Paradise Island

by Peter Guttridge

  Parker looked at the cutting. WITSEC provided documents but they wouldn’t go to these lengths to back up an identity. He let the cuttings fall to the floor.

  Fuck. Luke Hanson was still alive.

  ‘I can get you off the island, Jimmy’ Natasha suddenly said, loud and clear. ‘Do you hear me?’

  ‘Given that you screech like a strangled cat, I hear you,’ Jimmy said without moving. ‘How exactly?’

  ‘I was born here. I know every back route there is. You’ll have to walk but it’s only three miles or so then you’ll be at a boat to take you back over to the mainland.’

  ‘Why would you do that for us?’ Donny said.

  ‘So you’ll leave the rest of these people alone.’

  Donny looked across at Jimmy.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Jimmy called across to Johnny.

  ‘Hey dip shit – you say there were no police on the beach?’

  ‘None that I saw,’ Finch said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘Well, let’s get to it,’ Jimmy said to Donny.

  Donny looked at the women on the sofa.

  ‘What about having a bit of fun first?’

  Jimmy leered but shook his head.

  ‘No time for that,’ he said. He made a clumsy attempt to indicate Innocent without her noticing what he was getting at. But she knew what he was getting at. If she went with them they’d have their fun with her when they reached their destination. Then they’d kill her.

  ‘Go get the paintings, Donny.’ Jimmy stood over Karen and Chris. ‘You’ve got no objection to us taking the pictures and leaving you here with these good folk, have you?’

  ‘That’s fine with us,’ Karen said.

  ‘Maybe you could give me head before we go?’ Donny said to her, grabbing at his crotch. ‘Kind of a goodbye present.’

  ‘Anything you try to put in my mouth you’ll be leaving without, that I guarantee,’ she said, then cried out as Donny took a swing at her with his gun. He caught her on the ear but he was at an odd angle and the blow wasn’t a good one.

  ‘Go get the pictures,’ Jimmy said to him.

  Innocent stood and for the first time Finch looked up.

  ‘Tash…’

  She ignored him. He should have shown a bit more spirit earlier if he wanted to be involved. She had to do this by herself.

  Donny came back with both cases under one arm.

  ‘Want me to carry one?’ Jimmy said.

  Donny snorted.

  ‘Who knew millions of bucks weighed so little?’

  Jimmy gestured to Karen.

  ‘Tie these people up – and do a good job if you don’t want me to give you to Donny.’

  Innocent watched as Karen went from person to person. She saw her exchange a look with Johnny that she couldn’t read.

  After fifteen minutes Karen was done. Jimmy came over and grabbed Innocent’s arm.

  ‘You try anything out there and I’ll put one through your brain-pan without giving it a second thought.’

  Innocent looked round at her friends, trussed up on the floor.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Karen knew her knots. She’d trussed everybody up for sure but the knots, whilst looking complicated, were easy to undo. Donny had tied her up but he was so busy enjoying letting his hands roam over her body he didn’t do a good job. The hardest thing for her was keeping the gun she’d taken from Johnny Finch’s belt hidden behind her.

  Johnny Finch was the first to get free. He helped free the others then stood over Karen and held his hand out. She shook her head.

  ‘Our need is greater than yours,’ she said.

  He chewed his lip for a moment then headed out of the room.

  ‘Johnny?’ Grady Cole called after him. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To do my job and rescue Tash,’ Finch called back.

  ‘Let me come with you,’ Grady said. ‘I can help.’

  ‘Negative,’ Finch said, still moving. ‘Look after the women.’

  Karen followed him to the front door. He went outside and grabbed Tom Haddon’s bike. He looked back at her.

  ‘Your job,’ she said. ‘You’re a cop?’

  He gave a little nod.

  ‘Now can I have my gun?’

  ‘I’m sorry but Chris and I have to get off this island. We’re not going to shoot anybody but people might need a little persuasion along the way. I figure leaving empty-handed and with a hole in Chris is punishment enough.’

  ‘You’d let me go up against those two Neanderthals with nothing?’

  ‘That knife looks pretty mean and your torch is pretty solid,’ she said. ‘What’s your plan?’

