Looking like a prizefighter reeling from the sudden shock of the haymaker Troy had thrown, RayRay stumbled backward and into Samantha sitting in the wooden chair. They both slammed down hard onto the concrete floor and the wood splintered. As Samantha and RayRay tumbled together Troy turned his attention back to Bobo.
He was standing motionless, watching the crash of people near his feet. His mouth was open wide. Time began to speed up and Bobo raised his shotgun to level it at Troy’s midsection. Troy had enough time to glance back toward the door to see that Alain, even given the distraction, had frozen… standing still… mouth also wide open. Good job, kid, Troy thought, way to make good use of the distraction.
He also saw a face peeking around the right side of the opening at the front of the unit. Becky. Fantastic. Troy almost laughed. We’re getting’ the band back together. But that thought was barely into his head when he heard Bobo shouting.
“Get back, son,” he yelled to RayRay, “I can’t shoot without hittin’ you.”
Troy took this as a sign, and he realized he still had the shotgun in his left hand. He swung it up and grabbed the stock, shoving his hand on the grip and slamming the slide back to advance a new shell into the chamber. He’d never fired a shotgun before, but he figured this was a pretty easy thing to do given the wide spray and—
His thought was interrupted as Becky leapt into the room and ran toward Samantha, who was flailing around on the ground trying to get her hands free of the duct tape. Now he couldn’t take a shot either, or he’d hit Becky as well as Bobo, and probably RayRay and Sami.
Bobo, in his first smart move of the day, grabbed Alain by the jacket and shoved the barrel of his gun into the kid’s side.
“Alright,” he yelled – it still sounded like they were all at the bottom of a pool from the last gunshot, but Troy got the point – “everybody freeze. Troy, throw that thing down.”
Bobo motioned at him and Troy almost dropped his gun, but then he remembered RayRay was on the ground next to him. He aimed his gun square at RayRay’s head. The now not-so-blind Japanese kid held his hands up to protect himself.
“No thanks,” Troy said, “but why don’t you throw yours down?”
“I’ll shoot the kid.” Bobo rammed the gun into Alain’s side.
“Yeah?” Troy said and shrugged. “What’s he to me? You shoot some college kid I don’t even know very well, I shoot RayRay… your son.”
Bobo began to see his plan unravel, but he wasn’t giving up yet.
“Seems to me like I can end all this right here,” Bobo said, nudging Alain into the room and closer to the group. “I can take everybody out at once… and blame it on you. You’ll have gun residue on your hands and I can pin the murder, the crime – everything – on a drifter from out of town.”
Troy thought for a minute. That was just about right. He had no evidence pinning any of this on RayRay or Bobo. In fact, Bobo hadn’t really done anything except drug Tayler… and then get RayRay into the museum… The pain in his burnt palm began to throb.
Dangit.
Troy was lost in thought when he felt the gun being ripped from his hands. RayRay had used the distraction – good on ya, kid – and grabbed the only bargaining tool Troy had… perfect. Now they were all trapped in the perfect killing hole.
RayRay stood up and jerked Becky’s head back by her hair. She yelped as he did. Troy leaned down and saw that Samantha was free of the duct tape and could sit up.
“Not too fast,” RayRay said, pointing his gun back at her.
She held up her hands and stayed seated.
“Get on in there.” Bobo shoved Alain and he stumbled into the room.
He caught Troy’s arm and steadied himself. Troy, again making a quick assessment of their new predicament, was stuck. This was a classic, no-win, Kobayashi Maru kind of deal.
“So, I guess you’re not blind then?” Becky asked RayRay.
Troy cocked his head sideways. He realized Becky and Alain were new to this information, and that must’ve come as a shock.
“This is true, Becky-san.” RayRay smiled a toothy, lecherous smile.
“Which means,” she said, crossing her arms subconsciously over her breasts, “you saw me that night in your room… like, all of me?”
He laughed, and it became apparent there had been an embarrassing situation involving Becky and RayRay, and that maybe she’d been naked in front of him when she thought he couldn’t see her. Troy wondered what the whole story was, but figured that was best left for another telling on a Back Road somewhere after this was all over.
RayRay finally finished laughing, and said, “I saw it all, sweet tits.”
And then it happened.
Before anyone could believe what was happening, Becky raised her fist and punched RayRay so hard, once in one eye and then in the other, that blood shot out of his eyes and he screamed. Becky stood motionless in front of him, fist still raised.
Troy noticed she had her middle knuckle sticking out further than the rest of her fist. She’d done it on purpose. It was a tactic Troy had learned way back in the war; hit someone in the softest, most vulnerable place on their head… the eyes.
RayRay’s head was on a swivel, jerking from left to right. “You bitch!” he growled in a guttural, high-pitched, unnatural sounding wail. “I can’t fucking see!”
Bobo took a step into the room, his face twisted in anguish, and Troy watched as the old man raised the gun and aimed it at Becky’s back.
Troy’s amazing time-slowing-down ability returned, and he knew what was about to happen. He tackled Alain hard to the side and the two of them slammed into the wall of the storage unit.
“Down!” Troy yelled as loud as he could as they fell.
