Love for Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  "Next one will be in your head. Both of you, face down on the deck. Right now."

  Sharktooth and Phillip complied, barely finding room in the cramped space.

  "Hands behind your heads," he ordered. "Either one of you moves, you both die, but one very slowly. Now where's the woman?"

  At that moment, the woman was one step behind him, beginning a fluid motion that ended with a full wine bottle shattering across the top of his head. His eyes rolled up into his head and his knees buckled. As he collapsed to the deck, Connie took the pistol from his limp fingers. Phillip had turned his attention to the other man, who was coming around, shaking his head as he got to his feet, also brandishing a small handgun. Before Phillip got to him, Connie shot him in the gut. As he swung the gun toward her, she put another round in his right knee. He screamed and collapsed to the deck, dropping his pistol.

  "Cable ties are in the second drawer below the chart table," she said. "If you want to keep them alive, you'd better tie their wrists and ankles before they come to."

  Phillip had already immobilized the man Connie shot by the time she finished her statement. He noticed, as he moved to bind the other man, that Sharktooth had braced himself with the AK-47's muzzle resting on the lip of an open porthole. The weapon barked twice, spitting brass into the cabin as Phillip finished.

  "Thanks, Connie," Phillip said, as she handed him the pistol.

  "No problem."

  "Who teach you to shoot like that?" Sharktooth asked.

  "Dani. She also taught me not to leave a live adversary behind me unless he was disabled."

  "What about the guy in the boat?" Phillip asked.

  "Dead. Two in the head."

  "Is it in gear?"

  Sharktooth shook his head. "I wait 'til he put in neutral. Still, we bes' go get it, jus' to be sure."

  ****

  Ten minutes later, the go-fast boat was in tow, riding easily about 75 feet behind them. Connie was at Diamantista's helm and Phillip and Sharktooth were below, questioning their two prisoners. She was still shaken from having shot the one man, but it had been a clear-cut matter of self-defense. She knew that this far out at sea, the stomach wound was a death sentence, even though it hadn't immediately disabled him. With the strange-to-her, small caliber pistol, she hadn't wanted to risk a disabling shot while he had the wherewithal to shoot back, so she'd taken the center of mass shot first and then gone for finesse, hoping he'd be able to answer some questions before he died. Of course, there was always the other one -- he'd be waking up soon.

  She flinched as she heard a scream from below, not wanting to think about Sharktooth and his beloved filet knife. She heard muttered discussion, but she couldn't make out the words. After what seemed an eternity, Phillip joined her in the cockpit. He shook his head as he sat down a few feet from her.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "The one you hit was the one with the answers, unfortunately. The one you shot was just local muscle that the other two picked up in Puerto Rico, along with the boat."

  "Who screamed?"

  "The one you shot."

  "Did Sharktooth have to ..."

  "No. He just waved the filet knife around and did his demented routine. The guy screamed before Sharktooth even touched him."

  "I don't blame him."

  "Me, either. Just so you know, I've never seen Sharktooth actually use that knife. Just the threat is enough. Works every time."

  "That's a relief. I'm already upset that I had to shoot the jerk. He's going to die, isn't he?"

  "He's the one who's responsible, Connie. Don't beat yourself up. He said they were going to kill us -- me and Sharktooth. You, they were going to amuse themselves with until you told them where the money was."

  "Money?"

  "I was going to ask you. Apparently, those two you picked up in Annapolis were carrying a quarter of a million dollars in cash. They were supposed to buy coke in St. Martin and hitch a ride back to the States with it on another yacht."

  "I don't know where it could be. I mean, they practically took the boat apart in Beaufort. That much money wouldn't be that easy to hide."

  "No. With drug runners, there's no telling. Could have been some kind of double cross going on."

  "Maybe the guy I hit with the wine bottle will know. You try to rouse him yet?"

  Phillip nodded. "He's gone, Connie. Now don't go blaming yourself for him, too. He was the leader; he'd promised you to the other two. He got what he deserved."

  Connie felt a tear roll down her cheek. She sniffled and wiped it away.

