Another bang echoed somewhere. It sounded like it was far away. Everything slowed to a crawl and Jed saw his hands fall short of the Glock. He felt the second shot go into his chest, and the explosion of pain told him it had pierced his heart. Well, Country finally won, he thought. His hands slid down Country’s torso and hooked on his belt. The last thing Jed saw was the khaki shorts sliding down and the blood soaked towel falling away from Country’s underwear. What a disgusting mess. And then the darkness took him.
Country woke up to the sound of someone’s voice calling out. A woman. Her voice drifted over the ocean with a short echo from the water. She was close, whoever she was.
“Hey, there. What’s the weather over there?” she called, in a sing-song voice.
Country recognized the code phrase and answered accordingly. “Raining sharks and minnows over here. What’s it doin’ over there?”
The voice paused. He wondered if maybe she was looking for some kind of note she’d scrawled down with the secret passwords.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “It’s a regular sharknado over here, too.”
Country pushed himself up to his knees and scanned the surrounding waves. He saw the boat easing around his. At the wheel was a beautiful woman. For a split second, he wondered if he was dreaming. Not only was she a knockout, but also—he looked skyward and thanked God—topless. Her big, round, tan breasts were bared for all the world to see, and right now he was the only boat around for miles.
He reached down and grabbed a towel nearby. He wrapped it around his waist to cover the gore below his belt line and stood all the way up to his feet.
“Howdy.” He put on his best smile and waved to her.
The woman’s eyes were suddenly skeptical and she grabbed her throttle like she might speed away. He noticed that she was studying him, her gaze moving from his legs up to his chest, then finally his face.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Had a bit of a run-in with a shark. I got the best of him though.”
“Is your nose broken?” she asked, as she pulled her boat alongside and tossed a rope over onto his.
He had forgotten Jed had punched him. He wrapped the rope around a cleat on the side rail. He reached up and touched his nose. A flash of pain shot across his face and tears popped into his eyes. He pulled his fingers away to find them covered in sticky, black blood.
“Oh, that?” he said. “I fell down the stairs gettin’ a … um …”
“Another beer?” she asked. “I’d say you’ve had one too many.”
He cackled out a laugh and a rivulet of blood and snot popped out of his left nostril. Without thinking, he unwrapped the towel from his waist and brought it up to wipe his nose. Upon hearing her gasp, he knew he’d made a mistake.
“Christ, friend,” she said, “what did the shark do? Bite your dink off?”
Anger flared into Country’s mind. Just like a fancy bitch to think a man is only as good as what he’s got between his legs. He took a step, and his foot nudged Jed’s pistol laying on the deck in front of him. In one smooth motion, he bent down and grabbed the gun and lunged toward her. It might not have been as pretty as a linebacker crossing the goal line, but he cleared the narrow gap between their boats in one leap. She fell backward and he grabbed at her.
To his and her mutual surprise, his hand landed on her left breast. His eyes widened and a grin splashed across his face. He gave it a squeeze.
“Fuck you, freak,” the woman screamed and slapped his face.
The blood began to flow from his nose again and Country growled in rage. He let go of her boob and lunged at her, but she was ready for him. She lifted her knee and caught him square in the crotch. He was almost certain he felt his scrotum pop open. The pain was so intense, he almost blacked out. Realizing he still had the gun in his hand, he swung it hard at her head. It connected satisfyingly and she slumped down like a marionette cut from its strings. She was unconscious.
Country laid his head back and let loose a cry that was somewhere between a howl and a shriek. He ignored his throbbing groin and heaved the girl up onto his shoulder. In his mind, he felt like a caveman returning home with his conquest. The reality was quite different. He tossed her over onto his boat and she hit the deck with a thud.
“What’s one more body?” he muttered. “Gonna blow this thing sky high anyhow.”
T.J. Gallop woke to find himself lying across a bed next to the girl from the prison. They were both wrapped in tarps and strapped in tight. The girl was struggling against her bonds and had almost freed one of her arms when she saw he was awake.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “Can you get loose? Try to get your arms free. We’ve got to get the hell out of here or we’re both going to die.”