RayRay raised his gun and aimed it at an approximation of where Becky was standing.
The kid must be completely blind again, Troy thought.
At almost the exact same instant, both Bobo and RayRay fired.
But upon hearing Troy yell ‘Down’, Becky hit the floor, burpee style, and the shot from Bobo instead tore into RayRay.
The shot from RayRay’s gun, aimed slightly high, then turned Bobo into the headless horseman.
In a rain of blood and gore, they both crumpled to the ground.
“Everybody okay?” Troy pulled himself to his hands and knees.
No answer.
Dangit, they’re all dead, he thought. But he realized he couldn’t hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears.
Alain was moaning through the cottony air.
Becky was holding a perfect plank position.
Samantha rolled over, and Troy saw she was holding her arm. Something had hit her.
He ran to her and found that she was hit, but not bad, just a scratch on her arm where a shot had grazed her.
Everybody was alive… except Bobo and RayRay, both of whom were torn apart in a gruesome pile of grossness.
And that’s when Troy heard the sirens in the distance. Dozens of them. At least a hundred cops – Troy never knew Savannah had that many – had finally shown up. Some cavalry.
As they began to arrive on the scene, Alain said he’d called them and had tried to explain that something bad was going on and that he needed a cop to come with him to the storage units out by the airport. They’d swept it under the rug as a prank call, until someone reported hearing shots out at the same units. That’s when the call went out – ‘All units, come on down’.
Troy helped the paramedics load Samantha into the back of the ambulance. One of them noticed his hand and insisted that he come and get treated for what looked like third degree burns. Begrudgingly, he went along for the ride.
46
Savannah Smiles Again
Troy sat beside the hospital bed where Samantha was spending the next day recovering from her gunshot wound. Although it was only a scratch, the staff had insisted she stay for at least twenty-four hours to watch for infection. He’d had his hand bandaged and was diagnosed with m
ostly second-degree burns, and was given a good chance to live by the cute nurse who’d treated him.
“So, they found the painting, eh?” Troy asked as she sipped on a Sprite.
“Can you believe it?” she said. “Old LeFleur had it the whole time.”
Troy shook his head. “I guess that was the print I saw when I went on my date with him.”
“Uh huh,” she said, and smiled. “Says he didn’t even know it was there. Claims he got those tubes from the museum.”
“Yeah, that would make sense,” Troy said. “I’m bettin’ old Bobo stashed that thing in the storeroom at the Jepson, thinkin’ he’d be able to keep an eye on it, and somebody else gave LeFleur the old tubes not realizing it was in there.”
“Yeah,” she said, “maybe.”
“And I heard that a rich dude from Silicon Valley bought the painting and the funds were deposited into your account.” Troy smiled and sucked his teeth.
“Now, that much is true,” she said. “I got a bid from a contractor on what it would take to build a new battered women and children’s shelter here in Savannah. Mr. Gates… er, I’m not supposed to tell anyone that… but anyway, he paid that exact amount and then some to help us get started.”
“A very worthwhile endeavor,” Troy said with a smile.
“I’m going to call it the Tayler Evan House,” she said in a thick voice, “in honor of him. And his print will hang in the common room.”
“Nice.” Troy felt his throat get heavy too. “A nice tribute.”
They sat in silence for a second. It was one of those afternoons that sent sunlight streaming in through the blinds as the dust motes circled in the air. Troy’s eyes felt heavy.
“Well,” he said, slapping his good palm on his leg and standing, “I gotta be ramblin’ on.”
“Where will you go?” Samantha asked. “We could always use help around the build site.”
“As much as I’d like to,” Troy said, “that ain’t my story. I’m the guy who gets out of Dodge when things get real.”
“You know,” she said, “you could change that story.”
“Yeah.”
Troy stood looking at her from the doorway. She was the perfect image of the painting Tayler had created. Her left shoulder was bruised and the sheets behind her flashed with sunlight… almost like a smoldering fire. But this girl’s eyes were different… beautiful, and full of hope. He almost walked back into the room…
Instead, he tipped his Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat, and said, “See ya ‘round, kid.”
One stray tear fell from her eye and traced a path down her cheek as he turned and walked away.
Becky Patton and Alain Montgomery greeted Troy in the lobby. Shockingly, Alain was dressed in black spandex pants and a fire-engine red tank top… crossfit gear. Becky was dressed the same.
“Well, well, well,” Troy said, smiling at the pair. “She’s gotcha doin’ the old crossfit, eh pardner?”
“Yeah,” Alain said sheepishly, one hand tugging at the embarrassingly tight shorts. “I promised I’d at least give it a try.”
“Good for you, pal,” Troy said and smacked a hand on his shoulder, “anything it takes to please a woman is a worthwhile endeavor.”
“Can I get that in writing?” Becky said and laughed.
“You bet,” Troy said, “I’ll send it to you on a postcard.”
“You’re moving on then?” Alain asked with a little surprise in his voice.
“Yup,” he said, “that’s how my story goes. I come to a new town and wear it out for a bit. If I stay too long, I start getting’ antsy and such… like a junkie without his stuff.”
