Blood of the Albatross

by Ridley Pearson

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  That’s a hell of an answer.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  ***

  Holst’s car was nowhere to be seen. Jay locked The Streak on the far side of Shilshole’s lot, well away from where it might be noticed. He kept in the shadows and stepped onto the large sidewalk that fronted all the docks, at Pier R. At Pier L he looked up at the parking lot and located Jocko’s van. The parking lights blinked once. If Holst arrived, Jocko would sound the horn twice and Jay would slip over The Lady’s side.

  He pulled open the door to her cabin.

  “Who is there?”

  “Me.” He hurried down the steps. She was in bed. He couldn’t see her well.

  “Not here! You must leave.”

  An ivory light bled through the tiny porthole windows, throwing shadows across her face. “We have to talk,” he said.

  “Not here. Please leave.” She feared he might see her bruises. She had removed the cosmetics before going to bed.

  He tried to maintain a tone between anger and forcefulness. “I saw you tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Puzzlement.

  “With Roy, the man I saw on the videotape.”

  “At the motel?” Astonishment now.

  “I followed you—you and Holst.”

  To the motel?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were right,” she said, “before. We are blackmailing that man. You must get out of this.”

  He waited.

  There is no reason to tell you what we are after, but I wanted you to know that I am not doing this of my own accord. No. There. That’s all I have to say to you. I did not want you thinking…”

  “They tried to kill me.”

  She shifted and the sheets rustled.

  “Twice. Maybe three times. You told him about the videotape?”

  “No! I put it back in the wrong section. You should not have left so quickly.” Her tears started slowly. Holst had lied. He had beaten her, agreed to a deal… he had lied.

  Jay waited, then stopped her by saying, “Holst tried again tonight. The police can’t help—not until I have more information. I need that tape. I think I can get you out of this if I have that tape.”

  “When I told you that he and I… When you left that day… It was not the complete truth…”

  “I know.”

  He had to see her eyes—eyes never lie. He had to know if what she was saying was the truth. He switched on the lights.

  She had been beaten. Badly. “Marlene!”

  She flinched and looked away.

  “Jesus.” He knelt by her bed, reached out, and touched her arm gently. “Holst?” he asked.

  Still refusing to look at him, she said, “You must leave, Jay. It is not safe for you here.”

  “You’re coming with me, Marlene.” He turned her head gently toward him, seeing her faint bruises more clearly, wincing. “My dear Marlene.”

  She trembled. Grief filled her face, a sad, distant grief full of pain and loathing.

  Jay turned and pulled up the port shelf. No tape. Gone. He reached across her and pulled up the starboard shelf. Again, no tape.

  “It is my father,” she whispered.

  “What?” Jay could barely hear her.

  “He has another tape. My father is a minister, active in what some call radical politics. He is an honest man. But not completely honest, I guess. Holst has a video of him giving money to a politician. The party he supports stands a good chance in our next election. Such a tape would ruin everything he has worked for. He would be discredited. You have to leave, Jay. I must do this for Holst. Then it will be over. All I want is for it to be over. Please”—her green eyes begged—“do this for me.”

  “We have to find that tape I had before. We’ll trade the tape he wants for the tape of your father.”

  “No. There is no trusting him.”

  “Get dressed. We have to find that tape.” He searched the shelf across from her again: no tape.

  “It is not in there,” she said, pointing.

  “Did he come on board with you tonight… after the motel?”

  “Yes, for a few minutes.”

  “And did he have the tape when he arrived?”

  She squinted. “He must have.”

  “And when he left?”

  “Let me think.”

  “It’s here somewhere.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “He doesn’t seem like the type to take chances. You’re working for him, right?”

  “Yes.” She moved restlessly.

  “What do you do?”

  She stared at him.

  “Tell me.”

  “I am a contact, a middleman.”

  “He protects himself. See? He uses you as his front. He maintains a safe distance. I followed him as he followed you and Roy… I know that much. So, where would he put the tape? Certainly not in his car, not wherever he’s staying—it would only implicate him in all of this. No, if anything goes wrong, it has to be you, so, he has to hide them where you are. You see?”

  She nodded reluctantly.

  “Where was he tonight, when he was on board The Lady? Where’s he been?”

  “I remember looking out my window as he left. I didn’t see the tape. Before that, he was forward, in the galley.”

  “Get dressed. Help me find it.” He hoped a task might pull her out of her depression. He left her in the cabin, peered over the rear cabin’s companionway, inspected the dock and parking lot, and hurried through the cockpit and down into the main cabin. He began tearing the place apart. As he searched, he planned.

  He would find the tape, take it and Marlene to the van, and turn them over to Jocko, who would drive to an out-of-town motel. He would then ride downtown and locate Detective Flint, even if he had to wake him up. He would have Jocko call in the name of the motel to the answering service that took band calls. He and Flint would go out to the motel and they would run through the whole thing, top to bottom. They would have Flint copy the tape—cops must have equipment to do that sort of thing. Then Jay would take the original and make a deal with Holst to trade tapes: the one of Marlene’s father for the one of Roy. When the trade went down, Flint would bust it and that would be that. Everyone would live happily ever after.