T.J. experimented with one of his arms, but he couldn’t budge. With his arms strapped to his sides, he couldn’t get any leverage. He rolled over to the edge of the bed, thinking he might try to stand up. He hadn’t counted on the fact that his momentum and the soft end of the bed would add up to him being dumped onto the floor. He fell fast and braced for the hard impact of the floor.
Instead, he was met with a soft, lumpy surface. He arched his back and saw that he was lying on top of Santa Claus.
“Somebody’s gon’ be on the naughty list, that’s for sure,” he muttered.
“What?” the girl asked. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Did you get free?”
“Fell on a dude,” he said. “Guy looks a lot like—”
“Is he dead?”
T.J. could see the man’s chest rise and fall. In fact, the man was snoring softly.
“Nah,” he said. “He’s asleep.”
“Well, wake him up. See if he can get us untied.”
He ignored her and tried to sit up. He couldn’t. He looked down to see that the cord around his feet had gotten tangled up on the edge of the bed frame. He jerked his knees up and like he had guessed might happen, the cord slid down and off. It went slack and he was able to wriggle enough to give his arms more space. Once he had a hand free, he was out of the tarp in seconds. He jumped up and went to the door. He turned the knob, but it was locked.
“Hey, tall guy,” the girl said. “Little help over here.”
T.J. turned around, put his finger on his lips to shush her.
“Really?” she blurted.
“Quiet for a second,” he said. “I need to see if our kidnapper is out there.”
“You mean Country? I’m sure he is. He’s probably going to kill—”
“Hey, pipe down,” T.J. said. “Gimme one sec.”
He put his shoulder down and rammed it into the door. It popped open and he stuck his head through. The kitchen and dining table were a wreck. There was blood everywhere. Cabinets stood open, the fridge door was wide open, dishes and utensils were strewn about. T.J. wondered if they had been in a shipwreck while they were unconscious. There was no sign of anyone below, but a thumping sound in the ceiling told him they were not alone.
He walked over to the bed and unwrapped the girl. He noticed that she was cute. Auburn hair, green eyes, nice body.
“Um, excuse me,” she said. “If you’re done checking me out, let’s get the hell out of here.”
He felt his cheeks flush. “Nope. I’m goin’ up alone. Somebody—probably Country—is still on the boat. You stay down here with Nick and see if you can find a gun or a bat or a stick or somethin’.”
“Nick? You know this guy?”
“Yup. He brings toys to all the good little girls and boys every year.”
“Haha. I get it. Saint Nick. Very funny.”
“Seriously, though. You stay down here until I can find out what’s goin’ on up there. Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Prosperity watched the guy climb up to the deck and disappear. She started poking around the junk piled all over the kitchen. There were a few knives, most smaller than a typical steak knife. She grabbed the biggest one she could find and moved on toward the cabin at the
front of the boat. As it turned out, it wasn’t a bedroom, but a storage room. She found it stuffed full of mildewed life preservers and two lengths of nylon rope. She kicked at the might-have-once-been-orange floatation devices and nearly rotten emergency oars. Her kick caused an avalanche of them to spill down out of the room. She barely stepped back out of the way in time to avoid being buried by them. She peered into the room and realized there was something else under them.
She flung a couple out of her way and stepped into the room, holding her knife out in front of her. A big rusted red fuel can sat next to a wooden crate. It didn’t smell like gasoline. Maybe kerosene … or diesel. She reached down and pulled the lid of the box open. Inside, she found a dozen sticks of red dynamite. It startled her to see it and she stumbled backward. When she did, she knocked over the can of fuel and it started to pour out onto the floor.
“Oh, shit,” she murmured.
She ran out of the room and slammed the door behind her. We gotta get off this boat, she thought, running back toward the bedroom where Santa was napping. She knelt down and started shaking the man. He was fast asleep. She realized it wasn’t his snoring she heard. It was a boat. Somewhere in the distance, the familiar whine of a boat was getting closer.