“That’s too bad,” Becky said, a wry smile on her face. “I might’ve had you crossfitting before long.”
Troy laughed and tipped his hat back on his head. “Darlin’, the last thing anybody wants to see is this old butt in those tight shorts.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” a voice said from behind them.
They all turned to see Mortimer LeFleur standing at the doorway with his arms crossed and leaning against the jamb.
“Look, Troy,” he said, “I never meant to be cross with you. I just thought it absurd that you would even think such a terrible thing of me as to… to murder one of my best students.”
“That truly is my bad, Mr. LeFleur,” Troy said, extending a hand to shake the professor’s. “I reckon I was goin’ on bad info.”
“No offense,” LeFleur said, then turned his attention to the hallway behind him. “How is our Samantha?”
“Aw, heck,” Troy said, “she’s fine, they just don’t wanna let her out just yet. Runnin’ up the insurance bill, I s’pose.”
“I’ll just pop in and say hello then,” he said, shaking Troy’s hand.
As their professor walked away, Alain turned to Troy. “Can we at least give you a ride somewhere? Airport? Bus station?”
“Nah,” Troy said, “I’m good. I was actually able to procure a little scooter that was parked out behind the storage units. I’m not positive, but I think it was RayRay’s from after his eyes got better.”
“The cops let you have it?” Becky asked, arching an eyebrow.
“What they don’t know,” Troy said with a wink, and put a finger to his lips, “won’t hurt ‘em.”
She rolled her eyes and tugged on Alain’s shirt. “Let’s go see Samantha.”
They turned and made their way down the hall. As Becky reached Samantha’s door, she leaned back out and blew Troy a kiss. He reached out his hand and caught it.
Well, Troy thought, time to scoot on out of here.
47
Sailing Away
Two-hundred miles out of town, in the middle-of-nowhere, Georgia, Troy pumped gas into the little red scooter he’d borrowed from the scene of the crime. He was trying to stop the meter at exactly ten bucks—the last of his Club One earnings. Unfortunately, his reflexes being what they were, he overshot by two cents.
He walked into the gas station and handed the attendant the ten-dollar bill. “You got two pennies?” he asked.
The kid pointed at a sign on the front of the counter, that read: No Extra Change For Gas Purchases.
“Dangit,” Troy muttered. “Hold on a sec. Lemme see if I can wrangle up two cents.”
He walked back out to the pump and kicked around the ground. Nothin’. No change, just a bunch of crumpled straw wrappers and a few lumps of old chewing gum. He pulled up the seat of the scooter that covered the storage compartment. Inside, he found a black canvas backpack.
“Gotta be some change in there,” he said to himself, pulling the pack out of the scooter.
He unzipped it and almost fell over. Inside were stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills wrapped in paper rings.
“Well, I’ll be…” he said to no one.
He pulled off the top bill and walked back into the store.
The kid behind the counter pointed at another sign that read: No Change For Bills Larger Than Twenties.
“You’re kiddin’ me, right?” he said, stuffing the bill into his pocket. “You got a mop or somethin’ like that?”
The kid pointed to a dingy bucket behind the counter with a mildewed mop sitting in it. “Clean the bathrooms,” he said, “and we’ll call it even.”
Backpack strapped tight on his back, Troy made quick work of them – having done plenty of similar duty back at boot camp. Then he hopped on the scooter and headed north on I-75. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he was already making plans for the money. Something with a really big sail… and a pirate flag… and a little Buffet on the radio.
THE END
Skull Wave
A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller #5
Two severed heads are better than one … unless they end up in your lobster traps. It’s even worse when you pull ’em up and you recognize them.
Part I
I’m On A Boat
“Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.”
/> -William Shakespeare
1
Yes, I Am A Pirate
Troy Clint Bodean woke to the gentle sloshing of waves patting the side of his new sailboat. A fortuitous finding of a stash of cash that had come from a couple of bad guys funded his recent purchase of the 1998 Island Packet 40 foot cutter. She was gorgeous and big! Hell, he had more room here than he’d had back on the houseboat in Key West.
He stretched out his arms to both sides and couldn’t touch either wall. Sun streamed through the oval windows and the rocking of the waves almost put him back to sleep. He had brought his new boat up to Nags Head preferring to skip right on past South Carolina – too many bad memories there – and had found a fun little fresh fish and seafood restaurant to work in. Just a smidge better’n a dive with a hokey fiberglass shark on the roof, the place did a ton of business.
Troy caught fish for them and worked as a line cook part time for those customers who – as the menu put it – “didn’t want to do the cookin’.” He knew how to do both those things, and he did them well. As a bonus, the seafood that was about to go out of date was handed over to the employees to do with as they wanted. More often than not, Troy had more to eat than he could handle.
He sat upright quick remembering that he’d had a shrimp boil with Kimberly and Dana, a couple of the waitresses from last night. He didn’t remember them coming back to his boat, but neither of them was in bed with him, so that was a good sign. He sat up and stretched out the cricks in his neck and his head swam – definitely too many Coronas last night. But the girls were cute, the food was fantastic, and the music was tropical… a fun time was had by all.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 89