Chapter Three - Justice
Mitch slapped his hands down on the table in front of Nathan, made a point to get in the man’s face. “You understand why we’re having a hard time believing anything you say, right? Your answers about Livvy have been vague at best. What is it you keep hiding? When did you first know Livvy was in danger? Tell us what you know.”
He watched the banker’s eyes. It even looked as though he might get the guy to open his mouth and say something relevant, truthful, something that made sense. But hope was short-lived when Nathan hesitated and clamped his lips together again, without saying a word.
Even though he was bone-tired, Jackson refused to give up. “What did you hope to accomplish on the Patagonia Pike? My guess is you needed to find out where the gold was and then kill everyone on board to get it? That’s not even plausible. Or were you there to be Dietrich’s personal snitch?”
The questions were met with stony silence and had Mitch glancing at his watch. They’d badgered the guy for forty-five minutes without getting anything more out of him. With each question, Nathan had grown more insolent and stubborn.
Mitch finally decided they weren’t getting anything more out of the man tonight. “Get him out of here and put him in with Dietrich.”
“No!” Nathan shouted. “I want my own cabin.”
Mitch patted the side of the man’s sweaty face. “I hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t a Princess Cruise Line. You’ll bunk where I put you. You aren’t afraid of a seventy-five-year-old man, now are you?”
“Fuck you!” Nathan shouted, along with a string of other toxic suggestions as Garret led him away.
“What do you think?” Mitch asked Jackson.
“It’s obvious both men know what happened and have chosen to keep it to themselves.”
“Any suggestion how we get it out of them?”
Jackson blew out a fed-up breath. “Men like Dietrich and Nathan are greedy. They think everyone around them has exactly the same mindset. Nathan doesn’t give a shit about what happened to Livvy or those kids. All he cares about is getting the payday, the bundle of cash.”
Garret came back in, his eyes glassy from exhaustion. “Nathan’s locked up for the night. I think I’ve narrowed down the person who killed Livvy and the kids to three people. My guess is Dietrich ordered either Roger Baskin, Sinclair, or that piece of crap I just tossed into his cabin to do his dirty work.”
“My guess is it’s all three,” Mitch suggested. “Because I’m thinking they all had a hand in it.”
“Don’t forget Dandridge,” Jackson reminded.
Garret rocked back on his heels. “Look, I hate to be a party-pooper, but I have to get some sleep before I drop. That run to get Nathan took everything out of me. And we’ve been at this for hours. Anniston and Sebastian crashed about an hour ago.”
Mitch bobbed his head. “Yeah, I’m beat. We should get some shuteye before we drop. Let’s get a few hours and meet back here in the morning, take another whirl at getting Nathan to crack before getting into port.”
“Good idea.” Jackson took out his cell phone. “Is 2 a.m. too late to text Tessa?”
Garret slapped him on the back. “I’ll say, unless you want to get yelled at. It’s better to wait until first thing in the morning, then get yelled at.”
“Why would she yell at me?”
“Bro, how long has it been since you called her? Who knows why women get upset about anything? But when a man least expects to get into trouble…pow! That’s when we land in the middle of it, so deep we don’t know what hit us.”
Dietrich sat in the locked cabin, his mind searching for ways to bargain with his captors. If he failed in reaching a deal, he would need to come up with a plan to escape.
For the thousandth time he studied every detail of the cabin’s enclosure, every crevice in the four walls for a weakness he could exploit.
Weakness. The word reminded him of that spineless piece of shit, Nathan Hollister. No doubt, the man would get them both killed.
Dietrich sneered to himself as he muttered curses under his breath. The Indigos had kept that weasel for a long time, probably had broken him. Which meant all his plans were at risk, all he had worked hard for and built up would disappear in a puff of smoke. He realized now he should’ve killed that snake the first time Nathan had slithered into his office. He would correct that mistake if he ever got out of here. He had one thing going for him, one card up his sleeve he hadn’t yet played. Those stupid Indigos had initially bought his story, the one he’d trotted out back on that leaky excuse for a boat. To his surprise, they hadn’t searched him. They’d missed the opportunity to find his six-inch knife he always carried with him. Others had made the same mistake before and it had cost them dearly.
