by Josie Brown
Without thinking, I glance away. I’m so taken aback with her statement that the words fail me in describing my feelings: the relief that we got to her before the boy could hurt her; anger because she disobeyed me in the first place; and the knowledge that there are still too many lessons to be learned the hard way.
When I look back at her, her head is lowered from the weight of her shame.
I tilt her chin up so that she can look into my eyes. I hope that she sees the love I have for her. When I can finally speak, I choke on my own words. “I have no doubt you’ll earn it back. Sadly, some choices we make have consequences we can’t anticipate, and we can’t take them back. But Mary, you’ll always have my love, and that of your father’s.”
Her relief comes out in a long, sad sigh. She hugs me tightly, like she did when she was a little girl, then stumbles up the stairs into our bungalow.
Lee doesn’t follow me up the veranda steps. Instead he holds out his hand.
I take it, and hold on for a while. He doesn’t seem to mind.
Finally, he pulls away. When I try to speak, he waves away my thanks. “She’s…beautiful. And I think she’s learned her lesson.”
I nod. “Your girlfriend is one lucky lady.”
“Fiancée.” He grimaces as he says it. His deep voice is hollow, empty.
I hope the sadness melts from his eyes before he gets home to her and her little ones, because he strikes me as a keeper.
Thank goodness they’ve got a few years yet, before they have to deal with this kind of stuff.
I enter the bungalow in a trance, to which I am rudely awakened by the sound and fury of Cheever as he yells, “Those jerks scarred me for life!”
His face is painted white, and covered with red stripes. He is naked, except for his underwear.
What. The. Hell?
Morton and Jeff also have war paint smeared on their cheeks. Headdresses, made of feathers and lanyards and covered with intricate beading, are on their heads.
At least they’re still wearing jeans.
“Whoa, whoa whoa!” I look from Cheever to Jack, who is doing his best not to laugh. “What exactly is happening?”
Jack nods over at Jeff and Morton, who are smart enough to sit still with their mouths shut. “Show her, Bing.”
For the first time since I’ve walked in, Cheever’s mouth actually snaps shut. He shakes his head adamantly.
Jack walks over to him and jerks Cheever’s head down into a couch cushion. The poor kid’s underpants ride up high enough that I can see what looks like a woman’s breasts tattooed on his butt cheek. The words “KNOCKERS AND NOOKIE” encircle the very generous chesticles.
Yes, I am speechless.
Noting this, Jack says, “I found the boys in the jungle just beyond the Kamp KidStuff gate. Seems they’ve done exactly as we’ve asked and kept busy. Unfortunately, their projects leave a lot to be desired—extortion, racketeering, bribery.”
“Wait…you sound like a Department of Justice agent.”
“You’re lucky I stumbled across them because I’m sure if they had shorted any of the counselors they were bribing to stay away, the Feds would have swooped down on their gang: Cheever’s Beavers.”
I bury my head in my hands for a moment. When I’m finally able to raise my head, it’s to address Jeff. “Seriously? Is that the best name you could come up with?”
Jeff shrugs. “He won at Rock Paper Scissors.”
Jack shakes his head. “Jeff, dude, he probably cheated at that, too.”
Both Jeff and Morton glare at Cheever, who shrugs. “You know what they say, ‘a sucker is born every minute.’ You two must have been separated at birth.”
“Just who was being extorted?” I ask.
Jack shrugs. “A better question is, ‘who wasn’t?’ Any kid who wanted to take a swim had to pay Morton before entering the pool. If a boy wanted to rent a surfboard or boogie board, he had to pay Jeff.”
Hearing that, I turn to my son. “That’s terrible! All of those things are free amenities at the resort. What do you have to say for yourself, Jeffrey Harrison Stone?”
Jeff looks down at his feet. “I plead the fifth.”
“No, sorry, young sir. This isn’t a court of law. I am your judge, jury and executioner.” I shake my head. “Go on, Jack.”
