Pleasure Cruise Shot To Hell (The Bullet-Riddled Yacht Book 1)

by Jay Giles

  I’d wrapped my leather belt around my right hand. Flush with success from his first flurry of blows, ropy left his face unguarded. I put everything I had into a right to the nose. It landed with a satisfying thud. Blood spurted. His nose had to be broken. I thought he’d crawl back to his corner. Fight over.

  His eyes registered shock, his hands dropped, but only for an instant. He rocked me with a hard right, tagging my nose with an up-cut left.

  I went after his nose, again. Missed badly.

  Next to us, the big guy threw Nestor against the wall and buried his fist up to the elbow in Ollie’s ample gut.

  A right to the mouth split my lower lip and cut the inside of my mouth.

  I hit Ropy’s Adams apple with a left. Choking, his hands went to his throat. I didn’t hesitate. I slammed my right as hard as I could into his mangled nose. The pain staggered him. I hit him in the nose again, putting everything I had behind it. He took two shaky steps and went down on his back.

  My attention turned to the heavyweight match—Ollie vs. the big guy. Ollie was getting the worst of it. He was on his back, arms trying to protect his face, as the big guy straddling his stomach pummeled him with blows.

  I unwound my belt, made it into a noose, looped it around the big guy’s neck, and yanked it tight. His head jerked back, hands clawing at the belt. I put a foot on his back for leverage and used it to stay out of his grasp. His arms flailed about in a last ditch effort to get loose. I pulled harder, cutting off any air. I felt I was riding a bronco trying to throw me. My arms were tiring. My balance on one leg was shaky. I held tight, grunting from the stain. Gradually the fight went out of him. He stiffened, blacked out and pitched over.

  Ollie pushed the big guy off him and scrambled unsteadily to his feet. “Thought he was going to kill me,” he croaked.

  I nodded, sucking in air.

  Nestor joined us, his face bloody. “Kicked their arses, didn’t we.”

  I wiped blood from my chin. “We sure did,” I mumbled, the taste of blood in my mouth. I bent down and retrieved my watch from the big man’s wrist, took my shoes off his feet.

  I felt elated. Like Ali standing over Liston.

  We took turns standing guard that night. At some point, the big guy crawled over to the wall and ropy rolled over on his side, so I knew they weren’t dead. Although honestly, I didn’t care.

  In the morning, our jailers seemed shocked at the carnage. There was a lot of excited talking, animated hand gestures, and scowls. The gray-haired jailer pulled his gun and pointed it at us threateningly. His hands trembled and I had the feeling that if I moved even so much as a muscle, he’d pull the trigger. The kid cautiously entered the cell and without taking his gaze off us, helped big guy and ropy out of the cell.

  Nestor said something to the gray-haired jailer in Portuguese and got a terse reply.

  When they’d gone, I asked what he’d said.

  “I told him they attacked us. We’re the ones who should be released.” His gaze went to the door to the outer office. “He said we’d leave when they came for us.”

  The men-in-black would be back? Why? To take us somewhere and kill us? Park us in another jail? Return us to the Venetian? It made no sense.

  Nestor shook his head, his face bitter. “Probably rot in here,” he groused.

  As the day wore on with no food or water, I wondered what arrangements had been made for holding us here. Surely, they weren’t planning on letting us starve. It would have been easier to shoot us and dump us by the side of the road.

  Around three o’clock, our jailers finally fed us each a small bowl of rice and a coffee cup of water. The rice was cold and tasteless, but at least it was something. I ate with my fingers, picking out every last grain, washed it down with the water. That was all we got that day.

  We got a cup of water the next day but no food. My stomach wasn’t happy, but it had to get in line with the rest of my body. The cuts inside my mouth were tender. My nose was swollen making it difficult to breath. My hips and shoulders hurt from sleeping on concrete. My lower GI tract was backing-up because I didn’t want to have to use that toilet. I felt dirty. My head itched and my teeth were growing little fuzzy blankets.

