Beneath a Panamanian Moon

by David Terrenoire

When we pulled onto the main road, Kris said, “I think I’ve got a shirt in this beach bag back here.”

  She reached into the back and helped me slither into a T-shirt. It was as tight as a wet suit and covered the top part of my chest, leaving my navel exposed.

  “You look like a Backstreet Boy,” Kris said, and laughed, unable, or unwilling, to spare me.

  “Is this it? Don’t you have a sweatshirt or something in there?”

  “Let me look,” she said. She pulled out a tropical shirt of flowered rayon. “How’s this?”

  “Better.”

  She held the wheel as I peeled off the Backstreet Boy T-shirt and put on the Beach Boy shirt of tropical wonder.

  “That’s much better,” Kris said.

  I was once again decent enough to be seen in a certain low society.

  “We’re going in the back way,” Kris said. We crossed the bridge and a few miles in we turned and sped down the single lane that ran through the abandoned leper colony. Once we reached the beach road, the asphalt ended and the little car bucked and rolled in the ruts of washed-out sand. I was driving so fast I was afraid we’d careen off into the brush. I slowed the car and it was as the engine quieted that I heard her sob. I stopped the car and put my hand on her shoulder. I knew this had to come, and when she collapsed against me I held her and sang the first song that came into my head, soft as a lullaby:

  In time the Rockies may tumble,

  Gibraltar may crumble,

  They’re only made of clay, but,

  Our love is here to stay.

  I let her cry it out as the water sliced up the silver reflections of the quarter moon. The trees and wild places around us filled with creatures mystified by our smells. Eventually, her crying quieted to sniffles, and Kris wiped her face with the backs of her hands, looked up at me again, and said, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I’m okay now.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” she said. “So let’s go get them, okay?”

  “There was never another thought in my head.”

  I started the car, this time leaving the headlights off, and we crawled through the jungle, hugging the coast on a road long forgotten by everyone except lovers, surfers, and smugglers.

  We parked near the chain-link fence and walked through Kris’s gate, keeping to the shadows. My feet found every sharp blade, every thorn, every prickle and sting on the ground. Insects alerted their friends and we became a feast for every six-legged bloodsucking beast with wings. Soon, we were overlooking the hotel compound. We stopped and watched for any light or movement. The hotel was completely dark, but over the rhythmic rush of waves against the sand, I heard something else in the wind.

  I pointed to my left and Kris melted into the shadows, a real soldier’s daughter. She was gone so quickly I thought maybe she’d been a hallucination.

  I listened again for what might have been an animal or what might have been a boot settling into dry leaves. A click, followed by a tink of metal, sounds so small they were almost lost in the wind and the whir of insect song.

  I’ll give him this; Meat knew his craft. He sprang up as if he’d sprouted full-grown from the earth. He aimed a pistol at my head and said, “You know, monkey shit, you really should have shot me when you had the chance.” He took the .380 from my hand and tossed it into the jungle.

  “But I didn’t, Meat. And I don’t think you’ll shoot me, either.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because Kelly wants me alive. That’s why he hasn’t killed his prisoners.”

  Meat smiled, and in the moonlight all I could see was teeth in the big shadow of his head. “Maybe, but wait till you see ’em. Hell, I’d rather be dead.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Kelly’s got them tied up to a tree in the garden. Now let’s go.”

  “You’re going to have to carry me, Meat.”

  He chuckled, almost too quietly to hear in the breeze.

  “It’s the only way.”

  Meat holstered his pistol and said, “Oh, man, I am going to enjoy this.” He raised his fists and waded in.

  His first two swings went wide, but he caught me in the ribs with a glancing left. I stepped to the side and jabbed him twice in the ear, which only made him mad. He came at me like a linebacker, his arms wide, and I hit him three more times in the stomach. It was like punching a car.

  Before he could drop his weight on me, I ducked under his arm and punched him in the kidney.

