“Perhaps, you should hang up?” Ani’s eyes flicked toward my phone.
Troy nodded his head and ended the call.
“Throw it into the water.”
“But, I—”
“Into the water. Now,” Ani demanded, his voice no longer the friendly one he had been using earlier. “Or you will go into the water as well, with a new hole to keep you from floating.”
He tossed the phone over and it made a small splash as it plunked into the water.
Dangit, Troy thought. I just got that one the other day.
17
How To Get Away With Murder
Ani forced Troy to bind Ronnie with duct tape at gunpoint. Then he had him start the boat and drive away from their current location. Troy thought it wasn’t likely that the phone was still sending a signal, but it might have given the dispatcher coordinates while they were still talking. Either way, Ani wanted them far away from there.
It was a slow and uneventful ride taking them around the Pass A Loutre State Wildlife Management Area, a swampy, marshy place at the end of the Mississippi delta. The night wore on and finally dawn began to creep over the horizon. Ronnie, though bound and gagged, had fallen asleep. Troy began to worry that Ani’s plan was to kill them both and dump them into the swamp—a very bayou thing to do.
But Ani didn’t shoot them right away which made Troy wonder if he actually planned to anyway. If he’d killed the other man, he hadn’t shot him. Troy never saw any marks on the man, so he had no idea how he’d died.
“Ah, very good,” Ani said, pointing into the distance. “Look there.”
Troy could see he was indicating one of the bait poles they had set out yesterday. He eased the boat toward it and slowed to a stop.
“Shall we see what we have caught?” Ani asked, shaking his gun at the buoy connected to their pot.
“Reckon so,” Troy said.
He reached down over the side of the boat and tugged on the rope until a round wire box rose to the surface. The amount of shrimp inside startled Troy. The pot was only a couple of feet around, but there had to be a few hundred shrimp squirming around inside it.
“Yesss,” Ani said through a wide grin. “It is like I told you, Mister Troy. The land of shrimp and honey.”
“Actually, I think it’s milk and honey.”
Ani’s face showed that he was legitimately confused. “I do not see any milk. Do shrimp produce milk? Oh, what a wonder that would be.”
“No.” Troy held out his hands. “The saying is a land of milk and honey.”
Ani laughed. “That makes absolutely no sense, my friend. You crazy man.”
He tucked his gun into his waistband and helped Troy scoop the shrimp out of the pot into a cooler. As they emptied it, he began to think maybe he’d underestimated and thought the number of shrimp might be closer to a thousand.
Ani directed him to follow their coordinate map to the next pot and they found it similarly stuffed full of shrimp. If all of their catches were this good, they would make a good amount of money. Actually, a shrimp-pot full of money, Troy thought, with an inward grin at his own mixed metaphor.
As they made their way down their string of shrimp cages, they filled five big coolers with shrimp before they made it to the end. With still more than a dozen pots to check, they had filled their coolers to capacity and had nowhere else to store shrimp.
“Looks like we’re gonna have to make a stop, Ani.” Troy lifted his cap and wiped his sweat-covered forehead. “Ain’t got no more room at the inn for these little fellers.”
He rubbed the handle of his gun absentmindedly, mulling over Troy’s words. It appeared he was torn between going to shore and making more room for the shrimp and getting caught for kidnapping—and potentially, murder.
“You are correct. Take us back to J’s and when we get close, I’m afraid I will have to detain you in the bedroom.”
Troy had no intention of being detained, and figured the trip back would be plenty of time to work out a plan of escape. He eased the throttle up until they were at a comfortable cruising speed. A snuffle and snort behind him told him Ronnie had finally woken up. He mumbled something behind his gag.
“Hey, Ani,” Troy said, “How ’bout we take that off his mouth for a bit?”
More concerned looks crossed his face but eventually he relented. “I do suppose that there is no cause to keep it on.”
He gently pulled the tape from Ronnie’s mouth.
“I am sorry for the trouble,” he said to the big man, “but you and your companion have seen some things that you should not have.”
“Look, man,” Ronnie said. “I don’t know what you done, and right now, I don’t really care. But if you do anything to me, my mama ain’t gonna have nobody to take care of her.”
Ani opened his mouth to say something, but then turned away. Troy thought he might have heard the man curse under his breath. Along the way, they saw a hundred different boats and Troy almost shouted out a few times that they were being held against their will. But Ani still had the gun and they’d be shot before anyone could help them.
“Ani,” Troy said, “you know this ain’t gonna end well. At this point, neither me, nor Ronnie really knows anything. Heck, I’m not even sure our testimony would be any good in court since we had those beers and all.”
The man nodded slowly, staring blankly into the distance.
“Yeah,” Ronnie added, “And besides that, we never even saw you kill that dude.”
Troy cringed when he heard him say it. Ani’s gaze snapped up at the man. Now his face wasn’t a picture of conflicted emotion, it was a visage of anger.
“Dangit,” Troy muttered.
Ani jerked the gun out of his pants and pointed it at Ronnie. His finger danced dangerously on the trigger.
“That is it,” Ani growled. “Say no more or I will take measures to ensure your silence that will not be good for you.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now, Ani,” Troy said, reaching out a hand to touch the man’s shoulder.
