Sargasso

by Russell C. Connor

  “It was an accident!” Carlos screeched. Oh god, it was all going wrong, he’d been an idiot for coming here, and now he was going to die for it. “We didn’t know it was yours, I swear, we didn’t even take nuttin, we left as soon as we realized who it belonged to!”

  “After you killed the entire crew.”

  “They was shootin at us! It was self-defense! Lito don’t even want us killin unless we got to!”

  Santiago crossed the room in the span of a second. He bent over Carlos and snarled, “That may very well be, but you left my fucking ship derelict. The Coast Guard picked it up two days later. Whether it was an honest mistake or your captain being a moron, I’m out five-million dollars and, my friend, you better believe someone will pay for that!”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Santiago, so sorry, if you’ll just listen…!”

  “Do you know what bottlecapping is, Carlos?”

  Carlos stopped his whimpering and stared into Santiago’s bloodshot eyes. “Huh?”

  “I’ll take that as a no.” The drug lord reached out to the hand that Vishon still held stretched upward and pinched the loose skin on the middle knuckle of Carlos’s index finger. “Bottlecapping is where you take a knife and slice right here, through all those delicate tendons over the joint of each finger. When you peel it back to the bone, it becomes a perfect little circle of flapping skin, like a bottlecap. I’m told it’s excruciatingly painful, and cripples the finger for life. Which, in your case, won’t be that long anyway.”

  With his free hand, Vishon pulled a straight razor from his breast pocket.

  Carlos’s testicles leapt up into his stomach. “NO! Oh my god, Mr. Santiago, PLEASE don’t do this!”

  On the bed, one of the naked women rolled over and mumbled something about them keeping it down.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” Santiago called, then to Carlos, in a more subdued tone, “Then tell me who arranged this meeting.”

  Again the direction of the conversation changed so abruptly that Carlos could only give a confused, “Huh?”

  “Someone gave you the name and cell number of one of my lieutenants, who delivered your meeting request to me. I agreed, giving you only a time and not a location, and yet you found your way here. That means you’re being fed information by someone who works right here, at this facility. And if this person talked to you, then who else might they be willing to talk to?”

  Carlos swallowed. The Dominican was just as crafty as the rumors said. “He didn’t mean nothin by it, Mr. Santiago. He was just tryin to help a brother out. We went to grade school together and shit, right here on the island.”

  Santiago shook his head. “The Coast Guard, the Bahamian government, and even the FBI have formed an alliance to infiltrate my organization. What’s left of Sullis Carbini’s drug cartel in Miami has a death warrant out on me. I can’t have my people dropping the address of my home and business around the island, especially to a member of the group that’s at the top of my own personal shit list right now. Someone’s getting bottlecapped today, Carlos. It’s up to you to decide who.”

  “Diego. Diego Palacios.”

  Santiago snapped his head up to the silent guard holding Carlos from behind. “One of the outside dock workers. Bring him.”

  And just like that, Carlos was released. He fell limp to the ground and lay panting with his cheek against the carpet. Plush fucking rug was more comfortable than his bed back on the Steel Runner. He heard the door hiss open and shut again while he tried to figure out what had just happened and, worse yet, what might still be to come.

  8

  Carlos finally risked looking back up. Vishon stood against the wall with his arms crossed, and Santiago was back on the edge of the bed. He held up a peace sign in front of his broad chest. “I can assume two things by your presence here, Carlos Degas. The first is that you want a job. To jump ship, so to speak, and work for me. The second is that the Steel Runner is in port somewhere right here on the island. Correct?”

  Carlos nodded while climbing warily back to his feet. “Over at Prince George.”

  Santiago gave a self-satisfied grin and held up a hand. “Let’s speak of one, and then the other. What could you bring to my organization? You want to handle drugs, like those people out there?”

  A disgusted shiver worked through Carlos at the thought of the zombies he’d walked through on the way here. “No, sir. I was thinkin I could smuggle. I got ship experience.”