He heard footsteps approaching in the passageway. The sound made him jump. He steeled his spine. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Fingering the knife his father had given him, he unfolded the blade, revealing the motto etched there. “Blut und Ehre,” he repeated to himself over and over again.
Blood and Honor.
He would taste the blood of the Indigos, those inferior beings who’d come between him and his plan to get what belonged to him. If the brothers intended to kill him, he’d die with honor. He’d go out with dignity like so many had done during the war. He’d live up to his family’s proud name and die fighting, not begging for his life like that gutless wonder Hollister. Right now, the man was probably singing like a bird, spilling everything he knew.
Dietrich saw the key turning the lock and primed himself for what he had to do. Maybe he would take them by surprise, and with a little luck, one or more of them would join him in death.
He ran his finger over the Nazi emblem on the handle, and muttered the motto again. With all the strength he could muster, he readied himself for the attack.
But to his surprise and relief, the Indigos didn’t enter. Instead, someone tossed Nathan into the cabin, or to be correct, hurled him into the room. Hollister ended up head first, meeting the floor like a sack of cement.
Dietrich’s smile was cold as he watched Nathan bounce off the deck. The door slammed shut and the lock turned again.
It was just him and Nathan now, two men locked up in a hundred and seventy square feet of cabin space. There was a discussion outside about whose turn it was to stand watch. After much debate, the footsteps faded.
Dietrich turned his attention back to the shaking lump of flesh on the floor. He folded his knife up and slipped it back into its hiding place near his bunk.
He went over and kicked Nathan in the side. When the man didn’t respond, he kicked him again, harder.
Nathan let out a groan. “Stop that, you old fart, or I’ll get up and beat the shit out of you.”
Dietrich’s eyes narrowed. “What did you tell them?”
Nathan slowly got to his feet and went over to sit down on one of the bunks. He looked at Dietrich. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Nathan rubbed his throbbing nose. “Do you think I’m crazy? If I tell them anything, anything at all, they’ll cut us both up and feed us to the sharks.”
Nathan spied the bottle of water next to the bunk and unscrewed the cap. He took a long drink, almost draining the fluid before going on. “As long as I stick to my story that I’m just a dumbass island banker who loved their sister and wanted nothing more than a better life for her, I can play them like the hicks they are.”
Nathan guzzled another long drink. “But you, I think your time is about up, old man. I heard them talking earlier about what they want to do with you, and it wasn’t pretty.”
Dietrich smiled at that. So the little snake was trying to scare him. That’s all right, he decided. He could easily play both sides. When the time was right, he’d willingly point the finger at someone else. Any one of those idiots back on the island would do. The Indigos seemed to already hate Baskin and Sinclair the most.
As long as he could make a deal to save himself, all
would be right with the world. He certainly wouldn’t be like the bottom-feeder, the double-dealing banker he saw before him now. He would strike first, though, before morning. As soon as Hollister fell asleep, he’d make certain the scum didn’t live to see another day.
Dietrich smiled to himself and fingered his knife again. Before morning, he thought now, as he watched Nathan curl into his bunk.
Stretched out on top of his own mattress, Dietrich fixated on the only light coming through the porthole—a persistent ray of moonbeam that shoved its way through the low-hanging clouds outside. It bathed one spot on the wall in a shaft of glint and glimmer.
He listened to Nathan’s shallow breathing grow deeper and deeper before throwing his legs over the lip of the bed. He stood up and took out his beloved weapon from under the bedding. He flipped back the razor-sharp blade. It gleamed in that one circle of moonlight, flashing as if it had caught on fire, like the flaming swords the Norse gods of old carried into battle.
