"Hello, this is Angry Rose. We have run out of fuel. Would appreciate assistance," she said. She gave their approximate position and repeated her message a few times.
A heavily accented voice responded, telling her help was on the way. "Just fire a flare when you see ours."
The Angry Rose bobbed helplessly like so much flotsam.
“Looks like we’re—” Kay started to say. “Oh shit.”
Pilate turned back to the sea, spotting a boat’s running lights closing on them.
“Probably just somebody with some gas?”
“John, I just sent the distress call three minutes ago. This is not help.”
Both donned lifejackets and checked their pistols.
“Well, I always wanted to see Jamaica before I died,” he said.
<><><>
A flicker of light danced on the faded paint on the Skuba Due Dive Shack sign, catching T's attention as she loaded a couple of empty tanks and a busted regulator in the back of her rusted out Toyota Land Cruiser. Her tanned arm muscles rippled underneath a "Boob Marley" tank top, featuring a cartoon of the legendary reggae master ogling a pair of massive tourist tits.
She bought cheap shirts like this by the dozen from the shop at the end of the pier when they needed to make room for new merch. Nelly had taken a bath on the entire "Boob Marley" line of tanks and tees, selling them for pennies on the dollar to make room for more conventional tourist garb. T went through shirts pretty fast on her dives and endless days of sun, so Nelly's loss kept her clothed for next to nothing.
She ran a hand through her hair, scratching at her scalp. Years of seawater and sun had transformed it into something approximating straw. T couldn't remember the last time she had even bothered to use conditioner, let alone get it cut by a professional.
Damn scarecrow hair.
The waxing gibbous moon was partially obscured by clouds this night, but it still cast a glow. She took a moment to lean against the Toyota and look up.
Eight years in Jamaica.
Well, eight years in the Caribbean, actually. She had spent plenty of time in the Bahamas and Key West, too—though was a going concern in Montego for three years now. She and Romeo, her assistant, taught tourists how to dive safely, drink properly, and avoid too much touristy bullshit on their visits.
She liked Romeo. At fifty-four, he stood five feet, nine inches, all gristle, muscle, neon white teeth, and greying dreads to his shoulder blades. He always sang while he worked in the shop, and she could swear he sang underwater, too. Big Pato Banton fan, he preferred the early stuff.
A little Jimmy Cliff, too, mon.
She swatted a mosquito on her arm and closed the door on the Land Cruiser.
"Romeo, that damn light is still screwed up, we need to get it—" a burst of sound and light from the harbor drowned out the rest.
T whirled, her eyes focusing on a boat in the harbor, lit brilliantly by flame, pelted by burning debris falling from the sky.
"Jesus," she mouthed.
"Oh no," Romeo said, appearing next to her. "Not good."
<><><>
Taters sprayed the last of the Glade around the cabin after leaving the head. "Whoo," he said, wincing. "Those dang canned oysters."
"Taters?" Buster hollered from above deck.
"I'm spraying, damn it,” he yelled back.
"Get up here," Buster said, his voice flat.
“What?"
Buster said nothing, just extended the binoculars to Taters.
"Where?"
"Southeast," Buster said.
Taters scanned the horizon. "What the...is that a boat on fire?"
"At least. I turned on the radio and heard lots of chatter. A boat blew up near the harbor about half an hour ago."
"Oh, shit," Taters said, trying to get a good look. "All I can see is heavy black smoke. We're about four or five miles out."
"Jamaican authorities are telling everyone to keep their distance."
Taters handed Buster the binoculars and took the helm, throttling up the engines. "Hang on, buddy. We're about to run afoul of the Jamaican authorities."
Chapter Ten: Oblivion Or Not
That was another thunderclap, John—about two seconds after the lightning flash. It's getting close. Let's go home.
<><><>
“There’s nothing left of her,” Buster said, his binoculars trained on the smoldering wreck as it slipped beneath the waves. “Just a couple Jamaica Defense Force Coast Guard fast patrol boats buzzing around.”
“No…no sign of John and Kay?” he said, his face hopeful.
Buster shook his head, eyes downcast.
“Damn it,” Taters said, the words catching in his throat. “What happened?”
“No idea. I’m wondering is why a boat like that, probably out of fuel or damn close, would blow up. Makes no sense.”
