Some People Die Quick

by JC Simmons

  George was hunched over a microscope. He knew I was there, but it was minutes before he spoke. No one else was in the lab. Finally, George said, "Hello, Mr. Jay. I'm not ignoring you. There is something I had to watch under the scope. How you doing?" He waved a big paw, looked up and smiled, his bone-white teeth sparkling in contrast to the deep suntan.

  "Where's Anna?"

  "Up at the house, I think." He bent back over the microscope.

  "No, by God, she's not. Vickey said she was helping you with some embryo experiment." My voice must have registered more concern than I thought.

  George dropped an instrument on the floor, stood up, and looked at me silently. It was an odd look, as if from a great distance. He said softly, retrieving his tool, "Anna got me started with this experiment, then she left. I don't know where she went. Maybe for a walk."

  Over reaction. It was getting so that I didn't know whom to trust. Was Vickey Fourche and Bob Sabado working together to eliminate Anna? Did they want to steal the formula for the repellent? Was George in on the plot? Or were none of them involved? With such uncertainty why did I allow my client to be alone with these people?

  "I'm concerned about Anna."

  George walked over and put a massive hand on my shoulder. His gray eyes had the quiet, earnest look of a man staring at a question. "It's okay. We're all worried, but there she is." He pointed toward the south end of the island.

  A tiny figure slowly moved along the edge of the roiling surf, as exposed as any human could be. I headed down the steps and along the beach to meet her, relieved that she was okay. Telling her about Vickey and Bob Sabado was something I did not look forward to doing.

  The wind was easing, but the surf continued to roll and pound, sea gulls wheeled and soared and cried, a deafening sound, loud enough to muffle the crack of a bullet. The distance between Anna and I seemed to take forever to cover, all the while scanning the horizon for a boat with a high-powered rifle aimed at us.

  "I didn't expect you back so early," she said as we closed on each other.

  "Why are you out walking alone on the beach?"

  "Good morning to you, too. It's muscle and skin that's damaged, Mr. Leicester, not my eyesight. Don't you think a boat would be visible before it got into range?"

  It was a good point.

  She was frail looking. The sun sculpted her face, and seemed to enlarge the ridges of scars beyond their horror. She stared at me, the wind blowing her scraggly hair in weird formations. The surf was pounding; sand blew in our faces.

  "You have something to tell me, don't you?" she asked, shading her eyes with a claw-like, bony hand.

  "Yes."

  "Let's go over behind the dunes. They will break the wind."

  We walked along a narrow path littered with ship's timbers, sea grass, and shells of dead animals, leading between two high dunes. As soon as we were in the lee, the wind no longer affected us, and the roar of the surf seemed muffled. Anna sat down in the grass-covered sand, and leaned against a dune. She threw her head back against the sand. Her body was tense and still, eyes watching me, waiting. The tension stretched the shape of her mouth on her motionless face into a grotesque grin. I sat down beside her.

  Picking my words carefully, I said, "You wanted to know when we found something suspicious. There is nothing concrete, and I wouldn't tell you this now, only I need some information."

  She scooped a handful of sand, and let it fall slowly through her fingers, like sand through an hourglass, saying nothing, but her eyes kept darting in anticipation.

  "There is a young punk by the name of Bob Sabado who comes from an unstable background. His father went to the state pen. I helped send him there. His family is mostly shrimpers, when they're not stealing, robbing, or killing. Young Sabado followed in his father's footsteps; has a rap sheet as long as my arm. His specialty is breaking into boats, stealing whatever he can, and fencing it for cash. He did a year in the county lockup. The first night I stayed aboard Picaroon, I think he tried to break in and was spooked.

  Anna listened intently; still picking handfuls of sand, letting it fall in streams through her fingers. "Go on."

  "Sabado has had a steady girlfriend for the last four years. It's Vickey."

  Anna dropped her head, brushed the sand from her hands, but said nothing. I let her think it through. After a moment, she sat up and looked at me, eyes still questioning.

