Tuna Tango

by Steven Becker

  Slowly, he got to his feet and staggered to the fish house.

  “Hey.”

  He jumped and turned to the voice. Kyle and Dick stood in front of him, not looking much better than he felt. Realizing that he had walked right past them, he sat down on a beam on the floor and put his head in his hands.

  It had been a long night. George had left him with Jazmyn and she had spent the night taunting him while their kidnapper had returned Sheryl to the room she’d come from. Then he had gone to bed, leaving the two of them alone.

  Jazmyn had been unrelenting for most of the night, claiming payback for the way he’d drugged her and taken her on the sailboat. Starting with a few blows to the body with the gun stock, she had swung from one personality to another, constantly keeping him off guard. One minute she was dancing for him, the next she pulled his belt off and whipped him with it. Finally, daylight changed the mood, and George appeared to break up the party.

  “What the fuck? Can you leave something left of the guy? He’s got to finish the building.”

  She turned. “I want my money and I’ll leave him alone.”

  “Shit, bitch. I’ll take it off your tab for bringing your crazy ass over here. All you girls seem to forget how much better things are here than where you came from. Don’t forget those cold winters in Russia. Look around you, and think about what you’re doing.”

  She cast one more nasty look at Will, lowered her head, and left the room.

  Will tried to regain some sense of equilibrium now that she was gone. George had startled him back to the present as he got in his face and dictated the terms of his release. He was free to go as long as he finished the fish house. Sheryl would be released as soon as the job was complete. It was that easy, he said.

  With his release imminent, he had decided not to question George’s sincerity, just get out. Now he sat in the fish house, tired from a sleepless night, probably suffering from at least one concussion and his body aching every time he tried to move. He assumed he was being watched, so going to the police, even if they would listen, was out of the question. The only thing he could do was to get to work and hope George would keep his word.

  “You guys are early,” he said.

  “Long story, but we’re here for you.” Kyle said.

  Will looked at them and decided that as unreliable as they were, it was better to have someone in his confidence than no one. So he told them about Sheryl being abducted and George’s terms. When he finished, they sat and stared at each other for several minutes, no one knowing what to say or do. The silence was broken when James came in.

  “Where do you want to start boss?” He grinned at Will and patted him on the back. “You don’t look so good.”

  Will ignored the comment and tried to concentrate on the job. “I want to set the first beam on the piles we installed yesterday.” He knew James was either working for George or Lance, but he was competent and although their means and motives differed all involved wanted the building finished.

  James nodded. “You working the underside again?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take the boys down with me. You and the other guys can work from the top.” He got up slowly. “Why don’t you measure the beam and get it cut? I’ll lay these guys out below.”

  He walked toward the door, went to the seawall, and untied the raft. Dick and Kyle followed him onto it, and he pulled it toward the two piles they had set. Once there, he hooked his tape measure over one, measured the distance between them, and called the measurement up to James. A few minutes later, he heard the saw bite through wood, and then one end of the beam appeared through the hole.

  Will supervised as Dick and Kyle set up the jacks. Kyle worked in the water, setting the steel plates to keep the posts from driving into the ground when pressure was applied, and Dick worked above, setting the jack and post up to the old floor beam. Once they were plumbed, Will started to put pressure on the old floor, slowly raising it a few inches.

  With the extra space they had created, the beam slid easily into place. The jacks were lowered and the building settled onto the new supports. All three quickly nailed everything together, and the section was complete. He was happy with the progress. With the extra help, it had taken less than an hour to set the beam—something that might have taken the entire day with just the three of them. He pulled the raft toward the seawall and they got off.

  “Take a break for a few,” he said to Dick and Kyle as he went to the building to talk to James.

  Inside, he bounced on the section of floor they had just reinforced.

  “It’s tight. That went pretty smooth. We can send the poles down to you if you want to start the new holes,” James said.

  “Give me a few. Cut them at fourteen feet and drill the tops like we did the other ones. I’ll get suited up and jet them in.” A hopeful energy had taken the place of the fatigue he had felt earlier, the progress on the building giving him hope. Even though Sheryl was still in danger, it was exhilarating to do something people said was impossible and hopefully free her in the process.

  He went to the seawall and started gearing up, giving instructions to Dick and Kyle as he readied himself for the next phase. “Go on up and help him rotate the pile when I start to jet it.”

  He pushed the platform into place, tied it off, and called up that he was ready. The pole slid through the hole and penetrated the water. As soon as he was sure it was resting on the bottom, he called up for the jet rig. They passed him the iron pipe, attached to a hose fed through the hole.

  “Turn on the pump. I’m going in,” he yelled up, and slid off the raft.

  Water shot from the one-inch pipe, moving the sand and small rocks out of the way as the pole sank deeper with every turn. Soon the pole hit bedrock, and they started on the next one. It was lunch time when he emerged from the water. Dick, Kyle, and James met him at the seawall and helped with the gear.

  “I gotta take a break,” he said, shivering. The hours in the water even with the wet suit had chilled him.

  “No problem. I can cut the poles and get the beam ready,” James said.

