by Jay Giles
Su was huddled in the corner on the far side of the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, body shaking. She looked up at me, eyes both angry and hurting. “He—He—” She couldn’t get it out.
“Are you okay?”
Her head nodded imperceptibly.
I felt sick. I knew he’d go after her, and knowing her, I should have known she’d fight back. Now we had a dead body on our hands.
I stuck my head out into the hall. “Ollie,” I yelled.
“Yeah,” he yelled back.
“Get Nestor and come to Su’s cabin. We’ve got problems.”
They arrived on the double. Both peered in from the hall.
Ollie quickly turned away. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he said, hand over his mouth.
“Don’t be such an old woman,” Nestor chided him. “It’s blood and guts, but it’s his blood and guts. Not ours. Saved us a bit of trouble later, if you ask me.”
“Listen up,” I needed their full attention. “Here’s what happened. He attacked Su; she killed him in self-defense. We need to have our stories straight before we talk to the authorities.”
Much as I didn’t want to, I felt in Do-rag’s pants’ pockets for his cell. I found the lump, and extracted it. It was an older-model flip phone. I opened it, looked to see if it had bars.
“Wait,” Su wailed. She rose to her feet unsteadily, gathering her torn nightdress to cover herself. “Don’t call,” she pleaded, “you don’t understand. They’ll send me to prison.”
“No they won’t,” I assured her and began advising her as if she were my client. “This is clearly a case of self-defense. We’ll testify to that. There’s no way a court could overlook our testimony and convict you.”
“You’re wrong.” She was hysterical, her eyes wild, face contorted in fear. “You don’t know the law here. All that matters is how much money changes hands. Whoever pays the police and judges the most wins. You think you have more money than those drug dealers? You don’t. And you don’t know how to work the system—”
“That’s not—”
She got close to me, pulled her hair back to reveal her scar. “This happened in prison. I should never have been there, but a powerful man got sick after eating at my restaurant. He blamed me and had me arrested. The trial was a joke. The judge did his bidding and sentenced me to three years, though I had done nothing wrong. If you call the authorities, they will learn I was in prison, say I am guilty, and send me back. I beg you.” She was in tears. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Will,” Nestor said from behind me. “Let’s not be too hasty to make that call.”
I turned and glared at him. “We have to report it immediately; otherwise we’re all guilty of obstruction. Waiting will make it look like we were covering things up.”
“What if we toss him over the side?” Nestor asked with a sly smile. “Who’s to say he was ever here?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Nestor, the rest of his gang knows he was here. When they don’t hear from him, they’re going to wonder why. And you know what they’re going to do? Come after us, guns blazing. Going to the authorities will give us protection.”
“Right,” he allowed and scratched the top of his head. “Maybe we don’t go to the local authorities. Maybe we go somewhere else.”
Diaz popped into my head. At least he was a known commodity. Lost in thought, I almost missed what Nestor said next.
“Think your embassy could help?”
“Our Embassy? You mean the American Embassy?”
He grinned. “The very one. If we got ‘em involved, wouldn’t that keep the locals honest?”
Su latched on to my arm. “Yes, call them Will. I beg you.”
I didn’t need to mull it over. The Embassy was easily our best option. They could intercede with the locals on Do-rag’s death and also on our other problem—the twelve suitcases.
“Embassy it is,” I said, putting my arm around Su and giving her a reassuring hug.
“Thank you, thank you,” she cried, holding on to me tightly.
“Let me start making calls.”
Nestor cleared his throat and nodded at the corpse. “He’s going to get gamy, quick.”
“We’ll just have to put up with it. We can’t move him. It’s a crime scene.” I turned to Ollie. “What’s the closest port of some size?”
Su answered for him. “Salvador,” she said between sobs. “We need to stop there for food anyway.”
Ollie shrugged. “Salvador’s good. We can get gas, too.”
“How fast can you get us there?” As soon as Do-rag didn’t answer his phone or they saw we’d changed course, they’d be after us.
Ollie blew out some air. “Couple of days.”
Nestor grimaced. “Can’t leave that body out that long. We’ve got to do something with it.”
“Like what?” I shot back.
“Put him in the wine fridge,” Nestor offered glibly.
“Never fit,” Ollie snorted.
“That’s a big fridge. He fit,” Su chimed in.
“No,” I said emphatically. “We’re not moving the body. Nobody touches it, understand?” I looked each one in the eyes. Saw no challenges. “Su, move your things to another cabin. I’m going to call the Embassy.”
Back in my cabin, I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. In the mirror my reflection looked grim. What more could go wrong?
Ten minutes later, after three unsuccessful calls to try and learn the Embassy’s number, I found out.
The phone died.
Chapter 16
Maybe it was stress. After the phone conked out, I did, too. I fell into a fitful, restless sleep. When I woke in the morning, I was so knotted-up in the top sheet I knew I’d spent my every sleeping moment thrashing about. Even before untangling myself, I gave a good sniff. I detected a mild odor, but not the overpowering rotting-flesh stench Nestor had predicted. Sniff test complete, I got in and out of the shower, dressed, and left my cabin for the galley.
