by Davis Bunn
“You’re sure about that? The guy himself went bust?”
“Left all the papers laid out there in the hall leading to the cafeteria for us to inspect. Wanting us to understand he was as shot through by this as the rest of us. Last day he got hugged by every woman in the joint. Didn’t even have a car to drive away in. His sister came and picked him up.”
Wayne knew that sort of pause. “Tell me the rest.”
“I called in a favor. Got a buddy with the state to go through their records. Found the man living large.”
“Where?”
“Resort on the Gulf Coast, just outside Naples. Got himself a semi-palace on the water. Place called Lantern Island.” Jerry’s cop awareness must have caught Wayne’s widening eyes and quick little intake of breath. “What?”
Wayne was still trying to shape a decent response when Victoria appeared. She tottered out the front door and waved cheerily at them with her free hand. Her other arm was gripped tightly by Foster, who appeared seriously concerned about keeping her upright. Wayne asked, “She been sick?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Jerry gave the day a worried squint. “She’s fasting. And she doesn’t eat enough already.”
Wayne caught the edge inside the growl. “That fasting, it’s got something to do with me?”
“She’s been praying for you around the clock. And don’t you start on the worrying gig. I got enough going on with those two. Foster’s stopped sleeping and she’s not eating, I don’t know which is worse.”
But he wouldn’t let go that easy. “She’s praying for me?”
Jerry’s face was mottled teak and umber in the shade. “What, you thought that bet of hers was some kind of joke?”
“I don’t know what I thought.” Despite the heat, Wayne shivered. Lantern Island.
“That lady, she sinks her teeth in, a viper don’t have nothing on her.” When he rubbed his face, the beard sounded like sandpaper. “Where were we?”
“Your former accountant is living the high life.”
“My buddies at state, they say the house is leased from his new employer. They say as far as the law is concerned, his bankruptcy was legit and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Do you believe that?”
Jerry re-aimed his squint. “I look like a fool to you?”
Wayne knew what he was going to do the instant he heard the words, “Lantern Island.” But he waited to spring the news until after dinner. The old folks spent the afternoon acting like ants whose hill had been kicked up, rattling along the lanes in their chairs and their walkers, talking in those broken-tone voices of worried old folks. There was a lot of shaking of heads. A number of glances were cast at his empty porch. Like Wayne was the thief instead of just being the guy who told them what they already knew.
After dinner things wound down. The community had basically exhausted itself from worry and doing their thirty-yard dash up and down the lanes. Jerry sat on Wayne’s porch reading a paperback and swatting at bugs. Wayne had hoped to get the former cop alone to spring his plan. But Foster had dragged himself over from the cafeteria and was now snoring quietly, the Wall Street Journal spread like a blanket over his lap. Wayne went into his closet, pried out the floorboards, and lifted out his carryall. He slipped into what he thought of as his professional gear, checked his watch, and decided he could not wait any longer.
Wayne’s appearance raised the cop’s eyebrows a notch. Jerry took in the outfit—black sweats, black sleeveless T-shirt, black Reeboks, black fingerless gloves—and said, “I’m thinking multiple felony.”
“I need to do something, and I can’t do it alone.”
“This have anything to do with our pal the accountant?”
Wayne squatted down by the cop’s chair. “I need some plastic. I’ve got to make a booking before the place shuts for the night.”
Whatever Wayne might have been expecting, it wasn’t what he got, which was a massive grin that puckered the uneven crevices of Jerry’s broad face. “I wouldn’t rate that the best explanation I’ve ever heard.”
But before the cop could reach into his back pocket and come up with his wallet, a scrawny white hand reached across and offered Wayne a Visa. Foster did not sound the least bit sleepy as he said, “Use mine.”
“I only need the help of one other person.”
Jerry warned Foster, “I ’spect the man didn’t dress up like this for an ice cream run.”
“I signed my name right there beside Holly on that skunk’s contract.” Foster tossed his newspaper aside. “Go make your call.”