  Will went to the sailboat and climbed aboard. He unlocked the cabin and took a jug of water and the leftover snook onto the deck, where he sat in the sun. If he could get the beam set this afternoon, he would go back to George and demand Sheryl’s release. He finished the food and walked back to the job. James had the poles cut and the beam ready to go.

  “I’ll go below and get the jacks set,” Will said as he looked around for Dick and Kyle. “Where’d the boys go?”

  “Got me. They said they were going to get some food. That’s all I know.”

  “Oh well, hopefully they’ll be back when we’re ready to set the beam.” He turned and went to the platform, placed the jacks on its plywood deck, and pulled himself underneath. With the jacks set up, he started to go from one to the other, taking a little more pressure with each crank. The building groaned as it started to lift—a part of the process that sent chills through him.

  But he knew if he kept the pressure equal it would work.

  Slowly, the building lifted one inch, and then two. He was just about to take the final inch on the first pile when he heard something bump the raft. He fell in the water, his body smashing against one of the temporary poles on his way in.

  ***

  Dick opened his eyes and turned to Kyle as the building shook above him. He and Kyle were on the lower deck, facing the intracoastal used for unloading fish from the boats before being hoisted above. They had taken two of Will’s fishing rigs and were hand lining small snapper. Both had soon fallen asleep.

  “Shit.” Kyle dove into the water. “Come on Dick. Will’s in there.”

  Dick followed him into the water, and they swam toward the platform. But Will was nowhere to be seen.

  “Stay here and watch for him,” Kyle said as he climbed on the raft.

  Dick looked behind him, feeling something before he saw it. A dorsal fin pierced the surface, and
he scrambled for the raft.

  “It’s a shark!” Kyle yelled, pointing at it. “It must have been feeding on the tuna carcass.”

  Dick was searching the water for Will. “I don’t see him.”

  Will’s head broke the surface ten feet from the boat, and he gasped at them, “The jet!”

  The boys looked at each other as they watched the fin circle between Will and the platform.

  “The jet!” he yelled again.

  Kyle caught on and grabbed the pipe they had been using to jet the holes. He turned the valve on and water shot from the end. Directing the spray at the shark, he watched as it became disoriented and stopped swimming.

  Pete helped Will onto the platform as Kyle kept the spray of water on the shark, and as soon as he was onboard, they started frantically pulling themselves to the seawall. He looked down at Will who was passed out next to him.

  “Dude’s had a rough day. Let’s get him inside.”

  The roar of an engine going too fast through the no-wake zone startled the boys before rocking the raft with its wake.

  “That’s that prick George,” Kyle said as they moved Will onto solid ground. Both boys turned to look, and couldn’t help but notice Sheryl’s auburn hair as the boat cruised past.

  Chapter 21

  Will sat up and looked around, unsure where he was or how he had gotten here. The dim interior of the fish house slowly came into focus as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was soaking wet and remembered a loud noise and then going in the water.

  “What happened? How long was I out?”

  Dick and Kyle fumbled over each other to tell the story.

  “And you saw George heading out the pass?” Will asked when they were done.

  “Yeah. Dude was flying through the no-wake zone. Couldn’t miss him,” Dick said.

  Will’s brain was close to fully functioning now. “Anyone with him?”

  “I think he had Sheryl,” Kyle said.

  He thought for a second, “Lance keeps his boat next door. One of you go over and ask them to put it in the water. Tell them that he asked you to do some work on it. I’m going below to see what happened. Then we’re going after them. He’s only got a few minutes head start.”

  Will wanted to check the damage below to confirm his suspicions that sabotage had taken place. He could easily check it out by the time Lance’s boat would be in the water. As he pulled the raft under the building he realized that if it hadn’t been for the shark, he would have taken another crank on the jacks and been right below the beam when it fell. James was nowhere in sight, so he had been right, that he was a ringer sent in by Lance or George, to see how the work was being done. They must have booby trapped the site after he’d figured it out, to get rid of him.

  It all made sense now, but he had been so happy to have competent help that he’d overlooked the signs.

  If the beam had been cut and did not break, he knew they were trying to kill him, and that Sheryl awaited the same fate aboard George’s boat.

  The boys decided that Kyle would go next door, leaving Dick to go underneath the building with Will. They went back to the platform and pushed their way under the building. When they reached the area that had fallen, it was obvious to Will that the beam had been cut. The saw marks were fresh, unweathered like the rest of the wood. If the boys had not been there, he was sure he would be dead.

  As they pulled out of the shadows, they could see Lance’s boat gleaming in the sun as the forklift lowered it into the water. Kyle waited while the operator slid the forks out, took the bow, and held it by the seawall. Will and Dick were quickly by his side.

  “He says the keys are in it,” Kyle said.

  “Good work. I have to go to the sailboat and grab some things. You guys walk it down the dock toward the end. I’ll meet you there.”

  He took off down the dock and hopped onto the sailboat. Inside the cabin, he opened the chart table and pulled out the GPS. In seconds he was back on the dock, moving toward Lance's boat.

