Caribbean Moon (A Manny Williams Thriller, Book One)

by Murcer, Rick

  Richardson and Corner stood outside his door wearing looks of worry fit for a mother. “Damn!” He said as he opened the door and waited for Corner to speak.

  Alex and Tucker joined them. The expression on their faces only made things worse.

  He noticed his partner wasn’t in the hall. “Where’s Sophie?”

  Corner searched the floor and then went back to Manny.

  “He took her. He’s killed First Officer Pena and kidnapped Sophie. He’s holding her hostage behind the food court. And damn it, now he’s got Perez’s .38 and Sophie’s 9mm.”

  Corner shifted his weight. “He says his name is Jenkins, but it’s Peppercorn. He’s either playing with us or you hit the dual personality thing on the head. Regardless, he wants us, especially you.”

  Surreal dread grabbed at Manny and refused to let go. Not Sophie. Not another partner.

  Pointing at the security guards, he said, “Don’t let anyone get into this cabin.” Then he turned to go.

  Richardson grabbed his arm. “That’s not all. He claims that he has pipe bombs and will use them unless he gets what he wants.”

  Manny stopped in his tracks. “I thought you said he wants me. What else does he want?”

  Richardson threw up his hands. “I don’t have a damned clue, but he said you would know.”

  “How would I know?”

  Searching the others, he hoped to see the answer written in big, bold letters across their foreheads. No luck.

  He ransacked every corner of his mind, looking for something he already had, a gift that Peppercorn had given him. His eyes burned holes in the floor, and then it hit him. He did know what the killer wanted.

  It all made sense now. It was masked in the madman’s agenda for revenge, the real reason he did what he did, was who he was. The killer didn’t even realize it himself.

  “What do we all want?” He rushed to the Lido Deck with the others trailing close behind.

  CHAPTER-72

  By the time Manny reached the Lido Deck, Jenkins had moved to the very back of the ship, taking Sophie with him and using her body as a human shield, just in case anyone got trigger happy.

  Manny pulled the card out of his pocket and eyed the copy of the ship’s picture ID that Corner had handed him earlier. It appeared to be Robert Peppercorn. He had changed his hair, and his face was chiseled. His skin had been transformed by hours in the sun or tanning booths. The name under the picture read Eli Jenkins.

  Was this name change an attempt at hiding, going underground? Or did his mind pathetically blow a psychological gasket and evolve into what Manny thought he saw in him those years ago?

  How did this fit with the knowledge that Jenkins wanted to talk to him?

  Manny had interrogated him several times, with different questions meaning the same thing, and on each occasion, Peppercorn had maintained his innocence. He’d been convincing too. But the evidence called Peppercorn a liar.

  Is it possible to really do something that hideous and not know it?

  How could anyone really know what hid in the mind of a psychopath? Lucky him. He was sure he was about to get a glimpse of that unchartered territory. Maybe even a full-blown show.

  “Hey, you with us?” asked Corner.

  Eyes snapping away from the picture, he put it in his back pocket. “Yeah, just trying to put things together.”

  He looked around the lounge area surrounding the five eateries and noticed that Richardson’s people had the doors guarded and had sealed off every exit leading to the very back of the deck. Peppercorn was trapped. He frowned. It didn’t fit. Guys like Peppercorn didn’t leave themselves in this kind of position. Unless . . .

  What if he wanted it like this?

  Manny didn’t like how this was going down, but there weren’t many options. Jenkins or Peppercorn, or whatever he called himself, had Sophie and that had to change.

  “Are you ready to do this?” asked Corner.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  Manny piloted the others past both deck pools and the small winding waterslide that led to the end of the larger one. He sidestepped broken and tipped sun chairs scattered over the wooden deck. It looked like a bomb had gone off.

  Sharp tension took hold of his hand, and he could see that the stress was affecting the others too. And why not? Peppercorn had been a step ahead the whole way, and they could be walking right into a trap—a death trap.