  Day three, they gave us a taco with stringy mystery meat, black beans, and cup of water. The water was more important to me than the food. I hadn’t peed since we’d been put in there, and I was worried about becoming dehydrated.

  That evening, late, we got two new tenants. They were drunk and smelled of beer and cigarettes. One slept like a baby. One threw up all night.

  The next morning, they got to go home. We got a bowl of rice, a slice of bread, and a cup of lukewarm coffee. It was the most we’d been given and I ate the food and drank the coffee gratefully. After we’d eaten, Nestor said, “Will, you’ve got to come up with a plan to get us out of here.”

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t been thinking about escaping. One of the guards had a gun on us whenever the cell door was open. Other than rushing him and getting shot in the process, I didn’t have a counter for the gun.

  “Working on it,” I said.

  Ollie, listening to our conversation, heard me and nodded.

  I racked my brain for ideas, but escape on day five was a moot point. They never opened the outer door. No food. No water. No opportunity.

  Day six, only one guard appeared. I felt a burst of adrenaline. This was it. I readied myself, watching for my opportunity, as he placed three coffee cups of water on the floor near the bars. From his pocket, he took three hard-boiled eggs and tossed them between the bars. We scrambled to catch them before they landed on the floor. When I looked up, the guard was closing the outer door behind him.

  Day seven, they came early while I was still asleep. The noise of the cell door opening woke me. I sat up, causing the gray-haired guard to point his weapon at me menacingly. The young guard quickly placed three bowls of rice and three coffee cups of water on the floor inside the cell. As soon as he was finished, the gray haired guard backed out, gun still pointed at me, and the cell door clanged shut.

  I didn’t expect we’d see them for the rest of the day. So, at noon, I was surprised when the outer door opened.

  Even more surprised when I saw Su holding a knife to the young guard’s throat.

  Chapter 21

  “Hurry,” she urged, after the guard opened the cell door. “The other guard is getting them lunch.”

  We locked the guard in, made our way to the outer office, peeked out the front door. The coast looked clear. I stepped outside to fresh air and sunshine and paused to revel in it.

  “Get in the blue cab,” Su urged, pointing to a small, dented Chevy Aveo that was idling in the roadway.

  We piled in. Ollie in the passenger seat. Nestor and I in back with Su sitting on my lap.

  “Go. Go. Go,” she shouted to the driver.

  He floored it. Dirt shot from under the rear tires as the little car, weighted down with passengers, lurched forward. Su kept a watchful eye out the rear window as we sped out of town. When she was sure we’d made a clean get away, she turned her attention to us. “Peweee, you guys stink.”

  Who cared how we smelled. “How did you find us?”

  “Luis.” The cab driver, a young kid with a shoulder length black hair, pimply face, and a giddy grin, raised his hand in acknowledgement. “And I have been searching since they took you.”

  Luis nodded, slowed the car, down shifted, turned left onto a paved road. A sign with bullet holes stitched across the bottom read Salvador 21 kilometers.

  “It wasn’t easy,” Su said. “All we had to go on was the description of the black pick-up and the direction it drove away. We’ve been following your trail, going from place to place, asking people if they saw the truck. We finally tracked it here, day before yesterday. Right, Luis?”

  He looked at us in the rear view mirror. “Si.”

  “In the bar, we overheard talk of gringos being held next door and were pretty sure it was you. B
ut to be certain, Luis went in and pretended to ask for directions to Salvador so he could nose around. They had the door closed so he couldn’t see in the cell, but he noticed three bowls and coffee cups sitting on a desk. Three bowls and cups—for two guards? Made no sense. Had to mean three prisoners. We watched and learned the only time there was one guard was when the old guy went to get lunch. As soon as he left today, I went in and sweet-talked the younger guard.” She laughed. “God, like he’d never seen a woman before.”

  “Was he surprised when you pulled the knife?” Nestor wanted to know.

  “You bet. Pretty foolish letting a girl get the drop on him. All I had was a knife from the bar, not sharp enough to slit his throat, but he was too scared to notice.”