  "I don't know if Sabado has any connection with what happened to you, or with Susan's death. This is the first lead we've gotten. Could Vickey, in any way, profit from the repellent if you were dead?"

  Anna turned and looked toward the southern tip of Africa. "The repellent isn't that far along."

  "What if somehow she could become the one who "discovered" the repellent?"

  "George would have to be in on it, I would have to be killed, and the repellent would have to be perfected, tested, and stand the scrutiny of the Scientific community before she could gain anything. It's too farfetched. Vickey's smart enough to know she could never finish the repellent."

  "She could have used Sabado to eliminate you. He may have killed Susan accidentally, trying to get me out of the way before the connection between the two of them was found out. They may have been planning to throw the suspicion off on someone else, maybe even George, or Susan Weems. When she was killed, it may have spoiled their plans."

  "Maybe Vickey and her boyfriend had nothing to do with this," Anna said, throwing a handful of sand violently against her feet.

  "It's too coincidental to ignore. I'll remain on the island until this thing is finished. You will be protected."

  Anna leaned back against the dune, put both hands behind her head, and looked up at the clear sky watching a Least Tern fly in erratic patterns. "I know exactly how we can prove if they're involved."

  * * *

  Leaving Anna at the lab, I went back to the house and changed into shorts and tennis shoes. Vickey was nowhere in sight. I went for a long walk, all the way to the south end of the island. Anna's plan was a good one, but it needed careful thought. The wind had calmed and wasn't blowing the sand, though it whistled at ten knots straight out of the east. It did not matter which direction you walked; you still had a wind blowing ahead and off your shoulder. The hard workout was good for me. After two hours, I was finally exhausted, and the plan thoroughly picked apart.

  Lying on my bunk, I waited until rested to take a shower. The stinging water felt great, renewing and invigorating me. The feeling did not last long. I lay back down on the bunk. A flood of weariness started to rise again, coming in thickening waves. For an instant there was a feeling of being totally alone, lost on a waveless, gray sea, needing help and knowing that none would come. I must have fallen asleep, for when I woke, my watch read five o'clock. Voices were coming from the living room.

  Dressing quickly, I went into the hallway to find Anna, Vickey, and George coming in from the lab. Vickey was talking to Anna. George hovered nearby. The three of them seemed a happy group, a trio of scientists working in their chosen fields in utopian environs. The two young students learning at the feet of their mentor. Only this mentor was horribly disfigured, both physically and mentally, by a terrifying shark attack. The tall young man with the reddish-blond crew cut, thick eyebrows, gray eyes, massive hands, and deep resonate voice. The short, bronze-skinned young woman with sun-bleached curls, wide-set eyes, and an upturned nose. Both with a look of eager interest, a look that expected every wave in the sea to contain an exciting secret waiting to be discovered. Three people now locked together in murder, attempted murder, and espionage involving the theft of a formula for shark repellent that could be worth millions.

  A strong aroma of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen. I went in and poured a cup. There were four thick ribeyes thawing on the countertop.

  Anna appeared and said that as soon as she and George showered we would all go up on the roof, open a bottle of champagne, and watch the sunset. It sounded like a good idea
to me.

  The sun was touching the horizon as we settled into the big oak chairs on the deck. Anna opened a Tattinger brut reserve. The wine had a golden color in the fading sunlight. It smelled of yeast and was toasty and fruity with tiny bubbles racing to the top of the glass. The sky was clear, the strong east wind having blown away the usual smog bank over New Orleans. The sun was etched as a perfect red circle as it touched the water and started to melt the earth into molten colors of all descriptions.

  We raised our glasses in a toast as the sun finally flamed out and sank below the horizon, leaving the sky a brilliant bluish green.

  * * *

  After dinner we all went into the big living room. It was cool enough for a fire and Vickey had one blazing before we were all seated. George opened a bottle of Martel cognac, handed us snifters, and poured all around. Carefully cutting the end off one of my cigars, I lit it, savoring the rich tobacco. Anna turned up her nose, made a face at the cigar. Vickey did not ask for one and I did not offer.