  "Lucky for me you had that bottle of wine handy, or I'd be the one dead," Phillip said, trying to make her feel better.

  "It was Paul's favorite," she said, realizing as she did how callous that sounded. "Barolo. It was going to be a welcome aboard gift, and now I killed a man with it."

  "Paul will understand, Connie."

  Sharktooth appeared in the companionway. "It's time," he said softly. "We heave to and bring the boat alongside, now."

  "How's your shoulder, Sharktooth?" Connie asked.

  "Jus' a scratch. Bleed a lot, but Phillip fix wit' yo' firs' aid kit. No problem."

  "We should bring them on deck first," Phillip said.

  Sharktooth nodded and bent at the waist, heaving one of the bodies onto the bridge deck. Phillip dragged it aside as Sharktooth lifted the other one. Connie swung the helm, bringing Diamantista onto the opposite tack with the headsails back-winded. As they came to a stop, Sharktooth pulled the towline in, bringing the speedboat alongside.

  Sharktooth climbed down into the boat and went below into the small, enclosed cabin as Phillip sat on Diamantista's side deck with his legs extended to keep the speedboat from bumping them as the wave motion shifted the two boats. In a moment, Sharktooth emerged from the cabin and handed Phillip a vinyl envelope as he climbed back aboard. Within two minutes, he had dumped both bodies in the speedboat. He and Phillip cast it off and waved to Connie.

  She eased the sheet that held the jib back winded and sheeted it in on the other side. As Diamantista pulled away, Phillip raised the AK-47 and emptied the magazine into the speedboat, opening a large, gaping hole just below the waterline. Sharktooth handed him another magazine which he had retrieved from his search of the speedboat's cabin and Phillip put a short burst into the bow deck of the speedboat, to prevent any trapped air from keeping it afloat. Five minutes later, there was no sign of their encounter, except for the vinyl envelope and the AK-47.

  "Souvenirs?" Connie asked.

  Phillip shook his head. "We'll get Paul to check out the registration and the passports."

  "What about the gun?"

  "We'll hang on to it in case somebody follows up. We'll ditch it before we get to the Virgins."

  ****

  "Heard from your boys?" Giannetti asked, as he fondled his after-dinner cigar. He sat on his patio, enjoying the pastel hues of another glorious Miami sunset. His iPhone was on the table next to his snifter of brandy, the volume turned up so that he could hear Murano over the soft strains of the jazz combo from next door. His neighbor on the other side of the privacy hedge always had some kind of party going.

  "Nothing yet, Ralph."

  "Shoulda heard by now," Giannetti said.

  "They left Puerto Rico about lunch time. Figure it took them a few hours to catch up with her. They're probably working on her right now. We should hear soon."

  "You need to train your people better, Murano. They can mess with that broad on their own time. Call 'em on that satellite phone. I want to know where my damn money is."

  "They're not answering, Ralph. I'll call you as soon as I hear, okay?"

  "Not okay. Somethin's wrong. You shoulda heard hours ago. Get your pansy ass down there to the islands, and get my money, college boy. No more of this delegating shit, you hear?"

  "Yes, Ralph."

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  Diamantista swung to a gentle breeze, bobbing in the small waves reflec
ted from the white-sand beach on Saloman Bay. Tethered to the northernmost of the U.S. National Park Service moorings, the boat was in sight of the resort in Caneel Bay, St. John. Connie sat in the cockpit, savoring the last of her morning coffee.

  Phillip's friend had left only a few minutes earlier, taking Phillip and Sharktooth away in his high-speed dinghy. The three of them were off for a few days of sport-fishing on the friend's boat, and Paul was due to arrive in the late afternoon on the ferry from St. Thomas, so she had most of the day to herself. Her only planned activity was a trip into town to pick up some prepared food and a nice bottle of wine or two for Paul's welcome dinner. Phillip had told her about a grocery store where she could find a broad selection of prepared, gourmet-quality entrées ready to heat and serve -- just her kind of place, she thought.

