“Come on. Playtime’s over,” she said. “Carson can help you unload the canoe.”
She held out her free hand and wiggled her fingers. “Key?”
Online Talbo was in a jam. He didn’t want me to know he was holding Malley against her will. Then he’d be forced to lock me up, too, so that I couldn’t go tell anybody.
Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to give the key to Malley. He skulked over to the steering console and unlocked her.
“Hey, you can’t stay here,” he said again to me. The hatchet was in his left hand. He wasn’t waving it or anything, but the message was clear.
“I need something to eat, that’s all. Then I’ll go.”
“T.C. caught a big fat catfish,” my cousin said.
“I’ll help you guys skin it.”
“Awesome,” said Online Talbo, again with zero enthusiasm.
We walked out of the cabin toward the stern of the boat.
“What’s your name?” I asked Malley innocently.
“Louise,” she replied with a straight face.
I couldn’t stop staring at her tar-black hair. It made her look older, and pale as a witch.
“That’s a sweet canoe,” I remarked.
“Yeah, we lucked out. It just came floating around the corner this morning.”
“Weird. Nobody was in it?”
“Nope.”
“Finders, keepers,” said the phony Talbo.
His busted nose made me wonder if the canoe really had been empty. Maybe the governor had paddled up to the houseboat and a fight had broken it. Usually I could tell when Malley was holding something back, but it didn’t look like she was.
All I wanted to do was whisk her away from the kidnapper, which is what you call somebody who handcuffs a girl—a kidnapper, not a boyfriend. He was already ticked off about me being there, some smartass stowaway interrupting his river cruise, but I didn’t mind keeping him off balance. Criminals make mistakes when they feel some heat. That’s what Detective Trujillo told me.
Maybe I should have tried a different strategy with the Talbo impostor—like pretending to make friends—but I couldn’t force myself to be nice to the man, not even fake nice.
I waited until he’d put the hatchet in his waistband before asking what “T.C.” stood for.
“Talbo Chock,” he replied smoothly.
I went back right at him. “Dude, I don’t think so. No way.”
“Whaaaaat?” He was scowling and trying to sound tough, but there was an edge of alarm in his tone.
“The only Talbo Chock I ever heard of is dead,” I said.
“Maybe there’s more than one. You think a that?”
I shrugged. “More than one guy called Talbo? Yeah, whatever.”
“Let it go,” snapped Malley.
“No problem,” I said. “Or as they say down south, no problemo.”
“I’m not lettin’ go of nuthin,” snarled the impostor. “This little turd just called me a liar.”
All things considered, I stayed incredibly calm. “Talbo Chock got killed in Afghanistan,” I said. “He was in the Marines. They had the service down in Fort Walton Beach and even the mayor was there. No offense, man, but if you’re gonna swipe somebody’s name, don’t pick a war hero.”
The kidnapper’s face turned purple. “I oughta knock your damn teeth out!”
He took a wild swing, but I ducked.
My cousin stepped between us. “Mind your own business, Carson.”
“Sorry, dude,” I said to the phony Talbo. “No reason to freak.”
But freaked he was.
Fourteen
Malley said, “His real name is Tommy Chalmers.”
“You shut up!” he bellowed. “Right this minute! Shut up, or else.”
“And my name’s not Louise. It’s Malley.”
I couldn’t figure out if she wanted me to come clean, too. Honestly, I was fine with staying “Carson” for a while. It was better if Tommy didn’t know that Malley and I were related, or that I was the one she’d called with the woodpecker clue.
“I said shut up, both of ya!” His lower jaw was grinding back and forth like a steam shovel.
“God, can you just chillax?” my cousin said. “Carson’s cool. Tell him what you told me, okay? He’ll understand totally.”
Tommy took a minute to get the words lined up before saying: “Talbo was a superclose friend of mine!” Another lie. I knew Tommy had gotten Corporal Chock’s name from the funeral papers he’d found in the Toyota that he stole from the preacher.