  They neared the last sliding door that opened to the very back of the Ocean Duchess, to where Jenkins held Sophie hostage. They’d better get this right or Manny would bury another partner, or Louise would be a widow, maybe both.

  Without warning, the door parted and a tangle of flesh tumbled through it.

  Reflexes took control, and he leveled his gun at the snarl of arms and legs moving his way.

  “No shoot! No shoot!”

  A terrified Japanese couple toppled breathlessly to the deck like sacks of potatoes, covering their heads with unsteady hands and screaming in their very best English.

  He quickly raised his gun to the cloudless sky and swore.

  Corner motioned for the couple to go to the forward part of the ship.

  “I’m getting too old for this shit,” swore Richardson, lowering his gun.

  Alex agreed. “I thought I was going to need new underwear there for a second.”

  “That makes two of us,” Manny exhaled.

  “Three,” added Tucker.

  Once the couple was out of range, he motioned to the others. The next step wasn’t exactly proper protocol and probably wouldn’t work, but Manny saw no other way.

  “Let’s split here. Josh and I will stay on this side of the ship, and you three come up the other side. With teams on each flank, we might be able to distract him. And for God’s sake, let’s not do anything rash.”

  He turned to Richardson, who nodded.

  “If he wants to talk to me—at least I hope talking’s on his mind—we’re going to give him the opportunity. If we can divide his attention enough, maybe we can get a clear shot. I hate this, but we’re just going to have to play it by ear. He’s holding all the cards.”

  Corner turned to Manny. “You think you know what he wants?”

  “Yeah, I think I do. I guess we’ll find out shortly.”

  “You better know, or it’s gonna get ugly,” snapped Richardson.

  Manny looked at the burly ex-cop. The pissy attitude was getting real old. But he also knew the chief was right. “Just hold up your end.”

  Richardson grunted and led Alex and Tucker through the sliding door. Two minutes later, Corner put his hand over his ear phone. “They’re ready.”

  Manny and Corner crawled to a group of steel dining chairs piled on hand carts—just to the left of where Peppercorn lay in wait—and hunkered behind them. Manny raised his head to get a look at Peppercorn and, hopefully, Sophie.

  The scene in front of him caused the wind to leave his sails. It wasn’t what he had expected, but the killer had been clever all through this ride, and now was no exception.

  Jenkins was holed up in the rear left area of the deck with stacks of flat sun chairs on each side of him, protruding at forty-five-degree angles. Two rectangular food tables had been stood upright, just on the outside of the chairs. A tall, blue table umbrella covered the space so that no one could see in from the radio or weather towers. He had made sure no sniper could get a bead on him. The only way in was straight through his line of sight.

  Sophie sat duct taped to a cafeteria chair just to the inside of the makeshift stronghold. Her head lolled on her slow-heaving chest. She was out, but alive.

  There was something else. Something out of whack. This scene looked too contrived. Too staged. There was no way out for Jenkins. Even if he tried to jump off the back of the ship, he would hit at least two protruding deck covers. No one could avoid them except maybe Superman.

  No matter what happened to Sophie or with any alleged bombs, Peppercorn couldn’t get ou
t alive unless he surrendered. Manny thought that possibility had a snowball’s chance in St. Thomas of happening. This was set up for a bad ending for Peppercorn. He frowned. These men didn’t work that way. Life was about them and what they needed, and suicide just wasn’t in their vocabulary.

  What was he up to?

  “What do you think?” whispered Corner. “Should we get his attention?”

  “I don’t know. There’s something wrong with this set up.”

  “I think so too. But maybe he truly screwed up.”

  “Maybe, but not likely.” He grabbed Corner’s wrist. “But we can’t wait for more help; Sophie’s running out of time.”

  Corner nodded. “Let’s see what’s on his mind.”

  The agent turned in the killer’s direction, the ship’s bullhorn to his mouth.

  “Robert Peppercorn, this is Agent Corner with the FBI. Put down your weapons and come out with your hands behind your head.”

  Immediately a shot echoed over the deck. The bullet ricocheted off one of the chairs to Corner’s left.

