Harsens Island

by T. K. Madrid

  She reached in, disabled the trunk light lens, breaking its hold clips and splitting its wires.

  “Couldn’t reach the trunk release?” She pushed the gag from his lips to his chin. “Talk.”

  His unblinking eyes fixated on her as if attempting hypnotism.

  “They are taking Moon, during the fireworks, utilizing a helicopter. She thinks they are her allies. They are not. They intend to drop her in the Lake Saint Clair. We cannot allow that to happen. We must stop them. You must help me. Set me free.”

  “What agency do you work for?”

  “You must trust that I cannot tell you. You must trust me, Sam! We’ve only minutes!”

  She looked to the lighthouse’s front doors. Serhad hadn’t returned to his post.

  “Hannibal has a man at the door, and Redsky has a lookout on the second floor. Are there any more?”

  “No. Redsky advocates a lesser footprint. Small crews and limited firepower. Please, you must release me!”

  “No. Tell me why your gun is missing a round.”

  “My murder was attempted by Steve Haberski on Sunday morning while you were in custody. I fired in self-defense.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Here. At the lighthouse. I’d come to warn Moon.”

  “Huh. And you didn’t bother to tell Rowland?”

  “I am fearful of their relationship.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. Haberski’s dead.”

  “You’re joking,” Snake said.

  “Heart attack. He attempted to murder Bill Catanzaro. It was Bill’s blood on my door.”

  Snake’s head, which had been raised, tilted gently to the trunk floor.

  “Goodness.”

  “How did you end up like this?”

  “I was discovered shortly after you abandoned me. Redsky’s men patrol the island, even the most outlying spots. They search for illegals attempting to arrange their own passage, which interferes with their trade. But, to their credit, the practice saves lives.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “They’re all happy little elves, aren’t they? Who’s your inside man?”

  “Excuse me?” the little man responded.

  “You know too much, you’re not trustworthy, and you’re not lucky. Who do you know on the inside? Who’s your contact?”

  Snake said nothing. His eyes flickered.

  “It’s the girl, isn’t it? Moon.”

  Snake remained mute.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll leave the lid cracked so you can breathe. Another hour with it sealed and you’ll be roasted.”

  She pulled the gag into his mouth; he resisted, trying to bite her.

  “Behave.”

  She brought the trunk lid down but didn’t seal it. Simultaneously, James Earl’s and Angel’s phones buzzed with a text from Redsky.

  (Where are you idiots?)

  Sam thought it a fair question, so she responded from James Earl’s phone:

  (Tied up)

  Then, from Angel’s phone, she sent a second reply:

  (What u wearing?)

  She changed Angel’s cell phone from vibrate to ring. She found his number on James Earl’s speed dial, walked up to the open red doors, stooped low, and with an underarm pitch skittered it down the short hall.

  She pressed “Send” on James Earl’s phone and with long, sure strides returned to the side of the house. She arrived in time to see the majordomo hand the chirping phone to Redsky.

  Hannibal, Hunter, and Moon were engaged in a quiet exchange. The lawyer Houle, briefcase in hand, without elaboration, walked to the front door and exited the house.

  Sam disconnected the call and rapidly dialed the number that had been written on the back of Rowland’s business card.

  She let it ring three times, long enough for them to realize Hunter’s phone was ringing.

  “Horatio!” Redsky yelled without emotion. “Horatio! Come down here, please!”

  The man from the window appeared at the foot of the stairs. He loosely held a Kalashnikov AKM; a holstered gun was slung around his left shoulder. As Redsky spoke to him, the man nodded eagerly, bouncing his head in an exaggerated fashion. When she was done, he darted to his left.

  Sam moved right, knowing he would emerge from the rear, kitchen door.

  The soldier named Horatio saw her for a split-second before she knocked him unconscious, bouncing him against the house and slamming him to hard earth.

  She used his belt in the same manner as she had with Angel. She stripped him of his ID. She found a vial of powder, assumed it was cocaine, and tossed it over her shoulder. She pulled and half-rolled him to a reasonably safe spot against the side of the house.