In a move faster than Troy anticipated, Ani swung the gun around to point at his chest and pulled the trigger.
18
Wet Pants
Troy pissed his pants. Not just a droplet or two that sometimes sneaks out with a particularly large sneeze or fit of belly laughter. No, this was a full-on, bladder-emptying, gully-washer of a piss. The hot liquid poured out of him as he instinctively raised his arms to block the bullets from tearing into him. But the bang never came. The shots never touched him.
The only sound was the clicking of the empty gun. Ani must have clicked it ten times. Troy opened his eyes and watched as the man bent over in hysterical laughter. The gun had not been loaded.
“Ani!” Troy shouted, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. “What in God’s name? Why would you? Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?”
“If only you could see the look on your face, Mister Troy,” Ani said, through fits of laughter.
“Dude,” Ronnie yelled. “That ain’t right. You coulda killed him.”
“No,” he said, matter-of-factly. “There are no bullets in the gun.”
“That don’t make no difference,” Ronnie complained. “He coulda had a heart attack or something. You don’t know.”
“So, you didn’t shoot the man who’s dead in the bedroom downstairs?” Troy asked.
“No. I did not.”
“Well, then, why am I tied up?”
“Oh, I did not shoot him, but I was instrumental in his demise.”
Troy cleared his throat at the sudden admission. “Okay … wait … what do you mean instrumental in his demise?”
“I filled his bedroom with fumes and he passed away from natural causes.”
“No, no, no.” Ronnie was shaking his head vigorously as he spoke. “If you gassed the man, it wasn’t natural causes.”
“Fair enough,” Ani said, shrugging his shoulders. “But the man changed his mind about the price we agreed upon for the purchase of the boat.
”
“So you killed him?”
“I suppose you could say that.” Ani said. “I traveled over eight hundred miles to start a new life. I was not going to let this traitorous man take it away from me.”
An awkward silence followed as the three men digested all that had just been revealed.
“Well, I don’t know what all this is going to mean, but,” Ronnie started, “is there any chance I could get outta this tape?”
“Absolutely,” Ani said. “Mister Troy, why don’t you unbind our friend. Then we can discuss our future.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have another pair of shorts, would ya?”
Ani laughed and told him he did have an extra change of clothes downstairs. He disappeared below to retrieve them.
Troy wasn’t sure what future Ani had been talking about. It was clear that he was going to go to jail for the rest of his life. He also didn’t know what future there would be for he and Ronnie after the police dragged the Nawlins Express out of the water. He freed Ronnie and they all returned to silence as they headed back to J’s.
“So,” Ronnie whispered into Troy’s ear as they puttered up the Mississippi, “what are we gonna do?”
“I don’t reckon I know,” Troy said. “My phone’s long gone. I got no way to call the police.”
“When we get to the dock,” Ronnie looked over his shoulder at Ani who was sitting up front, wind blowing in his smiling face, “I’ll jump out and run inside. I’ll tell ’em what’s up and we’ll get the cops to come get him.”
Troy thought that was a reasonable plan and hoped it went off as quickly and easily as Ronnie described it.
The rest of the trip, Ani acted as if nothing had happened. He acted as if he hadn’t held them at gunpoint and had Ronnie tied up. Troy thought this was strange behavior, but he was quickly finding his post-Afghan life to be very strange indeed.
When J’s Seafood Dock appeared ahead of them, Troy eased the throttle down to wake speed and coasted in. Ronnie acted like he was going to jump off and tie the boat to the dock. Troy made a show of pushing the coolers over to the edge to offload their haul.
Ronnie jumped out and ran toward the store.
“What is our friend doing, Mister Troy?”
Troy shrugged. “Got no idea. Maybe he had to pee.”
“Ah, I see,” Ani said. “Perhaps you and I can get the first cooler off and you can see what kind of price we will have for our bounty.”
“Good deal.”
Troy helped him lift the cooler and a dock hand brought a dolly over to wheel it inside. The man behind the counter ran a few calculations and Troy was stunned at the price per pound they were willing to pay for fresh shrimp. He wasn’t sure exactly how many pounds they had hauled in on half of their pots, but they were going to make a boatload of cash.
Ronnie walked up, with a policeman right behind him.
“Well, that was fast,” Troy said.
“I saw his car parked out front,” Ronnie said. “Decided I’d just go grab him.”
They explained the scenario to the officer as they all walked out to confront Ani. But when they started down the walkway, it occurred to Troy that something was different. Seconds later, Ronnie saw it too. There was no boat parked at the dock. The Nawlins Express was gone without a trace.
“Well, don’t that beat all?” Troy said.
“You boys sure you haven’t been drinkin’?” the cop said. “I should drag you downtown, but my lunch is probably getting cold.”
He stalked away in a huff leaving Ronnie and Troy alone.
“What do we do now?” Ronnie asked.
“I reckon we collect for the shrimp and head back to your mama’s place.”
Loaded with snacks and a twelve pack of beer, the two men began the trip back to Ronnie’s mother’s house. They drove in silence as a spitting rain began to pelt the windshield.