  “You stupid shit,” screamed Jenkins. “Peppercorn is gone. Long gone. My name is Eli Jenkins, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to a damned Fed. I want to talk to Detective Williams, now.”

  Jenkins’s voice had gone from lunatic screaming back to full control in one eerie second.

  “I want him to come to me. Unarmed. You hear me, detective? If you don’t get your pretty-boy ass out here, I’m going to kill your partner. I’d like to take the time to do it my way, but a bullet in the head will work. Don’t you think?”

  “Put down the weapons and come out—” Another bullet exploded near the stack of chairs, slamming into the deck. Shards of wood covered the surface.

  “Are you deaf? You have two minutes before this skank’s head goes inside out,” yelled Jenkins.

  Manny started to stand up, and Corner pulled him back. “What the hell are you doing? I can’t allow this. He’ll kill you before you get within fifteen feet.”

  “I don’t think so. At least not until he gets what he wants. I’m not totally sure what this Jenkins is about, but I think I know how to get his attention. You boys better be ready.”

  Shaking off the agent’s hand, he started toward Jenkins.

  CHAPTER-73

  Runnels of sweat streamed from every pore on his body, soaking his shirt, as Manny walked. Every cop knew that the real threat of dying went hand-in-hand with living. It came with the territory. But he had never really ventured into the realm of dying, at least not like this. It was crazy and against everything he’d ever learned. Not only that, he was going boldly into what came next.

  Who’s the crazy one here?

  He hoped God did protect drunks and fools because he was a card-carrying member of the latter. But he had to try. He couldn’t let Sophie die. If he didn’t face him, he knew Jenkins would kill her. These men didn’t utter idle promises. They weren’t politicians.

  Bright reggae hopped from the ship’s sound system. The music hardly fit the mood, but it sounded better than the funeral march. He also noticed that the foamy trail left in the ship’s wake had ceased. Captain Serafini was guaranteeing this scenario wouldn’t be smuggled into the busy port of Oranjestad. This would be Jenkins’s last stand, one way or the other. It might be his own too.

  Eli Jenkins. What of this new persona that embodied Peppercorn? What did he mean when he said Peppercorn was long gone? Was this an alter-ego thing about the Dissociative Identity Disorder that the shrinks working Peppercorn’s case had mentioned, or was Peppercorn really dead and this monster, somehow, had taken his place?

  “That’s far enough.”

  The sunlight was blinding. He squinted through it, trying to get a good look at the towering figure. Jenkins took a small step forward.

  Surprise tapped him on the shoulder. He had seen this man around the ship. In the glass elevators. At Trunk Bay in St. John. In the dining room. But Manny had never recognized him for who he was. He had changed. Lost sixty or seventy pounds and had gone the route to extreme fitness. But the man who now called himself Eli Jenkins was Robert Peppercorn.

  The two men exchanged looks, and Manny’s sense of dread went up ten levels. The cold, uninviting black pools that were windows to the killer's soul almost caused him to flinch. Hatred, anger, and pain were the only things Jenkins was about. Manny got the unmistakable impression that any shred of goodness or compassion this man had ever held had been snuffed like a finished candle. He had never sensed this kind of wickedness. The man before him was more monster than human.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Jenkins?” he asked softly.

  “YOU help ME? Come, come detective. I think you have the roles reversed. You are in no position to help me. But I, on the other hand, can help you.”

  “Okay then, how can you help me?” he said evenly.

  The killer’s face twisted and his rage detonated. “Don’t patronize me, flatfoot,” he yelled, pointing the 9mm at Sophie’s head.

  “If you try that shit on me again, I’ll kill her and then stuff one of these between your eyes before you can freaking twitch, got it?”

  “I get the picture. No reason we can’t work something out here.” He bent his eyes to the deck. “How can you help me, Mr. Jenkins?”

  “That’s better. It’s not often we get a chance at redemption, detective, but I’m going to offer that opportunity to you. I’m going to give you a chance to save your soul.”

  Manny brought his eyes up from the floor and noticed that Sophie was coming to. He never missed a beat as his gaze continued upward to Jenkins.

