"Kirsten?"
The girl turned toward her and Connie saw her battered, bloody face. Her lips were split and one eye was swollen shut. She reached toward the sobbing girl and took a step, but Kirsten shook her head. "No, please. Just leave me alone," she blubbered, turning and stumbling into the forward head.
Opening the tool locker behind the companionway ladder, Connie grabbed the heaviest thing that was close at hand, a 15-inch adjustable wrench that she had used to tighten the propeller nut before Diamantista was launched. She hefted it, deciding it would do, and grabbed an aerosol can of insect spray.
As she mounted the ladder, she saw Jimmy sitting behind the helm, his feet propped up on its rim. He took a deep drag on a small, twisted-looking joint, leaning back with his eyes closed. He held the smoke in his lungs, unaware of Connie's approach until she was almost within arm's reach.
She held the wrench out of sight behind her right thigh as he rose to an erect sitting position. He gave her a bleary-eyed grin, running his bloodshot eyes over her body and whistling.
"Hey, hot stuff," he greeted her. "Come to Papa." He patted the seat cushion beside him.
"I told you, no drugs," Connie said, glaring at him. "Toss it over the side now, and stand up."
"Uh-uh, babe, I don't think so. Kirsten and me, we had a little discussion, see. We kinda broke up, so I'm all yours, now."
"One last time, lose the joint and get on your feet."
He put the joint in his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he casually stood up. "Sure you don't want a hit? Put you in the mood, like? We gonna party, you and me."
Still holding the wrench out of sight, she aimed the aerosol can at him and pressed the button on top. Gagging on the spray, he slapped the can from her hand.
"You bitch! I'm gonna make you scream for mercy before I even do it to you the first time."
She watched as he drew back his right fist, stepping toward her with his left leg, his weight back on his fully extended right leg. She sidestepped to her left and shot her right leg out, the side of her foot landing just above his right kneecap as he started his swing. She put all of her one hundred twenty-five pounds behind her foot, popping his kneecap out of place and forcing his right knee to bend the wrong way. His weight did the rest, his right leg collapsing beneath him with a tearing sound as he screamed.
Mindful of Dani's advice to never leave an adversary conscious, she brought the wrench around, landing it on the side of his head just above his left ear. He collapsed in a heap, his screaming silenced. She picked up the smoldering joint and flipped it over the side, watching him to see if he was still breathing. She worried briefly that she had hit him too hard, but then she saw his chest rise and fall. She kept her eye on him for a few breaths, making sure he was out, and then she went below.
Opening the tool locker again, she grabbed a handful of twelve-inch cable ties and a roll of duct tape. Back in the cockpit, she set her supplies on the seat and dragged him from behind the helm. Rolling him into a face-down position on the cockpit seat, she cable-tied his wrists together behind his back. She tightened the cable ties until they cut into his flesh, and then repeated the process with his ankles.
She grabbed a short piece of line that she kept draped over one of the engine controls; she normally used it to tie odds and ends in place when the going got rough. It was about three feet long, with an eye spliced in one end. She passed the end without the eye between his ankles and brought it back between his wrists, tucking it through the eye splice in the other end. She tugged the end of the line, putting her weight into it as she pulled his ankles up behind his back until his feet were touching his hands. Even though he was still unconscious, he groaned as his broken knee bent.
Connie reminded herself of what he had done to Kirsten as she tied off the line. She felt badly about the knee; he'd never walk normally again. She had nothing but contempt for a man who would abuse a woman the way he had Kirsten, but she hadn't intended to inflict permanent damage. He was beginning to stir, no doubt because of the pain. She tore off a three-foot length of duct tape and wrapped it around the lower part of his face, closing his mouth securely. She was tired of listening to his crap, and at this point, there was no need.
****
About a half-hour later, Kirsten appeared at the companionway dressed in a sweatshirt and cutoffs. She stood on the ladder, arms crossed beneath her breasts as she took in the sight of Jimmy, hog-tied and moaning, while Connie sat behind the helm sipping coffee.