  Out the window, scrub vegetation gave way to a clearing with a dilapidated house. Goats and chickens roamed the yard. Two barefoot children ran along the fence waving to us. More houses flew by. Luis was driving like a man intent on getting to point ‘B’ in record time. “Is he taking us back to the boat?”

  Su craned her neck to look at me. “The Venetian’s gone, Will.”

  “What?”

  “It’s gone. They took it.”

  Normally, news like that would have devastated me. This time, I wasn’t fazed in the least. I was alive and out of that hellhole. The loss of the boat was troubling, maybe disastrous. But unlike being dead, it was a situation that might be fixable.

  “So where are we going, then?” I asked Su.

  “Back to Salvador. After that, I don’t know.”

  I sagged back in the seat. I didn’t want to have to think. I was tired, hungry, dirty, not to mention broke. I wanted someone to make it all better.

  Sensing my dejection, Su gave my arm a squeeze. “We can find the yacht,” she said encouragingly. “Fast boat catch her in two days, tops.”

  She was right. With the Venetian’s engine problems, she might not have gone far. “Nestor, how far do you think they could have taken her in a week?”

  “Depends. We worked those engines pretty hard coming into Salvador. Say they didn’t baby them when they left, they could’ve blown a ring or worse and be tootin’ along at rowboat speed. Su’s on to something, if you ask me. Get a fast boat with good radar and we’ll find her.”

  “She should be easy to spot, big as she is,” Ollie said over his shoulder.

  They were right. Way too soon to give up. With any luck, we’d be able to find her and get her back. But to do that, I was going to need money. Lots of money. And I knew what I had to do to get it. “Luis.”

  “Si,” he said looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Take us to Salvador’s biggest bank.”

  Twenty-four minutes later, the blue Aveo came to a halt in front of a Greek temple knock-off. Four three-story round columns—the kind with tops that look like ram’s horns—supported a triangular pediment. A lovingly polished brass sign to the right of the main doorway read: Banco Nacional De Salvador. Given the grandeur of the half-block-long limestone façade, it could just as easily have read Museu Nacional or Casa Governamental.

  “Good choice,” I told Luis. “Nestor, Ollie, this is a job Su and I can handle.” We didn’t all need to make an appearance. One smelly person was enough. “You two stay with the car. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  Inside, the bank was cavernous—a head-tilting thirty-foot-high space lit by elaborately wrought hanging brass chandeliers. The floor was marble in alternating black and white squares. To the left, a half-height ebonized wood wall with a scrolled top housed teller’s windows. To the right, a carpeted area was filled with fancy officers’ desks, brown leather armchairs, and the hubbub of commerce. At the far end of the space, two uniformed guards flanked a massive open vault. Light orchestral music mixed with the clip clop of footsteps as men and women in suits, some with briefcases or papers in hand, moved about the lobby conducting business.

  A wave of relief flooded over me. I’d returned to civilization. “Let’s find out if one of these banking officers speaks English,” I whispered to Su, nodding in their direction, “if not, you’ll have to translate. Tell them I’m a rich American.”

  Two guards grabbed my arms and began roughly walking me to the door. One talked at me in a stern voice. Of course, I didn’t understand a word of it. Su was in the face the other guard’s face, yelling in Portuguese, hands flying. It didn’t seem to be doing the trick. We never slowed.

  “I’m an American,” I yelled before they pushed me out the door. “I escaped from kidnappers. I need help.”

  The only help I got was out the door. I found myself standing under the portico, stunned by the bum’s rush I’d received.

  Su came out the door fuming. “They took you for a street person looking for a handout.”

  Behind her, I could see the guard staring out the door, making sure we didn’t try to come back in.

  “There are other banks,” she said walking down the sidewalk. “Let’s find Luis and the car.”

  Head hung, hands in pockets, moping big time, I followed after her, pretty much oblivious to everything—including the woman who’d been calling Sir, Sir, after me.

  It took a tap on the shoulder to get my attention. She was an older lady wearing a tailored gray business suit, white collared blouse, and sensible black shoes. Her lined face was framed by black hair starting to gray and pulled back into French twist. Glasses hung from a cord around her neck. “What you said in the bank about being kidnapped,” she asked with only a hint of an accent, “what happened to you?”

