The other looked on with no apparent weapon, one hand on the wheel of the helm, the light wind ruffling his hair. He wore a blue T-shirt under his life jacket and met Martin’s gaze with a nod, but not a smile. He wore a pair of black gloves, like someone prepared for dangerous work.
“Good afternoon,” called the big man.
At the sound of the stranger’s voice, the dog let loose a long, low growl from the interior of the cabin.
“Good afternoon to you,” said Leonard. He sounded brisk, a friendly man with a lot to do.
These were people who could kill them all, thought Martin. He had never been aware of how dangerous his fellow human beings could be. And he had never been so impressed with Leonard, the man shuddering with pain but setting his feet, leaning on Martin for support.
The big man gave his name, but he did not introduce his two associates.
Leonard made his own introductions. “You have had a long day, Elwood,” concluded Leonard.
“Yes, Leonard, I have. And it sounds as though you have found our dog.”
Susannah was on deck, closing the cabin door. She carried the galley cleaver like a person who had been chopping kindling. She stood beside Martin and said, “The dog found us, actually, and you can’t have him back.”
Elwood gave a quiet laugh.
“That dog,” he said, “hates me.”
“Hates isn’t a strong enough word,” said Susannah, “by the sound of it.”
Elwood tossed a line, and the white rope coiled loosely on the deck, no one wanting to touch it.
“Tie it, Martin,” said Leonard quietly.
Martin was reluctant to let Leonard stand on his own, but he did as he was told. He secured the vessels together, winding the new rope around the cleat on deck, and then returning to support his uncle.
“But I’d appreciate it, Elwood,” said Leonard, “if you would not bring your weapon onto our yacht.”
The man glanced at his submachine, and gave it a what-this-old-thing? smile.
“A gun like this,” he said, “can have a chilling effect on conversation, can’t it?”
Leonard laughed, sounding breathy but putting up a good pretense of nonchalance. “A little, yes.”
The big man handed the gun to his associate, the one at the helm. He said something in a low voice, and the young man adjusted a switch along the side of the weapon.
“But I carry a pistol,” said the red-haired stranger. He lifted his aloha shirt so they could see. “Right here in my belt. I don’t go anywhere without it.”
Claudette stepped to one side, not in retreat but to get a clearer angle if she had to use the shotgun.
Martin had never been so awed by his aunt. But he could see the limits of her composure, the way she held the gun, her finger on the trigger. She glanced Martin’s way and she mouthed We’ll be all right. Martin was not exactly reassured. She was probably calculating how hard it would be to shoot both young men and then deal with Elwood.
“Take the clip out, Elwood,” said Leonard.
Elwood let his eyes take in the Browning on its tripod, a hint that he found the machine gun proof of violent intentions.
“Please,” added Leonard.
Elwood let the ammunition clip fall out of his Glock or Beretta or whatever it was—Martin knew little about pistols, but this one was matte black and looked heavy. Elwood slipped the clip into a pocket of his cargo pants.
The big man descended the steps from the helm and called out, “Permission to come aboard?”
“Certainly,” said Leonard.
Elwood waited for the two vessels to pause in their mutual, sea-driven waltz.
It took a few long seconds, and all the while Martin did not like the way the one with the aviator glasses gazed down at them, picking out first Martin, and then Axel, selecting targets.
Martin watched as Elwood got ready for the two decks to roll in synch, and at last he stepped down onto the yacht, doffing his baseball cap in a brief show of courtesy. He had red hair, spiky with sweat, and the aloha shirt hung down over the top of his pants, a bird of paradise pattern, orange on blue. His combat boots made shrill whispers on the wooden deck.
To Martin’s surprise, Elwood dropped to one knee and ran his hand along the wooden planks of the deck. He picked up a splinter, one of the fragments caused by the recent gunfire.
“I’m sorry to see harm,” he said, “to such beautiful teak.”
In the cabin the dog continued his ferocious barking.
“It could have been worse,” said Leonard.
