Songs for Perri

by Nancy Radke

  The sharks could still get their meal.

  Perri stared fixedly at the shard of glass gripped in her hand. It's sharp edges promised their only hope. As long as Hugo was on the outrigger and not hanging in mid-air, she could cut him free...if she could get to him before the crewmen spotted them and shot them off like tin cans on a fence rail.

  It was up to her to carry it out there.

  Her mind cleared, her focus fixed on Hugo.

  Heart pounding furiously, Perri tiptoed across the roof to the base of the outrigger. Between her and Hugo lay twenty-five feet of cold, swaying metal.

  Sweating profusely, she stopped looking at where she had to go and mentally forced herself upward and outward. With the triangle of glass between her teeth, her hands were free to seek the ladder-like projections on the outrigger.

  Four feet out and she was over the water. Her hands and legs were shaking so badly she could hardly hold on. Fighting away the sick dizziness that threatened to paralyze her, she battled back her fear. If she fell, she'd drown, but if she stayed on the boat, Joe and Walt would be killed... and so would she. There were no options.

  She could close her eyes and crawl out blind; or she could clamp down on her emotions as she'd never done before, fight back the sick paralysis, and beat it...for Joe's sake.

  Bracing herself, she put one hand in front of another, pulling herself forward with a fierce determination, not looking beyond her hands. Now fear worked for her, helping her force herself into motion. Fear for Joe's life, not her fear of heights. That fear would have stopped her at the bottom.

  Boats made her feel seasick during the most gentle of rides, and riding the outrigger, which was high up one moment and almost in the water the next, was like being in the top of a tree in a gale wind.

  To make matters worse, the lines were held apart by round, disk-shaped separators every three feet. There were five separators in all. Each required loosing her leg grip enough to crawl past it. Each time she almost lost her tenuous grip and fell off.

  The last two separators were combined with an exaggerated crack-the-whip motion at the end of the outrigger. In the dark, over the water, with the outrigger rising and falling in oblique circles, Perri squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she pushed outward, inch by inch. Only her fear of losing Joe—Hugo kept her going.

  The last lurch unseated her and she lost contact with her hands as well as her legs. Even then, falling sideways, she didn't open her mouth to scream.

  Joe grabbed her arm, yanking her upwards until she regained her grip. He had been beating his bonds against the metal edge of the last separator, struggling to untie himself.

  "You crazy woman," he yelled as she wrapped her legs around the outrigger and took the glass out of her mouth. "I told you to stay behind!"

  "You want loose or not?" she yelled back, her temper flaring at his ungrateful statement. The anger overrode her fear and made her more effective.

  He scowled, then stuck his hands toward her, hanging onto the lines while she began to cut him free. Even with the cutting edge of the glass, it wasn't an instant task, for Perri had to stop every other second as the outrigger snapped them particularly hard.

  "As a carnival ride, it's a little on the rough side, don't you think?" Joe muttered.

  "Yes." In between the wild whipping of their precarious perch, she sawed on the ropes, trying not to cut him too. Her hair lashed her face, partially blinding her, but she couldn't do anything about it.

  "Think I can sell tickets?"

  She chuckled in spite of the fact her teeth were clamped tight in concentration. "Not to me!" There...the rope had parted and he was free.

  "Thanks, love. Stay here."

  "You have got to be kidding." Of course he wasn’t. Perri nodded grimly to herself. People paid good money to ride mechanical bulls; she was riding for free.

  "You're safer here. Use the separator as a shield."

  He called this safe? "Sure."

  "And this time, stay!"

  He grabbed the lines and suddenly—unexpectedly—dropped under her. Looking over her shoulder, she could see what he was doing, traveling rapidly hand over hand along the outrigger, but when he had first swung down, her heart dropped with him.

  He disappeared into the cabin.

  Two shots sounded, their sharp reports making her clutch the snapping end tighter. Then the motor stopped, making the outrigger sway even more.