  He turned and stopped. He was still smiling, but he was breathing heavily. I took a step and tried another jab to his throat, but he blocked it. He came in again, as oblivious as a bull to the punches that banged off his forearms. As I flailed away, looking for an opening, he hit me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me and sending me flying backward into the brush. When I tried to stand he hit me again. His fist connected to the side of my head and I was knocked back to the ground in a blast of light. I managed to get my feet under me, but I was having a hard time focusing. There were two of him when one Meat in the world seemed to be plenty. His shape moved to my left and I swung, missing him. He hit me twice in the ribs and I fell to my knees.

  “You done?” he said. He was standing over me, his fists up, ready to hit me again if I stood.

  I tried to stand anyway, but I saw another flash and I was back on the ground. There was something seriously wrong with the connection between my brain and my extremities because my arms and legs refused to move when I asked them to. But my hearing, outside of a ringing in my ears, was fine. I heard Meat say, “Now you’re done.”

  “I’m done,” I said. “Help me up.” Meat grabbed my forearm and jerked me to my feet. When he did I took his pistol. But before I could bring it up, he grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Drop it,” he said. “Drop it.”

  It felt as if he were turning every bone in my hand to jelly, which, as a piano player, scared me more than a broken leg. I couldn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t let go. All I could do was look into Meat’s face and croak, “Look behind you.”

  Meat’s smile spread across his face and he said, “You got some stones, Harper, I gotta admit.”

  “Really, look behind you.”

  “Fool me once,” he said.

  “No, really.”

  And as Meat grinned, Kris came up behind him and, like a placekicker, planted her foot between his legs.

  Meat let go of my hand and went to his knees. Kris hit him with a stick the size of an ax handle and when he didn’t go down she hit him again.

  Kris looked at Meat lying in the moonlight and said, “I would have shot him.”

  “I know. You’ve said that.”

  “One day you’ll listen to me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Kris and I crept on our hands and knees to the edge of the garden. It was a beautiful spot for torture, filled with jasmine, hibiscus, and wisteria. Even the steady breeze couldn’t blow away the blossoms’ perfume.

  At the far end of the garden was a stand of live oak, thick with branches, and from the horizontal limb of the largest tree, two bodies hung like Billie Holiday’s strange fruit and even in the moonlight I could see they had both been beaten without regard.

  I started to go for them, to cut them down, but Kris stopped me. She put her finger to my lips and edged along, her hands searching the grass, until she found black wires. She guided my hand to them so that I knew where they were, and what they were. I nodded and we quietly followed them to a pair of Claymore mines, their faces aimed at Phil and Marilyn.

  Kris said, “You get them down. I’ll disarm these.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “John, I was taking apart Claymores when you were playing with Legos.”

  “Okay.” I was deep under the cover of gardenia bushes, crawling on my belly, when the garden lights came on, making the whole area as bright as daylight. I was so close to Marilyn that I could have reached
out and touched her feet.

  “Harper?” Kelly’s voice was unconcerned, almost calm. “I know you’re here, Harper. Christ, the whole goddamn forest knows you’re here. I don’t think you’re quite cut out for special ops, boy, what do you think?” He paused, waiting for an answer.

  I slowly pulled back the pistol’s slide and saw there was a bullet in the chamber.

  “Come on, Harper, you know that all I want is the money and then you can go. You’ve put up a hell of a fight and there’s no reason why we can’t part as respectful enemies. Morton is on his way and he’s looking forward to meeting you. He’s become quite an admirer of your work, as I have.”

  I was looking forward to meeting Morton, too, but I wouldn’t have considered myself a fan.

  “Now come out,” Kelly said. “You’ve got no place to go and I promise I’ll help your friends. I’m sure they could use some medical attention.”

  I knew Kelly was in the only place he could be, behind a hedge cut in a neat ring around a date palm. I could imagine him, the Claymore detonator in his hands, waiting for me to tell him what he wanted to know so he could kill all three of us.

