Now what?
For a moment—and only a moment—he saw the image of the snorkeler firing a spear into the dummy that was supposed to be Webb. It was enough to tempt Webb to send a spear into one of the snorkeler’s legs.
But it wasn’t a serious temptation. Webb wouldn’t shoot someone from behind. He was sure he didn’t even want to shoot the snorkeler. The spear gun, he told himself, was for self-defense.
Still, the rage burned inside him.
Webb closed in on the snorkeler and used his paddle to bang the back of the snorkeler’s head.
That’s all it took.
The snorkeler rolled over as Webb continued past him in the kayak, positioning himself between the snorkeler and the escape boat. Although he was easily out of reach of the snorkeler, he now had his back to the man. So Webb planted his paddle in the water and gave a reverse thrust to spin the kayak around.
He heard a thunk and felt a vibration.
Then felt disbelief.
There was a huge commando knife stuck squarely into the kayak, just below the waterline.
The kayak’s momentum pushed the front of the kayak directly at the snorkeler, who was now standing in the waist-deep water.
Webb glanced at the knife and back at the snorkeler.
Webb was still safely out of range of the snorkeler’s arms. He was at least forty feet away.
Webb lifted the spear gun.
“I’m going to tell myself you were throwing the knife at my kayak,” Webb said, “and not at me. Because I’m not sure you want me to be any angrier than I am right now.”
Webb raised the spear gun and pointed it at the snorkeler.
“You don’t have the guts,” the snorkeler said. He pulled off his mask. Jack England. “You’re just a kid.”
Webb fired.
TWENTY-FOUR
The spear sizzled through the air in a slight arc, flashing sunlight for a brief moment.
It was Webb’s javelin of fury.
It missed Jack England by at least five feet and hissed into the water behind him.
England laughed. He took a half step toward Webb.
Webb yanked the knife from the kayak and instantly realized that was a mistake. Water gushed into the hole.
England laughed again and took another step.
“I want you to think about your situation,” England said. “If you want to use the knife on me, you’re going to have to put the paddle down. Which I’ll take. Or if you try to hit me with the paddle, I’ll yank it from your hands. Either way, I’ll have the better weapon.”
Webb paddled backward, trying to keep distance between him and England.
“And if you keep going,” England said, “either my boat is going to trap you, or you’ll give me a path to the boat and I’m gone.”
Webb pulled up his iPhone and pointed it at England.
“Wow,” England said. “I’m scared.”
He advanced on Webb.
Webb glanced back. The boat was too far away. England was thirty feet in front of him. To take more video of England, he’d have to sit where he was. To paddle the slowly sinking kayak, he’d have to give up the chance to video. And England was right. If Webb stayed between England and the boat, Webb would be trapped. If Webb paddled to freedom, England was gone.
Webb gave a few hard paddles back toward the boat. As the kayak drifted, he picked up the iPhone again and hit Video.
“This footage will show that you were the snorkeler who fired at the dummy in the kayak,” Webb said.
“Absolutely,” England said. “It was great target practice. My name is Jack England, and I saw a dummy in a kayak and shot it with my spear gun.”
“You didn’t know it was a dummy,” Webb said.
“Convince a judge of that,” England said. He took a few more steps. They were awkward steps because of his flippers, but each step took him closer to Webb.
Now Webb was thirty feet from the boat behind him, and England was only twenty feet away. But at least Webb had both hands to paddle.
He threw the iPhone at England. It bounced off the man’s shoulder and splashed.
“Idiot,” England said.
“You wanted me and my grandfather on the charter boat that sank,” Webb said. “Right?”
“Kid, really? You think I’m going to make some grand confession? Should have kept the iPhone to record it.”
“You wanted us out of the way, right?” Webb said. “You’re the one who used the nanny cam on Jonathan Greene, and you were afraid of what we’d learn.”