“When he died,” Tommy went on, “it’s like I got hit by a Mack truck. His folks called me down in Orlando to gimme the news, and it was like a part of me croaked, too. Know what I’m sayin’?”
“So then he started calling himself Talbo,” Malley said. “Right, T.C.?”
“Yeah. Hearing people say his name, that made me feel better. Like, in a way he was still alive.”
One of the lamest b.s. stories ever. Still, I said, “Sure. I get that.”
“I didn’t mean no disrespect. I loved the man.”
“Worshipped him,” added Malley. “This is T.C.’s grieving process.”
I couldn’t believe she spoke those words with a straight face. That’s when I realized what she was trying to do—calm Tommy down by acting like she was on his side. Her eyes told the cold truth. I was dying to find out what exactly he’d done to her, but that part would have to wait until she and I were alone.
“Come on, let’s eat,” she said.
Tommy Chalmers snorted. “Thought you weren’t hungry.”
“Well, I’m starved,” I said.
The catfish was lying in the bottom of the canoe near Skink’s spinning rod. There was no sign of the stringer that had held our bass. Tommy unloaded a six-pack of beer, a small cooler of ice and a five-gallon gasoline container, the same type I carry on my boat back home. Where he’d gotten the gas and ice I didn’t know, but it couldn’t have been too far from the river.
I offered to skin and gut the fish, but Tommy said, “Just stay outta my way.”
When he wasn’t looking, Malley stuck out her tongue at him. I mouthed the words, “What happened to his nose?”
She raised her right hand clenched to a fist. I felt another hot rush of anger toward Tommy. Maybe my cousin had punched him for smashing her laptop, or maybe he’d done something worse.
I considered making a hero move for the nine-iron, but then what? The truth: When it came to fighting, I had no self-confidence and zero experience. Dad was opposed to violence of any sort, and it’s one of the few things he was superstrict about. My brothers got grounded every time they smacked each other, and they knew better than to ever smack me, the smallest one in the family. Consequently, I had no idea how hard a punch I could take. What I did know was that Tommy Chalmers outweighed me by at least fifty pounds. An ambush seemed like the best chance I had.
The next question was whether or not I could hit any man, even a lowlife criminal, while his back was turned. The answer turned out to be no. The rage I’d felt, those brave fantasies about pummeling my cousin’s kidnapper—all of it stayed locked inside. I didn’t do a darn thing except stand there like a worthless wimp, watching the Talbo impersonator try to kill our lunch in the bottom of the canoe.
Besides The Bigfoot Diaries and cage fights, my stepfather’s third favorite TV show is the one where overweight rednecks jump into muddy rivers to wrestle gi-normous catfish. It’s pretty sick, and those guys definitely know what they’re doing. Catfish can live a while out of water, as Tommy was finding out. They also have fin spines that are covered with toxic slime, and you do not want to get stabbed. A fishing guide in Loggerhead Beach told me it’s the worst pain ever, then comes the infection. His foot had swelled up like a roasted chicken.
Stran
ge as it seems, the bigger catfish are actually the easiest to handle. Smaller ones are more slippery, and their spines are sharper. Tommy’s prize weighed only about three pounds, but even if I’d warned him to be careful, he was too macho to pay attention.
“I know what I’m doin’,” he proclaimed to Malley.
Wrong.
His scream was epic. On and on it went. Bone-chilling, as they say. On both sides of the river, spooked birds shot out of the treetops.
My cousin covered her eyes. The dorsal spine of the catfish had gored the palm of Tommy’s right hand and was poking through the other side like a knitting needle. He was basically impaled.
At that instant I should have shoved the creep out of the canoe and paddled away with Malley. That’s what the old governor would have done.
Me? I almost fainted. Pathetic but true.
Dark red streams ran down Tommy’s right arm while the catfish dangled there writhing. It was a visual I’d like to forget but probably never will. My head got foggy and my knees started to buckle, so I grabbed for the rail of the houseboat.