Elwood looked at Leonard, his gaze going from Leonard’s eyes to the way he was standing, supported by Martin. Elwood rose to his feet again. “Old-growth wood, I bet,” he said. “The kind you can’t get anymore.”
“Let me,” said Leonard, “offer you and your associates some hot chocolate.”
They were speaking in code, a kind of chess match, increasingly friendly, but not entirely. If Elwood and his crew were going to commit violence, Martin believed, the bloodshed would have started already.
But at that moment Axel made his decision.
His face was a bloody mask. He pointed the Glock at Elwood, holding it steady with both hands.
Axel spoke the words as though they were pasted on a ransom note, each word separate and poorly aligned.
“We. Want. The. Money. Back.”
Axel was tense—beyond fearful—and he was aware what a terrible gamble he was taking. This was why he spoke in such an exaggerated, command-robot voice. He was making a mistake, and he knew the depth of his blunder right when it was too late.
Martin felt Leonard shake his head beside him, but even that slight motion made him catch his breath with pain.
“No, Axel,” hissed Claudette.
“The money,” Axel insisted. But he sounded shaky now, riddled with second thoughts. “We will take it back now.”
Elwood tilted his head with a puzzled smile, pretending he did not know what Axel was trying to say.
Martin realized once again how stubborn Axel was. It was a shame, Martin thought, that the splinter had not knocked him out. The late afternoon had been ripening into harmony, no one getting hurt, Leonard’s good nature smoothing any lingering conflict.
But now Elwood’s associates on Witch Grass leveled their weapons at Axel.
Laser had been throwing his body relentlessly against the cabin door, and at last the barrier broke open.
The dog lunged onto the deck.
LASER TOOK A MOMENT to bark threateningly, crouching and feinting, showing his teeth.
Elwood kicked him.
Susannah called out, shrill and sharp, “Stop that!”
The animal growled in a new way, a sharp warning combined with a blue note of pain, and then seized Elwood’s arm, clinging hard.
Martin cried out, and Susannah grasped the dog’s tail and pulled.
Laser hung on, blood spattering the deck.
Elwood had the pistol out, working with one hand, and he struck at the animal with the weapon, glancing blows.
Susannah cried out, and Martin raised his voice, too, but the animal would not let go.
When Laser did release the arm it was only to try to seize Elwood by the throat. The dog succeeded briefly. The man fought the dog off, but the animal did not retreat far, setting his jaws around the big man’s leg. For someone in a difficult situation, Elwood seemed remarkably calm, as though he had expected this to happen and he had a plan.
Martin and Susannah had their hands on the animal’s hackles, calling out, but the animal paid them no heed.
Elwood dragged Laser, the creature’s paws slipping along the wooden deck. The man kicked at the dog with his other leg, calling out, “Shoot it. Somebody shoot the animal.”
Claudette was ready with the gun but did not pull the trigger. Leonard was doing his best, calling, “Take it easy, everyone just calm down,” like a cop trying to soothe a riot.
Elwood climbed up onto the ship’s rail
, pulling the dog along.
He sat there, fumbling in the side pocket of his cargo pants, pulling out the ammunition clip, working deliberately.
He was bleeding from his throat, his shirt front was soaked, and the dog had taken a piece out of his forearm. The injuries did not look mortal, in Martin’s view, but a few more wounds and the man might well succumb. Susannah and Martin tried to pull the dog loose but the animal only set his teeth more firmly.
* * *
Elwood felt entirely lucid.
He felt that he was in command of events. He recognized the absolute justice of Laser’s attack, even though he was terrified of the animal. That was at the heart of his feelings about dogs, and about the canine species in general. They frightened him.
Well, he would have plenty of time to reflect on all this, he thought, when he could apologize to these nice people, for everything. Because they did turn out to be pleasant people, perky if maybe a little bedraggled. Why did he have to work for Ted Tygart? Why couldn’t he have a job with a man like Leonard and his gun-accessorized, stylish wife?