They met again twenty minutes later. Jerry was dressed in dark shorts and top, no socks, and boat shoes. Foster’s outfit was a bit more original—navy shirt buttoned to his neck, charcoal grey slacks, black socks, and wingtips. Jerry gave his friend a careful up-and-down, but all he said was, “Works for me.”
Foster waited until they had piled into Wayne’s truck to slip him a note. “Victoria asked me to give you this.”
Jerry scowled. “You told the lady?”
“Didn’t need to.”
Wayne unfolded the paper and read, “First Chronicles, chapter 20, verse 1: ‘In the spring, at the time when kings go off to war …’”
Jerry asked, “What’s it say?”
Wayne refolded the note and stowed it away. “I have no idea.”
Jerry leaned his head back. “Ain’t that just like a dame.”
They winged their way across the state. The truck followed two grooves, one in the asphalt and the other in Wayne’s head. Jerry had the map unfolded in his lap. He glanced over a couple of times as Wayne swept the truck around tight turns on unmarked country roads, drilling through the night at a steady seventy per. Foster watched the proceedings for about fifteen minutes and then zoned out. Jerry, however, played like a creature of the night, just blinking and watching until he was certain enough to say the words, “You been this way before.”
Wayne just punched down a trifle harder on the gas.
“Either that or you been planning this a lot longer than you been letting on.”
Wayne kept his focus tight on the night and the road.
“Which would be a serious strangeness,” Jerry went on, “seeing as how you didn’t have a clue about the skunk living on Lantern Island till I told you.”
That did it for polite conversation until they hit I-75, the north-south tourist artery flanking the Gulf Coast. Wayne skipped by the exit for Lantern, taking the next coastal route and easing back a trace when they entered civilization. Jerry didn’t say anything more, just kept switching his gaze back and forth between the road and the driver. When they pulled into the marina and Wayne parked beside the boat moored at the dock, Jerry just shook his head and gave a soft little hmmmmmmm.
Foster kept snoring as Wayne stowed his canvas carryall and started the boat’s motor. Jerry poked his buddy in the ribs. “Come on, sailor. Rise and shine.”
Foster snuffled and came awake in stages. “Where are we?”
Jerry turned and inspected the night. “Close enough to ground zero to smell it.”
Foster rubbed his face. “I need a coffee.”
Jerry’s teeth shone in the streetlight. “My guess is, ten minutes from now you’re gonna know an adrenaline rush that’ll have Starbucks looking like baby food.”
SIX
The boat skimmed over a water so slick it might as well have been oiled. The windless night was illuminated by a vast hunter’s moon. The silver face just hung there in the sky, grinning down on them. The moon’s reflection glinted every time Wayne scouted the waters. Like the entire universe was laughing at him. Wayne Grusza, thinking he had stuff under control. Like his own life.
Headed to Lantern Island.
The trip took almost two hours. They had to sweep out past a spit of mainland, then follow the channel buoys until they were straight west of the place. Wayne rolled the boat off its plane and threaded between a pair of marsh islands. When the lights along the shoreline came into v
iew he cut the motor off. Sat there gripping the wheel with both hands, listening to the night birds and tasting the air.
Foster asked, “Where are we?”
“We’re where we need to keep our voices down, is what,” Jerry replied. “Water reflects noise worse than it does light.”
Foster was obviously not impressed. “Who’s going to hear us out here? Loons?”
Wayne asked, “You know his exact address?”
“The street was something like Palm.”
“Palmetto,” Wayne corrected. “What about the street number.”
“I asked, but they didn’t say. Probably figured I’d come out here and do something stupid.” The boat rocked gently as Jerry moved to the seat across from Wayne. “Here’s a question I bet you can answer if you try. How’d you know the street?”
Wayne unzipped the carryall. “Now you sound like a cop.”
Something must have caught Jerry’s eye—a glint of metal, or maybe just a hint of bygone days. He leaned over and inspected the contents. “Whoa, mama.”