  She confiscated and dressed in his shoulder holster; she held the Kalashnikov in her right hand, barrel pointed to the earth. She intended the weapon to be a show of force, a defensive weapon. Her experience was that men with guns tended to only respect men with guns. That and there was no reason to be foolish.

  She entered the lighthouse through the kitchen door, allowing it to close on its own, creating a gentle announcement of her presence.

  The kitchen was bright, modern, and carried a light fragrance of fish and spices. She passed a ceramic bowl of oranges and apples that appeared as if they had been polished and set up for display rather than consumption.

  It was a short distance from the kitchen to the hall, living room, and front doors.

  In the arched front doorway, one foot on the landing and one foot in the hall, the majordomo stood, his left shoulder facing her, a cigarette dangling from the right corner of his mouth, and a gun in his hand. He motioned her to the living room with the gun.

  Sam scowled.

  “What are you? French?”

  He followed her in to the room where the remaining players had reassumed their original positions. Moon on one couch, Hannibal opposite her on another couch, and Hunter creating the tip of their triangle in the chair by the window.

  Redsky was behind Hannibal, looking through the living room window to the driveway. Then she faced Sam and sighed with disappointment.

  “I had such high hopes for you.”

  Sam addressed the majordomo in French.

  “Elle dit que vous etes laid.”

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “‘She said you’re ugly,’” Sam said.

  “Never mind, Serhad,” Hannibal said. “You know how women of her breed like to amuse themselves. You married a similar type as I recall.”

  “Always the charmer, aren’t you, Four? Where’d your lawyer go? Off to arrange bail?”

  “To higher ground, I imagine,” Hannibal said. “It’s an admirable quality, don’t you think?”

  She smiled at him and flicked her head right.

  “Tell your boy that if he flinches I’ll cripple his love life.”

  Something akin to a snarl came from the servant.

  Hannibal’s lower lip protruded slightly; his eyes narrowed in calculation.

  “Tell him,” Sam said.

  Redsky put her hands on Hannibal’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

  “She’s not worth it, Clayton,” she said, releasing him. “There’s larger came afoot. Besides, she’s not at all like her father.”

  “How can you be sure?” Hannibal asked.

  “He would’ve disposed of Serhad before he entered the room.” She looked to Sam. “Horatio is alive, correct?”

  “Of course,” Sam said.

  “And my brother and Angel?”

  “Angel’s fine. Your brother, not so much.”

  “There you are,” Redsky said. “She has the killer aptitude but not the killer appetite.”

  Throughout the exchange, Sam kept her eyes on Hannibal, watching his hands and eyes.

  The Kalashnikov AKM is lightweight and has a slanted muzzle, both factors that provide balance and accuracy. When properly motivated it fires six-hundred rounds a minute.

  “I believe Serhad can take he
r,” Hannibal said. “What say you, Serhad?”

  Serhad smiled; smoke pouring from his nostrils, the cigarette clinging to his lips.

  “Say when…”

  Lynn Hunter, frowning, spoke.

  “And if he misses?”

  “I won’t,” Serhad said.

  “But mine’s bigger,” Sam said, agreeing with Hunter.

  “Two valid points,” Hannibal said, and deftly motioned to Serhad, raising two fingers on his left hand.

  Sam’s eyes moved to her right and saw Serhad returning the gun to its holster.

  “A gesture of good faith,” Sam said. “An even playing field.”

  She leaned the AKM against a wall but, like the majordomo, didn’t relinquish her handgun.

  “I can still take you,” Serhad said.

  She ignored him, placed her hands on her hips, and faced Hunter.

  “Lynn Hunter. Long time, no see. What’s it been? Two months?”

  “You’re in over your head,” Hunter said coolly.

  Sam responded with a taunting smile.

  “In two words or less, name a psychopath that murdered her daughter.”

  Hunter said nothing but her Irish-pale skin mutated to a soft pink.