Elwood knew that he would feel great sorrow, not long from now, when he had to hose the blood and brains of these nice people off the teakwood deck of Mr. Tygart’s new yacht.
The dog pulled at his leg, his fangs in deep, not pulling so much as wrenching at the limb, tearing muscle. The bites hurt. But Elwood could see the bandage on Laser’s ear and sensed in the brute a residual feebleness from some ordeal, a quality of reduced power.
This was good. It meant that Elwood could, with determination, not only wrest his body from the animal’s jaws. It meant that he could also, given a little luck and the continued dawdling reactions of everyone on deck, find a way to actually kill the animal once and for all. As he should have done two years ago, for chewing up a pair of brand-new boots.
Elwood had trouble fitting in the clip. This was the trouble with automatic weapons, always getting stuck. Give me a revolver, he thought. Or a knife. His hands were slippery with blood, and this did not help matters.
Well, he had still another plan. He tossed the pistol to one side. As the two vessels parted gently with the motion of the sea, he let his body lean backward, all the way, and he plunged down between the two vessels.
ELWOOD DID NOT HAVE TO FALL far before he hit the water.
He held his breath, inhaling when it was nearly too late and sucking in a little water. The brine seared his wounds, as he ducked his head under the surface and the two hulls gently nudged together again. They barely missed Elwood, but with any luck, he thought, they would crush the tumbling dog.
No, Laser was still alive. Elwood could hear the animal barking on deck.
That was too bad, he thought. His combat boots weighed him down, and his cargo pants were leaden, so he couldn’t really swim very well, treading water like an entity that ought to be at the bottom of the sea, struggling instead to keep his head above water.
He worked his way at the waterline, around the prow of Witch Grass, all the way to the other side, and there high above were the two faces, Shako and Jeremy. Moving through the water required a great effort; Elwood was almost amused at his own quandary. Was this the worst trouble he had ever been in? Worse than that shooting accident in Oaxaca? Worse than that moray bite off Santa Catalina?
A lifesaver came splashing down, a bright orange flotation circlet imprinted with the name Witch Grass. Elwood hooked one arm through the flotation device and saw that he had to make some serious changes in his life.
Mr. Tygart was important, but he was a bad influence. Elwood would find his way to Ensenada, develop some gray market enterprise, smuggling people or liquor, bribe his way into new success. Or he would head into the Far East, carry passengers to Macao from mainland China, or fly poachers up rivers to shoot crocodiles. The world was full of possibilities. Elwood had become too limited. He had responsibilities to Shako. He could make the kid huge, use his talents to take over Juárez or the newly seething neighborhoods of San Diego.
The white nylon cord attached to the lifesaver was in Shako’s hands, the kid worried that Elwood might drown. This was touching, one person in the world wanting him alive, for no good reason. Shako and Jeremy were calling—screaming, actually—words that Elwood could not quite make out.
His baseball cap was off, floating on the water, and Elwood did not like the way it looked, bobbling and drifting, reminding him of dismemberment. The blood loss was making him light-headed, and maybe he was going into shock.
Finally he could hear more or less what Jeremy and Shako were saying, pointing and calling out. If only one of them had shouted, the warning would have been easier to understand. Their cries in unison had been unintelligible.
Even so, Elwood was not completely surprised when the shark struck.
But what was a surprise was how much the beast took away, a big piece of Elwood, part of his side. Ribs, too, along with muscle. Elwood did some calculations and decided that this was going to be his last emergency. He called out for a gun, any gun, it didn’t matter.
Maybe they didn’t hear him. Jeremy was firing into the water, and Shako, too. The surface exploded, the guns blasting the reflected blue, and ripping chunks out of the shark. The predator changed course, vanished, and reappeared, bullets following the sleek silhouette, slashing the blue hunter with scarlet.
JEREMY AND SHAKO used boat hooks and hauled Elwood out of the water.