"What happened?"
"Jimmy and I had a little disagreement. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'll be all right. He's beat me worse than this before."
"You shouldn't put up with that, you know?"
"Yeah, I know. I just ... I dunno ...” She shook her head and came up into the cockpit.
"Where'd that come from?" Connie asked, startled by the sight of a semiautomatic pistol in Kirsten's right hand, dangling down by her thigh. Kirsten looked down at the gun, frowning, almost as if she'd forgotten she had it.
"It's Jimmy's. He didn't know I knew about it."
"What are you doing with it?"
"I ..., um, I wasn't sure what I'd find up here. I kind of passed out, I guess." She put the pistol down on the cockpit seat.
"You know how to use it?"
"I guess. Maybe not." She looked at the pistol and shivered. "I just thought I might need it, if he had ... well, you know?"
Connie nodded. "Guns are dangerous, especially if you don't know what you're doing."
"Yeah, I know, but ... How'd you do that to him, anyway?"
"I learned to fight dirty. Men like Jimmy never expect a woman to put up much of a fight, so I had the element of surprise in my favor. I blinded him with bug spray and hit him in the head with a wrench."
Kirsten noticed his right knee, now looking like a purple basketball. "What about his knee?"
"Broken, I think. I kicked it out and he fell on it. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to do permanent damage."
"Don't be sorry. That miserable bastard had it coming. I wish you'd killed the son of a bitch."
"Well, I'm glad I didn't. That would be hard to live with, even if he had it coming."
"He does have it coming. You don't know half of what he's done. He deserves to die."
"Maybe so, but not by my hand. Not on purpose, anyway."
"We can't take him all the way to the islands like that," Kirsten said.
"No, we can't."
"We could just toss him overboard -- say he fell."
"I'm not comfortable with that, Kirsten."
"You could have killed him when you hit him with the wrench."
"I could have; for a minute, I was afraid I had. But I didn't."
"So what are we gonna do?"
Connie eyed the girl, not trusting her for a moment. The pistol didn't worry her, but the fact that Kirsten was sitting there calmly discussing cold-blooded murder troubled her. Until now, she had intended to tell Kirsten what she planned, but she changed her mind. She realized that she didn't know much about Kirsten, and that she'd been favorably disposed toward her for reasons that stemmed from her own past. "I'm kind of shaken right now, Kirsten. I need a little time to chill out and think my way through this; it's not a situation that I anticipated. Okay?"
Kirsten nodded. "What should I do with the gun?"
"I'd feel more comfortable if you gave it to me so that I can lock it up. Do you know how to unload it?"
Kirsten shook her head.
"Let me do it, then."
Kirsten nodded. "Okay."
Connie held out her hand, and Kirsten passed her the gun. Connie popped the magazine out and pulled the slide back, ejecting a round from the chamber. She collected it and slipped the others out of the magazine, handing the loose ammunition to Kirsten. "Put those somewhere. I'll lock up the pistol."
Kirsten held the bullets in her cupped hand, looking at them. She glanced up at Connie. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
> "Like I told Jimmy the other day, I'm not proud of some of the things I've done. I learned to shoot because I thought it was important at the time."
Kirsten nodded.
"Look, I'm settled in up here; I feel pretty good. Why don't I take this watch? You go recover from your beating. You could use a little extra rest."
"Okay," Kirsten said. "Can I get you anything before I sack out?"
"No, thanks. I'm okay. I've got some ibuprofen in the first aid kit. You want some?"
"No, thanks. I had some in my purse; I already took it."
****
Kirsten was stretched out on the settee in the main cabin, a light blanket providing enough warmth for comfort. She was too wired to sleep, between the excitement and the coke. There was something different about Connie; she sensed a change in Connie's attitude toward her. She considered whether it might have something to do with Jimmy's pistol, but she rejected that idea.