  This man was so articulate, intelligent. Something that Peppercorn could never have been guilty of. What had happened?

  “What is it that you want me to do?”

  “Why, Detective Williams, I thought you would never ask. I merely want you and all of the rest of Lansing law enforcement to suffer. You see, I have discovered that suffering is worse than dying. Ask the Crosbys. I suspect that even Detective Perez could give you some insight. If she could talk, that is.” Jenkins face grew amazingly calm. “You must choose, Detective Williams, another partner’s death or your own.”

  Manny tried to ignore the lead ball that had instantly formed in his stomach. He’d been right. Jenkins wanted revenge. He fought the good fight to answer. “How does that save a soul?”

  “You dumb-ass cop! Do I have to spell it out?” Jenkins shifted the gun to his other hand and continued. “Let me put it in terms you might understand. We all feel better when we pay our debts. Right? There’s a sense of relief. I want you to experience that sense when you write this check.”

  He watched Jenkins’s muscles tense. They were getting near the end. He needed to find a solution to this standoff—now—except none of the scenarios in his mind excluded death, especially his.

  “What debt do I owe?”

  The hateful reaction on the killer’s face was chilling.

  “You haven’t figured it out yet? You are the very essence of ignorance. By killing this bitch, I get to watch you suffer. By you dying, your loved ones suffer. Either way, I win. I spent ten years in that shithole. This is the payment I require for sending me there. It’s time to pay up. Your turn to choose. Her or you. Now.”

  Jenkins pulled the hammer back and pressed the gun against Sophie’s head.

  It was time to play his card. Now or never.

  “Wait. Just wait.” Manny let his breath out slowly. This was it. Lord, he hoped he was right. “What will your mother say when she sees you like this? She’s on the ship. I saw her three nights ago.”

  Jenkins hesitated. For a brief moment, Manny saw Peppercorn’s face emerge from the confusion, from whatever dark place he had been imprisoned.

  “What? My mother?”

  The gamble had paid off, momentarily at least.

  Everyone wanted their mother to love them, to care for them, to tell them that they will forever be insulated from the pain this world inve
nted. Almost everyone’s mother loved him or her, unconditionally. The man that was once Robert Peppercorn was no exception. He still cared what his mother thought.

  This was the break he had hoped for. It would be a mismatch, but so were David and Goliath. Manny crouched to attack, never anticipating what happened next. The old saying about the best laid plans of mice and men was right on.

  “You dick! You leave my wife alone,” screamed Randy Mason, seemingly ignorant to the danger around him as he crashed through overturned deck chairs.

  Randy rushed Jenkins with Richardson hot on his heels, screaming for Randy to get down. At the last second, just before Jenkins recovered from the mind-bending truth Manny had administered, the security chief tackled Sophie’s husband. The thud was resounding as almost six hundred pounds of flesh collided with the deck.

  Maybe it was Randy’s screaming or just how Jenkins planned it, but Sophie was now almost fully awake and took her cue by rolling violently to her left. She went down hard with the chair still firmly attached, but out of Jenkins’s line of fire, for the moment.

  Manny closed the distance between them and staggered Jenkins with a hard right hand to the jaw. Most men would have been down for the count. But Jenkins wasn’t most men.

  Jenkins righted himself and grinned. “Is that all you got, detective? I bet your gook partner could do more damage than that.” He stepped forward and swung his gun at Manny’s head. Manny dove to his right, reaching for the 9mm in his waistband at the same time. He landed awkwardly on his extended shoulder and was greeted with crippling pain that jolted his senses. It felt like someone had stabbed him with a jagged knife. The gun slid from his hand like a skate on ice. Always the lucky one.

  “You bastard! Let her go!” shrieked Randy, even as Richardson struggled to keep him on the deck.

  Now fully recovered from his momentary shock, Jenkins turned away from Manny and pumped four loud shots toward Richardson and Sophie’s husband. Manny heard an agonizing scream come from Randy. Jenkins swore and he sent two more bullets their way.