  Nothing. He couldn’t find the tape anywhere. He checked the floorboards, the storage beneath all the seats, including the forward holds, the closet, the drawers, the cabinets. Nothing. He was headed up the stairs when Marlene appeared above him, her face stained by tears. “Nothing,” he said.

  “How?” she asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “How did he try to kill you? Are you sure it was him?”

  “The tape, Marlene. We have to find the tape.” He stopped at the top of the companionway just inches from her. “Come on!”

  She grabbed him with more strength than he knew she had. She shook him. “I must know. I must know for certain.”

  Jay nodded, frightened by her outburst. “All right. Easy does it. A Chinese goon tried to toss me out my window. I thought he was a junkie. Last night someone set my apartment building on fire. The fire inspector blamed it on a messy basement and a gas leak. It was no gas leak, Marlene. Someone torched the place. It was all over the TV news… didn’t you see it?”

  “The television!” she exclaimed.

  Jay looked over. “He took the TV?”

  “Yes, the day after—”

  “The VCR?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The video machine?”

  “No, just the television.”

  Jay looked back into the galley/cabin. He had trashed it. “That’s it!” He jumped down the stairs, nearly falling, and stopped at the console that held the stereo and video machines. Next to the video machine a number of black plastic videotape boxes sat stacked in a long line. Jay turned to Marlene, who had followed him dow
n. “Without a television, he knew you couldn’t watch these,” he said, pointing to the tapes. “Do you know the saying, The best place to hide something is the most obvious place’?”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “He overlooked something,” he said, reaching behind the stereo. “To a rock musician, knowing audio electronics is more important than knowing scales.” He unplugged a wire from the back of the stereo and plugged it into the side of the VCR. “Sometimes it pays to be a musician.” He switched on both the VCR and the stereo. “We may not be able to see them, but we can listen to the soundtracks.”

  He pushed in the first videotape and fast-forwarded. Marlene joined in the action. She unboxed the tapes while Jay fast-forwarded and then pushed play. He looked at her for a response. She shook her head. “‘The Today Show.’ I made that one.”

  He tried the next, handing her the reject.

  “No,” she said. “Jane Fonda.”

  On the fifth tape, Jay cried, “Pay dirt!” Cocktail party sounds with someone dealing cards. They both listened. They heard a woman’s gravelly voice say, “Hit me.” Jay advanced the tape. They heard Kepella and Marlene talking in the motel.

  Marlene said, “That’s it!”

  He ejected the tape. Marlene slipped it into the box.

  “Are you willing to try this?” he asked.

  She took one step toward him and hugged him impulsively, hugged him hard. She held him until, finally, he gently pushed her away. She had tears on her face again, this time tears of joy. She kissed him. “I missed you.”

  He smiled and whispered quietly into her ear, “Ready about.” He turned her around squarely by the shoulders, until she was facing the stairs.

  “Hard a-lee,” she returned. And she laughed—for the first time in ages.

  35

  Holst was ten minutes away before he realized he had left his driving gloves on the boat. He had turned around and driven back. But as he approached Pier L, he saw the two of them walking down the dock arm-in-arm. Becker! Holst crouched, like a hunter waiting for the approach of his prey, waiting for the kill. Becker had seen the tape; Becker had seen an actual meeting; Becker had to be dealt with.

  Behind him, a car horn honked twice just as Marlene stepped through the gate. He reached out and grabbed her. She screamed as Holst pinned her arms behind her.

  Jay heard the horn a second too late. He ducked his head and charged Holst, who fell, releasing Marlene. “Run, Marlene!” Jay shouted.

  Together they ran into the parking lot, Jay limping slightly from his injured knee. Marlene screamed again as she crashed to the pavement. Jay turned. Holst had tackled her by the ankles. A sparkling sea mist swirled across the parking lot, dancing beneath the overhead lights. The sound of a television emanating from a Winnebego parked in the far corner echoed across the lot. Jay froze. What to do?

  Holst pulled out a gun.

  The van appeared suddenly. Jocko threw the passenger door open. “Get in,” he yelled. Jay obeyed without thinking. He found himself racing out of the lot, looking back at her as Holst manhandled her toward the boat.

  Some hero! he thought. “We’ve got to go back for her!”

  “Forget it.”

  “Turn around!”

  “Forget it! We have to think this out.” Jocko turned right, snaking the van up the curving road that ran along the perimeter of Golden Garden Park.

  “I got the tape,” Jay announced, waving it in the air. “Wait till he discovers that.”

  “Oh, shit,” Jocko moaned, seeing the tape.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “We’re in this thing now, man. I’m not so sure that was so sm—” A jet headed out over the Sound, its roar carrying across the water like rolling timpani. Jay missed Jocko’s last word, but he knew what his friend had said. He stared at the tape in his hand and suddenly wished he hadn’t taken it. There was no way out now. They would come looking for him; he had made certain of that. “What am I doing?” he asked Jocko.

  “I’ve been asking you that for the last week. Not a whole hell of a lot we can do about it now, is there?”

  ***

  Jocko paced the living room, staring at the phone. “And you’re sure she has this number?”

