Doc - 19 - Chasing Midnight

by Randy Wayne White

  When I was close enough, I took her wrist and tugged gently. “We have to get out of here, Winifred. Follow me, you’ll be okay.”

  The woman tried to pull away and shrieked when I refused to release her arm. “Who are you? Get away from me!”

  I was tempted to do exactly that. To my left, I heard someone running and got a blurry glimpse of Geness Neinabor as he scrambled down the hallway, presumably headed for the rear exit. He carried Trapper’s rifle in one hand and used the other to cover his mouth and nose with a towel.

  Above me, I could hear people running, too, and the sound of panicked voices. Maybe staff members were reacting to the gunshots and the explosion, but I suspected the capsicum gas was spreading faster than I’d thought. The fishing lodge had been built in the 1800s, so it still had the old floor vents for heating.

  “Winifred, listen to me. The place is on fire. It’ll burn to the ground if I don’t put it out now.” I tugged at her wrist once again. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

  I saw the woman’s eyes open into slits, and then close. “My God, it’s you. Am I dreaming?”

  “Come on. Get on your knees. We have to stay low.”

  “Why are you trying to help me after all those terrible things I said? Is this some kind of trick?” She shuddered and began to cry.

  Maybe it was shock, or all that vodka, but the abrasive Ms. Densler was suddenly behaving like a remorseful child.

  “We have to go now.”

  “But I can’t! My God, I’m blind, I’m telling you! And I can’t walk!”

  In old films, heroes slap women to save them from their own hysterics. True, the thought of belting Densler had some appeal, but I’m no hero nor can I rationalize any reason to hit a woman. Instead, I pulled my shirt to my mouth before taking a full breath, then I swept her up in my arms. When I squatted to retrieve the rifle, I also noticed the woman’s beach bag–sized purse, so I grabbed it, too, then headed for the door. As I passed the opening to the dining room, I saw Tomlinson helping the last of Sharon’s friends out the window.

  I yelled to him, “The twins went out the back. Keep that pistol handy.”

  Tomlinson hollered back, “See his horns?” as I shouldered the door open and hustled the woman outside.

  Because the lodge was built on the island’s highest shell mound, a stone stairway led down to the water, where there was a service dock and a beach. At the entrance to the stairs was a corniced balustrade, hip-high. I sat the woman on the ledge, placed her purse within easy reach, then stripped my shirt off.

  “Use this on your eyes. But pat at them, don’t wipe. That’ll just spread the”—I’d almost said “alkaloid”—“it’ll spread the chemical that’s making your eyes burn.”

  As Densler took the shirt, I touched a hand to her thigh. “When Tomlinson and I were gone, who did the twins shoot? I heard two shots.” I was looking over my shoulder, seeing firelight echo through the broken window as I gauged the speed of the flames.

  “I don’t know. But you have to promise me you’ll tell the police I had nothing to do with this. None of this was supposed to happen. It’s all because of those crazy Neinabor fuckheads. Do you promise?”

  My dislike for the woman had begun to soften, but her self-obsession confirmed my first impression—she was a neurotic ass. I asked her again, “Do you know what they did with Umeko? The Chinese woman.”

  “I don’t know anything. Remember that! That’s what you have to tell the police because it’s true.”

  When I failed to respond, Densler cracked one crimson eye, then recoiled, frightened by the expression on my face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  I was pissed off and it showed. “I’m picturing you handcuffed to some bull dyke at Raiford. Now tell me what the hell they did with Umeko.”

  The woman sat up straighter. “You don’t have to be nasty. She’s the one who lied about being that Chinese gangster’s daughter.”

  “What?”

  “They found out the truth. So they dragged her down the hall, and that’s the last I saw. I told them not to do it—ask anyone.”

  Because I didn’t trust myself to say anything else, I replied, “I’ll need that,” and yanked my shirt from the woman’s hands, then put it on as I jogged toward the flames that were now wicking their way up the window frame.

  The woman’s indignant voice tracked me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go off and leave me! Ford? Ford!”