  Alone for the first time in almost three weeks, Connie was eager for Paul's company. He had finished his stint as a consultant to the team that was readying the prosecution of some big-time Florida mobster, although he had warned that he would have to stay close to shore side Internet service for a few days to be available for video conferences. Still, it would be nice to have him aboard. This was an easy place to while away time as they sorted out a routine for running the boat. While St. John was almost entirely National Park land, there were a number of high-end resorts, and most things that Paul might want to buy in the way of gourmet provisions and kitchen utensils to equip the galley for his future culinary feats should be readily available.

  A short dinghy ride into the town of Cruz Bay was all it took to return to an offbeat, funky version of civilization. Connie had been charmed by the quaint village when she and Phillip and Sharktooth had gone ashore yesterday to clear in with Customs and Immigration. She had picked up a few tourist brochures and had intended to look them over while she had her coffee, but she realized she had emptied the thermos while gazing idly at the shoreline a hundred yards away. Her reverie had been interrupted by the simultaneous arrival of several excursion boats that anchored close inshore and began disgorging crowds of pale tourists in snorkeling gear.

  The woman at the Park Service office in Cruz Bay had warned her to expect that when she was doing the paperwork for the mooring yesterday. Connie had remarked on the serenity of the spot where they were moored; the woman had said, "Except when they show up with a few hundred people from the cruise ships in St. Thomas. Your mooring is at ground zero for the day trippers, but that can be fun to watch, too. They turn hot pink right before your eyes, and they don't stay very long. Got to hustle them back to the duty-free shopping in Charlotte Amalie -- take their money before the ships leave."

  Putting her coffee cup down, she picked up the brochures and began to page through them, imagining what it would be like to explore St. John with Paul. She reminded herself that the outings were a necessary part of learning her way around so that she would be a better hostess for her charter guests, but she still felt a frisson of excitement at the thought of being with Paul, like a couple on holiday. She did her best to tamp down the absurd enthusiasm she felt at the prospect of seeing him as she gathered her things and went below. When she saw the big grin on her face in the mirror in the main cabin, she realized that she had failed to convince herself that her relationship with him was strictly business.

  She ran a brush through her sun-dried hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, applied a little sun-block lipstick, and grabbed her purse. She closed and locked the boat and climbed down into the dinghy, starting the outboard and heading to Cruz Bay. She noticed that the tour boats were already leaving and that the mooring field was empty except for Diamantista. The woman at the Park Service had mentioned that the moorings would be empty by midmorning, in case they wanted to move to one more convenient to town. Most of the boats carried people who were on vacation, and they tended to visit a new spot every day, sailing in the morning and exploring ashore in the late afternoons.

  She caught herself thinking that she and Paul were lucky; they could enjoy this pristine spot in privacy for a few hours every day, with no schedule to worry about. She felt her cheeks flush and realized that she was doing it again. She had to focus on the charter business -- otherwise, she'd scare Paul off and have to find another cook.

  ****

  Paul awakened with a start to the sound of a chime and the announcement from the stewardess that the captain had turned off the 'fasten seatbelt' sign. He had a habit of falling asleep every time he buckled himself into an airplane seat. As the stewardess prattled on, he sat up, hunching over so that he could look out the window on his left side. He watched the shoreline recede as the plane gained altitude, and within a few minutes, he could see Bimini on the horizon. The captain promised a smooth flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Paul's thoughts turned to what he had learned about the men who attacked Diamantista the day before yesterday.

  The boat that carried the attackers had been reported as stolen from the Puerto Del Rey Marina in Fajardo, Puerto Rico, although based on the timing of the report, Paul suspected that the reported theft was a ruse. The boat was registered to a shady character who managed to stay one step ahead of the DEA, and he had made the report late yesterday, more than 24 hours after the attack. One of the attackers had a Puerto Rican driver's license identifying him as Rodrigo Jimenez. Jimenez had a record of arrests and a few convictions for assault, armed robbery, and theft. He was a small time crook, well known to the local authorities in Fajardo. He was also suspected to be an employee of the boat's registered owner. The other two men had criminal records as well. John 'Buster' Daniels and Vincent Luciano were from Baltimore. They were muscle for hire, working at various times for suspected pimps, bookies, and drug dealers.