  After a few minutes of conversation, Anna said, "I have a surprise for you guys. We are going to make another dive on the German submarine."

  Vickey and George's expressions turned to one of utter disbelief. Staring incredulously, silenced by shock, they looked at each other as if across a wide ocean. Neither said anything.

  Anna continued. "The shark repellent is finished. It is ready to be tested in the open ocean against frenzied sharks. It may be dangerous. Before we set all the things in motion, we want to know if you two wish to be a part of this? If you choose not to, we will understand."

  Vickey spoke first. "I missed the first dive, but not this one. I didn't realize you were that far along with the repellent. Why didn't you tell us?"

  "This thing with the threats, and Susan's death, I felt like it should remain quiet. Jay knew from all my lab notes he looked at, and it was important he be kept up to speed on the development. Besides, we won't know for sure about the repellent until we do these tests, and that will only be the beginning."

  "I don't know, Anna," George spoke up, looking serious and concerned. "Why do you want to test at the sub? None of us has been back since the day you were attacked."

  "It's the only natural reef we have around here. Many species of sharks will congregate there."

  "Why don't we just go twenty-five miles out and chum up some sharks from the open sea. I don't like the idea of going back to that cigar-shaped coffin."

  "Don't worry, George. I'm not going to get into the water. You won't have to bring back pieces of me like last time."

  George stared at the end of my cigar. "It's already seven o'clock. We're going to need all day tomorrow to get ready. We've got to get the chum, and we need some more help. We can't possibly get everything ready for a test by tomorrow."

  "Yes, we can, George," I said, going over to the fireplace and knocking the ashes from my cigar. "I've asked Guy Robbins to be on standby with Picaroon. Once you two decide if you're going, I'll radio Guy and he can get things rolling at his end. We do need one more hand, though. Anybody got any ideas?"

  Vickey looked directly at me and said, "I know someone from Biloxi. He's good with boats and he's a licensed diver." Her eyes darted from Anna to me, a searching look which seemed to echo, 'boat thief, murderer.'

  "I'll get Guy to phone him tonight. What's his name?"

  "Sabado, Bob Sabado. He used to run his own shrimp boat, but times got hard and he lost it to the bank." She hung her head as if ashamed.

  Guy was standing by the radio on board Picaroon. After explaining the situation, he said that he'd get started early in the morning. He would stop by the seafood processing house for a twenty-five-gallon barrel of chum and the slaughterhouse for a drum of meat and blood. He'd try and contact Sabado. If there was a problem, he'd let us know by ten o'clock tonight, otherwise he'd be standing off the channel at six-thirty a.m. tomorrow.

  Anna instructed George and Vickey about air tanks, cameras, film, and food. My job would be to sit on the bottom of the sea tomorrow and videotape the induced feeding frenzy with an underwater camera so there would be a record of how the sharks reacted to the repellent.

  George laughed. "If the repellent works as it should, the only thing left for the sharks to eat would be the cameraman."

  It didn't make sense, but it was a point I wouldn't forget.

  Anna retired early. Vickey followed shortly thereafter. George stayed with me until I finished the cigar. He was excited about tomorrow, but still a little gun-shy of the sub. Somehow I didn't blame him.

  There would be no time to avail myself of the information Guy's people had been gathering on Vickey and George, nor learn of anything W.W. might have uncovered concerning Sabado. Tomorrow would be tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was a terrible nightmare; my foot was caught in a tangle of cables on the German submarine. A hundred hammerheads circled closer and closer. In the middle of the school swam a giant, snow-white tiger shark with red stripes. It stared at me with deadly, cold, black eyes, eyes that reflected my soul back at me. Struggling desperately, I tried to free my foot with no success.

  I woke with a start, sweating profusely. Vickey Fourche was holding me by the ankle, again.

  "Coffee is ready. Everyone is up but you. Let's go."