  What was going on? Closing her eyes she wrapped herself into a tight ball and held on, gradually becoming sicker and sicker. Finally she threw up. Nasty, yet it made her feel better.

  She'd never buy a ticket for this ride. How was she even going to get off?

  The outrigger lurched, then started rising. Don't you dare take it up to vertical, she thought, becoming even more panicky. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, afraid to watch, she could feel the distance slowly growing between her and the water.

  Higher and higher.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  If they raised the outrigger straight upright, Perri knew she'd never work her way down past all those disk-like separators. But with a steady, inevitable motion, it kept going up, the angle getting steeper and steeper until she was high over the deck.

  "Everything's okay. Come on down," Walt called.

  "No," she sobbed. Things weren't okay. She was sick, scared and her hands wouldn't loosen their grip. Besides, she couldn't see. Her eyes were closed.

  The outrigger jiggled as someone ascended. She felt him behind her, his body shielding her from the frightening drop to the deck, his warm breath on her neck as he reached past her and tried to pry her hands off the lines.

  She hung on tighter than ever.

  Joe spoke, his arms encircling her. "How did you ever climb this in the first place? I saw you at the Mayan show. And Walt says even ladders make you nervous."

  Her voice was hoarse and without volume, so that her words came out in a dry whisper. "I had to. You were out there."

  "Well, now you're up here and you’ve got to come down," he asserted firmly.

  "I can't...." To her shame, her voice was nearly hysterical.

  "Yes, you can."

  "No!"

  "Come on, Perri. Let go. One hand at a time." His voice was warm and understanding, coaxing her to trust him. He probably didn't realize it, but he had dropped into Hugo's voice to charm her into doing what he wanted.

  Hugo. He was alive. Walt was alive. It was all over. With a sob of gladness, she stopped trying to fight him and let him loosen her hands.

  "Come on, love. The worst is over. I won't let you fall."

  Somehow she got her feet moving and was climbing down, eyes tightly shut; Joe just below and supporting her, talking all the time. When they reached the roof, he jumped to the deck and caught her as she half-fell the last few feet.

  "You can open your eyes now."

  He didn't sound like he was laughing, although when she ventured to peek, he had a broad smile on his face. Tiny laugh wrinkles radiated from his eyes and he looked proud of himself.

  Mouth dry, she looked up; where she had been. How had she done it? She had had no choice, but still, the height had scared her worse than the crewman with his gun. He had somehow seemed unreal, like a man in a nightmare.

  "I made it, didn't I?" she marveled.

  "You sure did," Joe chuckled.

  Her step-father hugged her closely, and must have felt the tremors still passing through her. "Good girl. I don't know why Joe brought you, but I'm sure glad he did."

  "I didn't," Joe complained as he swayed from exhaustion. "She stayed away just like all women do when you tell them to."

  "They were going to feed you to the sharks!" Perri defended herself indignantly, regaining her voice. Although she hadn't known that fact when she had jumped into the boat, it made a good enough reason now.

  "They would have, too, if you hadn't disobeyed me." There was blood all over Joe, mixed with salt water, some coming from his nose and a cut lip. H
e swiped futilely at the flow, looking irritated by its presence. "There's enough blood here to attract quite a few."

  "Can you patch him up, Perri?" Walt asked.

  "Maybe." The sight of the blood was making her feel woozy again. Taking her at her word, Walt went forward and started the motor, turning the boat back towards Mazatlan.

  The two men had cleaned up while bringing her down. There were no bodies lying around. No crewmen in sight. Perri didn't ask what they had done with them. In the hold or in the water...somehow it didn't matter.

  Following Joe inside the tiny cabin, Perri noticed his leg was still bleeding. "You don't look too good." His movements were slow and painful now that the danger was past.

  Carefully, Joe felt of his swollen face with a bruised and bloody hand. "I don't feel all that good. Let's see what they have in the way of bandages."

  The first aid cabinet was marked with a red cross and proved to be well stocked. The men also had a small ice chest aboard, full of beer and crushed ice.