As he crossed to Nathan’s bunk, he picked up a sock off the cabin floor. He would use it to stuff in Nathan’s mouth to keep him from calling out for help.
After all, this wasn’t his first kill. He always relished that look in the eyes as the life slowly drained out of a person. That was the part of killing he enjoyed the most, that look of terror, or maybe it was the blank dead look in the eyes. He loved that look and the feeling of power it brought with it. It hadn’t changed over the years. From his first kill at the age of twelve, when he’d taken the life of a peasant farmer’s daughter he’d lured into the woods. After all these years he could still see her face and feel her terror.
That was the day his father had been so proud of him, so proud he’d rewarded him with the knife. Afterward, his father had helped him get rid of the body. All these memories came flooding back as he stood over Nathan and watched him sleep.
Dietrich stood for a minute longer and waited. He was as quick as a cobra when he struck. First, he stuffed the sock deep into Nathan’s mouth and then launched himself on top of the younger man’s chest so he couldn’t move.
The frenzy began as he plunged the blade into Nathan’s throat, watching as the man’s eyes fluttered open in terror just as he’d hoped they would.
Again and again, the small dagger found its mark. He could see the life fading from Nathan’s eyes. The sight thrilled him, giving him a sense of power, the ultimate control over life and death.
When Dietrich was satisfied Nathan was dead, he moved off his chest. Standing beside the bunk, he rolled the body over so that it faced the cabin wall and pulled the blanket over what he thought was a lifeless piece of flesh.
He shuffled back over to his bunk.
But Nathan wasn’t quite finished with his struggle. His closed eyes popped open. He realized he was dying because he could feel his life’s blood flowing out of his body from the dozens of wounds.
He tried to force out a scream, but something prevented him from getting his lips to work. His mouth was full of…something. It was hard to breathe through his busted nose. It took every ounce of energy he possessed to raise his arm a few inches off the bed. Ever so slowly, he moved his right hand. With his forefinger dripping blood, he began to form the first letter on the wall where Dietrich wouldn’t see it. He had to tell Jackson the truth before it was too late. In his sluggish state of mind, he believed in his heart that Jackson would understand the message.
Seconds ticked by.
Nathan could feel the last of the blood draining out of him. As he slipped away, he grew colder and colder until finally he began to shiver. Before he could do anything else, blackness closed in around him. He tried holding it off, but soon he floated into the darkness.
Across the room, in his bunk, Dietrich watched Nathan for any signs of movement. Finally, after twenty minutes or so, he hid his knife in his sock and drifted off to sleep, a warm feeling of superiority coursing through his veins.
Dietrich would tell the Indigos a story about how Nathan had confessed everything to him. The banker had admitted murdering their sister and her family in a fit of rage.
He would pretend that he’d been so outraged by the man’s evil nature—the murderer of women and children didn’t deserve to take another breath of air—that he’d taken it on himself to avenge their deaths. After all, he’d done them a favor. He was only there for the gold, not to harm women and children.
Yes, he’d be the one making a deal. He’d be the one pointing the finger. He’d be the one getting off this boat…alive.
Chapter Four - Justice
The cool October dawn brought chaos.
It was Walsh who let young Prentiss into Dietrich’s and Nathan’s cabin. The young sailor carried a tray that held breakfast for two.
The first thing Prentiss noticed was the iron smell of blood. He’d been on fishing boats enough to recognize the scent. He spotted the red color dripping from one of the bunks, forming a large pool underneath on the floor. Instinctively, he dropped the tray and reached for his sidearm, yelled for Walsh. The scrambled eggs went flying into the awful red sea.
Prentiss glanced over at the older man, noted his calm, serene demeanor as he sat in his bunk, looking like a choirboy. The twenty-year-old knew then what had happened. “What have you done?” he yelled at Dietrich.
Walsh peeked his head in the doorway and surveyed the room. He zeroed in on the blood-soaked sheets where Nathan lay. Unlike Prentiss who stood like a statue, Walsh went over and tossed back the covers. He sucked in a breath at the sight. Nathan had stab wounds around his chest, but it was the gash puncturing his throat that had caused him to bleed out.
