by Storm, Buck
“Wrong,” Hollister said.
“Wrong,” Crystal burped.
“Shut up, hillbillies,” Burt said.
Something glowed in Hollister’s hand—a phone. A thin, electronic voice sounded in the Yucatan night. Burt’s voice … “Handsy? First of all, she’s my stepdaughter, not daughter—so get your mind out of the gutter. Good schools, clothes, vacations—I own her. Get it? Besides, she practically begged for it that night. My wife was stone-cold passed out on the couch as usual. I’d had a few greyhounds myself. Just enough to get myself feeling loose and good. So I went into the pool house and—good timing—she was changing. Sending all the signals with her body but pretending that insipid innocence of hers, just like when she was a kid. So I told her what time it was. She could pony up, or I’d cut her off. Her choice. Then she had the gall to hit me with a lamp, as if we weren’t two consenting human beings. If she says I forced myself on her, so what? My property, my money, my way. Besides, she’s nuts. And it’s her word against the most respected psychiatrist in LA.”
“What is that?” Burt demanded.
“Amazing gadgets, these iPhones,” Hollister said. “Even a beer guy like me can figure these little suckers out. So can the LAPD. In fact, they already did, just as soon as I sent this to them. Wanna celebrate over a nice merlot, Doctor Simmons?”
“Okay, Hollister. So you’re not as stupid as Crystal looks. But I still have the gun, and the last I heard in paper-scissors-rock, gun beats iPhone. Get over there with the rest of them. You too, Sammy. You never did bring that cousin of yours, and I don’t trust Mexicans anyway.”
“Don’t shoot her,” Hollister said.
“Get over there or Crystal is bullet number two! Six! I have six! That’s one for each of you freaks! Do what I tell you!”
The three did as instructed.
Burt took a step forward and waved the massive barrel. “Now, Paradise, you come with me or, so help me, I’ll shoot you in that pretty face!”
“Do you trust me?” the stars whispered.
“Yes. What do you want me to do?”
“Tell him no.”
She squared her shoulders. “No, Burt.”
“No? Did you say no? Do you have any idea how many years I’ve waited for this night to come?”
“Yes. I know exactly how many.”
Burt’s knuckles whitened, and his hand shook. His eyes widened, white against the flush of his face. He cocked the pistol, and Paradise’s insides turned to water.
“Stop,” Doc said. Stepping in front of Paradise, he walked toward Burt with purposeful steps.
“Back off!” Burt shouted.
“You said I could trust you!” Paradise whispered.
“Always.”
“Then save Doc? Please?”
“Ah, child. I did that a long, long time ago …”
The sound of the giant pistol echoed off the moon and rattled birds from their nests. Howler monkeys screamed.
The shot was the loudest thing Paradise had ever heard.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Jimmy Buffet and Pieces of Junk
A hospital, Sammy called it, but the Centro Medico in Dia Perdido didn’t inspire much in the way of comfort or hope to the ailing—or to the waiting. A gray metal reception desk stood sentinel over the minuscule waiting room. The space offered all the comforts of home, providing your home had peeling green walls, dirt-crusted industrial tile floors, and was furnished with a scattering of hard, orange, plastic chairs—one with three legs.
Is this shock?Paradise took a mental and physical survey of her faculties. Only numbness. Totally numb. “He’s been in there forever.”
“Relax, princess,” Crystal said. “It’ll be cool. These docs down here in Mexville got all kinds of stuff that’s illegal in the States. They can do crazy things. Rebuild him like Frankenstein’s monster. Me and the old man might even have our kid down here if I get a bun in the oven. Right, sweetie?” She looked up at Hollister, who sat next to her. He sighed and put an arm around her.
Easy sat at the reception desk, swiveling in the chair and flicking a peso back and forth between his long fingers. “I don’ know, mon. It don’ look good to me. And I seen a few shot guys before. I tink he gon’ die.”
Lan leaned against the wall, big arms folded. “That’s enough, Easy. Why would you say that?”