Foster’s eyes went wide and round when Wayne fitted on the nylon-mesh belt and started filling up the pockets. “What is that stuff?”
Jerry’s expression said he could name every item. Flashlight, pistol, silencer, flash-bang grenades, gutting knife, tape, nylon rope with grappling hook, plastique, detonator. “Ten to twenty, is what.”
Wayne dipped back into the bag and came up with a knit cap. And two more. Not just backup. Overkill. Symbols of all the nights he had prepped his equipment and lusted after a deed he knew he would never commit. “Put these on.”
Jerry unrolled his far enough to see the eyeholes and slit cut out for the mouth. “Somebody’s done robbed the evidence locker.”
“Don’t roll them down till I tell you. It’ll get too hot.”
Wayne knew Jerry was searching for a comeback. Something cute that would also let them know he wasn’t buying into the deal. The guy was, after all, a former cop. Sooner or later, Wayne would have to tell them. And once they started forward, the last thing Wayne wanted was chatter. So he leaned in tight enough for Jerry to stiffen. Not a lot, which was a good sign. Like, the big man knew he was in the presence of danger, but a danger not directed at him.
Wayne said, “My ex lives in the last house on the point down to your left.”
Jerry huffed his surprise. “Now ain’t that some kinda mess. So this sorta comes under the category of familiar territory.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve done this trip before.”
“That’s right.”
“By boat. In the middle of the night. Threading your way through islands with gators for company.” The former cop wasn’t giving it much, though. Like he was already on Wayne’s side, but still needing to know. “Your ex must’ve really stiffed you.”
Wayne took a very, very hard breath. “That’s right.”
Something in the cop’s eyes almost pushed open the door. The one he’d kept locked and hidden away for four long years.
But Jerry chose that moment to break off the inspection. He rocked the boat another time, craning forward and giving the carryall another hard look. Wayne made no move as Jerry reached into the case and came out with the sniper rifle.
Wayne knew the former cop was about to ask what a man needed with a gun finished in nonreflective black, calibrated to a thousand meters, with a clip of waxed bullets. And he had no answer except the rifle had never been fired anywhere but the range.
Which was the point when Foster started laughing.
The sound was totally out of place. Foster wasn’t just grinning aloud either. He was lost to his hilarity. He gripped his belly with one hand and pushed his spectacles up with thumb and forefinger of the other, pressing against the tears Wayne could see in the moonlight. Foster tried hard to choke off the noise, emitting the laughs in tight little frames. Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.
Jerry said, “You laugh like an old man.”
Foster waved one hand. Wait. He wheezed a couple of times but finally regained control. “I don’t need a thermometer to know this fellow’s goose is cooked right through.”
“This is serious business here,” Jerry said.
“Victoria is gonna love this.” Foster wiped his face. “We’re sitting in the middle of the Gulf, a thousand miles from any reasonable explanation, and the nightmare that laid this fellow out is right smack dab at the other end of hello. Talk about a sign.”
“Man does have a point.” Jerry’s hand scratched over his beard. He said to Wayne, “Looks to me like you done lost yourself a bet with Miss Victoria.”
“Big time,” Foster said. “Major league.”
Wayne looked from one grin to the other, then decided there wasn’t a thing he could do about either.
“Okay,” Foster said, settling back into his seat. “Let’s go fry us up some skunk.”
Jerry said, “What, you think we’re gonna just waltz in and take what we want?”
“I don’t imagine our guide has brought us this far without something in mind.”
Wayne took that as his cue and headed to the bow of the boat. As he unlocked the trolling motor and slipped it over the front, he could hear Foster there in the back, still chuckling quietly.
The electric motor was made for bringing fishermen close to prey in total silence. Jerry leaned across the transom and muttered, “Tell me what’s going down.”