  “You couldn’t stand the idea of your husband taking her, could you? That would’ve been too much like losing. Or was it a daughter goes to work day gone wrong?”

  Hunter’s face flushed evenly.

  “Was she dead when you brought her over? Or did you kill her here?”

  “We’re wasting time, Lauren,” Hannibal said.

  “No,” Redsky said, looking at her watch. “We’re fine. Let her babble.”

  Sam ignored their comments.

  “You drugged her and drowned her.”

  Now Hunter’s face appeared sunburned.

  “And she helped,” Sam said, and motioned to Moon, who remained silent.

  Sam looked at Moon.

  “The kaolin was a smart touch. It slowed the coroner down for a couple of days.”

  She shifted her words back to Lynn, baiting her.

  “By the time he got to her, she was so bloated he thought she’d been in the water for a month. At first he wasn’t sure what sex she was, or if she was even human.”

  Lynn Hunter leaned forward, covered her face with the temple of her fingers, and began sobbing loudly, uncontrollably, and with animated drama.

  Sam’s voice growled.

  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  (26) Muddy Waters

  Moon was pleasantly featureless. Her shoulders were as wide as her hips, her stomach was flat and proportional to her chest, and her back was proportional to her flat bottom. Her black hair, parted from her right, was thick and shiny and signaled a natural health. She wore a white, short-sleeve blouse, black pants, and black flats. Her lips were thin, yet thick enough to create an air of nubile sexuality. Her skin was perfect.

  “Please forgive her,” Moon said. “She has not had time to properly mourn her daughter’s untimely death. The events of my departure colluded to provide her the greatest of burdens, one that I share with her, and one that I hope you never bear. If you are of the right spirit, you know that one must honor the dead but sacrifice for the living – sometimes at great expense.”

  Sam watched and listened with cool detachment.

  “My family died in the river, so we thought it fitting to give Ann to the river. We used the compound you spoke of, and as you’ve accurately stated, it damaged her body, her shell, but not her spirit. She suffered here in this time, but she suffers no more.”

  Moon’s voice bore a northeast accent.

  “Her daughter was an addict. She overdosed on a cocktail of her own making. She arrived with her mother Friday night, and by Saturday morning she was dead. Her mother had no control over her actions. I will testify to that. And as you can see, she is in deep shock and grief.”

  Lynn Hunter seemed to regain control of her emotions, her sobs now erupting in short, hot gasps.

  Sam said, “You’ll make a great character reference, that’s for sure.”

  Moon sat erectly, obviously offended.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You do not believe me?”

  “Not a word, not a vowel, not even the punctuation.”

  “Why not?” Moon demanded. “It is the truth!”

  Sam smiled rapaciously.

  “The truth? The truth is a sane, loving mother wouldn’t drown her daughter in a river. And no sane, loving mother would assist in the murder of a child. Especially if that mother had already lost her children.”

  Moon trembled, raising both hands, making them tiny fists, and shouted, very much like a child throwing a tantrum.

  “You’re an assassin! You’re the daughter of assassins and are here to murder me!”

  Sam’s disgust broke through lips that barely moved, from a jaw taut with anger. She addressed Hunter.

  “You killed your daughter. Then you both gave her the kaolin, too much kaolin. Moon said, ‘Here’s something my mother used, we’ll give her this, it absorbs water’, not knowing what amount to use. Maybe she should’ve given her a teaspoon’s worth but instead gave her a tablespoon. The upshot is she used too much and that’s what brought her body to the surface. You thought she would sink. You were going to claim you’d been on business in Michigan the week she disappeared and then, maybe, with luck, you could put a noose around your husband’s neck.”

  Sam turned to Hannibal.

  “She screwed you, Four. If Moon was a mother of three, she’d have this pooch,” she said, gesturing with a cupped hand over her belly, “something that proves tiny feet had kicked at her from the inside. This isn’t the wife – this is one of the daughters. She hasn’t been pretending to be a child – she is a child. Whatever secrets her mother had vanished with her in the river. What you have here is a fake, a pawn for profit.”

