by Lyle Howard
Matt did as he was told, but stopped just short of what would have been Magnetti’s batter’s box.
“Closer.” Magetti urged.
“We’re out in the ocean, how do you expect to get away with this?”
The killer motioned toward the ship with his head. “Those lifeboats have engines. I’ll be out of here before the blood dries. Now, get over here, or I swear I’ll break her neck!”
Simone was pulling with both hands to free herself, but his arm was like a tree trunk.
Matt didn’t move.
“I killed your parents in their sleep. What makes you think I’ve mellowed with age?” Magnetti asked as he snapped the head of the bat against Simone’s right ankle. She yelped in agony as the fragile bone shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she cried out to Matt for help.
The killer loosened his grip on the girlfriend, and she crumpled into a sobbing heap on the glass floor. Magnetti now had both hands on the bat with the grip that felt so comfortable to him. He could feel the power surging down the length of his arms, through Sweet Amy’s handle all the way to her gleaming brown head. “I really don’t care about the girl, kid.”
Matt looked down at Simone and rubbed his fist over his heart. “I’m so sorry!”
Magnetti moved around the girlfriend. “I want you to know that I’m kicking myself over this, kid. Why didn’t I hear about you still being alive? I’m feeling guilty, like I should give some of the money back.”
“To Peter Mason?”
“Who else?”
“But why?”
Magnetti grew impatient. “Because he paid me! I don’t ask the reasons!”
Matt wanted to sit down next to Simone and comfort her, to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay. But it would have been a lie.
The killer circled around Matt until the girl, and the kid were both in front of him. “You want to take a run at me, kid? I busted all of the surveillance cameras out here. Give it your best shot! At least you’ll go down swinging.”
Simone was holding onto Matt’s leg.
“Hey, I’m giving you a fighting chance to save yourself and your cutie-pie here. If you run, she dies, and you spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder for me. It could be next week or next month, but you and I are definitely going into extra innings. Come on, whatever happened to that scrappy little slugger?”
Matt lunged at Magnetti, but the trained athlete was much too quick. He swept the bat in an arc a foot off the floor and knocked Matt off his feet. Matt was lying on his back with the killer standing over him. A flashback from his childhood sped through his thoughts. He raised himself to his elbows and began pulling himself backward toward Simone. She was reaching out for him, agony and fear making her entire body shake. She let out a guttural scream that reverberated throughout the tunnel.
Magnetti stood over the couple. “You’ve got balls, kid. I’ll say that much for you. I thought for sure you would have run. Color me impressed!”
The killer raised the bat over his head, as Matt and Simone held each other tight and closed their eyes. The bat reached its apex and stayed there. Anthony Magnetti looked up to see a single hand wrapped around Sweet Amy’s barrel. “It ends tonight,” said an unfamiliar voice.
Magnetti spun around to see a figure dressed entirely in black, his face buried in the shadows of a hoodie. “Who the hell?”
Another hand grabbed hold of Sweet Amy and with a lightning-fast twisting action, pried her loose from her owner’s grip. The shadowy figure held out the bat, raised a knee and brought Sweet Amy down in one swift motion, snapping her in half.
Magnetti was beside himself. He threw a quick right, but his opponent was holding the two halves of Sweet Amy like Chinese nunchucks. The larger end blocked the punch while the jagged end of what remained of the handle sliced through the air and caught Magnetti across the face. Blood sprayed out of the slice taken between his ear and mouth. The killer stumbled backward. “Who the fuck are you?” He screamed.
Matt and Simone had opened their eyes, but neither was sure what they were witnessing. Where had this person come from? How did he know they were in trouble?
Magnetti raised his fists and took up a boxing stance with his fists circling in front of him. The shadow mimicked his every move with the two sharp halves of Sweet Amy exposed. The killer punched, Sweet Amy blocked and stuck. A red stain spread across Magnetti’s tuxedo cumberbund. He felt the wound with his right hand, which came away soaked in blood.