  My attention had shifted to Tomlinson, who was calling to me from the shadows near the corner of the building. “You want me to check upstairs?” He had one arm wrapped around Sharon Farwell and another around her friends.

  I hollered, “Stay with them,” then leaped onto the porch and stepped inside, holding the rifle at waist level.

  The place appeared to be empty. The downstairs, anyway. I could smell woodsmoke, which meant the floor had ignited, but that wasn’t all bad because heat was now venting the capsicum fumes upward.

  For a moment, my eagerness to go after the twins battled my obligation to save people from being trapped in a burning building. Reason won out, so I found an industrial fire extinguisher behind the bar and emptied it on the flames.

  There was another extinguisher on the dining-room wall and I used it, too. Ironically, as I doused the last of the flames, the bar’s sprinkler system came on, soaking me and everything else in the room.

  My shoes creaking like squeegees, I ran down the hall to the office where I’d last seen Darius Talas.

  23

  The fat man was still bound to the swivel chair. Dead, I thought at first. His porcine hands resembled inflated gloves because they’d taped his wrists so tightly. He was slumped forward, eyes closed, and his face was a swollen mask of contusions and blood. But I saw one bovine eye open as I approached, and then both eyes opened when he recognized me.

  Once again, I was impressed by his composure when he sat up and attempted to smile. “I’m not crying—someone set off a tear gas bomb.” The man gave it a beat. “When I told them you are a thoroughly dangerous man, Dr. Ford, they should have listened.”

  I flicked open the switchblade and stepped toward him. “What happened to Bohai’s daughter? Everyone else is safe, but I can’t find her.”

  The man sniffed and cleared his throat. “I had to tell them about Umeko, I’m afraid. They planned to kill me, anyway, of course, but I preferred a bullet. So, rather than be beaten to death by a dwarf, I talked. I know it was cowardly. And I liked her father. Old Lien was cold-blooded and deceitful, but he loved women and lived a man’s life, I’ll give him that.”

  I said, “Try to tilt your hand back. I don’t want to cut you.”

  As I worked at the tape, Talas said, “I’ve been sitting here patiently, thinking how best to kill those poisonous little brutes. I have an associate who owns a sausage plant where there is a giant meat grinder. A great big chute like a sliding board and more than big enough for two screaming little pigs. If you’ll help me get them aboard one of my oil tankers, I’ll pay you enough to last the rest of your life.”

  I was done with the man’s left arm and went to work on the right. “Do you think they shot Umeko? I heard two shots.”

  He shook his head. “The girl was locked in here with me at the time. I thought they’d forgotten about us but just minutes ago the craziest one dragged her out the door—after he tried to shoot me. I must admit, I thought my check had been cashed. He put the pistol to my temple and… and he…” The man took a huge shuddering breath, his chin dropped to his chest, and I realized he’d begun to weep.

  I said, “They used enough tape to wrap a mummy. A tribute to your physique, I guess.”

  Talas’s chortle was more like a growl. A moment later, he’d regained control and went on talking as if it had never happened.

  “His pistol must have jammed. Over and over, he tried to pull the trigger—the longest few seconds in my life. But he was in a hurry. There wasn’t much the poor girl could do, of
course. He’d taped her hands and mouth. That was before the nasty beating he gave her. Geness—is that his name?—Geness didn’t want to risk being hurt if she fought back.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t out of ammo, not jammed?” The man was thinking about it as I took a closer look at his face. “Your nose is broken, I think. You’ll need X-rays, too.”

  “I’ll have my physician flown in. My guess is that my girth saved me—and not for the first time in my life.”

  He was explaining why Neinabor had dragged the girl out the door but left him.

  “Any idea where he was headed?”

  “To Kazlov’s boat, I would think. You picked up on the nautical metaphors very quickly. That was my impression, anyway.” He turned to look at a bottle of water sitting on the desk. “I’m so thirsty, I thought I would pass out. I sustained myself, though, with thoughts of revenge. Revenge is a powerful survival tool, you know.”

  I handed the man the bottle, then knelt to cut his legs free.

