He was running faster than he had ever run, despite the vest, and he was gaining ground. As they drew closer to Duval, they started passing peacocks, tin men, and drunks who’d spilled over from the crowded street festival. Rock music rumbled in the night. A sudden burst of firecrackers drew piercing screams and a round of laughter.
“Hey, watch it!” a woman dressed as Cleopatra shouted, but Esteban plowed through her like she didn’t exist, then plunged into the safety of a shoulder-to-shoulder parade of costumes on Duval. Jack followed right behind, trying desperately to keep his target in sight as he weaved his way through the heaving mass. He could hardly breathe. All at once the sea of beads and feathers and painted faces swallowed him up, and when he broke free Esteban was gone.
“You stupid jerk!” he heard someone shout. He looked ahead in time to see Esteban dashing through the middle of a long and twisted Chinese dragon, ripping it right in half. Esteban wasn’t just trying to vanish in the crowd, Jack realized. He was going somewhere specific. He was headed north, toward the marina off Mallory Square. Jack had a sudden flash. A boat! Esteban was going to escape by boat Jack hesitated only a second-just long enough to think of Cindy. Then he darted in the same direction, bumping into the Beatles and Napoleon, pushing aside Gumby and Marilyn Monroe.
Esteban was untying a sleek racing boat from its mooring just as Jack reached the long wooden pier at the end of Duval. The triple outboard engines cranked with a deafening blast. Jack stopped short, pulled out his gun, and took aim. A clown screamed and the crowd scattered, since Jack’s gun looked too real, even for Fantasy Pest. A caveman suddenly turned hero and whacked the pistol from Jack’s hand with a quick sweep of his club.
“No!” Jack shouted as his weapon skidded across the dock and plunked into the marina.
Esteban’s boat drifted away from the dock, slowly at first, until it was clear of the other boats. Instinctively, Jack sprinted ahead and leaped from the dock to the covered bow of the boat just as Esteban hit the throttle. The powerful engines roared, and the bow rose from the water, knocking Jack off balance as he landed. He scrambled to his feet on the wet fiberglass as the boat cut through the darkness.
Realizing that Jack was aboard, Esteban kept one hand on the steering wheel and with the other slashed at his unwanted passenger with a long fishing gaff. The engine noise grew deafening as the needlelike boat shot from forty, to sixty, then seventy miles per hour, bouncing violently on the waves. Jack fell to his knees as the hull slammed through a big whitecap. With a quick jerk of the wheel, Esteban shifted the boat to the right and Jack tumbled across the bow. In a split second he was overboard, head over heels, bouncing like a skipping stone across the waves at seventy miles per hour.
He emerged dizzy and coughing up salt water. He was trying to swim when his foot hit bottom. In less than ninety seconds the speeding cigarette boat had taken them nearly a mile offshore, where they’d reached a coral reef. He could stand flat-footed with his head above water. He cursed as he stood in the middle of a zipper of white foam that was Esteban’s wake, forced to watch as the boat grew smaller in the distance. Then he froze as he saw that Esteban was turning around. He was coming back-at full throttle, headed right at him.
The bastard is going to flatten me.
Jack dove beneath the surface and pressed himself against the reef. He cut his hands and knees on sharp coral that projected like huge fingers and fans from the floor, but it saved his life. He held fast as the boat zipped overhead. The churning propeller missed him by less than a foot. He emerged for air, saw the boat coming back for another pass, and went under again. This time, though, the boat approached more slowly. Esteban wanted to check his work. After two years of waiting, he had to see the blood.
“Are you fish food, Swyteck?” he called into the darkness. He was nearly certain he’d cut the miserable lawyer in half. He’d felt the thud. But the water was so shallow it was possible the boat had hit bottom rather than pay dirt. He looked left, then right, searching intently as the boat slowly arrived at the spot where he’d last seen his prey.
Jack clung to the reef, struggling to stay underwater. But he desperately needed air. The boat was right overhead, puttering at no-wake speed. A few seconds passed, and he couldn’t stand it any longer. He broke the surface and grabbed onto the diving platform on the back of the boat He looked up. Esteban hadn’t seen or heard him. The triple engines still rumbled loudly, even at a slow speed. Carefully, Jack pulled himself onto the platform and peered up over the stern. Esteban was studying the waves, longing to see little pieces of floating flesh.
Jack moved silently across the diving platform, toward the outboard engines. He was after the fuel lines. Without them, Esteban might get another mile from shore, but then he’d be stranded at sea. Jack reached for them and tried to muffle his cry as he scorched his hand on the hot engine block-but Esteban heard the stifled groan.
“Die!” he screamed, bringing the gaff down like an axe across Jack’s back.
Jack cried out in pain, but he grabbed the gaff and pulled as he tumbled into the water, taking Esteban with him. They plunged into just three feet of sea water, both hitting the jagged coral bottom simultaneously. Esteban emerged first, thrashing like a marlin on the end of a line as he struggled to hold Jack underwater. Jack tumbled over the coral, trying to find his footing so he could get his head above water. But Esteban’s powerful fingers found Jack’s throat before he could plant his feet. Jack kicked and swung with his fists, but the resistance of the water made his blows ineffective. His nostrils burned as he sucked in more salt water. He gasped for air but drew only the sea into his lungs.