38
The Great Escape
Country heard the boat roaring in the distance. He knew it wasn’t a fishing boat. It must’ve been one of those gall-dang jet boats the tourists raced around the sound. Abominable things only good for messing with the peace and quiet that most of the islanders wanted. The high-pitched whine was definitely getting closer. He dropped the girl’s body onto the deck and stumbled to the captain’s chair. He pulled out a small pair of binoculars and trained them on the horizon in the direction of the noise.
He didn’t recognize the boat, but he could tell it was definitely coming toward him—fast. He moved toward the bow and held Jed’s gun up in his best imitation of a shooter’s stance. He looked through the gun’s sights like he’d seen Jed do, but his eyes were still watery from the punch he took to the nose. He blinked a few times and cracked his neck. All the movie hero guys did that before they fired their guns, so he figured it must be worth doing.
He stared down the barrel of his gun at the approaching boat. As it got closer, he was able to make out two men. The guy driving the boat was a big man. He looked like he might be seven feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. The other dude was skinny and—
Country looked up from the gun sights. Sonofabitch. He put the binoculars back up to his eyes and the second man came into focus. Thin, tan, dark hair, dark beard, and still wearing that damn cowboy hat. That jackass. What the hell is he doin’ here now? If only he had come along the first time, none of this shit would’ve happened.
Country’s vision wavered and he suddenly felt cold. Drops of sweat popped up on his cheeks and forehead. He tried to shake off the sudden wave of nausea that swept up from his lower abdomen, but it was too late. He vomited all over his chin and down his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he must be going into shock.
“Gotta finish,” he mumbled, raising the gun.
He fired two quick shots toward Troy and his big friend racing toward him. Troy ducked, and the boat swerved suddenly, the driver dodging the shots. Country wiped his eyes and raised the gun again. He followed the boat as it made an arc around his boat. In a moment of brilliance that was normally completely foreign to him, he aimed out in front of the racing jet boat. He took a deep breath and squeezed his finger. The bang sounded really strange. It didn’t seem to come from the gun. It seemed like it had come from the back of his head. And then the pain exploded inside his brain. He hit the deck hard, unable to even raise his hands to catch himself. His head slammed into the floor and he felt his nose crunch and the blood gush down his face again. He knew his nose was a wreck without even seeing it. He sat up to see the girl dropping the anchor she must have hit him with. She jumped over the rail and onto her boat. In seconds, she had it untied and was revving her engine. Her boat and Country’s dreams of fixing this mess raced away at an unbelievable speed.
All my own fault, he thought. All my fault for trustin’ in too many untrustworthy people. Damn Jed, damn Banksy, and damn that bastard Troy. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up and saw Troy and his speed boat headed straight at him again and closer than ever. He raised his gun. No half-nekkid chick to stop him from blowin’ that cowboy hat right off Troy’s head now.
Troy watched the topless girl slam the anchor over Country’s head so hard he thought she might have killed him. He recognized her immediately. It was Clarice. He shook his head. She had lied to him all along. She wasn’t off on some save-the-whales expedition. She was running drugs for the Boonesborough and McCorker campaign. She jumped over to her boat and flung the rope off and shoved away from Country’s boat. Climbing into the cabin of her boat, she paused, looking across the bow toward Troy. His eyes met hers and he was sure, even at this distance, that there was some sadness in them. He didn’t know what the story was there, and he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to ask her about it as her boat pulled away. She was gone in a flash.
As she raced away toward the open ocean, he looked back toward Country’s boat. A shot from the man’s gun shattered the windshield on Ronnie’s brother-in-law’s boat. Ronnie ducked and Troy hit the deck.
“Flare gun,” Ronnie yelled over the wind.