  When I didn’t answer, he said, “Fine. If that’s the way you want to play this out. You can’t win, son. I know you can’t leave your friends because they’ll die if you don’t help them.”

  I couldn’t tell if Phil was still alive, but I could see Marilyn, tied by her wrists to the tree, her toes a foot off the ground. Her face was swollen almost beyond recognition and red, solid red, with blood. But she was breathing. I saw a bubble of blood appear at one nostril. It was horrible, but it was encouraging.

  Kelly was still talking. “You know what a monkey trap is, don’t you, Harper? Well, of course you do. You’re the Monkeyman. And you can’t let go, can you, boy? You might think you’ve done something here, but you haven’t. You haven’t stopped anything because nothing was supposed to happen.”

  “But I have the money.”

  I think Kelly was surprised, and it took him a moment. “Yes, Harper. Good. I knew the big Chicano didn’t have the money. I knew it. Because if he had, he would have given it to me, that I know. So, now we can talk. You have my money.” When I didn’t answer he went on. “What do you say we make a deal? Huh? It’s almost daylight. Harper, are you listening? I’ll split the money with you. That money will buy a lot of whores, son.”

  I still didn’t answer. But in the distance I heard a wrinkle of sound, a brief snatch of something familiar. Kelly heard it, too.

  “Hear that? That’s the sound of your friends returning.”

  “You didn’t get to kill them like you killed the others,” I said. “You failed.”

  “The night’s not done, Harper.”

  I didn’t like the way he said that, with such confidence. “What do you mean? When they land, you’re history.”

  He waited a moment, and I thought he was weighing his options, trying to figure out how to kill me and still get his money before the helicopter touched down. I was wrong.

  Kelly said, “When they land, boy, they’ll be history. But I’ll tell you what. You give me the money and I’ll let you save them. How about that? You get to be the big hero.”

  “You can’t kill them all yourself,” I said.

  The sound of the chopper was constant now, a distant throb, but constant.

  “The helipad’s wired with enough HE to be heard from Colón to Panama City,” Kelly said. “The minute that old Huey sets down, they’ll be nothing but chopper parts and a pink mist all over the compound.”

  “High explosives? You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I?”

  The sound of the Huey was louder now and the helicopter would be over the hotel in a few minutes.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell you where the money is.”

  “I didn’t think you were that smart, Harper. But it’s the right thing to do.”

  From the darkness to my right, Kris said, “And what do I get, Daddy?”

  “Kris? Where are you, sweetheart? Why aren’t you in Richmond?” For the first time, I thought I heard something close to fear in Kelly’s voice.

  Kris said, “I couldn’t leave him, Daddy. I couldn’t leave without making things right.”

  Now there was a real disappointment in Kelly’s voice. “Oh, honey. Why would you throw your life away on this nothing, this insect, this musician?”

  “Daddy? You know what I want?”

  “Tell me, sweetheart.”

  “I want you to tell me what happened to my mother. Tell me why she left us.”

  The Huey was a spark in the sky, its running lights on, the quarter moon reflecting off its windscreen.

  “What happened was a long time ago, sweetheart, and it doesn’t matter now. We have each other, you and me, and we’ve always had each other, and always will. These boys don’t love you the way I do. They can’t. They’re just after you for sex, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Tell me about my mother,” Kris said.

  The Huey’s whop was clearly identifiable now, even to civilian ears. It was the rhythm of Vietnam, the beat to a song of heartbreak and loss.

  “Your mother was confused, honey. She didn’t know what was best. And that’s all I’m trying to do here, do what’s best. Think of it, Kris. You’ll have everything you ever wanted, honey. Now tell Harper to give us our money. Then we can go home, all of us, okay?”

  I snicked the safety off Meat’s Beretta.

  “I heard that, Harper! Don’t think you can shoot your way out of this. You’re not that good.”