She hadn't known what to expect when she had poked her head up a little while ago, but she had been surprised to see Jimmy hog-tied and semi-conscious. She had been prepared for almost anything but that. She had taken the pistol thinking that she could shoot him and say that she'd done it to save Connie. She had heard them when she was washing up after he beat her. She had assumed that he would have his way with Connie, one way or another. She had been in no rush, thinking that if he had time to ravage Connie, she'd be more grateful when Kirsten came to her rescue.
Now Connie seemed all righteous and suspicious. She thought about how she could win Connie over. She'd thought she was making progress, but now she wasn't sure. The two of them could make short work of Jimmy, but she needed to find a way to motivate Connie and bring her around to her own point of view.
If Jimmy escaped his bonds, or partially escaped, so that he was a threat again, that could work. She'd have to be sure that they could kill him before she'd be willing to let him loose. She would have to manage it so that Connie thought he'd gotten free by himself and was taking his anger out on Kirsten. It had to be a setup that left no alternative but to kill him. She was thinking about how to stage something like that when she dropped off to sleep.
* * *
Chapter 10
Connie was stretched out in her berth, trying to slow the racing of her thoughts. Kirsten had relieved her at about 3 a.m. She had come below and made herself a cup of tea and spent a few minutes studying the approach charts for Beaufort, North Carolina. Diamantista had been about 200 miles east of Cape Hatteras when she'd sent Kirsten below earlier.
Once she was sure Kirsten was asleep, Connie had gone below and locked the pistol in the drawer below the chart table, taking out the satellite phone while she was there. Back up on deck, she had checked on Jimmy. He had recovered consciousness, although he seemed groggy. She had rolled him onto his side in an effort to make him a bit more comfortable. She would have preferred to have him out of the way below deck, but he was too heavy for her and Kirsten to move him. She checked the autopilot and the sails and took the phone up to the bow. She wanted to call Paul, but she didn't want either of her shipmates to know about the sat phone.
Paul had been groggy when she called. She heard him fumbling with the phone and pictured him asleep, reaching for it on the nightstand. He had grunted something unintelligible.
"Paul?"
"Yeah. Who's this? What the hell ... time is it, anyway?"
"It’s Connie. Sorry to wake you, but I've ..."
"Connie?"
"Yes. I've got a ..."
"What's wrong? Where are you? Are you ..."
"Paul, let me talk, okay? I'll answer all your questions in a minute. I may not have much time alone, here."
"Yeah. Sorry. Talk to me."
"Jimmy beat up Kirsten while I was off watch. She came below all bloody, and I went up to confront him and found him smoking a joint. He attacked me, but I subdued him. He's got a broken leg and he's bound and gagged. I'm not sure I trust Kirsten, either, so I'm up on the foredeck for a little privacy. She's below, asleep right now, and he's in the cockpit."
"Where are you?"
"I've just altered course. I'm headed for Beaufort, a little less than 200 miles out. We're making nine knots on a beam reach in a nice southeast breeze. It's blowing maybe 12 knots, so it shouldn't be too rough crossing the stream, you think?"
"No, you should be okay as long as it's less than 15 or 20 knots. Might get bumpy if it pipes up. You figure you'll be approaching Beaufort this evening, then?"
"Yes, if the wind holds."
"Okay. Are you okay, or do you need help?"
"I think I'm okay. Like I said, I'm not sure about Kirsten, but ..."
"She know you've turned around?"
"No, but she might notice. Probably not until this evening, though. She's not been paying any attention to the course. If she notices, I'll just tell her there was a wind shift, or something. Once it gets dark, she'll see the lights from ashore, I guess, so I'll have to deal with that then."
"Okay. I'll make some arrangements with the Coast Guard to meet you at the Beaufort entrance tonight. I'll send you a text with the details, but you'll probably end up needing to call them on the VHF when you're a few miles out. They can escort you in and put somebody aboard to give you a hand bringing her in."
"That sounds good. I'll call if I ..."
"Connie?"
"Yes?"