  “Viktor’s not going to be happy about all this. If those dwarfs don’t end up in a sausage grinder, it’ll only be because he hasn’t managed to leave the dock yet, taking Lien’s sturgeon and wife with him. That’s something else I realized as I was sitting here. My Russian colleague contrived the whole affair so he could trade fish for a beautiful woman—and put the rest of us at one another’s throats. Brilliant plan, actually. I give credit where credit is due.”

  I said, “Are you sure about that or guessing?”

  “There’s no other explanation. It’s possible Lien had agreed to the deal before he arrived—that is conjecture, by the way. He probably has one of China’s Evergreen freighters out there in the Gulf right now, rigged to offload the sturgeon and close the deal. Sex and power—the only international currencies that never depreciates. Women have a dollar value, and Viktor pretended Sakura was worth a billion to him. And maybe she was. I know for a fact that Armanie offered Lien several millions, but Viktor was too smitten to be outbid.”

  I looked to see if Talas was serious. One of his eyes was swollen nearly shut, the other was bloodied, but the man was coherent. He was in pain but still in control. He was telling the truth about Bohai auctioning his wife.

  “Poor Lien. The old villain was never bested in a business deal, as far as I know. But when it finally happened, he lost big. Spoils to the winner go, so congratulations to Viktor for pocketing the entire pot.”

  I tossed a ball of duct tape toward the trash, closed the switchblade, then waited while Talas got to his feet in the slow, experimental way of large men who’ve lost confidence in their legs. It was almost two a.m.

  “I’ve been wondering about that myself,” he said when he saw me look at my watch. “Did the brutes set more explosives? If they snuck one aboard his yacht, too bad for Viktor—and after going to all that trouble to steal a married woman. Is there time to warn him?”

  “Kazlov’s dead. Armanie, too.”

  “You’re joking.” The man spoke the words with an ascending inflection as if he hoped it were true.

  “You’re not saying… you don’t mean those inept little idiots killed two of Europe’s shrewdest men? But what about their bodyguards? Both officers in Russian Special Forces!”

  “I saw the bodies,” I replied, which was enough to convince him that the twins had killed both men. I was watching Talas’s expression as I added, “What I can’t figure out is why they let you live as long as they did.”

  Talas shrugged, feigning disinterest, and looked away. He was shaken and in pain; an injured man on the verge of nausea, judging from his color, which might have explained his evasiveness. But it didn’t mesh with the way he stopped, thought for a moment, then thrust up an index finger as he looked at me, an epiphanic smile on his face. “The fish! I’ve just had an inspired idea regarding Viktor’s sturgeon.”

  I was looking at the man, weighing the chances that he knew more than he was admitting. “What about them?”

  “The authorities don’t know about the fingerling beluga. Viktor brought them for Lien to inspect, I suppose, but no one knows that but us. How many did the little brutes say? One thousand, I think.”

  What came next was outrageous but not out of character.

  “Are you a businessman, Dr. Ford?”

  I picked up the rifle and checked the safety. “I’m going after Umeko. You’ll have to get back to your rental house on your own. Is one of the women there your wife? You need ice and a first-aid kit.”

  I was referring to the two women I’d seen Talas with at dinner, but it confused him and he had to think about it. “Oh… my wives, you mean. Don’t worry about them, I’ll be fine. Wait… give me a moment.”

  Talas lowered his weight into the swivel chair before continuing. “Dr. Ford, you’re a proven professional in a competitive trade. I’d like to retain your services with a lump sum offer. Are you interested?”

  With a shrug, I consented to listen.

  “Here it is, then. Secure Viktor’s yacht. Make sure the fish are healthy and well enough to deliver to a vessel I’ll have waiting offshore. Do that in the next… twenty-four hours and I will pay you one million dollars in the form of a bank draft. Or better yet, I’ll have it wired into an account I can have established in the Cayman Islands. Tax-free, in other words.”

  When I tried to respond, the man silenced me with an index finger. “Hear me out! If you can also manage to subdue those hideous twins and deliver them along with the fish, I will pay you an additional five hundred thousand. No. No… I will pay you an additional one million dollars and it’ll be worth every penny. They must be alive, of course—the brothers. Not necessarily fully functional but conscious at least.”