He reached frantically on the shallow bottom for a rock to use as a weapon. There were none. But there was the coral that projected from the bottom like a fossilized forest. It was hard and sharp, and it cut like a knife. He groped and found a formation that felt like the stubby antler of a young buck. He grabbed it, snapped it off, and swung it up toward Esteban’s head. It hit something. Jack was blinded by the churning foam, but he sensed the penetration upon impact. He jabbed again, and finally the death grip around his throat loosened somewhat. He broke free and shot to the surface, coughing as he emerged.
Jack spit out the last of the salt water just in time to see Esteban, less than fifteen feet away, once again raising the gaff, which had floated back into his grasp. As he lifted it overhead, Jack could see the blood pouring from his throat.
“You bastard!” Esteban cried out. “You fucking bastard!” His arm shot forward in an attempt to impale, but Jack jinked to his left and grabbed the gaff’s wooden shaft. By now, Esteban’s eyes were glassy and his grip insecure. The loss of blood was taking its toll, but Esteban was still coming at him.
“No more!” Jack called out fiercely.
He drove forward, shattering the Cuban’s teeth with the blunt end of the gaff and pushing it into his throat The force of the movement jerked Esteban’s body backward, then headfirst under the waves as Jack leaned forward and maintained steady pressure on the pole. Only after a full minute, when the bubbles had stopped floating to the surface, did he unclench his hands and swim toward the boat.
Once aboard, he watched intently, still unwilling to believe that the fight was over. He sat for ten minutes, staring at the spot where Esteban had gone under, half expecting him to rise again like the mechanical shark in Jaws. But this was real life, where people paid for their actions. The full moon hung like a big bright hole in the darkness. A shooting star appeared briefly on the horizon, and the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull reminded Jack that even this drama had done nothing to disturb nature’s rhythms.
He heard a flutter behind him and looked up. A Coast Guard helicopter was approaching from shore. Jack sat perfectly still as the warm, gentle current washed across the reef and dispersed the dark, crimson cloud of Esteban’s blood. It was ironic, he thought. Hundreds, maybe thousands of oppressed refugees had fled Cuba in little rafts and inner tubes, only to be c
aught in the Gulf Stream and lost somewhere in the Atlantic. Finally, one of the oppressors was on his way to the bottom. And with God’s grace, the sea would never give him up.
Jack looked up as the pontoon helicopter hovered directly overhead, then came to rest on the surface. The glass bubble around the cockpit glistened in the moonlight, but he could see his father inside. Jack waved to let him know he was all right, and the governor opened the glass door and waved back.
“She’s okay,” his father shouted over the noise of whirling blades. “Cindy’s okay!”
Jack heard the words, but couldn’t assimilate them. She can’t be alive. He’d seen her with his own eyes. Seen her hanging there. The part of his soul where she’d resided had been ripped out of him. Still, he wanted to believe. Oh, how he wanted to believe. . He looked at his father intently, allowing himself some small measure of hope.
“She is definitely okay,” Harry said, seeing the confusion on his son’s face. “I just saw her. I just held her in my arms.”
The governor threw him a line, but Jack was too stunned to move. Slowly, the realization sank in. Cindy was alive. His father was with him. And the danger was behind them. He reached for the lifeline and swam toward the helicopter. The swirling wind from the chopper blades blew water in his face, but he didn’t mind. All the cuts and scrapes, the bruises-even his cracked rib-were glorious reminders that he was alive-alive with something to live for.
That much was obvious from the face that greeted him. As he looked up, Jack saw tears of joy in his proud father’s eyes.
Epilogue
Before Esteban’s body was borne by currents out to sea, his story had washed ashore with the force of a tidal wave. The media blitz began that Sunday morning and lasted for weeks, but the essential elements of the story were out within twenty-four hours. It was front-page news in every major Florida newspaper. It was the lead story on local and national network newscasts, and CNN even ran several hours of continuous coverage.
By Monday afternoon the Swytecks had revealed all to the media, and the truth was widely known about Esteban’s two-year campaign to avenge his brother’s execution. The public knew that neither Jack nor his father had killed Eddy Goss. Esteban had, as part of his plan to frame Jack and have him executed for a murder he’d never committed. The public knew that Esteban, not Jack, had murdered Gina Terisi, in a last-ditch effort to ensure Jack’s conviction. And the public knew that Governor Swyteck had not executed an innocent man. As Esteban had admitted to Jack, Raul Fernandez was in the act of raping the young girl when Esteban had killed her; both Esteban and Fernandez had gotten what they deserved.
By Monday evening the Swytecks were heralded as heroes. They’d eliminated not just a psychopathic killer, but one of Castro’s former henchmen. The governor received congratulatory telegrams from several national leaders. A petition started in Little Havana to create “Swyteck Boulevard.” Amidst all the hoopla, a cowardly written statement was issued quietly from the state attorney’s office, announcing that Wilson McCue would promptly disband the grand jury he’d empaneled to indict the Swytecks.