A short, thick Mexican man wearing a Jimmy Buffett T-shirt and a police cap banged open the swinging door that led from the inner-sanctum of the hospital. As he limped into the waiting room, he said, “Thank you for waiting. Gun injury, sí? I’ll need to get a statement from each of you.”
“Chuey? You’re a cop, too?” Lan said.
The officer grunted a laugh. “I get that a lot. Chuey’s my twin brother. I’m Officer Sanchez. But you can call me Poppy. Everybody does. Chuey’s good for nothing but tequila and dominoes. Funny guy, though. Makes me laugh. Did he tell you the one about the nun and the elephant?”
“Uh huh. That was funny,” Lan said.
Poppy scanned a clipboard. “Which one of you is Doc Morales?”
Paradise squeezed Doc’s hand.
Doc returned the squeeze. “I’m Doc.”
“You’re the guy he tried to shoot?”
“Sort of, I guess. I’m the guy that got in the way.”
“Why did he want to shoot you?”
“’Cause he’s a scumbag,” Crystal said.
“Scumbag?” Poppy echoed.
“I’d say that’s about accurate,” Doc said.
Poppy stuck his pinky in his ear and scratched. He took it out, glanced at it, and wiped something on his pants. “Then you’ll be sorry to hear … Dr. Ortega says your scumbag will live. The wounds are mostly surface. Lots of blood, though—man! Sammy, what were you thinking, loaning the guy that piece-of-junk pistola?”
“I thought maybe he was gonna shoot cans?” Sammy said.
Poppy wagged a finger at Sammy. “I should arrest you, you know that? Always in trouble. You’re lucky you’re my cousin.”
Sammy’s sad eyes fell to the pistol in his hands, the huge barrel blown to shreds. “You think it can be fixed?”
“You’re just lucky nobody got killed, amigo. You should throw that thing in the ocean,” Poppy said.
“What will happen to Burt now?” Paradise said.
“Ah, yes, Dr. Simmons. I spent the last hour on the telephone with the Los Angeles Police Department. Just like television, eh? NCIS or something. They have a warrant for Dr. Simmons for attempted rape. Not just yours either. Three of his female patients came forward with similar stories when they saw him on the news. We’ll send him back eventually, but first I’m going to arrest him for discharging a firearm in a cemetery. Plus making a pass at my sister.”
“Your sister?” Hollister said.
“She’s a waitress at the cafe over at Viejo Cabra.”
“Ha! No kidding? That’s your sister?” Hollister said.
Poppy chuckled. “To be honest, who cares about the pistola? But make a pass at my sister, and you spend a nice long vacation in carcel Mexicana with the nasty people. Dr. Simmons will be praying to Jesus, Mary, and the saints for a transfer to Folsom Prison the first day. Johnny Cash, yes? Great song! You know what? Never mind about statements. I’m tired. How does this sound? Dr. Simmons-the-scumbag illegally discharged a piece-of-junk pistola—loaned to him by my stupido cousin, Sammy—in the old Spanish cemetery. The pistola blew up in his face because it hasn’t been fired since Moses was a baby. Dr. Simmons-the-scumbag is wanted in the United States for attempted rape and will be transferred there at such point of time in the future that I feel like filling out the paperwork, which almost I never do. The end. You like it?”
“Hit the nail on the head,” Doc said.
“Amen and pass the salsa,” Lan added. “Can we go now?”
“Excelente! Sí, adios, you’re free to beat it. I’ll see you soon, amigos.” With a salute, Poppy exited the same door he’d come in.
A bedraggled lot they were, standing in front of the Centro Medico on the empty main drag of Dia Perdido in the early morning glow.
Paradise couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re all sure?” she said. “The Bible goes to the Mission Dia Perdido?”
Nods and grunts of agreement all around.
“No joke? That thing’s actually worth something?” Hollister said.
Doc nodded. “I called my brother. He’s an expert on church relics and historical finds. Sent him pics. The Lost Day Bible—cleaned and professionally restored, we could be talking hundreds of thousands of dollars. Even millions.”
Hollister gave a low whistle. “Maybe I’m having second thoughts.”