  ‘If I’ve got it figured right, Natasha will wade the boys through every sort of swamp so it will take them a couple of exhausting hours to get to Bartram’s place. On the bike I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’

  ‘That girl has a mouth on her,’ Karen said. ‘Hope she doesn’t piss them off so much en route she doesn’t survive the journey.’

  Finch was on the bike.

  ‘Amen to that,’ he said, freewheeling down the drive to the dirt road, then peddling north like fury.

  Parker was getting ready to go in the back of the house next door when he heard the front door open and saw the cocky deputy step out. The deputy was talking to someone in the doorway then he set off up the road on a bicycle. Parker didn’t know what that was about but let him go. One less in the house the better, as far as he was concerned.

  He went in through the sliding doors from the garden. He reached the bookseller – Grady Somebody? – first. Grady saw his gun and put up his fists. Parker broke his wrist with a sharp rap of his gun. Grady turned white but still swung at him with his good fist. He had quick reactions, Parker gave him that. But so did Parker. He stepped inside the punch and tapped Grady sharply on the bridge of his nose with the gun barrel before turning the gun on the room.

  ‘Hi everyone,’ he said. ‘I’m Mr Smith.’

  He was aware the woman he’d met on the beach – Ruth - was staring at him in shocked confusion. He didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he looked from one to the other. He frowned. There were six men and three women. He was expecting more.

  ‘You seem to be a few people light,’ he said.

  He turned to Grady Cole.

  ‘Where are the paintings?’

  Grady, white-faced with pain, blood spilling over his mouth from his nose, shook his head. Parker pointed at the vicar, Gus.

  ‘You – where are the paintings?’

  ‘Gone,’ he said. ‘Those Appalachian brothers lit out of here with them about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Do you happen to know where they’re headed, pastor?’

  ‘North of the island,’ the tall woman who looked like she might have once been a glamour model said. ‘There’s a boat harbour there. There’s a deputy in hot pursuit.’

  ‘On a bicycle? Yeah, I saw. Not quite so hot.’ Parker squinted at her. ‘I don’t know you or the grey-haired gent sitting beside you but I’m sensing you might be two of the robbers.’

  ‘Karen and Chris,’ she said. ‘But we’ve clearly got to get into another line of business - or get these signs saying “Thief” taken off our heads.’

  Parker actually smiled. It was nice to meet pros.

  ‘So I can discount you for the next part of my business.’ He gestured to David. ‘The Limey too.’

  He pointed at Gus and Grady, the chef and a guy he hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Which one of you is Luke Hanson?’

  ‘Who is Luke Hanson?’ Karen said.

  ‘Exactly my question,’ Parker said, looking at the four men. ‘Well?’

  ‘What do you want with this Luke Hanson?’ a woman with curly, dirty blonde hair said.

  ‘I want to kill him,’ Parker said. ‘I repeat: which one of you is Luke Hanson?’

  ‘Like he’s going to say now, you ding-bell?’ t
he woman said.

  Parker looked at her. She held his gaze. He grinned but it wasn’t any kind of grin that linked to humour. She shivered.

  When he reached across and hit her it was almost lazily. Her head snapped back and she went down. A corkscrew fell out of her hand.

  ‘Barbara!’ the Limey called weakly.

  ‘Either he reveals himself or I kill you all,’ he said. ‘Simple as that.’

  ‘How do you know he’s any of us?’ Gus said.

  ‘Intelligent question. I’m making an assumption.’

  ‘Is an assumption enough reason to take a person’s life?’ Gus said.

  Parker smiled thinly.

  ‘I’ve taken lives on much shallower grounds.’

  ‘I think your assumption is a false one,’ Gus said. ‘I know I’m who I say I am and I’ve no need to doubt the identities of any of these other men.’

  ‘I’d love to have a philosophical discussion about the notion of identity, vicar, but now is not the time.’

  He indicated the tube attached to the end of his gun.

  ‘If you’ve seen the movies, you’ll know this is a silencer,’ he said. ‘I can kill every one of you and nobody will hear a thing and I can leave here as easily as I arrived. If Luke Hanson isn’t man enough to come forward it doesn’t really matter: he’s still going to die. But thanks to him, so are the rest of you.’