“You think somebody helped.”
He nodded. "Yeah, I do. I think the bad guys caught up with them. At least I hope they did."
“What the hell? Hope?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Taters said, dropping the binoculars. “If the bad guys blew up the boat, that means they took John and Kay alive.”
<><><>
“Romeo, you hear anything?” T said, her lips wrapped around a Marlboro Light, eyes on the horizon.
Romeo stepped out of the Toyota, his face long. “Not good. Not good.”
“They find her?”
“If what I heard from Skyrocket and Tandy is true, I tink it was the Rose.”
Skyrocket and Tandy were deckhands who helped out when the charters got hectic; both had an ear to the ground and heard things at the social clubs frequented by “deckhands” for other charters.
She flicked the cigarette away and swept several empty beer bottles off the picnic table, shattering them.
“No bodies,” he said. “Yet." Romeo stood still, awaiting her next outburst.
T raked her hair with her hand; her lips curled into a snarl. "What the fuck happened?"
“Not sure,” Romeo said. “But it don’t make no sense. Why would a boat blow up? The Rose was in good nick, right?”
T blushed, her face hot. “Could’ve been better,” she said. “But it sure as hell wasn’t gonna blow up without help.”
“My pal Reedy’s brother is with JDF,” Romeo volunteered. “He said the boat looked like it coulda been rigged. But there’s nothing left of her now. Burned to the keel.”
T straightened herself up and looked at Romeo. “Close the shop. Cancel the charters. I’m going.”
“Where?”
"You know where, Romeo." She said, heading inside.
“Then I am going wid you,” he said.
T didn’t argue. “Then make sure you’re strapped. I never wanted this, but he’s forced my hand. She went inside and picked up the phone.
“It’s T. Tell him I want to talk,” she said.
<><><>
Taters sighed deeply. "Honey, this may not mean anything, but Kay Righetti was down in Key West, and we think—"
Kate bridled, inhaled and rose. "Where are you? Are you in Jamaica?"
"Yes, we will be here until we figure out what happened—"
"Is this number good?"
"Should be," he said. “Sat phone."
“I'll call you when I arrive in Montego Bay."
"Kay, you don't know what—"
"I am going to find out what’s happening with my husband. You two can help me or—"
"Hey, hey," Taters said. "We're here. Of course, we will help. Can you just give us a couple of days?"
"It will take me at least a couple of days or so to arrange for childcare and get my trip arranged. But I’ll be heading there if you don’t call me in forty-eight hours."
"Okay, Kay," he said, wiping his eyes. "I'm so very sorry."
"Me, too."
<><><>
“It could’ve been worse,” Pilate said over his shoulder.
/>
“I fail to see how,” Kay said, grunting.
“Well, we’re alive,” Pilate offered.
“John, we’re tied up in the trunk of a car, and it’s only the fact that these guys are idiots we could get the gags out of our mouths.”
Sweating from the stifling heat in the trunk, Pilate felt his cheekbone throbbing from the punches he took trying to fight off the dudes from the dock when they boarded the Angry Rose with a couple of buddies.
“At least we got a few shots off before they took us,” Pilate said, punctuating it with an “ooph” as the car hit a pothole.
“We missed. Then you got beat up. Not exactly our finest hour,” she said. “And those shitheels blew up T’s boat. They’re gonna be really sorry they did that.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Some kinda badass, huh? So, look, assuming we are about to be dead people, how about you tell me what’s really happening here?”
“I told you before,” she said, groaning as the car traversed a thirty-yard stretch of potholes. “All I know is T was involved in something. Somebody used the Angry Rose to get at something important.”
“Important to who?”
“Well, probably the guy who employs the assholes who put us here,” she said.
“No shit,” Pilate said. “But who else?”
“I don’t follow,” she said. “It’s freaking hot in here.”
“Focus,” he said. “What about the feds?”
“Feds?”
“Kay, you know that we stumbled onto something two years ago in our little adventure with the Bigfoot. The little submarine out by the Dry Tortugas?”
“I’m thirsty as—”
“And you know the feds swore us to secrecy under penalty of a shitstorm of epic proportions if we ever talked.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Taters called me and more or less gave me the idea the feds were looking to discuss why the secret was out. It sure as hell looks like your little drama overlaps into mine.”