“It’s for the kids at the mission,” Crystal said.
“Yeah, oh well. Eighty grand ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at. And a free second honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon,” Crystal burped.
“I thought you only got forty thousand so far. How’re you gonna get the rest?” Doc asked.
“Let’s just say I know a guy who knows a guy. A guy with long arms. Reach all the way to a Mexican jail. We’ll get the money.”
“So … so … suck your toe … all the way to Mexico,” Crystal sang to the tune of “Jive Talkin’.”
The soft, new sun slanted through the buildings, lighting the pastel stucco. The rattle of doors and windows opening floated across the cobbled street as a café owner threw a fresh fleece before the gods of business. He hissed and shooed a skinny dog with his broom.
“I don’t know about you all, but I could go for a cup of joe,” Lan said. “Breakfast on me?”
“Yah, mon. Maybe Father Salazar show up. Doc says his bones ain’t down dere,” Easy said.
Lan slapped the deckhand on the back. “You never know, buddy.”
The group started across the street, but Paradise grabbed Doc’s arm, holding him back. “Doc …”
“Hey, you don’t have to say anything. You’re safe now. And free … Time to make a movie, Miss Scarlett. You know someplace in Hollywood I can park an Airstream trailer?”
“Why, Doc?”
“What do you mean, why? Because I have to live someplace.”
“No, why did you walk at Burt like that? He would have killed you if the gun hadn’t blown up in his face.”
Doc brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “But it did. You really have to ask? After all this?”
“I would have lost you … Doc, do you really love me? Really? You don’t just feel sorry for me? Or feel like you have to rescue me?”
“I have your back, Paradise Jones. Like it or not.”
A bell clanged, wheels rattled, and a donkey cart fashioned from a box mounted to an old car axle rocked past. The hunched driver clucked and coaxed in the universal beast-of-burden language.
Paradise watched him move up the street, heart in her throat. “I’m not going back, Doc.”
Doc’s mouth opened slightly. “Not … Why?”
She reached for his hand and traced the scar on his index finger with her own. “Because there’s nowhere to park an Airstream in Hollywood, and a girl needs her comforts.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Three Months Later …
The sun judiciously retired behind the jungle tree line, but its glow still kissed the sky as patio lights strung through the Lazarus’ rigging flickered to life.
Paradise watched the show while strains of Sinatra drifted up through the boat’s open hatches.
Truck Stop Jesus gave the thumbs up. “You’re beautiful.”
Paradise smoothed the front of the sequined dress. “Is it too much? Sammy’s cousin made it. You’re sure I look okay?”
“I didn’t say you look beautiful. I said you are beautiful.”
“Oh.”
“And you look beautiful.”
“A girl wants to, you know. On her wedding day.”
A low wake from a passing fishing boat bumped the hull, and Jesus bobbled. “Are you nervous?”
“I wasn’t until you said that! Now I have butterflies!”
“I know. Don’t you love them?”
“Yes, I kind of do.”
Jesus’ head slowed. “So, Paradise Jones, we’ve had a ride, you and I.”
“Yup, ever since that truck stop. I’m glad I bought you.”
“Nope. Since before the foundation of the world, I’m glad I bought you.”
“Me too.”
“What do you want?”
Paradise reached a finger and gave the Bearded One another wobble. “Everything I already have. I’m so happy.”
“You know how long I’ve waited to hear that?”
“I think I do.”
“I think you do, too.”
Paradise leaned on the rail, her gaze on the jungle across the harbor. “It’s not over, is it?”
“What’s not over?”
“The ride.”
“No. It’s never over, daughter. When these heavens are all a distant memory, it’ll still just be starting.”
“Good …”
Lan stepped out onto the deck, resplendent in his tux. “You ready, girl?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re walking me, Lan.
It means a lot.”
“It means a lot to me too, Princess. I’m very honored.”
Doc never looked as handsome—or as nervous. They were married in the salon, standing in roughly the same spot Clive Granger and Madaline Lemieux exchanged vows some seventy years prior.
Jake stood as Doc’s best man. Hollister as a groomsman.