Simone was trying to get up, but with one ankle damaged she would struggle and then fall back down. Matt got to his knees and let his girlfriend use his shoulders for leverage. She managed to grab the handrail and pull herself up. Matt placed his hands on the glass wall and inched himself upward until he too could pull himself up using the railing.
Magnetti was losing blood fast, but his athletic ability was keeping him upright. He put all his effort into a left hook that was met with Sweet Amy’s handle, followed by her barrel breaking every finger in his hand. He dropped to his knees holding his limp hand, his fingers flailing in different directions. His breath was coming out in gasps as the life drained from his body. “Just tell me who you are,” he begged. “I’ve got to know.”
“I want you to know,” the shadow said, pulling back his cowl.
Magnetti blinked, trying to focus because what he was seeing was impossible. It was an apparition, a figment of a dying brain. “It can’t be…” were Anthony Magnetti’s last words, as he keeled over and bled out on the glass floor.
Simone turned to Matt who looked like all the blood had drained out of his face as well. She patted his chest to get his attention. “Matt? Do you know him?”
Matt nodded slowly; so slowly that you could barely tell his head was moving.
“Who is it?” Simone signed insistently.
Matt put his hand on his chest and then gradually raised his thumb to his forehead. “My father.”
67
The first thing Lauren King did when she saw Nick Coltello bolt for the exit was to reach down and rip off her high heels. The second thing she did was to pull out the weapon from between her legs and apologize to everyone at the table. The few women sitting there were speechless; the men not so much.
“No worries, I’m a cop.” She assured them.
Nicky had a good head start, but the Detective wasn’t in a rush. Where could he go? It would be five more hours before they would reach dry land. Even if he somehow managed to elude her for the rest of the trip, they would seal all but one exit when they reached port.
“No one leaves this room until you hear it from someone wearing a badge,” the Detective warned one of the waiters. “Spread the word!”
In her stocking feet, Lauren burst through the dining room doors and onto the main concourse. “There’s nowhere to run, Nicky!” She yelled, running with her pistol out in front of her. She felt like she was competing in a potato sack race, the way her dress was binding her legs.
The Detective came upon the central stairwell. There was one deck above and two more below. The bottom level was the engineering deck, filled with lots of heavy equipment to hide behind. There would be all of that thick machine fluid and grease all over the place. She looked down at her beaded gown and decided she would search there last. Why ruin such a beautiful dress if she didn’t have to?
Eighty percent of the cabins were vacant; only the ones for the specially invited guests had been allowed pass card access. Those suites were on the top level. If Nicky had received a key card, there was a slim chance he might head back to his room. It was a place to start.
The Detective ran up the carpeted stairs, and could feel the static electricity generated by her feet. She was almost to the top level when the Hydra noticeably shuddered beneath her. She grabbed onto the handrail to steady herself and almost dropped her weapon. The
ship was coming to a stop. “Toby, you da’ man!” She screamed victoriously.
***
On the bridge, Toby Bilston grabbed the back of the Captain’s chair as the ship was thrown into idle. “Whoo,” he moaned. “That’s gonna upset some stomachs.”
“You didn’t tell me to slow her down,” Sowell argued. “You told me to stop her. This ship has reverse thrusters and can do just that.”
The Doctor looked over at Scott Simms, who was holding onto a console in front of him. “Not complaining, just wasn’t expecting to hit the brick wall.”
Sowell glanced over his shoulder. “So you’re Bilston?”
Toby reached around and shook the Captain’s hand. “Captain Sowell, I presume?”
The Petty Officer didn’t know what to think. He had never been more confused in his entire life. “You two know each other?”
Toby shook his head. “No, just met.”
“Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?” Simms demanded.
“Captain,” Toby asked. “Can you pull up all of your surveillance camera feeds onto a single monitor?”
Sowell looked over a Jean-Baptiste. “I don’t know. Can we?”