  Joe wiped his leg clean and bandaged the cuts. Perri tried to help, but he was more knowledgeable about the types of injuries he had. "That'll hold it."

  "Your face looks pretty bad."

  "I know how to roll with a punch so it doesn't land squarely," he claimed. "A groan and a grunt and a slight turn of the body; they think they're doing more harm than they are."

  "It looks bad enough to me," Perri remarked, tenderly washing away the excess blood so she could examine the wounds. They must have used some kind of instrument to beat him with. There were swollen gashes all through his hair.

  She had never seen a man who'd been beaten and her hands and lips trembled as she worked. The cut on her hand was no longer bleeding, but she cleaned it after she did his.

  "They planned to kill you both," Perri declared, and her voice skittered off in a higher octave as the reality of what they'd just gone through began to sink in. She sat down heavily on the bunk beside him and gulped back the shaky breaths.

  "They were getting a good start," Joe declared.

  "If I hadn't found that glass—”

  "Why didn't you stay behind like I told you to!" he exploded unexpectedly.

  Perri's shakes dropped away in startled shock and she flared back at him. "If I had, you'd still be sitting out on that pole trying to get free!"

  "Maybe so, but at least I wouldn't have died a hundred times in the meantime."

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "Can you imagine how I felt when I looked up from breaking that thug's neck and saw you?"

  "No...." She had imagined he had been glad to see her and her little piece of glass.

  "I almost died right then, except I couldn't. I had to get you out of there. Why do you think I was able to climb that rope with my hands tied?"

  "You don't do that sort of thing all the time?"

  "What do you think I am, a...a circus performer?"

  "Then if that's what it took, I'm glad you saw me," she said simply. "If I provided a reason—”

  "More than enough! I usually don’t care if I live or die."

  "Then I'm doubly glad. What makes you feel that way?"

  "The world is so rotten...and I've been immersed in the dregs too long, Perri. Too many years involved with people to whom human life means nothing. Too many years of lies and betrayal. I got so I no longer cared."

  "And now?"

  "You're worth dying for. You and Walt."

  It still didn't sound like he cared about his own life. "Shouldn't you rest a little? You're awfully pale. And your head is badly cut. What did they hit you with?"

  "A belt with a metal buckle. It gave just enough to keep from doing deep damage, but he was too enraged to look for anything else. It'll look worse tomorrow when the color comes out." He lay down on the bunk with a sigh of relief while Perri scooped some crushed ice out of the ice chest.

  "That eye is pretty bad." It was swollen almost shut, the skin cut above it and across the eyebrow. Bending over him, Perri carefully laid a handful of ice on it. "You look worse than a prize fighter."

  His hand moved up behind her head and pulled her close enough so their lips touched...in a salute so gentle, so full of tender emotion, it demolished all her barriers.

  His lips were swollen, so even the slightest pressure had to hurt. Evidently it did, for he gave up with a grimace, pulling her slightly away. "That'll have to wait," he muttered, disappointed. "The hero always gets to kiss the girl in the movies, no matter how big a fight he's been in. It's not fair."

  Perri swallowed and looked away. She didn't mind. She was still shaken from the evening's events and the light contact of their lips had sent her fragile emotions wheeling.

  He was so dear to her, every beaten-up inch of him.

  Joe took ice into both hands and held it up against his nose, mouth and jaw. "The big man was holding me," he mumbled. "I couldn't protect myself much."

  "I thought you were dead when they brought you out."

  "A lot of that was acting. I wanted them to think I was hurt worse than I was."

  "I thought you were. I've never felt so helpless. I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to do anything—”

  "Don't worry about that. You do fine under fire. Put some ice on my ear." He motioned with his shoulder to his swollen right ear and Perri used her other hand to apply the cold to that spot.

  "How are your insides?" she asked, remembering the blood coming from his mouth.

  "Sore. Everything is sore. I'll get a doctor to check me over, once we're back home."

  "Home?"

  "Arizona."

  She frowned. "I thought you were from L.A."

  "That's my cover. I'm from Arizona."