Tattooed and bouffanted, Ashley smiled from her position as maid of honor.
Crystal insisted on being a bridesmaid. She wore Nike cross-trainers and a purple, spandex sheath dress that showed the slightest baby bump. She and Hollister had rented a tiny casa down the road from the Mission Dia Perdido and volunteered there on a daily basis. Hollister complained constantly about the heat but never quit smiling. Crystal had promised not to burp any words during the wedding but claimed the reception would be a whole different pony-ride.
Sofia dropped flower petals as Paradise crossed the salon.
Others had gathered in the floating chapel. Chuey and Poppy practically identical—both wore clean shirts. Sammy sat ramrod straight, impeccable in his suit and slicked black hair. He didn’t flinch when Crystal called him a daisy.
Leena had become a good friend. Even inviting Paradise to room with her at the mission and help with the children.
Eve had arrived in Dia Perdido two weeks earlier. She’d spent long hours on the deck of the Lazarus talking with Lan. One day, she’d surprised Paradise with an invitation to visit the Mayan ruins at Tulum. Surprise turned to stunned when, standing on a pyramid, Eve had hugged her for the first time in her life. After the embrace, Eve broke down crying, and Paradise held her for a long, long time.
Paco, ever the gentleman, performed the wedding ceremony. He claimed he’d known he would all along.
The kiss was long. No one minded, so they kissed again.
A crowd gathered on deck. The mayor of Dia Perdido, a few fishermen—new friends and old. Jake made a speech, then danced with Ashley. Lan clinked a glass, then stood on the rail, hand on a cable stay for balance. “Friends, I’m not much for speeches, but I’d like to say this: Other than Easy, I’ve never really had a family. Well, I do now. And I couldn’t be happier. Doc, Paradise, this is for you.” He put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. At the sound, every boat in the marina, along with the harbor office, shacks along the shore, the café, and even the jungle at the edge of the beach for a hundred yards in each direction lit up with a million white twinkle lights.
Paradise put a hand over her mouth. “Lan! It’s beautiful. The best wedding present of all time!”
“Fit for a star.” Lan grinned. “And you are one, on screen or off. I have something else for you, though.” He handed her an envelope.
Her fingers trembled though
she didn’t know why. “What’s this?”
Lan waved a hand around. “It’s the title, Princess. To the Lazarus. She’s yours. Yours and Doc’s.”
“Ours?”
“Why, Lan?” Doc said. “No, we couldn’t. This boat’s a part of you.”
“Sure it is. Always will be. But like I said, we’re family now. And I’ve been at sea a long, long time. I want to stay in one place for a while. Tell you what—consider it a trade. I’m going to head back to Arizona with Paco, and I’m going to need somewhere to land. You know, drink coffee without spilling it. On a floor that doesn’t move around. I’ve always been partial to Airstreams.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Doc said.
“With your permission, though, I may come sailing once in a while. And Easy still needs a job.”
“He’s got one. It wouldn’t be the same without him.”
Paradise hugged the old man. “I don’t know what to say, Lan.”
“Just say thanks.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Anyway, Doc’s been living on this tub with Easy for the last three months while I’ve been enjoying townie life. He practically owns her already.” Lan grabbed a mainstay for support, hoisted himself up on the rail and turned to the crowd. “Now let’s dance, everyone!”
And they did. Long into the night.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
A Shoreless Sea
Much later.
The sun had completed nearly an entire circuit and now lurked beneath the eastern horizon of the Caribbean Sea.
Paradise turned on the bed. Doc lay beside her, his head propped on his hand.
She reached out and touched his nose with the tip of her finger. “We have to change it, you know.”
He grabbed her fingers and kissed them. “Change what?”
“Clive plus Madaline equals Our Love is a Shoreless Sea. It should say Doc plus Paradise now.”
“We have time.”
“Will you miss it, Doc? Baseball? Always?”
“Yes.”
“Do you care very much?”
“No. Will you miss acting?”
She sighed and lay back on her pillow. “No. I don’t think I will. Actually, not at all.”