And on the following Tuesday-the second Tuesday in November-the voters went to the polls. Florida had never seen a larger turnout. And no one had ever witnessed a more dramatic one-week turnaround in public opinion.
“The second time is sweeter!” Harry Swyteck proclaimed from the raised dais at his second inaugural ball.
Loud cheers filled the grand ballroom as three hundred friends and guests raised their champagne glasses with the re-elected governor. The band started up. The governor took Agnes by the hand and led her to the dance floor. It was like a silver wedding anniversary, the two of them swaying gracefully to their favorite song, the governor in his tuxedo and his bride in a flowing white taffeta gown.
Couples flooded onto the dance floor as Jack and Cindy watched from their seats at the head table. It had been a long time since they were this happy. They had their wounds, of course. Cindy had nightmares and fears of being alone. Both she and Jack constantly remembered Gina and what she’d gone through. Slowly, though, they regained some semblance of normalcy, and their love for each other became the source of their strength. Cindy returned to work at her photography studio. Jack started his own criminal-defense firm and enjoyed the luxury of picking his own clients. By Christmas, their lives had vastly improved-psychologically, emotionally, and most of all, romantically.
Jack couldn’t hide his look of wonder and admiration as he stared at Cindy across the table. She was spectacular in a deep purple gown that featured an elegant hem and sexy decolletage. Her hair was up in a swirling blonde twist; her face was a radiant portrait framed by dangling diamond earrings that Agnes had loaned her.
“Come on,” he said as he took her by the hand. “There’s something I want you to see.” They walked arm-in-arm away from the crowded ballroom to one of the quiet courtyards that had made this classic Mediterranean-style hotel so special since its opening in the 1920s.
Soft music flowed through the open French doors, making it even more romantic beneath the moon and stars on this cool, crisp January evening. They strolled arm-in-arm amidst trellised vines, a trickling fountain, and potted palms on a sweeping veranda the size of a tennis court. Jack rested their champagne glasses on the stone railing where the veranda overlooked a swimming pool forty feet below. He took Cindy in his arms.
“What’s that for?” she asked coyly, enjoying the hug.
“Forever,” he answered. Then, covertly, so she wouldn’t notice, he took a diamond ring from his pocket and dropped it into Cindy’s glass.
“Well, here you are,” said the governor with a smile as he came around the corner. “I’ve been trying to have a word alone with you two all evening.”
Jack wasn’t sure how to the handle the untimely interruption.
Cindy returned the smile. “And we’ve been waiting for a minute with you, too, Governor. To drink our own private toast to another four years.”
“A wonderful idea,” he replied, “except I’m out of champagne.”
“Well, here,” she offered, “have some of mine.”
“Wait-” Jack said.
Cindy reached for her glass but knocked it off the railing.
“Oh, my God,” Jack gasped, looking on with horror as it sailed over the edge and plunged forty feet down, exploding on the cement deck by the pool.
“Oh, I’m so clumsy,” she said, looking embarrassed.
Jack continued to stare disbelievingly at the impact area below. Without a word, he turned and sprinted down the stone stairway that led to the pool, then began furiously searching the deck. Hunched over and squinting beneath the lanterns by the pool, he scoured the area with the diligence of an octogenarian on the beach with his metal detector. But he found only splinters of glass. He got down on his knees for a closer look, but the ring was gone.
“Looking for this?” Cindy asked matter-of-factly. She was standing over him, extending her hand and displaying the sparkling ring on her finger.
Jack just rolled his eyes like a guy caught on “Candid Camera.” “You saw me drop it into the glass?” he asked, though it was more a statement than a question.
She nodded.
“You had the ring all along. . it didn’t go over the edge?”
“I fished it out when you were looking at your father,” she said, smiling.
He laughed at himself as he shook his head. Then he looked up and shrugged with open arms. “Well?”
“Well,” she replied. “So long as you’re on your knees …”
Jack swallowed hard. “Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Mmmmmm,” Cindy stalled, then smiled. “You know I will.” She pulled him up by the hand and threw her arms around him.
For one very long, happy moment, they were lost in each other, oblivious to their surroundings. But a sudden round of applause reminded them that they were in public. Perche
d on the veranda and smiling down on them were the governor and Agnes, and perhaps ten other couples the governor had rustled together after Cindy had shown him the ring.
Jack waved to them all, then took a quick bow.
“Your father’s proud of you,” Cindy said, looking into Jack’s eyes. “And when we have a little Jack or Jackie running around our house, you can be proud, too.”
“Jackie’ sounds good,” he said with a shrug, “if it’s a girl. But if it’s a boy I’d like to call him ‘Harry,’ “ Jack said thoughtfully. “For his grandfather.”
She drew him close. “I’m happy he’ll have a grandfather,” she said.
“I am, too,” Jack said.
He’d finally earned the governor’s pardon. And the governor had earned his.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-6be6af-13d5-1646-bba1-d469-a59e-46ecda
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 05.01.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.12, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
James Grippando
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
The Pardon js-1 Page 29