  ‘No need to kill Ruth or Barbara or me,’ Karen said, gesturing at Ruth and the blonde, who was stirring on the floor. ‘We’re obviously not him.’

  ‘Wrong place, wrong time, alas,’ Parker said.

  ‘Look,’ Karen persisted. ‘No offence to these guys but if you think it’s one or other of them, kill them all to be sure.’

  ‘No offence taken,’ Eddie Hopper murmured.

  Parker squinted at Karen again.

  ‘You’re quite something, aren’t you?’

  ‘What did he do?’ Karen said.

  ‘Ripped people off. Maimed people. Killed people.’ Parker shrugged. ‘You know this guy isn’t worth protecting. I’m not some bad guy wanting to kill a civilian. This is keeping it in the family. This guy is as scummy as the guys who’ve hired me.’

  ‘That must make you feel special,’ Gus said.

  ‘We’re all in the gutter, pal.’

  Gus stood up.

  ‘Okay. It’s me. I’m this scumbag Luke Hanson.’

  Grady staggered to his feet, holding his wrist.

  ‘He’s not. I’m Luke Hanson.’

  Eddie Hopper stood.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Chris growled, pulling himself to his feet. ‘I’m fucking Spartacus.’

  ‘What?’ Parker said, pointing his gun at him. ‘You think this is funny? That I’m some kind of joke?’

  Karen shifted her stance and put her hands behind her back. Parker started to turn then Ruth stood up.

  ‘You told me life is a joke which we can choose to find funny or not,’ she said. ‘But was your last question rhetorical?’

  They all turned to look at her as she took a step towards Parker. Parker flared his nostrils and took a deep breath.

  ‘Unbelievable thought it seems to me now,’ Ruth said, her voice strong. ‘I had a scene with this man on the beach the other day. What does that make me?’

  David stared at her.

  ‘Just fallible, honey,’ Karen said. ‘Like the rest of us.’

  Parker watched Ruth carefully as she went to the table where the remains of the food were still laid out. She scooped up wasabi on the fingers of one hand. She turned towards Parker, an odd smile on her face.

  ‘When we met on the beach you mentioned to that other guy on a beach who acted on impulse and killed a man, a man he didn’t even know,’ she said. ‘I was in a play once called Rope by a writer called Patrick Hamilton where two wealthy young men murder a classmate because they are intellectually superior and want to see if they can do it and get away with it.’

  She pointed at Barbara, who was sitting up and watching her.

  ‘Remember it, Barbara? Our director changed the sex of the murderers and we played them. You were brilliant; I was okay. I couldn’t imagine being a murderer. I wish we’d done it after the Apennines not before.’

  ‘The Apennines?’ Parker said.

  ‘Never mind,’ Ruth said. ‘A guy you meet once and are never going to see again is dead but what’s the difference to you? The tree falls in the forest - does it really fall if no-one hears it?’

  ‘Yes, it really falls,’ Parker said. ‘And if you take another step closer and I shoot you, you will be really fucking dead.’

  Ruth put her fingers to her mouth then spat at him. He stepped back but felt it dribble on his cheek. She followed him and he didn’t flinch as she slapped his face. Good shot, though. She raised her hand again but he gave a small shake of his head and took her arm with his free hand, twisted it up behind her back. She gave a little gasp of pain as she was swivelled round by the action.

  ‘You only get one,’ he said.

  ‘Whoa,’ Donny said. ‘Whoa! What is this shit?’

  ‘We call it mud, Donny,’ Natasha called back from the ridge of solid ground. “I told you to stay close to the tree line.’

  ‘I’m fucking sinking. Jimmy, do something.’

  Jimmy was standing a couple of yards behind Natasha. He sniggered.

  ‘Like what? Like she said, she told you to stay close to the tree line.’

  Donny was up to his waste in the mud. He was holding the pictures above his head with one hand and waving his gun at Natasha with the other.

  ‘You. Do something.’

  ‘Do what exactly? I’m supposed to pull your two hundred and forty pounds out?’

  ‘Throw me a rope or something.’