“Sure,” England said. “You happy? It won’t do you any good. When I get in the boat, I’m going to run you down in your sinking kayak, because you won’t get too far no matter how hard you paddle. So even if you have something in there like one of my cameras to record this conversation, I’ll find it after I take care of you.”
“You loosened the clamps on the seacock on the boat that sank,” Webb said. That had been Robbie’s guess. Robbie was the guide who’d taken the charter boat out instead of England. A seacock was a valve in the hull that was always supposed to be closed except when the boat was out of the water. “You disconnected the bilge pump and the bilge-pump alarm so the boat would fill with water and no one would notice until it was too late…right?”
Robbie said that’s what he would have done if he wanted the boat to sink.
“I didn’t want to drown you and your grandfather,” England said. “You’d have been wearing life jackets. But something like that would have kept you out of my way for a day or two. And by then Greene would have been dead. I was worried about what he was writing down for you. I couldn’t pick it up on the nanny cam.”
Webb had kept paddling backward. Maybe twenty feet to England’s anchored boat. Maybe ten feet between him and England. Webb would have to try to make his escape soon. But could he out-paddle a motorboat? Could he reach shallow water before the boat tore through his kayak?
“The nanny cam. Right,” Webb said. “That was yours on the bedside table. Yvonne Delta finally got him to tell her about the diamonds, but you went first and took them before she could. Because she didn’t know you were recording all the conversations.”
That would explain why Yvonne Delta had shown no reaction to the nanny cam. She’d had no idea what it was. Or that Jack England had beat her to the diamonds’ hiding place.
The kayak was still taking on water. Webb wasn’t going to be able to move it to avoid an attack.
“What does this matter to you?” England asked. “Let me tell you something. When I didn’t know it was a dummy in the kayak, I aimed left to take you in the shoulder. I just wanted you injured enough to either give me the diamonds or tell me where they were. But now, I think I’ll run you over with the propellers of my boat. I can always say it was an accident if anyone ever proves it was me who hit you.”
Ten feet to the boat, and ten feet between Webb and England.
Webb had little choice. England was correct. If Webb tried to use the knife, England would get the paddle. England was a far larger man. Webb wouldn’t have a chance.
Webb made the choice.
He scooted the kayak away from the boat, giving England a clear path. He could feel the kayak lag with the water that had already filled it. There was enough Styrofoam in the kayak to keep it afloat no matter what, but as it filled with water, it would become clumsy and slow.
“How did you know that Yvonne was blackmailing him?” Webb asked.
England snorted. “One night when I went over to give him a report, I overheard her grilling him. That’s when I set up the camera. Let me tell you, it was worth it. That first batch of diamonds has got to be worth a half million.”
“Not to you,” Webb said. He was safely out of reach now and well away from the boat. “It’s all going to go to Operation Smile. Where Jonathan Greene wanted it to go.”
England said, “Idiot.”
“Maybe. Just so you know, I missed you on purpose with the spear gun. Sh
ooting you wasn’t part of the plan. But I thought if I missed, you’d think it was the best I had. That you would be overconfident and tell me stuff.”
“Overconfident?”
“The plan was to put my kayak into water so shallow you’d have no choice but to kayak or snorkel to sneak up on it. My grandfather and I just wanted to know if it was you who had planted the nanny cam. The plan was to follow you back to the boat at a safe distance and have a conversation just like this.”
“So I could mow you down with the boat after I got in it? Like I said. You’re an idiot.”
“Maybe not,” Webb said. “There was another part to the plan. We wanted someone to listen to whatever you and I talked about.”
England froze as there was movement on the boat. Of someone suddenly stepping onto the deck from below. Someone with a cell phone in one hand and a long fishing gaff in the other. It was Robbie, the resort’s other fishing guide, the man with the mermaid tattoo.
“Jack,” Robbie said in a conversational tone, “why don’t you stay in the water for a while? I’m more than a little angry about you sending me out into the Gulf Stream in a boat you knew was going to sink, so I won’t hesitate to hit you with this fish hook if you try to get in the boat. But you won’t have to wait that long. I’ve got the Coast Guard on the way. And while we wait, maybe you can explain more about the diamonds the police found in your home about a half hour ago?”