  The other man chuckled. “I suppose you do. So I would…what? Place you aboard one of my vessels?”

  “Well…I don’t know…I was thinkin…maybe I could be in charge of one or somethin…”

  Now Santiago threw back his head and roared with laughter, his belly shaking, until one of the women on the bed flopped over on her back and dug a heel into his side. He slapped her hip with the back of his hand and said to Carlos. “So I am to turn over command of one of my ships to a boy I barely know, eh?”

  Carlos shrugged and looked away. It had been a pipe dream, but in his head it somehow all made sense. Now he just felt stupid and embarrassed.

  “That I cannot do, Carlos. But…if you had a ship of your own…and wanted to offer it up for service…that would be something else entirely.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Oh really?” Santiago cocked his head to the side as if he knew different. “Let me ask you, Carlos…why do you want to work for me?”

  “Because…I wanna make some real money.”

  “That you could certainly do. My people are rewarded for their work. But I find it interesting you wanted this so badly you thought coming here—risking your life—was worth it.”

  Carlos sighed. He’d been trying to come up with the right responses, but now he just let his anger flow and said what was in his heart. “Yo, I’m sick of bein treated like a fuckin cabin boy. I’m sick of those muhfuckahs and the way they live. Mostly…I’m just sick of bein under Lito’s thumb.”

  He thought Santiago might laugh again, but the man only studied Carlos with those piercing eyes. “You’re ambitious. Hungry. Like me, when I was your age. What if I told you I had a way you could square your debt with me for your part in the raid on my ship, and make yourself captain of your own smuggling vessel?”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s simple.” Santiago’s smile was almost feral, the grin of a wolf closing its jaws around a plump rabbit. Carlos suddenly understood that whatever the man was about to say was the only reason he’d been allowed to live this long. “Kill Lito, and his entire crew. Bring me the man’s head and the Steel Runner. You and I start fresh, and you have your own ship, which I will provide with a crew.”

  “I’ll do it.” The answer came so fast, he figured the man could’ve asked him for just about anything. Judging by the look on Santiago’s face, he knew it too. But, even so, if this was all that stood in the way of Carlos’s dreams, it was a small price to pay.

  And, who knows? Maybe killin Lito and Ray and Jericho and all the others won’t just get you in good with this dude.

  It might even be fun.

  “Good boy. Contact the same man when the deed is done, and you’ll receive further instructions.”

  The door opened behind Carlos. Vishon ushered him toward it just as his partner came through from the other side, dragging Diego Palacios behind him.

  “Carlos!” his old friend pleaded, as they pulled him past. He hadn’t talked to Diego in nearly seven years before hearing that he worked for the Dominican, and then tracking him down to ask for a favor. “Help me!”

  Carlos held up his hands and shrugged.

  “You promised! You promised you wouldn’t give him my name!”

  And then his words became nothing but muffled shouts as they threw him to the carpet. The white man held him there while Vishon spread out a plastic tarp beside him.

  “And Carlos?” Santiago gestured, and Carlos tore his attention away from the situation unfolding in the floor. “If I see you again without Lito Porto�
�s head…bottlecapping will be the least of what I do to you.”

  Carlos left. The door swung shut behind him, just as Diego began to scream.

  9

  The torture was over, and what was left of Palacios was being loaded into plastic garbage bags.

  Vishon asked Santiago, “You rilly trust dat bomba ta get de job done, boss?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Santiago answered. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “But I’m certainly not going to let them slip away without some insurance. Take a few men and get out to Prince George so you can follow them. If the job’s not done by midnight, kill them all—including Degas—and burn that sad excuse for a boat to ashes.”

  10

  When Cherrywine found her, Amber was sitting cross-legged on the narrow strip of beach that ran in front of the hotel they’d stayed in last night, after getting to Nassau at two in the morning. They’d sat apart on the flight down—her and Justin together in coach, Eric and his blonde up in first class—so Amber barely had a chance to say two words to the other girl since meeting her at the airport. She’d joked with Justin that the girl had to be a stripper.