  ‘You’ve been watching too many movies,’ Natasha said. ‘Aside from us not having any rope with us, we’ve still got the problem of hauling you out.’

  Donny sank further. The sloppy mud was almost up to his armpits. Jimmy burst out laughing.

  ‘Don’t you fucking laugh, Jimmy! Don’t you fucking laugh.’

  ‘How deep is this mud?’ Jimmy said to Natasha.

  ‘I don’t know – five feet max.’

  ‘You ain’t going to drown in it, Donny.’

  Donny grunted.

  ‘I think I can feel solid ground. But how am I going to get out of it?’

  Jimmy looked at Natasha.

  ‘You’re sure this is the right route?’

  ‘You haven’t seen any cops have you? That makes it the right route for you.’

  ‘How do I get out of this?’ Donny repeated.

  ‘Throw me the paintings, for one thing,’ Jimmy said.

  ‘How are you with snakes?’ Natasha said.

  ‘Fuck you!’ Donny shouted, looking round nervously. ‘No snake would live in this shit.’

  ‘You’ve obviously never heard of a mud rattler. You okay with alligators?’

  Donny pointed his gun at her.

  ‘Wait until I get out of here.’

  ‘Person could die of boredom waiting for you to get out of there,’ Jimmy said. He murmured to Innocent: ‘Don’t worry about Donny. He’s all talk. Mostly.’

  ‘Mostly,’ Innocent muttered.

  ‘A person will die of something, that I guarantee,’ Donny said, pointing his gun at him.

  Natasha sighed.

  ‘You have to wade out,’ she said. ‘It’s the only way.’

  Donny did, cursing all the time, pushing a wave of mud ahead of him. He came free with a loud sucking noise. He stood looking at the coat of mud running from his armpits to his feet. Looked again at his feet.

  ‘Where the fuck are my shoes?’

  ‘In the primeval gloop,’ Natasha said, moving off.

  ‘That bitch is going to get fucking hers when we get out of here,’ Donny hissed to Jimmy.

  ‘Yeah – when we get out of here,’ Jimmy said. ‘But not until.’

  Natasha knew
they were planning to kill her and worse when she got them to their destination. But she had plans of her own.

  She ached for Josie. She felt like she too was wading through mud, every step an effort as all she wanted to do was fling herself on the ground and wail. Josie dead. Natasha’s life had been ruptured and she was haemorrhaging.

  But what kept her going, what made her place one heavy foot in front of the other, was the knowledge that she was leading this redneck who killed her and his creepy brother somewhere she could exact revenge. And, although she didn’t know quite how, revenge she would exact.

  Sheriff Wilson sat by the phone in Natasha’s house, watching the house across the road. He was trying to figure the significance of Deputy Johnny Finch stepping out ten minutes earlier and, after a brief conversation with Karen, cycling off up the road. First, he didn’t know Finch was even in the house; second, why had they let him go?

  His thoughts strayed to that meeting with Luke Hanson and the marshal in Savannah. Hanson sitting across the table listening to his pitch.

  ‘I’m willing for you to come to the island,’ Wilson said. ‘Especially as I have no choice. But on my rules.’

  ‘Never heard you so gabby, Harry,’ the marshal observed, chuckling nervously.

  Hanson still didn’t say anything. Hadn’t even moved all the time Wilson was talking. Just watched Wilson’s face with those keen eyes.

  Wilson looked back and took a breath.

  ‘Okay, then. You’re going to be looking for a job on the island. I hear you’ve been a chef, a martial arts instructor, a musician. This job is different but it means I can keep an eye on you. That’s the only way I want it - keeping you close. ’

  Luke Hanson’s expression might have changed a fraction. It was hard to say.

  ‘So,’ Wilson said slowly. ‘I want you to be my deputy.’

  In the course of the day, Luke Hanson had shed his latest identity like a snake sheds its skin. That’s exactly how he saw it. Sloughing off the persona of deputy sheriff Johnny Finch. Any thoughts of whether he was a good man capable of bad deeds or a bad man capable of good were irrelevant now. Now he was reduced to the nub of Luke Hanson. Now it was survival.