“Any kid who fought the system was taken to a tribunal, in one of the jungle caves.” Jack’s tone is serious.
I get it. They crossed over into croc territory.
“If a kid didn’t pay up, he was staked to the ground. They’d play ‘pin the sword on the pinkie toe’ with him.”
“A sword?” I grab Morton by the scruff of his neck. “Where did you get a sword?”
Try as he might, he can’t get out of my headlock. “It’s fake!” he gasps. “We bought it off the King Arthur counselor, for a fiver!”
“They’re lucky no one got hurt. Shows you what lousy aims they have.”
“We missed on purpose,” Jeff insists. “We were just trying to scare them.”
Jack raises his hand to shut him up. “As it turns out, a few of the boys figured out that Cheever is a great big pussy and started a mutiny.”
Jeff and Morton nod vigorously. “They stole all the money we’d saved,” Morton mutters indignantly.
“Serves you right,” I snap back.
“Hey, you’re lucky I came upon you when I did,” Jack interjects. “If I remember correctly, you two were next in line for a couple of homemade ass tats.”
“We’ll get back at them,” Cheever declares. “We know where they live.”
I shove him back down on the couch. “You’re not going anywhere, you little sadist. The whole lot of you is grounded. In fact, in the morning I’m calling your mother. She’s not going to like what she hears.”
All the bravado seeps out of Cheever, like a water balloon pricked with a pin.
When Jeff raises his hand, my nod tells him that it’s okay to speak. “Mom, this was supposed to be our vacation, too, remember? If you tell Cheever’s mother, he’ll be grounded for life! Instead of that, what if we make nice with the other tribe? We can sign a peace pact with them.”
I think for a moment. “Sure, I can live with that.”
Cheever is all smiles again. “Hey, maybe we can smoke a peace pipe to seal the deal! I know where my dad keeps his pot.”
“No! And no blood pacts, either. Just sign something and live up to your word. You know, like leaders do in the real world.”
For once, I’m glad that none of these kids know their American History, or World History, or PoliSci, for that matter. If they pull off peace and tranquility for the days we have left here, then this truly is a fantasy island.
Jack points in the direction of their bedroom. “Get to bed, all of you.”
I wait until their door closes before I burst into tears. “I’m an awful mother.”
Jack takes me in his arms. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. From what I could see in this place, you’ve got a lot of competition. They weren’t the only kids crawling out of their windows after bedtime.”
“But I checked on the boys last night! They were sound asleep in their beds!”
“Apparently not. Jeff confessed that they slipped out every night. They’ve been sneaking over to Eden Key and looking in the windows.”
“What little pervs! I hope Cheever never saw his mother with…Oh, never mind.” I fall onto the couch. “And with that crocodile wandering all over the place, too.”
“Trust me, one bite of Cheever, and the crocodile would swear off humans forever.” Jack falls down beside me.
I lay my head on his shoulder. “Mary also had a rotten night. One of those high school jocks almost went too far. I shudder to think what would have happened if we hadn’t gotten there in time.”
Jack’s face darkens when he hears this. “‘We’? But Aunt Phyllis was here when we came home.”
“Lee Chiffray offered to go with me. Certainly I could have handled th
e creep crawling all over Mary without him. If you’re asking me if he went along out of anything other than concern for Mary’s safety, I can tell you no.”
“I believe you.” The edge in his voice tells me differently. “But ask yourself, Donna: Why would he? Why wasn’t he back at the Hunt Club with his girlfriend?”
“Because…”—I’m at a loss for words—“because he was concerned. He’s a decent guy, Jack.”
“Decent guys don’t sanction human safaris.”
He’s got a good point. Does Lee Chiffray know anything about the Hunt Club’s dirty secret?
From what I saw tonight, I’m willing to bet no.
Then again, I can’t tell you where my kids are at any point in time, so I guess I’m not as smart as I think I am.
When this vacation is over, I need to take a vacation.