  He was right, and I knew that better than anyone.

  “Throw the gun out here, boy. You can’t win this. You’ve been lucky so far.” He laughed, truly amused. “The luckiest son of a bitch I have ever seen in all my life and that is no bullshit. You are one lucky bastard.”

  “Throw out your gun,” I said. “Then I’ll throw out mine.”

  “Is that all you want? Then, fine.” A shotgun flew into the middle of the garden, landing near a statue of Pan.

  “Throw the other one out, too.”

  “You’re better at this than I expected, Harper.” Kelly threw his automatic out of the brush and it landed near the shotgun.

  The Huey’s lights were near and soon its big insect body would circle in for a landing.

  Kelly had given up his guns too quickly. He was counting on the Claymores to kill me.

  Phil and Marilyn hung in the tree, blood like enamel capturing light.

  “Harper? You still there? Where are you, boy?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You hear me? You hear that chopper?” He sounded desperate, his words pouring out faster as he sensed his window of escape beginning to close. “What if I give you Kris? Whatta you say to that? Huh? You get your friends, and the girl, just like in the movies. All I want is the money. Hell, half the money. There, I’m being completely honest with you, Harper.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do you love my daughter, Harper?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

  “Kris, what about Harper? Do you love him?”

  “Yes, Daddy, I do.”

  “Then you have my blessings. Give me the money, boy, and I can protect you. Without my help you don’t have a chance. The people who paid me that money aren’t as forgiving as I am, son, and they have very long arms. You don’t know how long. But you have to tell me now. After that Huey lands, it’ll be too late.”

  If I’d known where the money was, and if I’d thought it would really make a difference, I would have given it to him. I knew that. But Phil had taken the money, and even with that cash, I was a dead man.

  “Come on, you’re running out of time.”

  The helicopter had begun its descent, the rotors beating their urgent rhythm. I stepped into the glare, counting on Kris to have disarmed the Claymores. Kris walked out and stood next to me. She took my hand.

  Kelly came out from his hiding place.
The three of us stood there, twenty feet apart. He held up his hand. In it was the detonator. “Now, tell me where the money is, son.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know where it is.”

  “Then I’m really sorry.” He put his thumb on the trigger. “Kris,” he said, “come here to Daddy.”

  “No, Daddy. I’m staying with John.”

  “Is that your choice?”

  Kris said it was.

  “Have I been that awful a father?”

  “You killed her,” Kris said. “You murdered her.”

  “No, no, I didn’t,” he said. “She ran away.”

  Kris stood tall, her head high, and it was only the light glistening off her cheeks that told me she was crying. “I know the truth, Daddy. I’ve always known.”

  Kris’s father sighed and said, “Well, as much as it pains me to leave without that money, I know when to let go.”

  He clicked the safety off.

  “Daddy! Don’t do it. I’m begging you not to do this.”

  The Huey saw us and circled one more time, the wind shaking the palms. We could see faces in the door. They were telling the pilot to land, land now.

  “You made your choice, honey,” Kelly shouted. “Just like your mother.”

  “Tell me, Daddy, so I’ll know.”

  “She said she was running away with another man, honey. Now, how could I let that happen? What sort of man would I be?”

  “Tell me, Daddy, what sort of man are you now?”

  Kelly’s smile fell away.

  Kris took my arm and we stood there. Waiting.

  The Huey began to settle over the treetops, preparing to land.

  “You’re just like her. Just like your mother,” Kelly said. He thumbed the switch on the detonator and as quick as a blink the garden erupted in flame and thunder and Kris’s father was washed away in a hard steel rain.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Huey’s rotors tossed the palms like an incoming hurricane. The whap of its blades beat against my ears.

  I said to Kris, “Help me.”

  She didn’t say anything. I looked into her eyes but she didn’t see me. I touched her face and said, “Kris, I need you.”

  She looked at me. Her eyes focused.