Jed sat in his police cruiser watching Country flail like an idiot trying to load what appeared to be two bodies onto the boat. He figured he’d let him get it done before he showed his face. That way if anyone saw him, he’d be the one to get caught with the bodies. It took almost forty-five minutes, and Jed was sure the man was going to pass out before he got it done.
“Is he drunk?” he asked himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
Against all odds, Country managed—with the help of a hand truck he found at the bar—to get both bodies onto the boat. Jed breathed a sigh of relief. His phone chirped and he saw it was Buff calling.
“Is it done?”
“Not yet,” Jed said, scanning the parking lot to see if he’d been noticed. “I had to wait on the dumbass to get the boat loaded.”
“I’m not going to ask,” Buff said. “Listen, Winnie and I have been talking. He’s worried that you’re not in the right frame of mind to get this done.”
“I assure you, sir, that I—”
“Just let me finish. You’re going to want to hear this.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jed heard something underneath Buff’s gruff tone. It was something faint and unusual. Was it … fear?
“Look,” Buff continued, “this enterprise has taken a turn into shitsville, and we need the whole damn thing to be resolved, and we need it done yesterday.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jed’s eye caught a trio of fishermen on a nearby boat tossing their empty beer cans into the water. They were loud and raucous. Had they seen him? One of them stood up, unzipped his pants, and started peeing off the boat. A fellow drunkard rushed up behind the man and shoved him. In most cases, the man should have fallen into the water and all would be fun and games. But somehow the pissing man broke the laws of physics and toppled backward onto his assailant. Jed almost laughed at the fact that the man’s steady stream of urine had now become a wild, fire-hose of spray up into the air. They were all soaked in piss. And then the fight started. Normally, Jed would have broken it up and hauled the men into the tank to sleep off their escapades, but he had more important things to attend to right now.
“Jed?”
Had Buff still been talking? Oops. He’d zoned out and hadn’t heard the man.
“Sir, I want you to know, you can count on me. I’m about to get on the boat and take care of this. In the morning, you’ll be wondering why you hadn’t put me on it in the first place.”
“I am kind of wondering that right now.”
“Consider it done.”
“Good man,” Buff said. “And just so you know. As we discussed, there will be a post for you in the future after the election. When our boy, Country, is out of the picture, there will be a need for someone to take over his deals. And they’ll only be getting bigger. I’m sending you a number. It’s not our usual drop guy—apparently, they took his plane somewhere just off Key West, but don’t worry about that. Everything is fine, we just had to adapt. After you’ve made the other, um … drops ... and get into position, send her a quick text. She’ll be there to receive the shipment by boat.”
Jed felt his pulse quicken. He was about to tell Buff thank you when he glanced back at the boat with now four bodies, a crate of guns, and a crate of drugs all due to be delivered to various points out in the ocean. His breath caught in his throat. There, in broad daylight, making a spectacle rivaling that of the drunk pee fountain men, was Country. He wasn’t alone. He was wrestling with a man Jed knew well. Santa Claus. Otherwise known as Michael Banks. He checked his Glock’s magazine—about half full—and jumped out of his car.
“It’s over, Country,” shouted Michael. “I know what you’ve done and I’m not going to let you get away with it.”
Country lunged at him, but Michael stiff-armed him and stepped to the side, sending him tumbling across the deck. His head cracked against one of the crates and Country howled.
“I’m gonna kill you for that, Banksy.”
“You were gonna kill me anyhow, Country.”
He stood up and Michael noticed his crotch for the first time. It looked like he had a basketball stuck in his pants. It was almost comical.
“Yeah, well now I’m gonna kill you twice.”
He started cackling and swaying back and forth. He’s delirious, thought Michael. Country’s eyes were sunken into deep dark circles, and his skin was ashen. Michael wondered if the man might just pass out if he could keep away from him long enough.
“Santee,” Michael said, “let’s just take it easy, now. I can see you’re hurt and you look like you might have internal bleeding or something. Let’s get you to a hospital and—”
“Shut yer damn ass, old man,” Country yelled, and my name ain’t Santee. It’s Country. Ain’t nobody stupid enough to name their kid Santee … except my mama.”
Michael watched as Country’s eyes teared up and strangely, he shoved his hand into his pocket. Does he have a gun? Michael followed his instincts and hit the deck and rolled. If Country pulled a gun, he wanted to be a moving target at the very least. But he never heard a shot.
Instead, Country yelled, “Oh no. Where is it? My lucky finger. Oh, damn, no. I’m sorry, Mama.”
Michael lifted his head to see Country on his hands and knees crawling around on the deck of the boat. He looked like a person searching for a lost contact. Michael jumped up and ran at Country. He wasn’t exactly sure what the plan was—maybe wrestle him down into the bedroom and lock him in, or tie him up somehow—but he never got to put that plan into action. A fist from out of the blue slammed into his chin and knocked him backward. Damn. How did he move that fast?
His head swam as he looked up. Country was still lying on the deck, running his hands back and forth searching for something. And standing over him with a balled fist was Supercop, Jed Manning. Michael felt his eyes roll back in his head and he passed out.