  “Hey girlfriend!” Cherrywine flopped down beside her, stretching out long, bronzed legs that caught the eye of every male walking by. The two of them would never be mistaken for relatives, not even distant. Amber was athletically thin compared to the other girl’s curves, with dark hair so short it barely peeked out from under the edges of her ball cap, and dressed in a conservative pair of khaki shorts, t-shirt, and flip flops. She looked down to find Cherrywine had worn four-inch, zebra stripe heels to walk on the beach. The other girl noticed Amber’s gaze and slid the footwear off so she could dig her pink toenails into the sand. “Yeah, I totally know. They’re not the most practical beachwear, right? But when Eric asked me go on this trip, I didn’t have time to go home and pack anything. I’m just glad one of the other girls at Love Makers had a bikini that fit me!”

  Well, that answered the stripper question. Although Cherrywine’s definition of ‘fit’ seemed questionable, considering her breasts were one jiggle away from full release.

  Amber didn’t answer. She didn’t want company, she wanted to think. She turned back to the sliver of blue ocean stretched out in front of her and pretended to be engrossed by the people windsurfing and snorkeling out there, even though her mind was light years away.

  “So what’re you studying?” Cherrywine asked, looking around her at the bag on the sand.

  “Linguistics.”

  “Do you wanna be an Italian chef or something?”

  Amber had to kick that one over in her head a few times before saying, “No, linguistics. Language.”

  “Oh. What can you do with that?”

  “I can tell that most people probably believe you’re from California, but you’re really from Oregon. Somewhere up north, but inland. More rural than Portland. Am I right?”

  Cherrywine squealed in delight and slapped Amber on the shoulder. “Oh my god, I was born in Condon! How’d you know that?”

  “The vowels phonemes in the way you said ‘totally.’ The vowels always tell.”

  “That’s like a magic trick or something! They taught you that in college?”

  Amber shrugged. “I’ve always had an ear for language.”

  They lapsed into uncomfortable silence for only a few seconds before Cherrywine pointed at one of the windsurfers and exclaimed, “I did that once! It was really fun! But when I did it, the instructor said we had to be strapped together. You know, for safety.” Her face scrunched up. “Don’t know why he held on to my tits, though.”

  Amber sighed. Probably best to confront this problem head-on. “Why are you here, Cherrywine?”

  “We flew here together, remember?”

  “No, I mean, here, talking to me.”

  “The guys asked me to see if you were okay.”

  “Which means Eric wanted you to make sure I got on the boat in a timely fashion, so he’s not inconvenienced in any way.”

  The other girl squinted. “I guess. You don’t really like him, huh?”

  “No. But he’s Justin’s best friend for reasons I’ll never understand, so I have to tolerate him. What’s your excuse?”

  “My excuse?”

  “Yeah, I mean, how can you stand that asshole? You’re a…reasonably intelligent girl. What made you want to spend more than five minutes around him? Is it the money, the looks, what?”

  “Um, hello? It was a free trip to the Bahamas! Who’s gonna turn that down?”

  “Cherrywine, nothing’s free. Just because there was no cost for you to come down here, doesn’t mean there’s no debt to be paid. If you didn’t find that out yesterday, I guarantee you will tonight.”

  From the way her eyes dropped to the sand and watched her wiggling toes, Amber suspected the girl knew this already. For a moment, she felt bad. She wasn’t mad at Cherrywine, after all. She wasn’t even mad at Eric. They were just convenient targets. In a way, she was mad at herself.

  And Justin too, if she were being honest.

  “I don’t know,” Cherrywine muttered. “He just seemed nice. And way hot. And I just kinda thought…”

  “That he would be your Prince Charming. Sweep you off your stripper heels, and ride away with you into the sunset for a happy ending.”

  Cherrywine smiled cautiously. “It happened to some of the other girls. One of them married this guy that owns a Jaguar dealership and he gave her one with the cutest little license plate on it. I guess I thought, why not me?”