  Paul was alarmed at this information; it led nowhere, but it was obvious that the three thugs had been working for somebody else. A quarter of a million dollars was enough money for someone to go to such lengths to get it back, and he worried that they would not give up easily. He shook his head and chuckled to himself. Connie just seemed to fall into these situations. If he didn't know her, he would find that suspicious, but he'd had occasion to check her out thoroughly before he ever met her.

  She had come to his attention a little over a year ago, when she had chartered Vengeance and gotten his friend's goddaughter, Dani Berger, involved in a running battle with some mobsters laundering money by trading in diamonds. He had learned back then that she had been instrumental in helping the police up in Georgia shut down a drug-smuggling and money-laundering ring. The cop who had run that investigation had nothing but good things to say about her; his opinion was corroborated by Dani and her partner, Liz Chirac.

  Paul had met her in the aftermath of their troubles, when he had gone down island to serve an arrest warrant on the man behind it all. He had been captivated by Connie; she was a stunningly beautiful and charming woman, for all that she seemed to attract trouble. She had emerged from that escapade unscathed and in possession of several million dollars’ worth of diamonds, to boot.

  He had spent an idyllic two weeks with Connie and Dani and Liz, sailing through the Windward Islands on Vengeance. He had known at the time that he was in trouble; when she turned those big, brown eyes on him, all of his resolve to stay single melted away. As it had turned out, the lack of privacy on Vengeance had saved them both; they had each confessed to the other that, while the attraction was undeniable, neither was ready for a relationship. Both were trying to reconcile wounds from the past, so they had opted for friendship rather than romance.

  By the time they parted, Connie had asked Paul to help her start a charter business of her own; under the spell of the islands and those eyes, he had readily agreed. Now, here he was, about to join her on Diamantista in one of the most romantic spots in the islands, and she was once again the target of some unknown criminals. He shrugged; he was no stranger to dealing with crooks, and he was eager to fall under the spell of those eyes again.

  ****

  Connie brought the dinghy alongside
Diamantista and tied the painter to the cleat on the big boat's starboard quarter. As she bent to pick up her groceries, she registered that she had just looked through the companionway doors; that couldn't be right. She looked again, confirming that the doors stood open. She was sure she had locked them. She glanced around, checking the mooring field and the beach. There was no one in sight; Diamantista was the only boat in the area.

  The outboard engine on the dinghy was still running; she hadn't shut it off. She thought for a moment, and untied the painter from the cleat, leaving it looped loosely as she held the end, ready to cast off in a hurry.

  "Hello! Who's there?" she bellowed.

  There was no answer. She retied the painter and shut off the outboard, climbing cautiously aboard Diamantista. She armed herself with one of the heavy bronze winch handles from the cockpit and peered below through the open doors, surprised at the shambles below deck. She noticed then that the wood on the starboard door was splintered where someone had pried loose the staple that still held the locked padlock.

  Angry at the damage, ready to seek retribution, she went below. There was no one there. Everything had been thrown into the middle of the cabins; all the lockers were empty, the doors banging as they swung to and fro with the rolling of the boat. Her anger fading to anxiety, she decided that she probably shouldn't stay aboard by herself, especially since there were no other boats nearby.

  She fastened the locker doors to avoid damage and stowed the food that she had bought. Within two minutes, she was in the dinghy, headed back to Cruz Bay. She would stop in at the Park Service office and report the breakin; then she'd have a leisurely lunch in one of the little restaurants near the ferry dock. Paul would arrive in a couple of hours, and they could sort out Diamantista together.

  ****

  Paul saw her as soon as he stepped onto the gangway from the ferry's deck, his duffle bag hanging behind him from a shoulder strap. He waved, but she didn't see him. As he shouldered his way through the crowd, he saw her face light up when she spotted him, her frown replaced by a glowing smile. He stopped a pace in front of her, grinning. "It's good ..."