  “She has both numbers: this and the answering service.”

  The phone rang. Both men jumped for it. Jocko acquiesced, letting Jay answer. “Hello?”

  “Becker please,” said the strident German voice.

  Jay felt light-headed. He sat down. Just the way Holst spoke gave him the creeps. “Speaking.”

  “You have something I seem to be missing.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Excuse me?” Said politely and patiently.

  “Marlene. I want to speak with Marlene.”

  Her voice came on the line. “Hello?” She sounded scared. “Don’t do thi—” Jay heard her gasp as Holst struck her.

  “You see?” Holst’s voice said calmly. “Everything is fine. We will trade, you and I: Marlene for my tape. No police, no trouble of any sort. Agreed?”

  Jay tried to think, but couldn’t. The only thing he could think about was Holst slapping Marlene. He would kill the bastard.

  “I asked if you agree. I will only remain on the phone another ten seconds.”

  “Agreed!” Jay snapped. Jocko shook his head, disagreeing. Jay shrugged.

  “Golden Garden Par—”

  “Not a chance.” Jocko had warned him about this. He had said, “If they suggest a desolate location, they only have one thing in mind. Make it a public place. Force their hand.” Jay said, “Murphy’s bar, twenty minutes.”

  “I don’t know where Murph—”

  “Look it up in the phone book.” Then he hung up. Jocko had been adamant about this as well—“The person who hangs up first is the one who controls the situation. Don’t let him hang up on you. You hang up on him.”

  “I did it,” Jay said.

  “What?” Jocko asked wildly.

  “Hung up on him.”

  “Good.”

  “Murphy’s bar in twenty minutes. No cops, no nothing.”

  “This is outrageous.”

  Jocko had picked up on Jay’s excitement. But Jay felt only fear now. He said, “The guy is dusty in the attic, man. There’s no telling what he will do.”

  “You gonna call Flint?”

  “No way.”

  “I thought that was the whole purpose of this?”

  “Not as long as they have Marlene. If we were trading for tapes, fine. But I don’t trust Holst. He’s fried in the brains.”

  “But that’s the point.”

  “Absolutely not. We do it your way. You back me up.”

  “Me? I don’t know what I’m doing. This is stupid.”

  “This is all we’ve got. Bring your gun. You’ll hang out in the van and keep an eye peeled.”

  “You’ve got Mildy?”

  Jay grinned, bent down, and touched the knife strapped to his calf. “Mildy’s fine.” He felt the surge of excitement begin again. The same surge he had felt a few hours after the Chinese goon had tossed him out the window: a mixture of adrenaline and fear.

  Like a man who knew what he was doing, Jocko said, “We keep him waiting. That’s the way it’s best. Let him sweat it out for a change. Let him feel what it’s like.”

  “I’m scared shitless.”

  “Me too.”

  ***

  Consumed with guilt at having abandoned Marlene at Shilshole, Jay thought, Can’t do that again. Jocko pulled the van onto I-5. Next time, I stay and fight it out, win or lose. No more running. “I shouldn’t have left her,” he said.

  “No other choice.”

  The Streak bounced in the back of the van. The plan was to let Jay off a few blocks from Murphy’s so that Jocko wouldn’t be spotted when he parked. The evening mist had become a light fog that now enveloped the city. It swirled in front of the headlights, slowing traffic. Two wrecked cars sat in the breakdown lan
e, taillights flashing. Jay considered the fact that somehow, one stupid traffic accident had changed the last month of his life, and quite possibly his entire future. He would never be the same again; he would suspect people first, trust them later. Some people—ghetto kids, perhaps—learned this at an early age. Hell, he had waited until thirty. In fact, he realized, he had waited until thirty to learn a lot of things—most of them about himself.

  Marlene had once called him strong, and yet he had left her in a parking lot in the hands of a man that had beaten her. Strong? He felt like several people rolled into one: the performer; the insecure boy; a man full of intentions. He liked to think of himself as a man who cared about other people. But how much of that was bullshit? How much of that was him fooling himself? Sure, he liked to entertain people, but he also liked the adulation from the crowd. And he loved the struggle. He had picked one of the most difficult professions one could find. That was no coincidence. Jay Becker liked struggles.

  Jocko turned right off the highway and immediately left again. A man and woman passed in front of the van on bicycles. Nice machines. The woman, a redhead, wore a skimpy halter top and looked comfortable on wheels. Her partner was too tall for his rig and Jay could tell that the bike had been packed incorrectly. It leaned to the left, unbalanced by the weight in the rear panniers. The couple cut right, lights fading into the fog. Jay had not been on a good bike tour in quite a while. Perhaps it was time to sort this all out on a tour—head down to northern California, do the coast.

  “You’ve got Mildy?” Jocko asked again. Jay heard him and nodded. “You sure you won’t take this?” Jocko pulled the handgun out from beneath his shirt. It was a stubby black revolver.

  “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” The van stopped.

  Jay climbed over the engine mount and into the back of the van. He picked up The Streak and slid the van’s door open. Warm fog caressed his face.

  “Give me a minute to find a spot.”

  “How long is that?”

  “Give me five…”

  “Yeah, okay.”