In the hall, the sight of drag marks stopped me in my tracks. A trail of blood emerged from Su’s cabin and continued down the hall and around the corner. Careful where I stepped, I followed the marks to the galley.
He’d fit in the wine fridge, after all.
Furious with Nestor, I made my way to the crew’s quarters. I found him in his cabin, shaving with a long black-handled straight razor, the left side of his face still lathered-up. He looked at me in the mirror, pulled the razor down from his sideburn, washed the lather off in the sink. “I take it you found I moved our guest.”
“I told you I didn’t want anything touched.”
“I know you did, but I’ve been around dead bodies and know what happens to them when the flies get after them. The bloating starts, and the gasses begin to erupt. Better to get him on ice now.” He eyed me in the mirror, before taking another swipe with the razor. “I don’t know if you looked, but I cut up the mattress and threw it and the sheets overboard. I’ll get the blood up off the floor, today, as well.”
“You know that’s more evidence you’ve disposed of.”
“Blood has that sticky sweet smell.” His nose wrinkled. “Best Ollie can figure we’re a good day from Salvador. You don’t want to smell that smell all that time. People go daft. I’ve seen it happen.”
Daft was what I was when I agreed to this trip. I stormed out, taking the stairs to the bridge two at a time.
Ollie was seated at the captain’s chair, eating a bowl of granola, his gaze on the water in front of us. I think my barging in startled him. “Are you angry?” He asked defensively.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I told him you would be,” he said and shoveled in another spoonful of cereal.
“But you didn’t stop him?”
“Didn’t even try,” he said with a shake of his head. “When Nestor’s mind is made up, there’s no reasoning with him.” He looked over at me. “What did you hear from your Embassy? Are the
y going to help us?”
“The phone died. I never got them.”
His gaze went back to the water in front of us. “Too bad,” he said and ate more granola.
His lack of concern worried me. Sure, I’d only known these people for a few days, but I’d been thinking of us as a team and operating under the naïve notion that teammates looked out for each other. Nestor, I was learning, had his own agenda. Ollie was distancing himself. And Su? Su had always been an unknown. I wasn’t sure I could count on any of them.
“Two things,” I said to Ollie, who looked over at me. “How quickly can we make Salvador? And what are you seeing on the radar?”
“Well,” he said putting down his cereal bowl, “it’s going to be eight hours—assuming we don’t have engine trouble—before we reach port.” He looked over at the radar screen. “If you’re asking me are the dead guy’s buddies close by, no, I’m not seeing anything on the screen. Want me to find you if I do?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Next I tapped on the door of the room Su was now occupying. “It’s Will. Just checking to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. I’ll be out later.”
Not too encouraging, but better than inconsolable wailing. Having made the rounds, I noted my belly was rumbling and grumbling. I got some cereal and a cup of coffee, carried it out to the aft deck, sat in one of the deck chairs, ate, and tried to convince myself everything was going to be all right.
Didn’t work. All I could think of were things that could go wrong.
I gulped down the rest of my granola, carried my coffee to the bridge. Seeing me, Ollie jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“That’s just it. We’re as good as sitting ducks out here,” I said walking past him to look at the radar screen. “We’ve got to get to Salvador before those guys realize something’s wrong and come after us. Or we’re dead. It’s that simple. We don’t have the luxury of babying these engines and taking our own sweet time. We’ve got to run all out and pray the engines hold together and get us to Salvador.”
Ollie grabbed the phone. “Nestor. To the bridge—hurry.”
Nestor arrived out of breath. “What?” His gaze traveled from Ollie to me. He knew something was up. His expression darkened as he heard it. “You’re getting even for me moving the body, aren’t you?”
“I’m trying to keep us alive.”
He got right up in my face. “Push those engines, they’ll break down before we go a quarter of a mile. Then we’ll be in even worse shape.”
I was more afraid of Red Stripe than Nestor’s imagined engine problems. “I’m not asking you, Nestor, I’m telling you. Ollie, give it full power.”
Ollie looked torn. “Will, are—”
“Do it.”
Ollie reluctantly pressed the throttles forward.
There was a noticeable surge as the Venetian picked-up speed. She knifed through the water with ease, seemingly imbued with a new sense of determination. I had no idea how much our speed had increased, but as I looked out the window at the water flashing by, my sense was that we were moving substantially faster.
It lasted fifty-one minutes. “They’re overheating,” Nestor yelled from the engine room over the ship’s intercom, “They’ve got to be shut down for a while.”
I grabbed the receiver from Ollie. “No. We’ll throttle back to half speed for twenty minutes, then we go back to full speed.”
“You’re loony,” I heard him mutter before I hung-up.
Those twenty minutes passed with excruciating slowness. I watched the radar, drank coffee, and worried.
With a nod from me at the appointed time, Ollie returned the throttles to full. Immediately, the intercom rang. He held the receiver up to his ear and abruptly jerked it away. From across the bridge I could hear Nestor cursing. Ollie rolled his eyes, gently replaced the receiver in the cradle, looked over at me, a rare grin splitting his round face. “Care to make a wager on who explodes first? Nestor or the engines?”