The technician began typing. “Yes, sir. Pulling that information up over there,” he said, pointing to the opposite wall of the cabin.
A single monitor split itself into over fifty separate sections. “Get over here,” Toby ordered Simms. “Keep an eye out for Detective King. Tell me if you spot her.”
While the Petty Officer was looking for Lauren, Toby was searching for someone else. He found Coltello on the third deck. “Where is the microphone for your public address system?” he asked the same technician. Jean-Baptiste handed the Doctor a wireless headset. “Just press the button on the earpiece.”
“She’s on the central staircase!” Simms shouted as he pointed at the screen. “I can’t tell what deck though.”
Hassan walked over and stared at the artwork on the wall behind her. “She’s heading up to deck three.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Toby announced. “This is not your Captain. Please remain in the dining room until further notice and kindly ignore the following announcements. So glad you’ve joined us on Mason Cruise Lines, and we hope you enjoy the rest of your trip!”
“Did you just say that?” Simms complained.
Toby grinned like a kid who’d been caught being naughty. “Something I’ve always wanted to do.”
The Petty Officer rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen.
“Lauren, this is Toby. We’re monitoring you on the surveillance cameras. If you can hear me, wave at us.”
In the third row, the fourth screen down, the Detective flapped her arms.
“She hears you!” Simms called out.
“Great!” Toby announced. “Nicky’s on the third deck. Keep going and make a right when you get to the next floor.”
Lauren waved her gun and bounded up the remaining stairs.
“He went right and then took a left at the hallway.”
Toby watched Coltello run the length of the passageway, moving from screen to screen as he came into view of the next camera. “This is your conscience, Nicholas,” Toby said smiling into the microphone. “Be a good little psychopath and stop running. There’s a very well-dressed Detective hot on your trail. Please don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”
Nicky ran up to one of the cameras and stuck out his middle finger.
“I wouldn’t have expected any less,” Toby said, covering his mouthpiece.
“He’s heading toward the front of the ship, Lauren. It looks like he’s going outside.”
The Doctor looked over at Hassan. “What’s out there?”
The technician walked over to the screen that monitored the ship’s movement. “If we were at cruising speed, he’d probably be blown overboard, but while we’re hovering, he can go anywhere he wants.”
“What deck are the lifeboats on?” Simms called out.
Sowell spun in his chair. “The same deck. He’s heading for a lifeboat.”
“Can he access a lifeboat?” Toby asked.
“Just by pressing a button,” Hassan answered. “They’re automatically released in case of an emergency.”
“Can you cut the power to them?”
Hassan shook his head. “They are part of the evacuation protocols. We can’t shut them down.”
Toby pressed the button on his earpiece. “Lauren, he’s gone out on deck and is heading for one of the lifeboats at the front of the ship. Make a left when you go outside. Be careful out there, the deck is soaking wet!”
“Captain,” Jean-Baptiste called out, “LB3 is going over the port side.”
Simms pointed to the segment of the monitor that showed the lifeboat davits extending themselves over the railing of the ship. The lifeboat the two metal arms cradled could hold up to thirty passengers. LB3 contained only one. “Here comes Lauren!” The Petty Officer shouted. “She’s slipping and sliding all over the place! She’s not going to reach him in time!”
“Pull me up an external diagram of the Hydra,” Sowell commanded. “Specifically the section where LB3 is being lowered.”
Hassan tapped a few keys, and a cross-section of the bow popped up on the central monitor.
“Tell your girl to back off, Doctor Bilston.”
“What?” Toby asked.
“Tell her to stop her pursuit. I’ve got this.”
Toby and Simms gathered by the Captain’s side. “Tell her!” Sowell barked.
Toby skeptically pressed the button on his earpiece. “Lauren! Stop where you are! Do not proceed. Do you understand me? Do not proceed any further!”
They watched Lauren grab onto the handrail to steady herself. Even on the small screen, she didn’t look happy.