  Dressing, I got a cup of coffee and walked out on the east side porch. The first glow of the sunrise was starting to show. The sky was clear and Sirius, Procyon, Castor, Pollux and Regulus were quickly disappearing with the fading darkness. The birds were already out working the surf line, their cries ominous in the early morning. It was making up to be a lovely day, for some.

  Before the sun had cleared the scrub pines, we had moved all the gear down to the dock and loaded it aboard the Mako.

  Back at the house, George called Guy on the radio. "Picaroon, Picaroon, this is Marine Lab, over."

  "Marine Lab, this is Picaroon. We're crossing the ship channel at this time. Will be off your dock in forty-five minutes, over."

  "Roger, roger, Picaroon. We copy. Marine Lab out."

  George turned to me and said in an authoritative voice, "You and I will take the Mako out and off-load the gear on board Picaroon, then come back and get the girls. We all won't fit in the boat at the same time."

  "You rendezvous with Guy. I'll stay and make sure nothing happens to our lovely ladies."

  George looked at me with a strange expression that showed no antagonism, no mockery, it was as if I wasn't worth the argument. He shrugged his shoulders and went down to the dock.

  Anna and Vickey finished up everything at the house. We all three went down to the pier, arriving just as George was returning from off-loading the gear aboard Picaroon. There was a young man with him who had to be Bob Sabado.

  Vickey introduced us. He was a carbon copy of his old man, and his rap sheet had described him accurately. His raven black hair was slicked straight back over his head, and he had thick, bushy eyebrows. He was shirtless, even though it was still cool in the early morning. The muscles in his abdomen were as ribbed as sand on a beach at low tide, while those in his arms were long and tightly knotted. The tattoo of the black panther, which ran from the top of his left shoulder to his elbow, was a quality piece of workmanship. I noticed the little finger missing from the left hand and the jagged scar on his left cheek. Everything seemed to happen on his left side, leading me to think he was left-handed.

  What the rap sheet could not describe were the eyes. He had killer eyes, black, vacant, and opaque as port wine. His was not a handsome face, but it had a dignity conferred upon those who come from impoverished backgrounds, or suffered some familial disgrace, like a father being in prison. A young man, who hates society, rejects all authority, a man chained to an existence of ruthless invectiveness.

  Ignoring my extended hand, he said, "Yeah, I know who you are. You're the peeper who helped send my old man to the pen." He spoke slowly, as if lashing me with the words. There was no sound of emotion in h
is voice, only a tone of a man speaking to the face of the enemy.

  "Bob!" Vickey turned red in the face. "You apologize to Mr. Leicester, right now. It isn't his fault your old man is a con."

  Sabado looked at me and turned away.

  There is one thing that I have learned over the years about the people of 'Back Bay' Biloxi, and that is it matters not if you are friend or enemy, you always know where you stand with them. Whatever is on their mind is instantly verbalized, regardless of the consequences, or the feelings of the one on the receiving end. This is probably why there are many fewer murders among these people than in the general population. They vent their anger. At least I knew where I stood with Bob Sabado; he hated my guts. I did not know him well enough to return the favor.

  As we boarded Picaroon from the little Mako, I told George we'd tow her along with us because Guy's dingy was too small to work with if the sea freshened.

  "Well, if we were going to tow her, we didn't need to unload all that gear."

  "Sure we did, George. How else would we have gotten out to Picaroon? Swim?"

  Tying the painter to a cleat, he shook his head and climbed aboard.

  Lashed to the forward lifeline stanchions on either side of the bow were the two twenty-five gallon drums of chum. It was not the best place for them if we had any weather, but today the sea was calm.

  "You want to sail to the sub?" Guy asked.

  "Let's motor," Anna said. "We need to get on station as soon as we can. There is a lot of work to be done."

  Guy was still in the dark about the plan Anna had put into motion. I would tell him if there were time. For the moment, he'd have to play it by ear.

  As we rounded North Point, George rigged the portable GPS, setting in the coordinates for the sub. Everyone was quiet, drawn into themselves. Anna and Vickey were below. Soon the aromatic aroma of fresh coffee wafted gently from the galley as we made a turn toward the southeast.