He pointed to a red box strapped to the side rail behind him. Troy nodded. It wouldn’t be much against Country’s pistol, but it was all they had. He’d left his trusty M1911 somewhere and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where. Ronnie kept the throttle open wide and they were getting closer to Country by the second. He clicked open the red box, removed the bright red flare gun, and shoved a cartridge into the barrel. It had been a long time since he fired one, but it was a pretty simple operation. Point gun, pull the trigger, big bright fire flying through the air.
Troy steadied himself and raised the gun. He aimed it right at Country, as best he could. He pulled the trigger and an impossibly bright orange light shot from the gun and flew toward Country’s boat. However, it did not fly straight. It spiraled around in a wild pattern and eventually plunged into the water short of his target. He was close enough to see Country laugh and aim his gun again, Troy ducked and heard the shot go off. It whizzed overhead and didn’t appear to hit anything.
He dug into the red box and found the only other flare. He shoved it into the gun and rose up for another shot. They were close enough now that it would be easier to hit the boat. He aimed at Country’s chest and froze. Not only was Country still aiming at them, but now there was another person on the deck of the boat. A jolt of recognition hit him as he watched the young man with dark hair and a stubble of beard appear behind Country. He was a good looking kid who reminded Troy of himself when he was younger. Standing behind Country, both hands raised high in a balled fist over the man’s head, was T.J. He lowered the flare gun knowing he couldn’t fire with the kid anywhere on the deck of Country’s boat. He could just as easily hit him as Country.
“Dangit.”
T.J. brought his fists down onto Country’s back, and the gun went off, splintering one of the crates and revealing several rifle barrels inside. Country grunted and rolled over, his entire front covered in blood and his eyes glowing white out of the dark, sticky mess. His arm came up, and T.J. saw the pistol. Some instinct made him kick, and he connected with Country’s hand, sending the gun skating across the deck until it came to rest next to the box of rifles. T.J. dove for the gun, but Country’s hand clamped down on his ankle and pulled him backward.
Country got to his feet, looking like the creature from the black lagoon. T.J. scrambled for the gun, but Country dove on top of him. The air went out of T.J.’s lungs, and stars flashed in his eyes as he saw Country reach out and grab the gun. Country grabbed T.J.’s throat and pointed the pistol at his nose. The rage in the man’s eyes was horrific. T.J. tensed
for the shot. He heard a thud, and Country grunted.
He opened his eyes to see Prosperity hitting Country on the back with an oar. She wasn’t doing much damage, but it was enough to make him crawl off T.J. and lunge at her.
He heard some shouting and realized it was coming from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a boat. It was closing fast, and he thought they might be planning to ram them. He recognized one of the men as Troy, the guy who had kept him company waiting for his mothers to get off work at the strip club. In a split-second decision, he shoved Country hard to the side, grabbed Prosperity by the shoulders and jumped overboard, heaving her as far as he could.
They splashed down and he pointed to the boat.
“Swim! As fast as you can.”
She nodded and started flapping her arms in the water. She wasn’t a great swimmer, and he worried they weren’t going to get far enough away from Country. On cue, he heard the man shouting from behind them. He looked back to see they were only twenty feet away and Country had his gun pointed right at Prosperity. With a maniacal laugh, Country pulled the trigger.
Troy watched helplessly as T.J. grabbed the girl and leapt overboard. He saw Country stand and aim his gun at them. He waited for the bang, but it never came. Country squeezed the trigger again and again, but nothing happened. Well, I’ll be dang, he’s out of bullets, Troy thought. He tapped Ronnie on the shoulder and pointed at the two people in the water.
“Get to them. Gotta get ’em out of there.”
Ronnie nodded and turned slightly in their direction. They were far enough from Country’s boat that Troy thought they might be able to slide between them and pick them up.
He watched Country go ballistic. He flung the pistol out into the water toward T.J. and Prosperity. It splashed short of them. Country started kicking things in the boat. Pieces of broken crate started flying. White powder billowed up all around him and caked into the blood on his body. He looked more like a ghost than a man. His screams were turning into mindless shrieks, and Troy urged Ronnie to go faster.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 128