Part IV
Waistin’ Away
“Sunset waves on the beach tonight,
wavin’ at me as you wave goodbye.”
-Ronnie “Wayfarer” Hobgood
36
We Oughta Regatta
Troy Bodean and Ronnie “Wayfarer” Hobgood flew into the parking lot at the Black Dog Wharf at a blistering twenty-seven miles per hour. Troy had been holding on to the hope that they would make it to the dock before Jed got there and cast off, but as they approached, he saw the empty slip. The boat was gone.
His heart sank. He had made a decision to turn back from following Country to come help Michael, and now that had failed. He was sure Country had been heading to pick up Prosperity—or at least get her body—but now he felt like the time for saving her was gone. She was most likely dead, and now Jed had his friend Michael out in the ocean, where he was almost certain he would kill the older man.
“Dangit,” he muttered as they pulled into a parking space.
“Which one were you looking for?” Ronnie asked.
Troy pointed to the empty space where the boat had been parked. He stepped out of the ice cream truck and took a few steps toward the dock.
“Is that the cop’s car?” Ronnie had his arm outstretched.
Troy looked, and sure enough, there was a Martha’s Vineyard police cruiser sitting under a nearby tree. And right next to it was Country’s pickup truck. Double dangit. They’re both on the boat. Michael and Prosperity both were surely goners.
“Yup,” he said, taking a deep breath. “And the truck is the other dude I’m worried about. But that boat has literally sailed. I don’t know what else to do.”
The sound of the surf splashed gently on the pylons, slapping on the other boats. The breeze was warm on his face, and he wondered if that was his signal. The winds of change were blowing again. Was it time to leave this place? His friends were gone. The bad guys had won. There wasn’t much he could do now. He had no proof of any of the wrongdoings Buff and Boonesborough were involved in. Maybe he could sneak back into the Airbnb and takes s
ome pictures of—
“Why don’t we see if we can follow ’em?” Ronnie said, breaking Troy’s train of thought.
Troy huffed. “Well, I don’t know where they’re headin’. And I’m not sure ’bout you, but I cain’t swim that far anyway.”
“Don’t need to swim.” Ronnie nodded his head toward a row of boats on the other side of the marina. “We can take my brother-in-law’s boat.”
“Your brother-in-law has a boat?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I told you. He’s got some kind of ski-boat expedition business out here. Makes a bundle of cash.”
“Okay,” Troy said, taking a few steps toward the dock, but I’m not really sure where to start looking …”
His voice trailed off. His mind flashed back to the first drop he’d made with Country. They had headed east and Troy had thought maybe the plan was to rendezvous with the drug dealers on Muskeget, or maybe even Tuckernuck. But they hadn’t made it that far. A seaplane had met them out in the deep water of Nantucket Sound, south of the ferry route. He started running out on the silvery wooden planks that led to Ronnie’s brother-in-law’s boat. He turned to see the big man standing in the parking lot in surprise.
“C’mon, dude,” Troy called over his shoulder. “I figured it out!”
Jed Manning stood behind the wheel of the boat, his hair pressed flat from the wind as he drove them out toward the drop zone. He had only done this a few times before, but he knew exactly where they always met their South American contacts. He’d been out on another boat not too long ago with the Coast Guard’s dive team looking for any evidence of wrongdoing out here. Naturally, they had found nothing.
He knew to steer clear of the ferry route so as not to be spotted, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter anyway. This part of the sound was home to so many random boats that one sighting of this one wouldn’t place theirs at the drop site. Country was slumped in the passenger’s chair, an ice pack on his crotch. He had moaned annoyingly for half an hour, but now it seemed like he was unconscious … or maybe dead. Jed didn’t care either way, because Country wasn’t coming back to shore. He started putting together a mental picture of what was getting ready to happen.
First, he’d have Country help him get the unwanted passengers—Florence, Michael, Prosperity, and T.J.—off the boat and headed to the deep. He knew of several locations they could drop them that would ensure lots of shark activity. His hope was that the bodies would be eaten before anyone ever discovered them. After that, he’d put Country out of his misery and send him to the deep as well. The next step was to head out a little farther and sink the boat—
The panic of a plan gone wrong slapped him in the face. He had missed a key detail when he was concocting his perfect scenario. The boat.
“If you sink the damn thing,” he said under his breath, how the hell are you going to get back to shore?”
Country moaned and shifted in his seat. Blood oozed out on the man’s thighs. Jed shook his head in disgust. The man didn’t deserve to be in charge of this operation—or any operation—for The Sharks. Jed had been the man who made it all possible. He steered law enforcement away from their activity and covered their tracks. And finally, it seemed as if he was getting the promotion that he so richly deserved. If he could figure out this one detail.
A ride, he thought. I need a ride. He remembered the number Buff had texted him to contact the new drop person. He cocked his head to the side. It wasn’t perfect, but it might work. And he’d have to sink the boat first, before making the drop and getting the ride. There was a lot of risk in that plan, but it was all he had right now. He decided to call, rather than text the new contact. It was too much to type out, and he didn’t want any kind of physical trail of the arrangement either. He punched in the number and waited.