Chapter 16
Trip Insurance
There are certain vacations in which trip insurance is not only necessary, it is mandatory. Here are two such circumstances:
Circumstance #1: If for any reason, you or your traveling companion is going to be ill, or say, meet with an unfortunate fatal accident, then by all means, take out trip insurance—on him;
Circumstance #2: If your testimony put some creep in the gray bar hotel, but he happens to be (a) well connected, (b) well-funded, or (c) soon to be released on parole, I would strongly suggest opting for both trip insurance as well as a life insurance policy that takes into account your loved one's fondness for expensive baubles.
Those of us whose line of work requires covert skullduggery and extensive use of weaponry know that there is no rest for the weary, even on holidays. That said, remember to pack some personal trip insurance, if you catch my drift: say, a nail gun and plastic bullets.
Will it get you through the TSA line? Go ahead and try it! What have you got to lose but your freedom?
Then be sure to write me from your prison cell, so that I know where to send the cake with the file.
“Absolutely not,” is Ryan’s answer to Jack and my request to smuggle George Taylor off the island with us. “We don’t know who he is, and why he’s there, and we could care less. He is not your mission. Mandrake and the plague bacteria is your prime directive.”
From the glances exchanged by Emma, Arnie, and Abu, I can tell they can’t believe what they’re hearing, either. Dominic’s bet—that Ryan would veto the idea—is a hollow victory for him. Whatever is in the tiny flask he pulls from his tuxedo pocket is downed in one gulp.
“But Ryan, he may be able to help us find Mandrake. He was piloting the flight that took the scientist to Fantasy Island, and they must have talked at some point.” I can tell by Jack’s tone that he’s not taking “No,” for an answer.
The same goes for me. “And let’s not forget, Ryan, you would have lost a valuable asset—Jack—if it weren’t for Taylor.”
“I’m very aware of that, Donna. I certainly appreciate his role in keeping Jack alive. But I don’t think our client would appreciate your interference with the rendition tactics of other friendly nations. It might lead to an international incident.”
“How do we know if what Boarke told Donna is true?” Emma asks. “What if those people were abducted specifically for his little shooting gallery?"
“Why don’t we get a plane in here and break them out of that dungeon?” Arnie chimes in.
“The reason Boarke mentioned it to Donna in the first place was to point out that the program had legitimate clients, and so that he could make his case for more financing.” The growing irritation in Ryan’s voice echoes through the phone.
I start to speak again, but Jack warns me off my soapbox with a pat on my hand. “As far as those ‘friendly nations’ are concerned, the people in Boarke’s basement are already dead and buried. Why not release them?”
Ryan is silent for an eternity. When he finally speaks, his tone is slow but firm. “This is not a debate; the subject is closed. You have your orders.”
He doesn’t wait for our acknowledgment. His mood is reflected in the loud groan of the dial tone.
“Well, that went well,” Jack declares. His gaze moves slowly, catching the eyes of everyone in the room, one by one. Finally he comes to me. He holds out his hand. “I’m in. How about you?”
I nod. “Where thou goest, I shall go.”
Even if it’s on the lam.
Because once word of this jailbreak gets out, we won’t be welcomed in our own country, let alone by any “friendly nation.”
I take his hand in mine.
One by one, the others nod. Their hands fall over ours.
When Dominic slaps his down, he exclaims, “Bob’s your uncle!”
If and when we ever get out of jail, our dog sitter bill is going to be sky high.
“Where is he?”
A belligerent stranger stands on our front stoop, interrupting my family’s lively game of Monopoly, in which my little Scotty dog has just landed in jail. I take this as a very bad omen.
As for the jerk in front of me, I don’t know who the hell he’s talking about, let alone who he is—and I certainly don’t like his scowl.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Don’t act coy. You were with the dude who almost killed my son last night.”
Now I remember this guy. He made the remark about asking the kids to save a joint for him. “I take it, then, your last name is Montrose. Did your son happen to mention that he almost raped my twelve-year-old daughter?”