  I was smiling because I found the second part of the offer appealing. “You have an oil tanker in the area?”

  “My company has a freighter that transited the Panama Canal last week. It’s now off Naples, in international waters, awaiting word from me.”

  In reply to my pointed look, Talas scolded, “Please, Dr. Ford, don’t moralize. It’s true that I know more about Viktor’s correspondence with Bohai than I’ve admitted. But business is war, you know. No matter how it’s wrapped and perfumed, business is war in its most rarefied form. And you certainly understand that winning is the only rule.”

  I asked him, “How do you think Turkmenia’s customs officers will react when they find two kidnapped Americans aboard?”

  “With closed eyes and open hands, as always. In other words, I own them. And because our population is largely Muslim, my friend’s sausage factory is usually very quiet after dark.”

  Profit is a repugnant motive for what I do, so freelance work has never been of interest—until meeting Darius Talas. “Know what?” I said. “I’ll think about it. If not now, who knows, maybe down the road.”

  As I headed out the door, Talas was still trying to close the deal. “The numbers are negotiable, of course. You are among the elite in your field and I’m a man who rewards professionalism. So instead of two million, let us say…”

  I didn’t hear the number because my attention swerved to Tomlinson’s voice. He was somewhere inside the building, calling, “Doc? Where the hell are you? Someone just started Kazlov’s boat!”

  24

  When Winifred saw me dump the contents of her purse on the ground, she sounded nervous as she asked Tomlinson, “He doesn’t believe me? I said I don’t have the boat keys and I don’t. After he left me with all these goddamn mosquitoes and nothing to drink, why would I let him use the damn thing, anyway?”

  Tomlinson replied gently, “For the second time, Winnie, your guys just stole Viktor Kazlov’s boat. We think they have Umeko. You don’t want anything else bad to happen, do you?”

  It was ten after two, and I could only admire my pal’s patience. I’d been tempted to throttle the witch when she’d told us she didn’t know where the keys were. They weren’t in the ignition, we’d already checked.

  The purse contained
a discouraging pile that would have filled an airplane carry-on. Densler lunged to stop me when I plucked her cell phone from the heap, but Tomlinson got his hands around her waist. “We know the twins are aboard, but where are Markus and Thomas? We’re trying to prevent a disaster, and the cops aren’t going to be very happy when they hear you refused to cooperate.”

  Thomas was Trapper’s real name, apparently.

  I pocketed Densler’s cell phone after checking her recent calls, then began to sort through the stuff, occasionally glancing to my left. Down the mound, through a web of palm trees, Kazlov’s dark-hulled Dragos Voyager was still idling out the channel, no lights showing. We had run to the marina immediately but had arrived at the docks minutes after the boat pulled away. Then when Tomlinson had made the mistake of whistling to get our attention, we’d had to dive for cover when Odus’s red laser sight began probing for a target.

  The vessel was riding much too low in the water. Even from this distance, I could tell by its sluggish progress, the way it wallowed and its mountainous wake cleaved too far aft at a speed so slow. My guess was, the Dragos had almost sunk at the dock and might still be taking on water.

  Sharon Farwell, standing between her friends, came to Densler’s defense, saying, “She’s had a terrible night, can’t you go a little easier on her? She never really did anything to help them. Not really.”

  Sliding past Tomlinson, Sharon took Densler by the arm and helped steady her. “Let’s go inside and make some coffee, dear. Or maybe a good strong drink. We’ll all feel better in the morning.”

  Touched by the kindness, Densler began bawling again. “I had nothing to do with this, you have to believe me. Markus didn’t know what the Neinabors had planned, either—none of us did.”

  “We believe you, dear, of course we do. We’ve all been through a lot.”

  “We got… got swept along by their craziness, I guess. The twins were so sure of themselves, it was like… like being hypnotized. They made us believe what they believed. That’s exactly what happened! Now, though… well, if Markus and Thomas are on that boat, it’s because the twins forced them. They had a big argument, plus they’d never leave me behind on purpose.”