Peeking through her fingers, Malley noticed my wobbly condition and hissed, “Don’t you dare faint!”
By now Tommy’s dungeon scream had dissolved into poodle-style yelps. That didn’t bother me as much as the blood spouting from his punctured hand. The wound looked a hundred times worse than the gash that the turtle-egg thief had put in Skink’s scalp.
“I can’t pull it off!” Tommy roared. “I’m stuck!”
“Just cut it, dude,” I said weakly.
His unpunctured hand located the hatchet in his belt. Feverishly he began whacking at the catfish. I totally expected to see human fingers scattered like carrot sticks in the canoe, but Tommy’s aim was surprisingly good. With repeated sharp chops he managed to sever the spike at the base of the fin. Howling, he yanked it from his flesh. The injured catfish went sailing overboard and, amazingly, swam away.
Lunch was stale potato chips.
* * *
Mom says life is about making the most of your opportunities. I’d wasted a huge one. Tommy Chalmers had been an easy target—doubled over with pain, totally distracted. One good push and he’s in the river.
But, no, I’m too freaking dizzy to move. Unbelievable.
Now all three of us were back inside the houseboat’s cabin because it was blazing hot out on the deck, and a bold new herd of flies was buzzing around the bloody canoe. Tommy had wrapped his holey hand in a dirty Imagine Dragons T-shirt.
He drank a beer, while Malley and I shared a lukewarm bottle of water. When another bass boat sped past, he ordered both of us to sit tight. It was depressing to see him feeling better.
“So, Carson, where you from?” he asked.
“Pensacola.” As good a place as any, I thought.
“Why’d you run away from home?”
“Got in trouble,” I said.
“Yeah? Like for what?”
“Stealing a yacht.” It sounded more impressive than stealing a car. As long as I was inventing a new life history, why not go full-on outlaw?
Tommy sniggered. “You didn’t steal no yacht.”
“Hundred-and-twenty-footer. They caught me halfway to Havana. There was a story in the Tampa papers, you don’t believe me.”
A total bluff.
“So you’re a pirate,” said Tommy sarcastically. “Like Blackbeard ’cept you can’t even grow one.”
Malley’s eyes were flashing. “Did they put you in jail?”
“Juvie hall,” I said. “My folks bailed me out, right? But I didn’t want to stick around for a trial. The judge knew me from other times. He was not a fan.”
Tommy wasn’t buying any of it. Or if he was, he didn’t want Malley to think he was.
“So, what was this so-called yacht you stole?” he asked.
“It’s called Lola’s Chariot.” Where that name came from is a mystery. I’ve never met anybody named Lola.
“I’m gonna Google it,” Tommy said, “soon as we get to somewhere I can charge my laptop.”
Malley told him to stop hogging the chips. “I want to hear more about Carson,” she said.
“Well, I don’t.” Tommy jerked the thumb of his good hand toward the cabin door. “Time for you to go, Captain No-Beard.”
“Make you a deal,” I said. “I’ll go catch us some nice bass if you let me hang around for dinner.”
“Ha! I can catch all I want anytime.” He wanted me to believe he was an ace survivalist, but the confidence in his voice wasn’t real. After the catfish fiasco he wasn’t keen on trying again.
“I’ll let you cast,” he said, “but I’m ridin’ along in the canoe.”
I was hoping he’d say that. My scheme was to head upriver and trick him into stepping ashore. Then I’d leave him there, paddle like crazy back to the houseboat and pick up Malley.
“Hey, I wanna come, too,” she said.
Tommy told her the canoe wasn’t big enough.
“He’s right,” I chimed in.
Malley speared me with her famous ice-princess stare. She didn’t want to be left behind—or maybe she didn’t want me to be alone on the water with Tommy Chalmers. Just because she didn’t act afraid of him didn’t mean she wasn’t. My cousin likes to give the impression that she’s always in control, unfazed by anything or anybody.
“Wait outside,” Tommy said, and closed the cabin door behind him.