When Elwood lay flat on the deck at last he kept his arms outstretched, and his legs, too, a human X. The money was nearby, the gym bag surrounded by thick plastic covering, which had been cut away. The bag was unzipped, and bundles of money protruded.
“Don’t,” said Jeremy. “Shako, don’t touch him.”
“He wants to get up,” said Shako. “He wants to get my Ingram and shoot that dog.”
Jeremy noted my Ingram.
Elwood did not sit up, but used his hands to feel his own body, all the important areas, working carefully, taking a physical inventory. His side was half gone. His breath was making whistling sounds, out through the bony cage of his torso. He glanced over at the money and reached out for it, easing closer, until he could put one hand on the bag.
“Put the money in the plane,” said Elwood, lying there on the deck and looking right at Jeremy.
Jeremy did not understand. But then, instantly he did.
“Take the plane home, Jeremy,” Elwood continued. “You can do it, just keep the airspeed steady. You have just enough fuel.”
Jeremy felt great pity for his flying instructor. The dog began to bark again, no doubt aroused by the faint sound of Elwood speaking. The yacht was already receding, the barking more and more far away.
Elwood died lying there just like that, like a man doing it on purpose.
Jeremy was stunned. He had never seen a person actually expire, and it was not like he had imagined. Elwood was still smiling. He didn’t look at peace. He looked smaller, instantly shrunken, but in on a private joke.
Shako saw that he was dead, and he felt that he had failed Elwood. He did not like this sensation, the acid of personal blame, so he worked at the thought, pummeling the emotion, until he had a new sentiment.
Getting killed was Elwood’s own doing, and not a blunder, either. He had done it to teach Shako. Shako wanted a picture of himself to record how he looked when he was learning one of life’s tough truths, even though Shako wasn’t sure what the truth was.
He freed his phone from his pocket and held it out, getting a picture of himself looking down at his late mentor, and then another of his face looking right at the lens. The intensifying twilight would make him look especially—especially something. Spooky, he thought, and—he mentally searched for the word—intense.
“Jeremy,” Shako asked, sounding as unruffled as ever, and putting the phone back into his pocket, “should I shoot the dog now?”
Jeremy was upset and had to take a moment to respond.
As always, he had to be careful what
he said to his new friend. He had increasing confidence. But this last question was troubling. And what was Shako doing just now, taking pictures of his own tight-lipped countenance?
Besides, both of them had experienced an opportunity to get off a shot during Laser’s attack. Neither of them had used their weapons. Of course, Elwood had always acted supremely capable of dealing with any crisis. Even when he had called for someone to shoot the dog, he had seemed primarily unconcerned. Besides, thought Jeremy, maybe both he and Shako had seen the benefits of Elwood’s possible demise.
“No,” said Jeremy.
“As a payback,” said Shako.
“We’ll let Laser live,” said Jeremy. “They’re taking good care of the dog, so they can keep him.” Actually, Jeremy liked Laser very much and would miss the animal. But he did not want Laser anywhere near the unpredictable Shako.
Shako nodded, unsurprised.
“We can still capture the yacht,” Shako said, his eyes blanked by the lenses of his sunglasses. He sounded not excited, not hopeful. He was just going through his list of options.
“We’ll let them all go free,” said Jeremy.
“We could radio your dad,” said Shako. “He could send men and a boat to tow it.”
“We have the money,” said Jeremy, keeping his voice steady, working hard to reason with this friendly scorpion. “That’s all that matters.”
Shako nodded, considering Jeremy’s response. He said, “It’s what Elwood wanted.”
Jeremy did not want to explain to Shako what a bad idea capturing the yacht had seemed from the beginning. And yet in Shako’s view maybe Elwood’s death should be honored by stealing the yacht and killing everyone on board.
Jeremy could understand the reasoning, but he did not want to see any more bloodshed. He experimented with the phrase mentally first, and then decided to trust the words to do the job.
He said, “Shako, I’m in charge now.”
Shako gave his tight, thin-lipped smile in response.
Seize the Storm Page 15