19
Snake And Jakes
Ronnie booked another gig at the place known as Snake and Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge—even though there was no sign outside designating it as such. Troy watched him sing and play and spent the last of their shrimp money on a couple of rounds of Coronas. The big man pulled in a bunch of cash again and Troy knew he was set, at least for the time being. But that didn’t do much for Troy and he was feeling the tug of the road again.
He spent a week in New Orleans doing odd jobs and building up enough cash to get a bus ticket. He had no idea where he was going to go, but he figured maybe someplace on the East Coast. Vegas out west hadn’t done him any favors. Louisiana in the south was a bust. So, maybe east … maybe.
On his last day in town, Troy bellied up to the bar at the Christmas Club Lounge to listen to Ronnie play. He was surprised when the big guy announced that he was moving on after the show. He’d gotten some work on the East Coast in one of his brother-in-law’s companies—limo driving, or garbage pick up, or something like that.
“What’s your mama gonna do?” Troy asked Ronnie as he took the stool beside him.
“She’ll be okay. I’ll send money when I can. Maybe even convince her to move out of here with me someday.”
“And you’re drivin’ a … a garbage truck?”
“And a limo some days. And an ice cream truck.”
“An ice cream truck?” Troy laughed.
“Hey, man, don’t knock it. It pays better than this does.”
Troy found that hard to believe watching the man fold up the wadded bills from his tip jar.
“But what about singing?”
“I’ll be working on that too. By getting closer to the coast, I can touch base with a few different clubs, book some gigs, get back to a regular tour schedule.”
“And the record company?”
“That’s all probably water under the bridge. Once they lose interest in you, they’re onto the next big thing.”
“Sorry to hear that, my friend.”
“What about you?” Ronnie took his last sip of beer.
“Actually,” Troy finished his beer and laid a twenty on the bar, “I was thinking of headin’ east, too.”
“Why don’t we share a ride?”
“Nah, that’s cool of you to offer,” he said, flashing a piece of paper, “but I already got my Greyhound ticket.”
A television perched precariously above the bar suddenly flashed a breaking news logo and a trumpet sounded. The newsman came on screen and started talking, but the sound was down. To his left, an image floated in a box above his shoulder.
“Dude,” Ronnie patted Troy on the back, “look at that!”
Troy squinted through the Christmas light glare to see the image the newsman was talking about was a boat. On the back of the boat, he could read the words: Nawlins Express. Troy motioned to the bartender.
“Hey, can you turn that up a sec?”
The woman shuffled over to the TV, climbed a stool, and turned the volume knob. Troy absentmindedly wondered how long it had been since the last time he’d seen a TV with a knob.
As they watched, a picture of a small Indian man filled the screen.
“Is that Ani?” Ronnie asked.
“Yup,” Troy said. “I do believe it is.”
The newsman said the police had been tracking the boat since it made a stop at J’s Seafood Dock and someone had reported that the usual owner, a man named Cap Stinnett, wasn’t at the wheel. A person of interest, identified as Anirudh Patel was being sought for questioning. The police chief came on the screen to say they had found Mr. Stinnett’s body in the bedroom and that he was an apparent victim of poison.
“I guess I shoulda listened to the woman at Love’s,” Troy muttered.
“Huh?”
“Aw, nothin’.”
The two men spent the next few minutes exchanging goodbyes and promising to call, knowing they never would.
And then, they walked out of Snake and Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge for the last time.
20
More East
> Troy caught the bus at three-thirty in the morning. As he ambled down the row, looking for a couple of empty seats he could lay down in, he wondered if anyone normal ever rode the bus. If they did, they had skipped this particular one.
His ticket was punched and the illuminated sign on the front of the bus read: Charleston, SC. He figured the Greyhound could get him that far, but then he might do a bit of exploring up and down the coast. Somebody at the bar told him there was a great little place just past Georgetown called Pawleys Island.
Troy rode in silence discretely sipping on a six-pack of Coronas—no orange slices—in the back of the bus as they traveled through Jackson and Tuscaloosa. A bunch of people got off in Birmingham and then a whole mess of people started wandering off the bus in Atlanta. Troy had a reasonable buzz by that time and in a fleeting moment of “why the heck not?” he stood up and almost got off with all the others. A tiny man pushed past him and Troy scooted back into his aisle to avoid being knocked down.
“Hey, friend,” he called after the guy, “what’s the big hurry?”
The man put his hand on the rail to exit the bus, but before he did, he turned and grinned at Troy. Though his cap was pulled down low and he had on a coat with the collar pulled up, Troy recognized the man’s smile immediately—and also the mirrored sunglasses he wore.
As the man hopped off the bus and disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the big city Greyhound station, Troy considered calling the police. But then again, he figured he didn’t really know whether or not Ani was really a murderer. And, given his current state of near intoxication, he figured his testimony wouldn’t be admissible in court anyway. To be perfectly honest, he was ready to be far away from any kind of trouble with murders and bodies and such.
All he really wanted was to find a slow moving piece of water to throw a line in and do some fishing. Pawleys Island sounded like just the place.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 8