"You sure you don't want me to arrange for them to send a chopper out to you? They could drop a couple of rescue swimmers to help you bring the boat in."
"I feel like that's crying wolf; they might need those people for somebody that's in trouble. Everything's under control here for the moment, anyway."
"Okay, but it's an option; don't forget it if something happens. Meanwhile, I'll give them the password to your satellite tracker so they can monitor your progress."
"Hey, I'd forgotten about that. I mean, I knew you'd be watching, but I hadn't thought about being able to share that."
"Right. So let me get to work on this. I'll send a text or leave a voicemail; you probably should keep the phone out of sight."
"Paul?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks. You can't imagine what a comfort you are to me."
"Sorry I'm not there with you. It won't be too long. I'd better get moving, okay?"
"Yes. 'Bye."
"Good-bye."
****
When Kirsten woke up, she sensed that something was different. As she looked around, she realized that she was on the high side of the main cabin. Since they left Norfolk, they had been on a starboard tack with the wind on their quarter. The port settee where she had been sleeping had been on the downhill side of the boat. That was why she had chosen it, so that she wouldn't get rolled out of bed by the boat's motion.
The boat was heeling to the starboard now; the wind was on the opposite side. She concluded that they must be on the port tack; the wind must have shifted. She remembered Connie saying something about expecting it to back, or clock or whatever. She shrugged that off; she had more important things on her mind, but first, she needed a pick-me-up.
She swung to a sitting position and put her feet on the deck, peering out the companionway. She could just see that Connie was behind the helm. The motion of the boat was a little more erratic than it had been when she went to sleep; it must be because of the change in the wind. She swung from handhold to handhold as she made her way into the forward head. She closed the door and helped herself to a snort of coke before she relieved herself and washed her face.
Closing the lid on the commode, she sat for a moment, savoring the rush. Feeling better, she opened the second door of the head, the one that opened into the forward stateroom where she and Jimmy had stowed their stuff. She opened a locker and took out her duffle bag, dropping it on the berth where Jimmy had been sleeping off his seasickness.
She wrinkled her nose at the sour stench emanating from the bedding as she felt around in the duffle bag. She soon found her ow
n pistol, smiling at the memory of the way she'd played Connie earlier with Jimmy's gun. She'd gotten something out of three years as a theater major; she could fool most people most of the time.
She unloaded the little .25 caliber semiautomatic, dropping the bullets into the pocket of her cutoff jeans. She might want to load it again before this was over, but she had no intention of giving Jimmy a loaded gun.
She stuck the pistol in the other front pocket and realized that the cutoffs were not going to work; they were too tight. The outline of the tiny pistol was all too obvious. She took a pair of sweat pants from the duffle bag, thankful that the weather was cool enough so that they wouldn't be remarkable. She stepped into them and pulled them up over the cutoffs.
Replacing the duffle bag in the locker, she went back to the galley and put on a kettle of water. She enjoyed the ritual of sharing a hot drink with Connie when they changed watch. She looked forward to a chance to chat with her; she would focus on winning back her confidence.
****
"Shut up," Kirsten hissed, prodding Jimmy with her foot. "She'll hear you." With Connie's concurrence, she had cut a small hole in the duct tape over his mouth so that they could give him some water through a straw. Since Connie had gone off watch an hour ago, he had tried to converse with Kirsten, but she had not encouraged him. Besides, with the tape still drawn tightly over his lips all he could do was mumble. She was enjoying his discomfort and making no secret of the pleasure she found in his plight.
Once she was sure that Connie was settled, she had taken the sweat pants off and folded them neatly on the cockpit seat not far from his head. Making sure that Jimmy was able to see what she was doing, she took the pistol from her pocket and slipped it under the folded sweats. Amused by the quizzical look in his eyes, she shook her head and wagged her index finger back and forth. "Uh, uh, uh," she said softly smiling. Now she was waiting until she was sure Connie had fallen into a deep sleep; she wanted her groggy for the next act in her little performance.
Love for Sail Page 6