TWENTY-FIVE
“When they brought your piece of cake, what did you wish for?” David asked Webb, who was taking his last bite of the chocolate dessert.
“That they’d only bring the cake and no one would embarrass me by singing,” Webb said. The two of them were at Mickey’s Sandbar restaurant, just before the Battle of the Bands.
David grinned. “I’m just glad you’re safe. It’s also nice to know that Jonathan’s wish will be fulfilled when the police return the diamonds to Operation Smile.”
Webb nodded. “And that second set, maybe it will never be found. But after this, you can bet people are going to be looking everywhere for it.”
“Or maybe next year we could come back and look ourselves. I enjoy my time with you.”
“And me with you, Grandpa,” Webb said. “BBE.”
“Huh?”
“This trip. Best birthday ever.”
“Well, make it better,” David said. “Go out there and break a leg. I’ll be cheering for you. If you win, that will be rocking cool.”
“Um…”
“Yes?” David said.
“Thanks,” Webb said. He’d just used the phrase BBE. That was probably no different than someone his grandfather’s age saying rocking cool. “I’m pretty motivated.”
* * *
“You gonna burn, burn, burn, burn, burn to the wick. Oooh, barracuda…”
Barracuda, Webb thought, rubbing his arm where the stitches tugged against his skin. A ferocious predator that relies on surprise to take down prey.
Kristie’s singing of the final words to the song reached Webb clearly where he was standing with a group of people at the bottom of the steps behind the outdoor stage near Mickey’s Sandbar, which had sponsored the Battle of the Bands. The sun had set, but it was still hot. The slight breeze felt great to Webb.
Webb was wearing his Edmonton Eskimos T-shirt again. He had an electric guitar strapped to his shoulders. It wasn’t plugged in, so as he ran through chords and arrangements, it made little noise. On the other side of the stage, the audience whistled and cheered after the final guitar riffs of “Barracuda.” It lasted a full minute. That was a good sign for Kristie. Crowd reaction was one of the ways that the judges decided who would win the battle.
The lyrics of the song matched his new understanding of Kristie. No right, no wrong…you lying so low in the weeds I bet you gonna ambush me…
Moments later Kristie walked down the steps, followed by her lead guitarist, the guy with attitude named Sylas Grobell, who had told Webb to get lost the last time they met.
Kristie stepped onto the sand. There was enough light from the stage that she saw his face. She paused.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” Webb answered in a flat voice, thinking of the song’s beginning.
So this ain’t the end, I saw you again, today I had to turn my heart away.
Kristie was a real barracuda. In disguise. At least with the first barracuda he’d faced in Florida, the danger was obvious. Razor teeth did a lot less damage than someone’s deception.
If the real thing don’t do the trick, you better make up something quick.
“Sylas,” Kristie said, “stay with me, okay?”
Sylas stayed at her side and glared at Webb. “You again.”
“Me again,” Webb said.
“I should punch you,” Sylas said. “My grandfather is in jail. All because of you.”
Grandfather. If Webb had known the connection earlier, he might have understood sooner why Kristie kept showing up to ask questions about Jonathan Greene. Sylas was Jack England’s grandson.
Webb shook his head with scorn. If Sylas couldn’t accept that Jack England was in jail because of sinking a boat and stealing diamonds, no explanation from Webb would make a difference. And really, Jack England was in jail because of Kristie.
“Say it,” Kristie told Webb.
“That I knew you would send Jack England out after me after I told you about the diamonds?” Webb answered. “Sure. I did.”
Looking back, so much made sense. Jack England had listened to the conversation when Webb and his grandfather first visited Jonathan Greene. Greene had written things down, and England wanted to know what they were. He’d heard that Webb had met Kristie. No coincidence that Kristie showed up in the night to ask Webb to go for a walk.