“I’ve noticed this place before,” Wayne whispered. He glanced back as Foster moved in closer, but did not complain. “The house is totally different from anything else on the island. The place is built like a fortress. The lawn is wired with motion sensors. It’s rimmed by about six hundred lights waiting for the silent alarm to go off. Steel shutters, even over the front door. When the guy gets up, he hits a button, the whole deal just winds up and disappears. Suddenly it’s just another waterfront palace in suburbia.”
“So we’re gonna sit out here until dawn, nab him when he comes out for the morning paper? And then what, spank him and let him go? I’m only asking, see, on account of how I’d just as soon not throw my thirty away on a totally futile gesture.”
Wayne cut the motor back a notch. “I had a little something different in mind.”
Foster’s mouth fell open when Wayne took the .30-.30 from the seat where Jerry had placed it and fit on the night scope and subsonic silencer. The scope was as long as the rifle barrel and a hand’s breadth in width. He watched Wayne pull out the clip and select a second set of bullets, these individually encased in little plastic clips.
“Let me get this straight,” Jerry said. “We’re risking serious jail time by attacking a house in the middle of the night on a hunch?”
Wayne used the life vests to pad the bulkhead by the bow of the boat, then settled himself into a kneeling position. Legs about two feet apart. Entire barrel cushioned and stable. “Pretty much.”
The two older men exchanged a glance. Foster gave Jerry back his own words, “Works for me.”
“Hold the boat steady,” Wayne said.
Most people thought a silencer worked by muffling the bang upon ignition. Which it did. But a professional silencer also slowed the bullet to subsonic speeds. Which eliminated the second major source of noise—passing the sound barrier.
Foster observed, “The house is over that way.”
Jerry said, “Man ain’t aiming at no house.”
“Quiet now.” Subsonic was still fast enough to do serious damage to an unarmored target. But Wayne was after taking out metal. Which meant he needed a bullet with a special kick.
The more modern resort islands had all their power and cable and phone systems buried. But Lantern Island was too old for that. Wayne sighted on the telephone pole closest to the house. The night scope lit up the home’s transformer like a huge yellow target suspended at the top of a long grey pole. Wayne took a breath. A second. Then pulled the trigger.
The rifle huffed.
Wayne saw the streak of light th
rough the scope and shut his eyes tight against what was to come.
The incendiary bullet hit the transformer dead on. There was a sharp crack and a palm tree of sparks.
From the azalea by the bulkhead, a bird chattered its protest over being awoken. A dog’s muffled bark sounded inside a house somewhere along the road. The sparks littered the street, fizzled quietly, then went out.
Wayne waited and listened through a full five minutes. He turned to the wide-eyed pair and softly explained, “House alarms have a back-up battery. Not motion sensors in the yard.”
He slipped over the side onto the sand, checked the night once more, then said, “When it happens, start the motor, untie the boat, and be ready. And don’t speak more than you have to. The guy might recognize your voices.”
Foster hissed, “When what happens?”
Wayne replied, “Now’s a good time to pull down your masks.”
SEVEN
Wayne loped across the yard. He was fairly certain nobody was going to bother him, especially not the guy inside that house, totally blinded as he was by steel shutters. The island estates were spaced well apart, a minimum two acres per, with all the extras any rich kid could come up with at Christmas. Stone walls. Borders of blooming trees. Wooden trellises rising ten feet above the walls, guaranteeing they would never have to glimpse another neighbor unless they hiked across their manicured lawns and rang the six-bong doorbell. High-impact glass and total soundproofing. As entombed as money could make them.
It was the high-impact glass that had him worried.
Up close the house looked fairly impregnable. Which was mostly bad and maybe a little good. Bad, because he was going to have just one chance to get this right. Even if blowing the transformer had also taken out the phone system as he hoped, the guy inside could not be given time to use his cell. Reach out and touch the local cops. Who would come swarming. With that one phone call, Wayne would become every security joe’s dream come true, the reason most of them deluged the real cops with multiple applications. So they could blow away the bad guys.