"Shutting up."
He felt a pistol barrel on the back of his neck. "I said shut it, wankstain."
Pilate nodded slightly.
"Now listen," Pilate noted a trace of the islands in his accent. "You're gonna tell me where your girlfriend is."
Pilate didn't move or say anything.
A sigh of exasperation drained from the man holding the gun on Pilate. "That means you can talk now."
"Oh, okay, as long as you're sure—"
The barrel pressed into the base of his skull. "No, no, funny writer man. No time for your use of them witticisms."
"I'll give him this," Simon said. "He does make an effort to expand his vocab. Well, a little."
"Check."
"What?"
"Right."
"Right, what?" the man rasped, apparently trying to disguise his voice.
"A... check?"
"Are you trying to be funny?" he said, speaking through gritted teeth and pushing the gun barrel harder into Pilate's head.
"Never. Trying, yes, but funny? Rarely."
Another sigh. "Okay, let's try this again Mr. Pilates—"
"Oh, now just a damn minute," Pilate said, raising his voice.
“What?"
"My name is Pilate. Pronounced like ‘pilot.' Not like an exercise class," he said. "I mean, jeez, dude, you say you know I'm a famous writer or whatever, and you can't even pronounce my name correctly? Do you know how fucking old that gets?"
"I'm sorry, man, it looks like Pilates on the book cover on Amazon—"
"No hard feelings,” Pilate elbowed the man in his belly, then turned around and blindly bit his crotch.
The desperate maneuver elicited a high-pitched howl as the man batted fruitlessly at Pilate's head with his gun. Pilate gagged knowing he was munching on the man's junk through a pair of polyester Bermuda shorts, but it was all he could do. He increased bite pressure on what he surmised was the man's testicles.
"Oh god oh god please stop! I quit I quit!" the man screamed. He dropped the gun and pried at Pilate's jaw with his hands.
Pilate bit harder, then seized the man by the back of each knee and simultaneously pulled his legs out from under him as he released his bite. The man hit the deck with a thud.
He moaned and rocked on the porch floor, his hand cupping his crotch.
Pilate spat and scooped up the gun. He checked it and saw the safety was on.
"This black-balled bastard was never going to shoot you," Simon said. "How did you know?"
Just felt it. The guy was scared. He's a lackey and not a very good one.
In the dark, Pilate made out that the man had shaggy black hair, a dark tan and smelled like pot. Pilate put the gun to the man's head.
"Okay, Sparky," Pilate said, spitting again. "My mouth tastes like your sweaty junk, and you're going to have to atone for that. No fucking around. Well, sorry to say you may not be doing any fucking around for a while. Pretty sure I crushed a testicle."
The man moaned, making a "fsssss" sound. "Shit. You really hurt me, man."
"Sorry. But you put a gun to my head, threatened a friend of mine and mispronounced my name. What did you expect?" Pilate rubbed his neck with his free hand.
The man continued to moan.
"Why are you looking for my friend? Why is she so important?"
The man's breathing slowed, his pain decreasing. "Ohhhh. Ahhhh. Fsssss. Okay, okay. I just got paid to find her and find out where her buddy dumped the thing. Ohhhh. Ahhhh. Fsssss."
"Stop making that noise. It's annoying. What buddy? What thing?”
“Her friend. Ohhhh. Ahhhh. Off the boat. Fsssss,” he rocked back and forth, hands still clasped to his crotch.
"What did I tell you about that?" Pilate tapped his head with the gun barrel.
"Sorry."
"What thing?"
"The thing. You know."
"What, drugs?"
He breathed in deeply, made the "fssss" sound again and exhaled. "No, man. The thing was on her boat. She got the boat back from the Coast Guard. My boss wants the thing.”
“Oh crap, John. This may be the real reason Taters used the code word,” Simon shouted.
"What thing? I'm getting impatient, and you seem to have one ball left for me to mangle."
"No, man, no! I'll tell you what I know. Our people rented her boat to run weed and got hit by the Dry Tortugas by some other crew. They took the weed, but didn't know about the thing hid in the boat—the thing they stole from the woman. The other crew killed Lucky Jim and Ginger Martin. The guys were transporting some big thing and got greedy—tried to sell some weed on the way. So the other crew took the weed and left the boat. Fsssss."
“Adrift. Why didn't they scuttle her?"
"Huh?"
"Sink it. The boat. You said they killed the crew and got the weed. Why not sink it?"
"When boss caught up to them, they said they were going to, but didn't get a chance to sink it because some big party catamaran was in the neighborhood. It spooked 'em, so they got outta there."
"God bless the Rickroll," Pilate thought aloud. "Go on."
"They threw the bodies of our crew overboard and got outta Dodge. I swear. That's what they told the boss."
"And what was it they didn't take that your boss wants?"
"I promise you by all that's holy I don't know, man," he said through gritted teeth.
"You're going to have a holy ball sack if you don't answer me," Pilate said, gesturing with the gun.
"Okay, okay," he said. "Damn, man, pretty hardcore to mess with a man's junk."
"Oh, really? And what did your boss do to the guys who killed your crew?"
"It weren't good," he whispered. “And he'll do it to me if I tell you anything else. Fsssss."
"Okay," Pilate said, switching the safety off. "I'm kinda ready to plead self-defense. I know the cops in this town, and am pretty sure they'll believe me when I tell them I shot you in the balls after you attacked me."
"Wait, wait! Okay, man, okay. Damn," he said. "I can taste blood in my mouth."
"You might want to get that looked at if you get away from here alive," Pilate said. "Now stop stalling and tell me what was hidden in her boat."
Upon further questioning, the man swore all he knew was something about a bar called Santa Margarita.
"What? How do you fit a margarita bar on a boat that small?"
“Fssssss. I dunno, man.”
Holding the pistol on the man, Pilate called Kay's cell phone. No answer—it went to voicemail. "Kay, it's me. You're in danger. Please call back and let me know where you are. A guy attacked me at your place. I'm okay, but this is a situation. Call me."
"Man, you gotta let me go. I gotta get out of here. My boss won't be too nice to me when he finds out what I told you.”
"What's your name?"
"James Jones."
"Whatever. Okay, Kool-Aide, you can go."
“Yeah, man!”
"Right after you tell me who your boss is."
“Damn, man. Okay. He’s a guy, that's all I know."
"That's certainly...not helpful," Pilate said.
"Come on man; I gotta get off this island. I'm a dead man."
Pilate poked the man in the groin with the gun.
"Okay, okay! Fssssss. All I know is he has lots of commercial...interests in the Keys and the Caribbean. White guy. Rich British wanker. Always on the hunt for treasure and shit. Thinks he's James Bond or something."
"I need a name."
"Fsssss, man my balls—"
"Correction. Ball." Pilate pointed the gun at his crotch.
The man held his hands up. "Charteris! Mister Charteris. That's all I know."
Pilate gestured silently at the man, permitting him to go.
"Can I have my gun back?"
Pilate pointed the pistol at him. "Only if you take the bullets first."
"Damn, man, you don't gotta be like that," he said, hobbling off into the night.
"Well, John, I guess
you know she's probably already on that boat of hers," Simon surmised.
Yeah, Simon. I know.
"And I suppose you're going to go after her?" Simon said.
Yeah. Just as soon as I figure out what a floating margarita bar has to do with this.
Chapter Seven: Pier Review
All right, fine. Keep driving. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the actual road where a henchman of Ollie Olafson—yes, that Ollie Olafson—drove John Pilate off the road, nearly killing him. But our John bounced back and Ollie, Craig and the rest of his crew are now asleep in the cold embrace of…
<><><>
Pilate found a window that “Mr. Jones” had broken into and took a quick look around Kay’s condo. Jones had tossed it, searching for something. No sign of Kay.
Pilate tried to use her phone, but it had been ripped from the wall. He climbed back out the window, made his way to a busy street and hailed another cab to Conch Harbor Marina.