  I gave her a shortened version of being abducted and held for a week, finished by explaining that the help I needed was contacting the states for a wire transfer of money.

  Her expression had been sympathetic during my tale of woe, and I thought she’d say she’d help. Instead, she turned skeptical. “Why didn’t you go to your Embassy?”

  “I guess I could have,” I said, discouraged. I thought she was going to help and now it sounded like she wasn’t. “Coming to a bank seemed quicker. It’s a bank-to-bank transaction. I just need to make a phone call.” I heard my own voice trailing off.

  She pursed her lips, probably deciding what to do about me. My stomach growled noisily. The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

  “Some days they gave us a small bowl of rice. Other days…nothing. I needed to go on a diet, but, wow, not like that.”

  Her smile grew a little. “What’s your name?”

  “Will,” I said, returning the smile, “Will Taggert.”

  “I’m Rosella Rameriz, Will. Let’s see about making your phone call.”

  As we re-entered the bank, the guards were waiting to pounce. She waved them off in a tone that booked no argument. I was aware that everyone in the bank was staring as she led us to a small, enclosed conference room.

  The room was dark. She flipped on the lights revealing a rectangular conference table and six high-backed brown leather chairs. On the table was a black multi-line phone. She pressed a button, I assumed to get an outside line, listened for a moment and handed me the receiver. “Do you know the number?”

  “By heart,” I said glibly, then flubbed the international calling codes. Second try it went through and I heard a sharp intake of breath when Jessica heard my voice. “We’ve been so worried,” she said excitedly. “He’s on the other line, but I’ll get him right off.”

  Right off turned out to be three long minutes later. “Will, what’s happened? Where are you?”

  “I’m calling from a bank in Salvador, Brazil,” I told him and launched into another telling of events.

  “My God, Will, that’s horrible,” Sloane said when I finished. Sympathy extended, he jumped to what was important to him. “But what about the boat? You need to get it back. No, you have to get it back.”

  I heard the threat and chose to ignore it. “My crew thinks the Venetian hasn’t gone far because of her engine problems, so, yes,
we can get her back.” I launched into the nub of the issue. “Ban, to do it, I need money. I don’t have anything. Can you—”

  “How much?”

  I gave him the first number that came to mind, “Fifteen thousand,” and waited for him to explode.

  “Okay,” he said much to my surprise. “Sounds like you’ve got a plan.”

  “Yeah, rent a fast boat. That’s the best way to—”

  “You want me to wire you the money?”

  I couldn’t believe how agreeable he was being. “Yes, I’m going to put Rosella Rameriz on the phone, she’s a banker here, and she’ll give you routing information.”

  “Have her give it to Jessica,” he said. “And, Will, buy a sat phone. I want daily reports on finding the yacht, understood?”

  “Got it.”

  Jessica came back on. “So what are we doing, now?”

  I explained, introduced Rosella, and the two of them talked shop. When Rosella hung up, she said, “They’re going to wire immediately, but it will still take a while. Make yourself comfortable.”

  For me, comfortable wasn’t in this conference room. “Rosella, is there a Men’s Room I could use?”

  “Certainly,” she said, opening the door and pointing down the hall.

  “Back in a few minutes,” I said to Su.

  When I walked in, I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror and winced. Sure, I was dirty, my hair matted down and greasy, my clothes a mess. My face was what bothered me. One eye was still swollen partially shut. The bruises around it were black, purple, yellow, with tinges of green. My nose was a puffy red blob with dried blood caked in each nostril. My lower lip was split and fat. I had to remind myself, I’d won.

  I turned both sink taps on, adjusted the temperature, and stuck my head under the faucet. Water never felt so good. I scrubbed my face, my hair, my arms. Revived, I sat in a stall and released a week’s worth of denial.

  When I rejoined Su twenty minutes later, I felt almost human. Almost.

  “Your lady was just here,” Su said. “She said she talked to Florida. They’re transmitting now.”