At noon, the question was still unsettled. Nestor had had two meltdowns, and we’d temporarily cut speed both times, but as I hovered over the radar screen, I could see we were nearing Salvador and couldn’t see signs of attackers. In the back of my mind, I was beginning to wonder why?
I should have concentrated on that question, but a plate of sandwiches diverted my attention. Su had arrived with lunch.
“Will, I am in your debt for not calling the police last night,” she began as she held out the plate for me to take a sandwich.
She looked like the loser of a no-holds-barred smack down. The side of her face had purple and yellow bruising, one eye swollen nearly shut. Long, deep scratch marks ran down the side of her neck to her chest. Her movements were stiff, as if every muscle in her body had suffered excessive stress and strain. Still, I sensed some of her bravado had returned. Her head was high, her voice firm.
“Forget it,” I said relieved she was up and about. “We’re just glad you’re okay.” I took a sandwich thinking we’d gotten this in-your-debt thing behind us.
“No, I must say what I feel,” she continued. “I know you wanted to do what is right and report—” She faltered, searching for the right word. “—the event to the police. But I am terrified of the police, who would only see I had been in prison, and assume I am guilty and send me there again. I barely survived before; I would not survive a second time. What you did for me by not calling them was an act of kindness. I want you to know I appreciate what you have done and will repay you.”
It was one of those awkward, overly emotional unburdenings to which I’ve never known what to say. So I took the plate of sandwiches from her, handed it to Ollie, and gave her standing-at-attention stiff body a hug. I felt the tension go out of her as she put her head on my shoulder and began sobbing. I gently patted her back. “It’s going to be okay,” I assured her. “We’ll get through this.”
Her head stayed on my shoulder until the sobs quieted and she was able to regain her composure. “What did your Embassy have to say?” She asked, pulling away.
“I wasn’t able to reach them,” I confessed for the second time. “The phone died.”
“I have a charger,” she said excitedly wanting to help.
“Probably won’t work,” I called after her as she raced off to retrieve it. “Different phones require different changers.”
She burst back in, charger in hand. I reached in the pocket of my cargo shorts and pulled out the cell. The two went together like Brad and Angelina, Beckham and Posh, Mickey and Minnie.
I placed the happy couple on the dash, plugged in the cord, wondered how much connubial bliss there’d have to be before the two produced bars. I spent the next two hours checking the charge, watching the radar, and scanning the horizon with binoculars.
At 2:13, our luck ran out. Three blips appeared on the radar spaced out in a line between the Venetian and Salvador. That was the answer to what had been nagging at me before lunch. Their radar undoubtedly showed we were making a beeline to Salvador. They knew all they had to do was get in position and we’d come to them.
“How close are they?” I asked Ollie.
He looked over at the radar. “Two miles, maybe.”
“How far to Salvador?”
His gaze went back to the radar, stayed there longer this time. “Five miles more.”
I picked up the phone and got Nestor. “We’re seven miles out of Salvador, but we’re seeing blips on the radar that are probably the drug runner’s boats. I want to go past them as fast as we can—no matter what happens with the engines. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n Bligh.”
I hung up, stood by the radar, watching the blip that was us get closer to the blips that were them. My heart was thumping in my chest. My palms sweaty. Nervously, I wiped them repeatedly on my shorts.
Ollie was watching the radar, too. “You should be able to see ‘em with the glasses.”
I picked up the binoculars, scanned
the sea in front of us. Sure, enough. I could see two of the three.
“They’re moving. They’re coming,” Ollie said, fright in his voice.
“Sound the alarm,” I said apprehensively.
“Will, this isn’t a warship,” he reminded me, “I can’t sound battle stations.”
Guns.
Do-rag had had guns, a handgun and a semi-automatic. Where were they? I raced down to the main deck, began hurriedly going cabin to cabin. I was in and out of all but mine, found nothing.
Su was in the galley, sitting on a stool at the counter, holding a flower patterned dishtowel filled with ice to the side of her face. “Where are Do-rag’s guns?” I demanded, out of breath.
“He had them with him in my cabin.”
I hadn’t seen them there. Then it hit me. Nestor had gotten rid of the bloody mattress in that room. He’d taken them.
I headed off to the engine room, Su following in my wake.
Nestor was bending over the port engine, adding oil when we barged in. He looked up, startled.
“Do-rag’s guns. Where are they?”
He pointed to a tool bench behind the starboard engine.
I grabbed both guns.
“Give me one. I can shoot,” Su said as we raced up the stairs.
I held out the handgun.
“No,” she told me. “Give me the other one. You won’t know how to fire it. I do.”
I handed it to her, thinking she has experience with semi-automatics? I wasn’t about to argue, though, firing the handgun would be a first for me.
We reached the aft deck, and I started for the rail. Her hand grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the salon door. “Don’t let them see us. We need the element of surprise.”
One boat was a hundred yards off our starboard side, the other about an equal distance from the port side.
“Stay here. I’m going to tell Ollie what we’re going to do,” she whispered to me before disappearing up the stairs to the sun deck.