“You’d have done the same,” Kristie said. “I got paid three hundred bucks to ask you a few questions.”
As you held my hand and took advantage of knowing I had an instant crush on you, Webb thought. My first crush.
“I don’t owe you an apology or anything,” Kristie said.
Webb just shrugged. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of learning how much it had hurt to finally figure it out. She’d kissed him on the cheek, a kiss he’d remember for a long, long time. But not with any kind of happiness.
From the stage came the voice of the local radio DJ who was helping with the Battle of Bands.
“Up next,” the DJ said, “we have a kid from Canada who has promised us a few fun guitar licks.”
Webb made to step by Sylas.
“You?” Sylas sneered. “We nailed it. You don’t have a chance.”
Webb gave Sylas a half smile. Webb wasn’t a trash-talk kind of guy. He’d either do okay with the guitar or he wouldn’t. If he did, the guitar would do enough talking. And if he didn’t, anything he said to Sylas now would make Webb look foolish.
Webb took the steps two at a time. He should have felt nervous. Instead, he was fueled by cold anger.
He reached the spotlight and plugged in the guitar. It was a used guitar that his grandfather had rented for Webb. Webb had it tuned and ready to go. As he straightened, he saw that Kristie had climbed the steps to watch him from the back of the stage.
Cold anger. Yeah.
Webb faced the audience and spoke into the mic.
“My dad died a few years ago,” Webb said. As he spoke, he played the guitar quietly, some sad and haunting chords. The crowd turned instantly quiet.
“And I miss him more than any amount of words can tell you.”
This was Battle of the Bands. The crowd didn’t want anything haunting and sad. The crowd wanted fast and loud. He’d get to it, but on his terms.
“My grandfather says that the people you love in your life never really leave you,” Webb continued. He kept strumming chords, using the music background to underscore the emotions of his words. “Their actions become the fabric of your own life, so that they are always a part of you.”
T
he spotlight was on Webb’s face. Webb grinned. “My grandfather was right. Because my dad taught me this one.”
Bang. Webb hit the opening riff to what he knew would be a crowd pleaser. The trick was to play stuff they knew, that they could get into.
He’d picked “La Grange,” by ZZ Top.
That got a roar of applause.
“And my dad taught me this one,” Webb said.
He ripped into the opening chords of “I Love Rock and Roll” by Joan Jett and The Blackhearts.
Webb had his medley planned, and he zipped through a series of dazzling guitar riffs in a high-energy session that had everyone in front of him standing and whistling.
He was rocking and he knew it.
The cold rage seeped away, and he found himself lost in the sound and the moment.
When he finished, he made sure it was an abrupt ending, leaving the crowd in a heartbeat of silence. And then there was an eruption of applause and whistling and cheering. It easily lasted for three or four minutes.
He might have won, and he’d find out soon enough.
But it wasn’t about winning.
It wasn’t about beating Kristie or Sylas. He wasn’t going to care enough about them to allow them that kind of control over his life.
It wasn’t even about being better than anyone else on that stage tonight.
It was about guitar. And honoring what his dad had taught him about guitar.
With the applause still at deafening volume, Webb lifted his right hand in a salute and spoke only to himself as the cheering and whistling continued.
“Dad,” he said, knowing a few tears were leaking across his cheeks, “thanks for being here for me.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all my writer-in-residence story ninjas—your help in reviewing the story was amazing.
SIGMUND BROUWER is the bestselling author of numerous books for children and adults, including Rock & Roll Literacy and titles in the Orca Echoes, Orca Currents and Orca Sports series. Sigmund and his family divide their time between his hometown of Red Deer, Alberta, and Nashville, Tennessee. Barracuda is the prequel to Devil’s Pass—Sigmund’s first novel in Seven (the series), which was a finalist for the John Spray Mystery Award, a Red Maple nominee and a Kirkus Reviews Critics’ Pick.
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