  As Sam spoke, she saw Redsky’s eyes dart back and forth between her and Hannibal.

  “Pay no attention to her Clayton,” Redsky said. “She’s trying to muddy the waters.”

  Sam continued working Hannibal.

  “This was the first time Houle met Moon, wasn’t it? He took one hard look, sniffed the air, and realized you were screwed. He realized he’s been helping you negotiate for something that never existed. That’s why he walked.”

  Hannibal stood, gesturing toward Sam.

  “I can’t see why you like this woman.”

  Sam refocused on Moon, her voice harsh and demanding, an angry adult talking to a petulant child.

  “How old are you anyway? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

  Moon, still trembling, was muttering a babel of English and Vietnamese.

  “I hope your breast stroke is better than your acting,” Sam said.

  “What are you saying? What does that mean?”

  “Snake’s your boyfriend, right? You told him you were being helicoptered out of here.”

  Moon’s eyed widened and narrowed.

  “He’s tied up in the trunk of the Camaro. He said they’re tossing you into Lake Saint Clair.”

  “You’re an assassin!”

  “As soon as you step on that helicopter Redsky can claim they fulfilled their contract. Anything that happens after takeoff is on them, the other side, whoever they are. I’m curious – do you know where you’re going?” Sam gestured to Redsky. “Who’s paying the cab fare? Her friends or yours?”

  She heard tires on the driveway. The arbor, driveway, and the front doors were suddenly bathed in car headlights.

  “It’s Rowland,” Redsky said.

  “What’s he doing here?” Hannibal said.

  “I imagine she invited him,” she said with a dismissive wave.

  “He’s an idiot,” Hannibal said.

  “Poor, poor Mark,” Redsky said, arms crossed, looking out to the driveway. “He was a good man. Clayton, dear, we don’t have Horatio.”
/>   “Oh, yes, of course,” he responded. “Serhad? Tend to the light and then the sheriff.”

  “Yes, sir,” he responded, not moving, and instead reached into his suit pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. His eyes drifted lazily across all of them before he settled on Sam.

  “I could’ve taken you,” he said to her.

  The left side of Sam’s mouth arched up in mocking amusement.

  “No,” she said. “But it’s a pretty thought.”

  “Be quick about it,” Hannibal insisted.

  Serhad, stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, lighter in hand, and cupped the stick with his hands as if standing in a strong wind.

  “Chop-chop,” Hannibal said.

  He lit the cigarette and returned the ingredients to his pocket.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, and left the room.

  “I prefer that he stays,” Sam said, her right hand now filled with a gun she did not want to use. She heard his footsteps echoing from the circular stairwell that led to the lantern.

  “Moon,” Redsky said.

  Moon shrieked loudly and right-foot slammed Sam’s left arm, pushing Sam sideways, forcing her to her right knee.

  Sam, rising, flung her weapon at the front window – her target – which cracked and partially shattered, a clear, intentional warning to Rowland and a way to keep the weapon from falling into anyone else’s hands. The AKM remained out of reach.

  Moon anchored and pivoted right, cocked back on one leg and kicked like an engine piston firing, striking Sam twice, and landing a blow to her chest and left shoulder.

  Sam went low, stayed low, and spinning, swung her left leg, catching Moon’s left knee, pulling her forward.

  Moon sprung backward, hesitated for no more than two seconds, and weaved toward Redsky.

  Rowland sparked his cherry top, blasted a single, loud whoop, and threw a searchlight on the house.

  A deep shudder came from above them, through the walls, and into the floor.

  The lights failed; the room went dark save for the lights of Rowland’s cruiser.

  From somewhere in the backyard came the sound of an emergency generator.

  A flickering glow came from the stairwell as the tower’s emergency power came on line. Next came a grinding screech of metal on metal as massive, iron cogs engaged, a sound that might have once been the murderous fury of a T-Rex, the loud preamble of the lighthouse lantern reluctantly coming back to life.