He shrugs. “Boys will be boys. So he got a little rambunctious.”
And mothers will be mothers. If my children weren't on the other side of the door right now, I would have gutted this guy by now.
“I’m happy to tell you, Mr. Montrose, that I haven’t seen your son since we yanked him off my daughter. Perhaps he’s out molesting another underage girl.”
“I saw your daughter. She doesn’t look ‘twelve’ to me.”
“Oh? Maybe she looked fourteen, then? Or fifteen? Would you say she looks eighteen?” Now we’re standing nose to nose. “At what age is statutory rape okay? She was screaming her head off. If your son hadn’t been holding her down against her will, he wouldn’t have been roughed up.” I’m jabbing his chest so hard that he almost trips as he backs off my porch. “You’re lucky that I’m not reporting him to hotel security.”
Really, he’s lucky I didn’t cut off the kid’s balls.
“Okay, lady, I get it. He did a stupid thing. Believe me, both his mother and I gave him an earful about it.” There’s a catch in his throat. “But that’s no reason for something bad to happen to him.”
I get it, too. This man is a parent, and he is worried about his child.
Welcome to the club.
“What makes you think something has happened to him?”
“He never came home last night. And his cell phone was found this morning, by the pool. None of his friends have seen him since they left Karen’s last night.”
I have to admit, I’d be worried too, if I were him. “Mr. Montrose, if I see your son, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
He nods as he shuffles out of the yard.
Jack sticks his head out the window. “Who was that?”
“The father of the boy who was with Mary. His son is AWOL and he’s finally acting like a parent.”
“Sadly, it’s almost time for us to act as spies. We’re to meet the others in an hour. Think we can wrap up the game by then?”
The truth is that I don’t want to wrap it up. I want to hear my daughter and my son and his friends laugh and squeal and tease each other as they purchase imaginary property, or as they pass Go and collect two hundred dollars.
This isn’t a game, it’s a memory.
They think this is a vacation. I know better.
But for a little more time I can act like I have all the time in the world to spend with them.
That we are just like everyone else.
Then I remember
all the people in Boarke’s cages and I realize there are more important things in life than board games. Tonight I’m playing a far more important game in which real lives hang in the balance.
Wow, I just pulled a “Get Out of Jail” card. Wish I had one of those in real life.
By the time Jack and I get to his suite at the Hunt Club, the rest of the team has assembled—
Except for Dominic. So, what else is new?
“You’re tracking him through his videocam contact lenses, right? Where is he, in the lounge?” I ask Arnie.
“Nope, he’s certainly not there, unless they’ve installed beds and naked blondes behind the bar.”
I didn’t save his ass from a crocodile to put up with more of his shenanigans. “I’ll be right back,” I say as I head out the door.
He’s one floor up. When I knock, I have to wait a few minutes, so I knock again.
He opens the door wearing a robe, and nothing else. He’s disappointed to see me. “I was expecting tea and crumpets.”
“And I was expecting you to join us for recon, so get rid of the strumpet—now.”
“Dominic, is that the champagne and cookies? Darling, think of where those crumbs will end up—”
I know that voice...
Babette?
I push past him, into the bedroom.
It’s Babette, alright. Her arms are handcuffed to the bedposts, and her naughty bits are dotted with whipped cream.
In unison we shout, “What are you doing here?”
“You’re supposed to be back in Hilldale!” Her retort is an accusation—of what, I don’t know. Does she think I’m spying on her? Hardly.
“And you’re supposed to be at some beach house,” I shoot back.
“We are! We’re staying in my boyfriend’s private villa,” she says smugly.
“Is that so?” I glance into the bathroom. “Is he here, too?”
“No, of course not! He’s at another one of his interminable business meetings. Or he’s gambling.” She shrugs. “At least he wins. Of course, they have to let him, since Lee practically owns this place.”