“That took some time,” Walsh said, quickly covering the body back up again. He shoved Prentiss out of the room. “Go get Mitch, boy. Now!”
Walsh cut his eyes toward Dietrich. “You really are a stupid man, aren’t you? I thought rich people were supposed to be so much smarter than the rest of us. I thought I’d run across a new kind of low when you ordered the deaths of women and children. That alone put you at the top of the monster list in a category all by yourself. But this…you’re in international waters. You’re an idiot if you think you won’t have to pay for this…and quickly.”
“I had my reasons. The Indigos will want to hear what I have to say.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Walsh hissed. “You’re a dead man either way.”
Mitch came running into the room. Behind him trailed Garret, still trying to wake up. The hallway outside started to buzz with everyone else gathering to get a look inside the cabin.
Dietrich went into his spiel, recalled for Mitch how Nathan had confessed his sins about killing Livvy and the kids.
Mitch traded looks with Walsh. “He couldn’t possibly think I’m as much of a nitwit as he is. Did you explain to him about international waters?”
“I mentioned it.”
Mitch whirled toward Dietrich, his fists clenched at his sides. “Did you really think we’d buy into your crap this time? Just because you pretended to be Reiner for a few days doesn’t mean we’re idiots. We knew something was off with your performance; we just couldn’t peg what it was. In case you haven’t noticed, The Black Rum flies under the Bahamian flag, and as such, assesses whatever crime occurs on board dependent of that jurisdiction. In other words, Mr. Dietrich, coldblooded murder equals capital punishment. In the Bahamas the penalty for murder is hanging. When it occurs in international waters justice is carried out at the sole discretion of the captain.”
Mitch tapped his chest. “That’s me.”
The old man paled, his face turning white as a ball of cotton. His eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep.
Mitch let that warning sink in, unwilling to wait for Dietrich to respond. “Where’s Anniston? Get this man in handcuffs and put him in the aft cabin storage. Garret, restrain him until she gets here.”
But Anniston hurried into the room and slapped cuffs on the old man’s wrists herself. She patted him down just as she’d once done
back in South Beach walking a patrol beat. She pulled his pockets inside out, but when she got to his ankle, her hands touched the metal. She brought out the six-inch knife with the Nazi emblem on the handle. “Murder weapon,” she muttered. “I need a baggie in here.”
Sebastian handed her a brown paper sack he’d taken from the galley. “Use this for now. It’s all I can find that’s handy.”
Anniston traded Dietrich for the sack and slid the knife inside.
While Sebastian led Dietrich out of the cabin into the passageway past the crew, she turned back to where Walsh stood still guarding the body.
“There’s something you should see,” Walsh said, pulling back the covers.
She saw the lettering, traded looks with Walsh and Mitch. “What does that even mean?”
Through the sea of faces standing at the door, Walsh hunted for Jackson and motioned for him to come into the cabin. “I think Nathan left you a message. Does that word jog anything in your brain?”
For several long seconds, Jackson struggled with the scene and all the blood. He did his best to get past the mess and stench of already decomposing remains to see what Walsh was talking about.
To his surprise, Nathan had written one simple word in his own blood. The letters P-O-T had been written in a shaky scrawl with the T running down the wall to where Nathan’s finger had dropped, leaving a trail of red.
“What the hell?”
Walsh put his hands on his hips. “So you don’t know what it means?”
Jackson looked puzzled. “Other than the obvious connection to weed? Not a clue.”
“He was trying to tell you something.”
“We’ll have to figure out what,” Mitch concluded. “He obviously thought ‘pot’ would mean something that only you two would know about. Begs the question, was he trying to lead you there? If so, why?”
Jackson scratched his chin. “The only thing that comes to mind is when we were in high school we used to smoke weed inside his family’s vault.”
The Indigo Brothers Trilogy Boxed Set Page 68