I searched the canoe for the hatchet. It wasn’t there. Under the back seat I spotted the shiny spinner that Skink had used to fool those three bass. I tied the lure to the clear mono line on the fishing rod using an improved clinch knot, which my brothers had taught me when I was little.
Malley and Tommy were still talking inside. I couldn’t make out the words, but the conversation didn’t sound warm and friendly.
I began casting and reeling in, making a clockwise sweep of the open water behind the houseboat. To test my aim I threw the lure at brush piles and half-submerged logs, the sort of places where fish like to lurk. I wanted Tommy to see that I knew how to handle a spinning rod.
When he finally emerged, the small ax was again wedged in his belt—definitely not part of my clever plan. It dawned on me that possibly he didn’t care if I caught any fish for dinner; the canoe ride offered him an easy way to get rid of a pesky intruder.
“Let’s you and me go,” he said.
“Wait, I just had a strike.”
“Just now? You’re full a crap.”
“No, I swear.”
I was stalling big-time. The fishing expedition had been a truly bad idea, possibly one of my worst. Tommy Chalmers wasn’t dumb enough to let me scam him. He planned to either abandon me somewhere along the Choctawhatchee or chop me into little pieces, as he’d threatened to do to the imaginary rattlesnake in the toilet.
I reeled in fast and made another long cast to the same imaginary fish in the same imaginary spot.
“You deaf? I said let’s go!” The canoe rocked when Tommy stepped in.
“There he is!” I yelled, giving the rod a hard jerk.
“Just sit down and shut up.”
“No, but look!”
I don’t pray often (and I definitely wasn’t praying when it happened), but what else could it have been except an honest-to-God miracle? Out of the river rocketed a big bronze-shouldered bass, and hooked in its bucket mouth was the silvery spinner attached to my line.
Twice more the bass jumped as Tommy watched dumbstruck, clutching his bloody wrapped hand. One thing I know how to do is fight a fish, and I whipped that sucker in no time flat. A five-pounder, and that’s no bull.
“Enough for all of us,” I said, all casual, hoisting the bass by its lower lip.
At first Tommy was quiet. By his clouded expression you could tell that his brain was sorting th
rough the options. Part of it apparently was reminding him how hungry he was.
“Don’t drop that thing over the side!” he barked.
“Hey, Malley, come look at this,” I called out.
“Never mind her. She’s busy.” Tommy hopped from the canoe to the deck of the houseboat.
I unhooked the bass, a gleaming wet slab of muscle. Releasing it back in the river would have felt good, but I needed a solid meal. If I was headed for a fight with Tommy, I’d have no chance of winning on an empty stomach.
“Malley, come here!” I shouted once more as I carried the fish aboard.
Her voice from the cabin: “Uh, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I said never mind about her,” Tommy barked. “I’ll get a knife.”
When he opened the door, I saw why Malley couldn’t come out. Tommy had handcuffed her to the steering wheel again.
“It’s just a game,” he said, “like she told you before.”
“What kind of stupid game—”
“Nice fish, Carson!” Malley found a way to smile, don’t ask me how. Plainly she was miserable.
Tommy insisted on cutting up the fish himself, pinning it to the deck with is bandaged paw. I could have done a better job, twice as fast, but I guess he didn’t want to put the knife in my hands.
Probably a smart idea.
Fifteen
Tommy said it was too hot to cook, so for a couple hours we sat around the cabin doing nothing. Talk about awkward. He didn’t say three words. Obviously, he didn’t want to leave me and my cousin alone. Even when he went to the bathroom, he left the door cracked, so he could keep an eye on us.
Finally, when it started getting dark, he lighted the portable stove and stepped outside for a smoke.
“Are you okay?” I whispered to Malley.
“He’s a whack job, Richard. Totally nuts. He won’t let me go!”
“Has he … hurt you?”
“Not as much as I hurt him.” She re-enacted her punch to Tommy’s face. “First he drowned my phone and later he busted my laptop, ’cause he didn’t want me emailing. And check out my hair!”
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