Blue Ice Dying In The Rain

by Jim Craig

We sat in silence for a moment feeling the forces in space and time moving forward and putting the pieces in place.

  "Well, we both know I didn't shoot them," I said finally.

  "Yeah, I know. I wonder if they'll believe me about what really happened."

  I waited. I glanced sideways at him. Something was changing.

  "Greta did it," he finally muttered and took a big bite of sandwich.

  I stared at him in disbelief. He was chewing slowly. Strands of lettuce hung out of his mouth until he noticed them and stuffed them back in with one dirty finger. He swallowed and reached for one of the beer bottles. First he inspected it for signs of tampering, but it looked normal. Ripping the cap off with the opener, he handed it to me and motioned for me to drink. He watched while I took a big swallow, then he shrugged and opened the other bottle.

  “Drink up, man," he said. "Heinekens. This is the good stuff.”

  While he tilted the bottle back for a long pull I looked down to see where he'd left the bottle opener. It was one of the old style with a pointed can opener on one end and a flat bottle cap opener on the other.

  "Greta? Greta did what?" It seemed like he wanted to talk and I wanted to let him.

  "Yeah, I know. It surprised me too," he said shaking his head.

  I waited again. Possibilities were flickering through my mind. I was starting to see a way out, but Charlie's voice was taking on a hopeless tone. With nothing to lose, what would keep him from setting off the bomb? And why was he telling me all this? Why now?

  "Yeah, she kind of lost it that afternoon," he said finally. "We got in a big argument and I shoved her. That's when she called the cops. She was so pissed, she wanted me locked up. She cooled off later, but goddamnit, she'd already set the whole mess into motion."

  "So there wasn't any fishing guide?" I asked.

  "Nah," he chuckled. "I couldn't believe you all fell for that story."

  I didn't tell him that I'd been doubtful about it for a while. "So the troopers didn't leave in a boat?"

  "Nah, that was bullshit too. Greta plugged the first one as soon as we got them separated. I couldn't believe it. As soon as he turned his back she pulled a gun and nailed him in the back of the head."

  I was thinking back trying to remember the sequence of events that first night. He was watching me again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  "That other guy ran like crazy, so we went after him. We were set up on the hill and he was running around down below like Rambo or something. You were there too, right? Wasn't that you flopping around in the ditch?"

  "You know it was. You damn near hit me." I wasn't seeing the humor.

  “Hey, no offense, Johnny. Don’t take it personal. We didn’t know they had a pilot waiting for them. We thought one of the troopers was the pilot.”

  “So what happened to Daniels?”

  "The other trooper? Ah, he was trying to sneak around on us, but we could hear him coming a mile away. He wasn't much of a woodsman, ya know?"

  I didn't say anything. I watched him and waited. As long as he was spilling all the details, I wasn't going to slow him down.

  "The funny thing is, I wasn't trying to shoot you guys. I figured we could tie him up and have you fly us out of there. But Greta had a different idea. She hid behind a rock and when Daniels came crawling by, she plugged him."

  I was trying my best to picture that scene in the woods. It fit with what I remembered, but Greta? I hadn't seen her handle a gun so the story didn't work for me.

  "You think they'll believe me, Johnny? All the killing wasn't my idea. Greta did it all."

  "Greta? Really? She doesn't seem the type."

  "Yeah, I know. But there's a lot about her you don't know."

  I let that idea hang there between us for a while. I was busy thinking about how to get out of there alive. I needed Charlie to keep thinking they had a chance. If he lost hope it could get real ugly. And I needed him thinking I was trying to help.

  After a few moments I said, "Well, you won't need to explain anything if we get out of here and fly down to Cuba." I tried to keep my voice neutral and upbeat.

  He looked sideways at me and chuckled. “I know. I'm just working on my backup plan, ya know? Just in case.”

  I took a deep breath. And another swig of beer. Then another. I checked the bottle and it was already over half empty. I wished we’d ordered a whole case. I could feel my heart tapping against my rib cage, reminding me how close I’d come to joining those dead troopers. I flashed on an image of their two dead bodies. Arnold with his round blond head bloodied. And Daniels, mud covered, with a bullet hole in his forehead. My own face appeared beside them. Our open eyes staring at nothing. My body shook with a sudden chill and I drained the rest of the bottle.

  The sandwiches were gone. Charlie crumpled the wrappers into a ball and tossed it to the middle of the vehicle lane. It landed in a thin wet layer of gasoline. Then he leaned back against the hood of the TransAm again looking toward the doorway.

  I did the same and tried to relax. The beer was giving me a slight buzz. I've always been a lightweight. If only I had five or ten more I could put some real distance between me and all this reality. I wondered about Brandy and hoped she was somewhere safe. Rainey too.

  Mostly I thought about the group of men outside the door. Something was going to happen and soon. There was only the one way in and Charlie had it covered. Besides, his threat to light off the gasoline had everyone paralyzed. I knew that wouldn’t last. The beer was having another effect as well. The fear was subsiding. I could feel myself getting ready to make a move.

  Charlie keyed the radio mike. “Greta, where’s the chopper?”

  “I’m checking on it, Charlie. Relax."

  "Don't tell me to relax," he snarled at her. "How long do ya think I can sit down here like this?"

  "Don't yell at me," she snapped. "It's no picnic up here either."

  Charlie jumped to his feet. "Oh gimme a break. They're stringing you along, you know that, don't ya?"

  I glanced sideways at the food tray and while Charlie and Greta were squabbling I reached over, palmed the can opener and slipped it in my side pocket.

  Greta changed the subject. "They're saying the chopper is almost here, Charlie, but when it comes, how are we going to do this? It’s getting dark now.”

  “Uh, from the top deck, I guess. Yeah, when it gets here, have it land up there.”

  There was silence from her end. I figured that idea was going to be a problem. I looked toward the small openings where outside light had leaked in before. No light now. Only a few overhead fluorescents were keeping us out of the dark.

  Her voice came back in a couple of minutes. “No can do, Charlie. They say the chopper can’t land up there. Too many antennae in the way.”

  “Well, screw it. It’s the Coast Guard, right? They can haul us up with their rescue cables then. In that basket thing they use. I seen it on TV.”

  “Hang on a minute, Charlie.” A man’s deep voice broke in over the radio’s scratchy speaker.

  Charlie's forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Who’s this?” he demanded.

  “My name’s Larry, Charlie. I’m over here at the doorway. I’m unarmed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY