Wilson nodded. “Boomer. Jimbo. Amos Moses. You. Me. That’s five against one by my math.”
Kingman eased his boat into neutral when he was thirty feet away. Slid it into reverse and goosed the gas to stop all forward movement. He cut the motor. Smiled. “This is definitely a surprise. Gator-bait and Cochise. What are you boys doing miles from any living soul?”
The real question was what Kingman was doing—here at the scene of the crime. There was no way he knew about the camera or he would have gotten rid of it days ago.
“There’s a monster gator here,” Parker said. “Honest. Our prop is sheared off.”
Clayton raised his eyebrows. “What’s the boy who is so pee-pants-scared of alley-gators doing way out here? I think we both know you aren’t hunting for some imaginary monster gator.”
“Right now, we just want to get away from this spot. I saw the gator, Clayton. It’s a fifteen-footer,” Wilson said. “We just need a tow away from that thing so we can put on the spare.”
“Now why would I do that?” Clayton looked at Parker. “You still haven’t told me why you’re out here. At the very spot Maria’s kayak was found. Coincidence?”
Parker couldn’t get the images out of his mind . . . seeing Maria . . . here . . . in Kingman’s arms. “And how would you know this is the exact spot? Coincidence?”
Clayton spit in the water. Sized Parker up and down real slow. It was probably supposed to be intimidating.
And it was.
“Game time is over.” Clayton scanned the cypress trees behind them. “Where’s this wildlife camera I heard about?”
What? Besides Wilson—and the messages he’d left his parents—Jelly was the only one who knew. There was no way she would say anything. Absolutely no way. “What are you talking about?”
“Judging by the way Cochise is soaked from the waist down, I’m guessing you already found it.” Kingman smiled. “Let’s have it.”
Parker didn’t move.
“You boys going to make me come over there and take it?”
Wilson tapped the flat side of the machete blade onto his open palm. “That would be a dumb choice, but then you’ve made a lot of stupid moves lately. Yeah, we have the camera—and we saw the pictures. Your little charade is over. Where’s Maria?”
“Now that’s what I like,” Kingman said. “An honest Injun.”
Wilson tightened his grip on Boomer.
Maybe it was all Wilson’s tough-guy talk, but Parker had a surge of something flash through him. He reached into the storage compartment and held up the camera. “Wilson’s right. It’s over. Where did you take her?”
“No place she didn’t want to go,” Kingman said. “Now, why don’t you toss that camera over?”
He dropped the camera on the floor of the boat. “I don’t think so. We’ll see what the police have to say about this.”
“Don’t make me take it from you.”
“You and what army?” Wilson raised Boomer over his head. “My people were never conquered—are you forgetting that?”
Clayton bent over and picked up his shotgun. “I hate to sound so cliché, but leave it to a couple of boys to bring knives to a gun fight. Toss me the camera.”
Neither one of them moved.
“I launched my boat in a little spot nobody even knows about,” Clayton said. “Everybody thinks the poor grieving boyfriend is miles and miles away. Nobody has seen him in days. I’ve got an alibi big enough to drive your boat through. What’s to stop me from taking the camera? I’ll fill you with so much buckshot the alligator that eats you will die of lead poisoning.” He brushed his hands like he was dusting off. “Easy-peasy. After the gators finish with you, there won’t be enough left of either of you to fill an evidence bag.”
Wilson lowered the machete. Shifted his weight from foot to foot—like he just might do something crazy.
“You could shoot us where we stand,” Parker said. “But the buckshot would blow away chunks of fiberglass. The boat will be found eventually—no matter where you hide it. With the boat all shot up, they’ll know it was murder. Who do you think will be the prime suspect? Jelly knows you threatened me.”
“Angelica? She’ll cover for me. Who do you think tipped me off about the camera? She’s in way too deep. She’ll never squeal on me.”
Parker felt like he’d taken a load of buckshot in the gut. “No way.”
Kingman seemed to enjoy Parker’s disbelief. “Yes way. After I found out about the tires and texts, Angel had this crazy idea I was going to kill you. Somehow she uncovered Maria’s plan to fake her disappearance. So, we made a trade. Angelica kept quiet to save your hide.”
Jelly had been protecting him—just like he’d thought. But until now, Parker had no idea how many secrets she’d been keeping to do that. Oh, Jelly.
“And naïve little Angelica was still trying to protect you when she tipped me off about the camera. She thought if I got here first and got the camera, our little secret would be safe—and so would you. You’d leave Everglades City in one piece and everybody would live happily ever after. Pathetic, right?”
“You’re the pathetic one, Clayton,” Wilson said.
“I agree. I was pathetic to agree to Angel’s little deal,” Kingman said. “I hated the idea of you leaving town free as a bird. People who mess with Clayton Kingman need to be taught a lesson.”
Parker’s mind raced. What chance did they have against a shotgun? God help us! Please!
“But it looks like fate didn’t want you leaving any more than I did,” Kingman said. “I heard all about the Miccosukee Everglades Toll. And I’m going to collect it.”
Wilson looked like he was ready to dive over the side. And he might make it if Parker kept Kingman distracted.
“So where is Maria?”
“What difference does it make? Whether you hand me the camera or you make me come and take it, neither of you are going home tonight.”
Parker had to stall for time. Slap together an escape plan. “So what’s the harm in telling us?”
Kingman angled his head slightly, his lips twisting into a royal smirk. “No harm at all. Flamingo City. My aunt lives there all alone. My dad told her that Maria’s parents live out of state—and she needs a place to stay until the wedding. My aunt is thrilled to have the company.”
Principal K was part of this? “Your dad knew Maria was alive?”
Kingman shrugged. “When Maria’s dad busted us up, he basically declared war on the Kingman clan. That’s how my old man saw it. He suggested Maria stay with my aunt. Even had my boat ready at that remote little launch site so I could be waiting right here for her when she paddled up.”
Parker wanted to puke.
“She’ll stay with my old man’s sister until Maria turns eighteen.” Kingman was bragging now. Like he had a failsafe plan. Like this whole thing was already in the bag. “Then I’ll drive to Flamingo, we’ll walk into the justice of the peace, and two minutes later we’ll be married. Once that happens, nobody will ever stop us from being together again.”
If Maria was so set on marrying a guy like him . . . maybe it was better that she did disappear.
“Now here’s how this is going down,” Kingman said. “I’ll give you a fighting chance—if you do exactly what I say.” He glanced at Wilson. “In the water. Now.”
The bow was pointed toward the tree line, but the boat itself was a good thirty feet away from the cypress with the strangler vine. Wilson would be totally exposed.
Wilson stared at him. “The gator—I told you.”
“I’m going to blow a hole in you big enough for the gator to crawl through if you stay on the boat.”
“Hold on.” Parker raised both hands. “Please, Clayton—don’t do this.” But he would do this. There was no way Kingman intended to let them live to tell what they knew. Obviously Kingman wanted to get Wilson in the water and let nature do the killing—or blast him when he was clear of the boat. There’d be no buckshot in the Boy’s Bo
mb hull that way. Nothing pointing to Kingman’s role in this.
God, help me. Help me know what to do. Instantly his mind went back to the conversation when Kingman stopped for Snak-pak. Somewhere there was a little bit of kindness in him. “Listen. You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to change directions.”
“I’m going exactly where I want to go.”
“Jail?” The word came out before Parker even thought about how Kingman might react. “Look, help Wilson and me out. Tow us away from this gator and use your shotgun to stand guard until we get the prop fixed—and you’re a hero. Everybody will see it that way. Tell the rangers about Maria. She went with you willingly—the trail cam proved that. You didn’t force her. She was running away, and you helped her. No harm no foul, and no crime you can be charged with. Nobody has to get hurt here today. Bring her home—and you’re a hero again.”
Kingman’s eyes narrowed. Was he processing—or getting ready to shoot? God, what do I say next?
“You’re angry at your dad. Maybe the world,” Parker said. “But if you take it out on us, you’re only going to make your own situation worse. Look, Kingman . . . Clayton . . . I know you can be kind. I saw it on the Tamiami Trail—when you stopped for that dog. You wanted to help Snak-pak. I saw kindness in you again when you told me about your puppy, King. How you tried so hard to keep it from barking—and had the Cheerios ready.”
For an instant the fire in his eyes dimmed, just a bit. Did he lower the shotgun a hair? Parker held his breath. It was like Kingman was balancing on the top of a fence. The slightest move—the wrong word—and he’d topple the wrong way. Wilson must have sensed it too. He stood beside Parker like a statue—with a machete.
Kingman shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. He regripped the shotgun. Raised it back up. “Nice try, Gator-bait. Being kind is being weak. And wimpy isn’t exactly something I’m shooting for.”
Not good. Not good. “Look, be the hero here, Clayton. Otherwise you’ll be living with a dark secret the rest of your life.”
Kingman snickered. “I crossed to the dark side a long time ago.”
God, what do I say to him? “It’s not too late to change where this is going. There’s still some light in you.”
Kingman smiled. “I like the darkness, gimp. I prefer it.” He aimed the barrel toward the clouds and pumped a round into the chamber. “Out of the boat, Cochise.”
“Please,” Parker said. “Help us. Bring Maria back. It’s the right thing to do, Clayton.”
“I am so sick of being told about what’s right and what’s wrong.” The way Kingman said it . . . like there was some kind of rage boiling up from deep inside. “My old man goaded me with his stinkin’ Star of Integrity talk. I got more scars from that star than that gator left on your arm. Now I decide what’s right and wrong.”
No, God decides. Parker wanted to say it, but clearly, the talking was over. And obviously the darkness had done a better job of convincing him than Parker had.
Kingman scanned the surface of the water. “Looks like your make-believe monster gator is a no-show. Surprise, surprise.” He looked directly at Wilson. “Now you can take your chances with the imaginary gator—or with my aim. You have five seconds.”
The look in his eyes said Kingman wasn’t bluffing. Parker pulled the alligator-tooth necklace from around his neck and tossed it to Wilson.
Wilson caught it, locked eyes with him for an instant, and slid it over his head.
“Four.”
Wilson looked at Parker. “I have to, right?”
“Three.”
Wilson looked more scared than Parker had ever seen him.
“Two.”
“Head for the cypress,” Parker whispered. “He won’t get a shot—and he sure won’t chase you. You’re half Miccosukee. You could last months out here, right?”
Wilson gave a half smile. “Easily.”
“One.” Kingman raised the shotgun. “Time’s up, Cochise.”
“I’m going.” Wilson raised his hands. “I’m going.” With a warrior battle cry, Wilson leaped off the bow—machete in hand—and splashed into Sunday Bay. Immediately he waded through waist-deep water for the cypress with the choker vine.
Kingman tracked him with the shotgun. “Hold it right there, smart guy.”
Wilson stopped—held Boomer up like a club—and scanned the water.
“I want your transom plug, Buckman. Then the camera,” Kingman said. “Toss them to me—and I’ll let Cochise get to the tree line.”
“Once he gets that camera,” Wilson said, “He’ll—”
Kingman fired a round in the air. “Another word and I’ll fill your mouth with buckshot.”
He glared at Parker. “Pull the transom plug. Now.”
Parker hesitated.
Kingman swung the shotgun halfway between Wilson and the trees and fired another round. A water geyser exploded not ten feet from Wilson. “Think I’m playing games?”
Instantly Parker twisted free the plug—and the Glades poured in. He held up the plug so Clayton could see it and lobbed it to him.
Clayton caught it with one hand and stuffed it in his pocket.
“Please. Let him get to the trees,” Parker begged. “That gator was huge.”
Kingman appeared totally unmoved. “I want that camera. Then Cochise can head for the cypress. I’ll catch up with him later. Tracking a real live Indian will be fun.” Kingman pumped another round into the chamber and stared at Parker. “But after I get that camera, I’m coming for you first.”
CHAPTER 77
THE INSTANT ANGELICA HEARD the second shotgun blast, she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks again. But with all the twists and turns of the Lopez, her sense of direction was off. “Which way is Sunday Bay?”
Her dad didn’t answer. She looked to Parker’s dad. Fresh tears wet his cheeks as well. That was all the answer she needed. Why did she wait until third period to find out where the boys were? Maybe if she’d called her dad five minutes earlier they would have been there by now. Why did she trust anything Clayton promised her? She’d made an impossible mess. Of everything. She’d made a deal with the devil—and now she was paying for her sins.
It was a little late to realize that. She only hoped they weren’t too late for Parker and Wilson.
CHAPTER 78
SWAMP WATER ROSE above Parker’s ankles as the stern settled lower in Sunday Bay. He’d give Kingman the camera—but not right into his hands. He needed to buy Wilson—and himself—a few seconds. Enough time for Wilson to duck behind a cypress. And hopefully enough for Parker to find cover himself.
Wilson stood in waist-deep water, Boomer still over his head. But Parker could tell he was inching backward slowly, toward the trees. Keep going, Wilson. Keep going.
“You should have stayed out of the Glades, Gator-bait,” Kingman said. “Angelica tried to stop you. Even spray-painted your boat to scare you. And here we are. ValuJet #592 sinking into the Everglades all over again. No survivors this time either. Fitting, right?”
Jelly? No way. “You’re sick, Kingman. You don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to, Gator-bait. I really, really want to.” He wiped his hands on his shirt and took a fresh grip of the shotgun. “Camera. Now. Final warning.”
Parker grabbed the bag of French bread and pulled out two loaves. He wrapped what was left of the camo strap around and around the bread and tucked it through twice so it wouldn’t shake loose. He held up the camera with the French bread pontoons. “Okay—the bread floats. I’m going to toss this to you.”
“What, can’t throw the camera all the way over here with your freak-show arm?”
“Maybe I’m afraid you’ll miss the catch,” Parker said. “And you’ll blame it on me.”
Kingman smiled. “Somewhere in this I sense a strategy. Something that will increase your odds of survival? Good luck with that.” He held one arm up like it was twisted and deformed—obviously mocking Parker’s inj
uries. “But then you never were very lucky when it came to the Everglades—Gator-bait.”
“I’m not trusting in luck. God protected me before.” Parker tried to sound strong. “He can do it again.” Please God . . . help me.
Kingman glanced up at the dark clouds. “Looks like your God is a no-show . . . just like your mythical monster gator.”
Parker glanced at Wilson, who was searching the water frantically. They locked eyes for a moment. “Toss the bread, Parker. Give him what he wants.”
Goliath is here. He’s here. Parker tossed the bread and camera toward Kingman—but deliberately short. The camera slapped the water and disappeared, and the bread smacked the surface a fraction of a second later and bobbed in the water, the strap tugging it downward. But the bread worked perfectly as a buoy—at least for now. Instantly Parker snatched up Amos Moses.
Kingman kept the shotgun trained on him. “Going to try to spear me with that gator stick?”
He shook his head, inching his way toward the bow. The top edge of the transom was halfway to the waterline now, angling the deck. He grabbed the gunwale to steady himself with one hand—still gripping Amos Moses in the other. All he had to do was get over the side. “I’m not going in the water unarmed. There’s a gator here. His name is Goliath. I don’t think you’re going to want to stick your hand in there to get that camera.” He grabbed another loaf and tossed it in the water, near the loaves with the camera.
“Chumming the water?” Kingman actually looked like he was enjoying this. “Why don’t you throw a few more?”
Parker grabbed the last of the loaves in the bag and lobbed them over with a high arc. They pancaked down with a muffled plop.
Suddenly Parker felt the vibrations of the serrated tail rubbing the bottom of the boat. But going which way? “Did you hear that? Seriously—he’s here.”
“The gator is talking to you now?” Clayton snickered. “You think I’m stupid? You think I’ll just leave the camera?” He knelt down and leaned over the side of the boat. “The instant this is in my hands, I’m going to collect that toll.”
Escape from the Everglades Page 33