At the marina, the night had made people scarce on the slips, the steady hum of sound from Duvall Street blunted by the tide.
Now to find the Angry Rose. He walked toward a couple of sunburned guys unloading coolers and fishing gear from a dual console boat.
“Hey, fellas, do any good?”
A heavyset man of about forty with what appeared to be a permanently red face looked up from a spilled tackle box. “Naw, got skunked.”
“Sorry,” Pilate said. “Say, I’m looking for a little boat supposed to be docked here. Called Angry Rose. Seen it by any chance?”
“Uhhh, no. Nope, sorry,” he said, stretching his back. “What about you, Dylan?”
“Huh?” Dylan, a shaggy-haired, skinny kid of about twenty said as he grunted and carried a cooler off their boat and deposited it on the pier.
“Seen a boat called—” he looked at Pilate.
“Angry Rose?” Pilate said, looking at him.
Dylan bit his lower lip. “Huh, what kind of boat?”
“Not sure,” Pilate said. “It’s not real big. Maybe holds four or five.”
“Angry Rose,” Dylan said, scratching at his mop of hair. “Hmmm.”
“She’s captained by a very fit looking blonde gal, about yay high,” Pilate put his arm out. “Nice looking.”
Dylan smiled. “Oh, yeah. The Angry Rose,” his eyes flashed in recognition. “Yeah, I remember her.” He nodded.
“Know where she ties up?”
Dylan looked up at Pilate. “Huh?”
“The boat.”
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. She’s one slip over, about midway down.”
"Hey, thanks, guys," Pilate said.
“She a friend of yours?” Dylan asked.
Pilate turned back to him. “You could say that.”
Dylan gave him a thumb’s up.
Pilate waved at the pair and jogged to the end of the pier, crossing over to the other row of slips. Midway up, as promised, was the Angry Rose. No one on deck, but a light glowed in the cabin window.
Having no clear idea about boat etiquette, he stepped across the dock and onto the boat’s deck, feeling the boat move with his momentum. He steadied himself and strode to the cabin door, raising a fist to knock on the illuminated window.
"Ahoy, there?”
Ahoy? Really?
The light in the window went out and the door jerked open, a 9-millimeter handgun gleamed in the dull ambience of the pier.
“Don’t move.”
<><><>
Taters Malley put down his cell phone for the third time. His calls to Pilate were not being answered, and he was worried. Had the cops picked him up? They said they wouldn’t cause a fuss if Taters brought him in. Besides, how sure was he the feds were monitoring his calls?
Hmmm. They would know he flew in, though. So that means…oh, shit. That means John and Kay are up to no good.
“Dammit,” he said, just barely above a whisper.
“What’s that, hon?” Jordan said, her eyes on the TV, where the Kansas City Chiefs were playing the Pittsburg Steelers.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just trying to get John on the phone.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyes on the game. “You coming back? I think we’ve got the Chiefs on the run.”
He nodded, grabbing a Modelo from the fridge and heading back to her in the den. Taters leveled his gaze on the screen, seeing only a blur of black and red colliding on a field of green.
<><><>
“Put that away, Kay,” Pilate said, his arms partially raised.
“John, you idiot, you know better than to sneak onto somebody’s boat at night,” she said, turning on the cabin light, activating the safety on the gun and putting it in a drawer. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore a navy hoodie over a white tank top and black yoga pants.
“Man, I love those workout pants,” Simon said.
“Sorry, I was worried about you,” he said. “Can I come down?”
She sighed, poked her head out the door and looked around a moment, then gestured at him to follow her down below.
“Nice boat,” Pilate said.
Kay was stocking the cabin's kitchen area with canned goods, bottled water, and gin.
“Thanks, it’s just a beat-up Hinckley Picnic. I think she was built in the late ‘90s,” Kay said. “She’s seaworthy, but hardly has the creature comforts or speed of your pal's boat.”
Yes, Taters’ venerable and comparatively spacious Chris Craft Constellation, the TenFortyEZ, had the Angry Rose beat.
“Still, she’s yours,” Pilate said. “Well, for now.”
She nodded.