“Go ahead,” the female voice said on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, hello,” Jed started. “Um, this is, um … the uh—”
“I know who this is,” she interrupted him. “Are you at the drop site?”
“Oh, uh good. Um, no. Not yet.” Jed took a deep breath. Now or never. “So, there has been a complication and I need a bit of assistance.”
“A complication?” Her voice sounded angry.
“Yes. But the goods are still with me and they’ll be intact when we meet.”
“Then what is the complication?”
“I’ve got a … let’s say a problem … with my boat.”
“A problem with your boat?”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be sinking soon.”
“What the—oh, wait. I see. Evidence clean up?”
“Ha, yeah. I guess you could say that.” Jed decided that was as good an explanation as any and let it ride. “Anyhow, I’ll be in the water when you get here, so I was thinking if maybe you could give me a ride?”
“And there will be two of you?”
“Uh, no. I’ll be alone. And the crates will be floating along with me. I suppose you could say I’ll be using them for a raft.”
“Oh, okay. But the contents won’t be wet?”
“Nope,” Jed lied. “They’re all sealed up and will be in perfect condition for delivery.”
There was a long silence and Jed wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake.
“Sure. No problem. I can get you close enough to Nantucket to swim in. You’re on your own from there.”
A huge weight lifted from Jed’s shoulders. Things were back on track.
“Great. That’s great. Thank you so much.” He glanced down at his watch. “How ’bout we meet at the drop zone in say … thirty minutes?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Me too.”
He hung up the phone and the dark cloud began to lift from his mind. He was going to make this happen. Finally.
“How … could … you?” Country’s croaking voice startled him.
Jed turned to see that Country was standing next to him.
“Hey, Country,” Jed said, trying to sound jovial. “Look who’s awake.”
“Shut the fuck up, you traitor. I heard.”
Country’s skin was more gray now than before, and tears streamed from his sunken eyes down over his sticky looking beard. He had one hand on his groin and the other held a pocket knife. He had it pointed menacingly at Jed.
“Heard? Heard what? I think you were dreaming.”
“I said shut up!”
Country jabbed Jed in the side with the knife. Jed yelped at the stick and saw it had done just enough to cause a little trickle of blood to blossom on his uniform shirt.
“Dammit, Country,” he said holding his side. “Cut it out, man. We’ve got a drop to make and I need you to be ready to work.”
He saw the uncertainty in Country’s eyes. He thought for a second that the order had worked. The inner debate ended in Country’s mouth becoming a scowl. He growled and lunged at Jed. Caught off guard by the sudden adrenaline-fueled strength, Jed fell backward and bumped the throttle, causing the boat to speed up and start circling. Both men were thrown off balance and tumbled against the side of the boat.
Country jabbed at Jed with his knife, but Jed was back on his feet quickly. He wouldn’t be caught off guard again. Country tried to lunge again, but the centrifugal force of the circling boat threw him back against the rail and the knife flew out of his hand and into the water. He screamed and shoved himself up from the wall.
“Country, stop!” Jed yelled over the noise of the revving engine. “This isn’t going to end well.”
Country stumbled and fell against the captain’s chair. He reached toward the throttle, but Jed pulled him away. He punched Country in the face, and the man’s nose crunched and blood poured down his face and onto his chest. Country howled and charged at Jed. Country landed on top and started punching Jed in the face. Even in his weakened state, he was landing some serious blows. At first, Jed was covering his head, protecting himself from the onslaught, but Country slowed down and Jed went on the offensive.
“Country, stop this shit, right now!”
“Screw you! How could you, Jed? I thought we was friends. I wanted to be like you and—”
The gun went off.
37
Smoke On The Water
The shot hit Country’s right shoulder. His body twisted and jerked back over the chair. His hand flung up and caught the throttle and wrenched it back to a full stop. The boat lurched and Jed fell at the sudden halt. The gun toppled out of his hand and slid toward Country. Jed scrambled toward his Glock, but the boat rocked back and forth and he fell short. Country’s left arm shot out from under the captain’s chair and his fingers closed over the gun’s handle. Jed rolled away as Country pulled the trigger. The shot fired wildly and didn’t hit anywhere near him.
He got to his feet at the same time Country found his. He pointed the gun at Jed’s chest. He was still bleeding from his nose and now his shorts were a mess again too. The blood coming from the wound in Country’s groin had soaked through the towel he had stuffed into his pants.
“Jesus, Country,” Jed said. “You need to get to a hospital.”
“Shoulda done that a long time ago, Jed. Ain’t no time for that now. Me ’n you has got a score to settle.”
Jed watched Country’s eyes. Most people had a tell, when they were going to squeeze a trigger. Most people blinked, or squinted, just before they fired. Country’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. Now or never. Jed lowered his shoulders and charged at Country. The bullet hit Jed in the throat. He felt it go in, hit something and explode. He felt like his head was going to come off his neck. Blood rushed into his mouth, and he choked but he didn’t stop. He powered forward with his legs pumping as hard as they would go. He barreled into Country and grabbed for the gun.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 127