  “Because there are no happy endings.” Amber could feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and hated it. She hoped they were in the shadow cast by the brim of her ball cap. “And definitely no Prince Charmings.”

  “Hey sweetie…you all right?”

  Amber nodded. Wiped at her eyes. Said nothing.

  “Well, okay then. I guess I’ll leave you alone. See you on the boat.”

  Cherrywine got up, and Amber had the sudden, undeniable urge to talk to someone about this, to unload on another human being, and since all of her friends were a thousand miles away, she would have to make do with this Barbie blow-up doll.

  “I’m scared, okay?”

  “Oh my god, totally me too!” Cherrywine plopped back down and clutched at her arm. “All that talk about the Bermuda Triangle earlier has got me frrrreaked out!”

  Amber shook her head. “Not about that. If Eric Renquist has ever been right about anything in his whole miserable life, it’s that the Bermuda Triangle is just a bunch of garbage.”

  “Well then, what are you scared of?”

  She spoke in a distant voice, cramming words into a series of halting phrases as she relived the horror all over again. “Last night…when we got to the hotel…Justin passed out…but I needed some toothpaste…so I looked in his bag…and…that’s when I found it.”

  Cherrywine gasped. “Another woman’s panties?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “A severed head?”

  “That’s a pretty big leap from underwear to decapitation. No, it was an engagement ring. I think he’s planning to propose tonight.”

  Cherrywine opened her mouth to gasp again, then slowly closed it. “I don’t get it. Isn’t that good?”

  Amber pulled the cap as low as it could go over her eyes and raked the sand with her fingers. “You would think so. We’ve been dating two years now. We both graduate in a few months. And, until I saw that ring with my own eyes, I would’ve sworn that I loved him.”

  “Soooo…you don’t then?”

  She hesitated, unable to find the words to explain this to herself, let alone anyone else. She was a linguistics major for Christ’s sake, this shouldn’t be so hard. “Did you…did you ever have one of those prisms as a kid?”

  “Nope. My parents drove a Mitsubishi.”

  Amber blinked at her for several long seconds. “A toy prism. You look through it and it breaks up everything you see into a series of
repeating images.”

  “Oh, you mean a fly’s eye!”

  “…you lost me again.”

  “That’s what my brother called ‘em, a fly’s eye. Cause he said that’s what everything looks like to a fly.”

  “Okay, yes, a fly’s eye. Well, when I was a kid, I had one that I looked through a lot, and I used to think about how all those reflections could be different universes. Alternate dimensions, I mean. Where I was another person, with a different name or different parents.”

  “Don’t take this wrong way sweetie, but, uh…you were kinda weird.”

  A laugh escaped Amber. “Yeah, I guess so. But the point I’m trying to make is, the last few years, I’ve just been complacently rolling along through life, as if there were only one path to take. But when I saw that diamond glittering at me from the bottom of Justin’s bag…I thought about that prism again for the first time in years.” She tilted her head back and looked up at the cloudless sky, which was only a few shades lighter than the ocean. “I mean, I haven’t even really settled on what I’m gonna do with my degree yet. There’s this lab position open in Russia, an experiment working with a form of electronic sign language that one of my professors said I’d be perfect for. But Justin can’t come with me for that. I don’t know, it felt like I still had time to decide all this, but now things are moving so fast and I’m just…terrified of what’ll come out of my mouth when he asks. I wish he hadn’t picked now to do it.”

  To her surprise, Cherrywine wrapped an arm around her shoulders, a familiar gesture that even the friends Amber had known for years wouldn’t have tried. “My grandma used to say, ‘a short truth hurts less than a long lie.’ Then again, my grandpa tried to tell her that after he admitted to sleeping with the neighbor, and she almost took his eye out with a nail file!”

  Amber laughed again. “Thanks, Cherrywine. That actually helps.”

  At this, the other girl beamed. “Great! I wanted us to be friends, seeing as how we’re gonna be crammed up on the boat together for a few days!”