“So,” he leaned against the small dining nook table in the cramped cabin. “Going somewhere?”
“I told you,” she said, continuing to put supplies away in the cabin’s storage areas.
“Uh huh. And you’re going tonight?”
“What makes you think so?” She said, over her shoulder.
“I don’t know. You seem to have a …urgency about you."
“I told you I had to get the Rose back to my friend.”
“With a gun?”
She sighed, stopped her hands and turned to him. “I’m a cop—”
“Ex-cop,” he said.
“You carried a gun, John. You know you don’t stop, no matter whether you’re on the force or not.”
“Search me,” Pilate said, smiling.
“Angling for a pat-down, Mister Married Man?” She said, winking. “I don’t need to. It’s obvious you have a pistol tucked in your waistband behind you.”
“Crap. Seriously? It’s not mine.”
She sighed wearily. “John, look, I’m not mad, but you gotta go. I loved seeing you. But go. Now. Shoo,” she gestured towards the door.
“Can’t do that,” he said, sliding in behind the table and placing the pistol on it.
She implored him wordlessly to explain.
“I think you wanted to tell me more than you ended up saying tonight at the Green Parrot.”
“John, I’m not going to screw you,” she said wearily. “I don’t have time for games, and you need to stop,” she said, arms folded across her chest.
“Well, please do flatter yourself,” he said. “Okay, truth be told, I’d love to get naked one more time, but yeah, I am married and also I have an aversion to being caught with my pants down.”
“Oh? The wife knows you’re here?”
“No, not exactly, but somebody who has been tailing you for a while is.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s tailing me, John. Don’t be dramatic.” She pulled a bottle of Jameson out of a cupboard and poured them both a couple fingers.
“Where do you think I got this gun?” He said, picking up the glass and nodding at the pistol. “I literally had to nut a guy who had it pointed at my head on your condo’s front porch.”
She cocked her head at him. “Don’t screw around, man,” she whispered, opening the drawer where her 9-millimeter was stored. “You serious?”
“Yes
,” Pilate said. “I can still taste it. Never mind,” he shook his head. “I’d like to know what’s going on, Kay.”
Her eyes darted to the cabin door. She picked up her gun and walked to the door, locking it. She turned off the lights in the cabin and peered out the curtains.
“Kay,” Pilate whispered, grasping for his stolen weapon in the darkness. “What’s happening?”
“John, you need to drink up and get out of here,” she said.
“I can’t. Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he said.
“I have some…unfinished business,” she said.
“No shit?”
“Yeah, and I think,” she cocked her weapon. “I think you may actually want to hang around, now.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like a couple of the goons who’ve been following me,” she said.
Pilate crept behind her, craning his neck to see through the porthole over her shoulder. He caught a whiff of her scent, distracting him a second. He focused on the view and saw two men, one older and heavy, the other young and thin, walking the dock, each with a hand near his waistband.
“Wait, those guys were unloading a boat on the dock,” Pilate said. “I asked them if they had seen you.”
“Jesus, John, could you be more stupid?”
Pilate sighed. “Shit, I totally screwed up. I’m sorry.”
“Dumb ass,” Simon piled on.
“Alright, we’ll discuss that later,” she said. “We have to get out of here. That means untying the boat and gunning the engines into the harbor.”
“How the hell are we going to do that? We have to go on deck and we’ll be sitting ducks,” Pilate said.
“Need a distraction,” she said. “I can climb out the window above the forward sleeping cabin, and…I got it,” she said, turning to Pilate in the darkness. “I’ll crawl to the wheel, get out the flare gun and fire a flare off the bow. You run out and untie us while I get the engines going.”
“Shit, that’s a tall order,” Pilate said.
“No kidding,” she said, “But if we wait much longer, they’re going to come aboard, and we’re toast.”
“Call the cops?”
“No time, and I’m not in the mood to answer questions.”
“Fair enough,” Pilate said. “You ready?” Pilate looked out the window again. “They look like they are trying to figure out next moves. Now’s the time.”
Pilate's Rose Page 5