  They jumped down to the deck and Will got behind the wheel. He started the blower to evacuate any gas fumes from the engine compartment that could be ignited from a spark when the engine started. After thirty seconds, he turned the key. The large stern drive engine roared to life, and he wasted no time letting it warm up. He pushed off the dock and eased the left handle forward. The transmission clicked into forward and he pushed down the right lever. With a jerk, the boat jumped from the dock, almost pulling the wheel from his hands. A quick glance showed the trim tabs were out of alignment. He adjusted the port side and the boat straightened out.

  In minutes, they were past Sand Key and into the open Gulf. Will glanced at the rpm gauge, which was pegged right at the red zone, and backed off the speed slightly. It would do no good to blow the engine. The needle dropped into the green and he glanced at the speedometer. At 40 knots, the Middle Grounds were only two hours away.

  “Hey, Kyle. Take the wheel for a minute,” he yelled over the engine. Kyle shot him a who me look, but tentatively moved toward him. Will kept a hold on the helm until he was sure Kyle had a grip on it. Letting the wheel loose at this speed could result in the boat turning sharply and possibly flipping.

  As he moved out of the way, he yelled in Kyle’s ear, “Just keep the same course!”

  He stepped aside and watched as the boy got the feel for the boat. A smile soon crossed Kyle’s worried face, and Will turned toward the GPS. The unit fired up and he waited as it acquired the satellites necessary to calculate their position. After several minutes, the screen changed and showed their location, bearing, and speed.

  He sat down on the bench seat and started to scroll through the screens, finally settling on the waypoint page. There he pressed one that he remembered as being in the cluster he had plotted several nights ago, and waited as the computer calculated the course. The bearing said 285, and he glanced at the compass mounted by the wheel.

  Then he stood up and took the wheel from Kyle, moving it to the right and waiting as the boat changed course. When it settled at 285, he showed Kyle the compass and told him to hold the course.

  There was no need to drive as long as Kyle could hold the course and speed. The Gulf was wide open and obstruction free, unlike the Keys, where you had to know the waters to avoid the shallows and shoals. He glanced over to check the course, and looked at the other instruments. A digital depth finder showed the bottom to be thirty feet under the hull. It would gradually deepen from here—no need to worry about shallow water. With the GPS showing the boat arriving at the waypoint in seventy-five minutes, he sat down to figure out what to do when they found them.

  He figured George would run close to the course they were on. Just as he went to check the GPS again, he saw a boat on the horizon. It was too far away to know for sure, but the profile was similar to George’s.

  He took the wheel from Kyle, eased the throttle slightly, and changed course for the boat. As they closed the distance, he had no doubt it was George’s. But what was he doing here? This was miles from the Middle Grounds and the bluefin water he fished.

  He slowed even more, veering off the collision course they were on. It would do no good to threaten him before he could come up with a plan. The details on the boat soon became visible. Two figures, one of them surely George, were huddled at the transom, staring at one of the engines tilted out of the water. Will suspected they had entangled the prop in some debris, or were having engine trouble, but the boat was drifting.

  Sheryl was not visible, though, and he moved closer as he searched the deck for her. The men saw him approach.

  They started to wave him over and it took him a minute to figure out that they thought he was Lance. With an excuse to close the gap further, he idled toward the drifting boat, only wanting to get close enough to see if Sheryl was there.

  “Get down!” he called to Kyle and Dick. “I don’t want him to see anyone with me.” He started to circle the boat. With each pass, he closed the gap. She was
still nowhere to be seen, but he was close enough to see the bare shaft on the lower unit of the engine. Somehow they had lost a propeller and he remembered Kyle’s story of untangling the fishing line. Somehow in the process the cotter pin must have come loose. The boat was crippled, not able to reach anywhere near its top speed with only one engine. Twin outboards were synced together, their propellers opposing each other to make the boat run true. With only one engine, George would only be able to make 15 knots, and have to fight the wheel the whole time to hold course. Will could easily keep an eye on the boat until the authorities arrived.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Will heard the scream from George across the fifty yards separating them. “Where’s Sheryl?” he screamed back.

  “You mean that bitch of yours? She’s right here.” George leaned into the cabin and came back with his hand full of auburn hair. Sheryl was forced onto the deck. “Here she is. What are you going to do about it?”

  Will was shocked speechless. He looked around the well-appointed cockpit, but there was nothing close to resembling a weapon. “Check the cabin. See if there is anything down there,” he said to Kyle.

  Kyle reappeared and shook his head.

  Will reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, planning on circling the crippled boat to keep him here until help could arrive. But the screen showed no service, which meant he would have to get closer to shore. With George’s limited speed and decreased maneuverability, he should have the advantage, and started to move back and forth on the seaward side of the boat.

  George went to the helm. The maneuver was forcing him to move or risk a possible collision of which Lance’s larger boat would be the winner. Will moved closer with each pass until George started the remaining motor and turned to shore. He felt like a sheepdog herding sheep as he crisscrossed George’s wake, moving the slower boat in the direction he wanted. The shoreline soon became visible, and Will thought about his options.