates as an airborne command and communications center. Adapted from the Boeing 707 commercial airliner, the E-6 Mercury is half the size of a football field, but with all the electronics equipment on board, the capacity is just 23 passengers. As the gray hull of the large Mercury cut through the night sky above the Atlantic Ocean at 500 miles per hour, it carried only nine passengers. Nine very important passengers.