  "Oh. I see. And you're not a mechanic, but you could fix a car good enough no one would question you."

  "Right."

  "But what if you're seriously injured?"

  "Then I'll find out soon enough. Now let me rest until we get to the dock. Go see if Walt needs you for anything."

  Stubborn man. Perri put some ice into a thin towel and left him holding it up to his face.

  "Perri."

  She paused at the door. "Yes?"

  "The youngest man. He was the one who snatched the camera."

  "I see." She felt a sadness for him, in spite of the fact he wanted to kill them. "He's dead?"

  "Yes."

  "All of them?"

  "Yes. I had no choice. They had guns. I didn't."

  "I understand." She did. She had been ready to use a gun herself. Evil had to be dealt with, to save the ones you loved, no matter how much you disliked the job. "Get some rest," she urged as she left.

  In the wheel house, she tried to persuade Walt to have Joe looked at right away. He also refused, saying they would do it when they could.

  Two stubborn men. She loved them both. Perri gave him a quick kiss and went out onto the bow. There she watched the lights of Mazatlan approaching, while taking herself to task.

  Did she really know her heart? Was this love, or was it the result of heightened awareness, brought about by dangers shared?

  She had climbed that outrigger to reach Joe, Hugo. And climbed back down for him. Ruefully, she realized that if Hugo put a parachute on her back and told her to jump out of a plane, she'd jump. Whether or not she remembered to pull the ripcord. She wouldn't do that for Owen, or Walt.

  But she'd do it for Hugo—for Joe. She'd do anything he asked. And if she were wise, she wouldn't tell him so.

  Fifteen minutes later, when they were approaching the mouth of the harbor, Joe joined her.

  "How are you doing?" she asked.

  "Better. I got to thinking; this might be as close as I'll ever get to taking you on a cruise to Mexico, so I'd better come out here."

  She laughed softly. "Some cruise."

  "What more could you ask for? A slow boat, a gentle sea, the lights of the harbor. And me."

  "What's left of you," she teased gently. "I could push you over wi
th one finger."

  He draped his arm across her shoulder and pulled her up lightly against him. "Not too hard, my ribs hurt," he cautioned. "Most of me is still here. You did a good spot of rescuing. Did I remember to thank you?"

  "I think so...when you weren't yelling at me."

  "I don't think I did. There are ways...and ways."

  "Wha—” She had tipped her face upward to ask him what he meant and found out as his swollen lips collided with hers; seeking, probing—perhaps asking the same questions she had been asking herself. Searching for answers...boldly taking in the loving response that flowed uncurbed from her, her heart meeting his spontaneously.

  She could taste blood, his blood. Blood he had shed to rescue her and her step-father. She should be thanking him, she thought, as she sank more fully into his arms. His hands moved wondrously over her, pulling her hungrily against him as if starved for love.

  She tried to ease away from his wounded body. "Joe...."

  "Umm?" He refused to break the kiss, his mouth insistent as he used the most powerful persuasion he could find. Sighing, she pressed deeper into his tender embrace, forgetting what it was she was going to say.

  She could feel the love coming through. It was almost a tangible thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Walt docked the boat, taking the license and registration papers to turn over to the Mexican authorities later.

  "You going to be able to perform?" he asked, as Joe limped between them.

  "Sure. I just need to get cleaned up."

  "I hope so." He sounded worried. "Keep Perri with you. Better yet, take her straight to the airport."

  "I can't do that, Papa," Perri reminded him. "I still have to introduce Joe and Owen."

  "That's right," he agreed, frowning, then added to Joe, "Keep her close, son."

  "All night?"

  "Yes."

  "You know what that means."

  "Yes. Do it anyway."

  "My pleasure." Joe sounded tremendously relieved. "Where are the passports?"

  "Still in my room. I'll go pick 'em up, check out and move in with you tonight. Your room should still be safe. Give me my spare key."

  "Here. Take my room key too...you won't have to stop at the desk," Joe said and Perri added, "Take this one, too—for your hotel. I left my suitcase there.