“Hassan,” Sowell called out. “Once LB3 reaches thirty feet, please transfer pod control to my tablet.”
“What are you up to?” Toby asked.
“Captain, you can’t!” Hassan warned.
“Just do it, Hassan. Thirty feet!”
The technician hit a few more keys on his console. “Twenty feet, Captain. Transferring pod control to your station.”
Sowell stared at the computer tablet attached to the right arm of his chair. “Confirm that pod number two is the one I want.”
Jean-Baptiste silently stood next to Hassan. “Pod number two is confirmed, Captain. Twenty-five feet.”
Toby looked across at Simms for answers but received a blank stare in return.
“Five seconds,” Hassan announced. “Are you sure about this, Captain?”
Sowell pressed his boney finger against the surface of his tablet, and the Hydra momentarily shook. The inflatable pod adjacent to the lifeboat exploded outward and was immediately replaced by a backup. The mighty concussion ignited the gas engine on the stern of the raft, which erupted into a flaming ball of debris that hissed into the ocean and slowly burned itself out. Nicky the Knife was instantly cremated, and his ashes spread out to sea. It was a burial most would say was too good for him.
68
The Old Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda is also known as King’s Wharf. It is home to two piers large enough to accommodate cruise ships: the King’s Wharf and the Heritage Wharf. The Sunday morning sky was gray and ominous. A light drizzle was starting to fall as the mooring lines from the Hydra were tied up to the King’s Wharf. Even the brightly painted pink, yellow, and orange buildings that were a hallmark of the island couldn’t lighten the gloom. It was nearly nine in the morning, three hours past the Hydra’s estimated time of arrival.
It was customary for a ship’s Captain to be the last to disembark, but not this morning. Roy Sowell was the first off, led down the gangway with his arms handcuffed behind his back escorted by two warrant of
ficers from the U.S. Coast Guard Investigative Service (CGIS) and two Masters at Arms from the United States Navy. Admiral Theodore Baer stood at the end of the gangway wearing a weathered poncho. A waiting Humvee would take them to former Kindley Air Force Base, which had been converted into the Bermuda International Airport in nineteen-ninety-five. Captain Sowell would be flown by military transport back to Mayport Station in Jacksonville, which held jurisdiction over the Southern docket, including the Caribbean. He would not live long enough to face trial.
Six Bermudian paramedics boarded the Hydra rolling two empty gurneys ahead of them. Fifteen minutes later, they exited the ship accompanying two bodies encased in black zipped bags. The corpses would catch a ride on the same transport as Captain Sowell, but their destination would be Toby Bilston’s forensics lab at the Jacksonville Police Department’s Central Station.
Two hundred and eighty-six passengers would disembark the hydrofoil and enter the British customs house to be screened. The complaints from the disgruntled guests were non-stop, unlike most of the flights they would have to secure to return to Florida. The Mason Cruise Line would pick up the tab for all the trips, including many charter flights for the more affluent passengers, who refused to fly commercial. The hotel stays incurred by the guests inconvenienced by the airline schedule were also paid for by the cruise line. MCL was doing everything in its power to curb this public relations nightmare. There was no question that when the Hydra returned to Jaxport in two days, the media would be swarming the terminal. When the news broke of the deaths of Peter Mason and a coach from the city’s triple-A baseball franchise, every news outlet, including the sports networks, wanted the exclusive story.
MCL stock would plummet more than thirty-five percent over the next week. Major League Baseball backed out of any further negotiations for a team in Jacksonville. The City Commission would vote unanimously to invalidate the MCL Ballpark and City Center projects.
Aboard the Hydra, the cleaning crew was busily scrubbing down the decks, except for the Oceanwalk, which was cordoned off with yellow police tape. The stewards and room attendants were stripping the linens from each of the suites and cabin—except for the Presidential Suite, which was also barricaded by yellow and black tape.