Kay began to struggle against her bindings. “I gotta get out of here,” she said. “I’m getting claustrophobic.”
“Calm down, Kay. Just breathe normally and focus on my words,” Pilate said, himself on the verge of panic.
“Okay.”
“Okay, so your friend T…did you ever tell her what we saw in the sub?”
All Pilate heard was the sound of the car’s suspension clattering on a dirt road.
“Kay?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—”
The car stopped.
“We’ll discuss this later,” Pilate said. “Just stay cool.”
The lid of the trunk opened, but instead of sunlight, they were met with dim fluorescent light.
“Welcome to Rose Hall,” a distinctly British voice intoned.
Chapter Eleven: A Bed of Roses
What is that? Sprinkles? Rain? Better go inside. Look at the thunderheads.
<><><>
"Dylan cut their bindings," the British man said. "Mr. Pilate, Miss Righetti, please, make yourselves comfortable.” Thugs pushed Kay and Pilate into a tattered sofa.
Pilate regarded the man. Fiftyish, white, paunchy, wearing linen and a haughty sneer. “Who are you?”
Flanked by his men, the man shrugged, taking a seat behind a desk in the dingy warehouse office adjoining the area where their captors had parked. “Is that important?”
“Charteris?” Kay said.
“Very good,” he nodded. “I see your pillow talk wasn’t strictly about who has the tastiest muff.”
Kay rolled her eyes. “You do understand that I—we—are connected to some very powerful people, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know you are a former police officer. In a tiny tourist town. In the United States. Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you are not in the States anymore.”
“What do you want?”
"You first crossed my path two years ago, wherein you incommoded me. By the end of that crossing, I was seriously inconvenienced by you; your subsequent activities in Key West absolutely hampered my plans, and now I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one."
Pilate smiled. “With a name like Charteris, I didn’t expect you to crib from Conan Doyle.”
The man smirked. “I’m no saint.” His eyes flicked to a nude calendar, its pages ruffling with every pass of the ancient oscillating fan on the desk.
“Alright, I’ll play along. Have you any suggestion to make?”
Pilate asked.
“Simple. I want what was on that sub. I want back what was mine.”
“I didn’t take it. The feds did,” Pilate said.
“I am aware they seized most of it. But not all,” Charteris said, a hand poked into his bulging waistband, as if bracing himself against pain.
“Really?” Pilate raised an eyebrow.
“Really. And Miss Righetti’s lover has it.”
“How is that even possible? Are we even talking about the same thing?”
Kay looked at the floor.
“Kay?” Pilate asked.
“T dived on the sub before you found it. She brought it up to the surface and took a few pieces as proof before she sunk it back to the sea floor to hide it. She figured after the government seized most of it, she would make a deal with Charteris.”
“Pieces?” Simon said.
“Wait, but what about the guy who was after us in the first place?”
“He is no longer an issue,” Charteris said.
“What? And you knew?” Pilate said to Kay.
“Not at first, really,” she said. “I wondered, and finally she told me. It was the reason T and I split up. She lied and nearly got us killed.”
"Well, where was she when we nearly got murdered out at sea?"
“Here, Jamaica. Hiding out.”
“What a piece of—”
“So, you see,” Charteris interrupted. “T tried to make a deal. She tried to arrange a transaction with me—l”
"And you double-crossed her," Kay said. "You nearly killed her."
“I’m appalled at your self-righteousness, really,” he said. “After all, she killed my men. You and your lying girlfriend steal from me, and you’re upset when I try to get back what’s mine?”
“He has a point,” Simon said.
“What do you want from us?” Pilate said, dreading the answer. “Do you expect us to talk?”
“No, Mister Pilate, I expect you to die.”
“Oh please,” Simon groaned. “Pick a genre.”
<><><>
“Tom at Key West PD says her name is Tammy. Goes by T. Owns a dive shop or something here,” Buster said, turning off the satellite phone.
“And she is?”
“Kay’s ex,” Buster said, climbing into their rental car. “I have a sneaking suspicion she’s at the heart of all this.”
Taters looked around a moment, then discreetly slid the clip into his pistol. “So, we go put the arm on her?”
Buster nodded. “I see no other choice. And we better move fast, or else Kate Pilate will be here with a full head of steam. I heard what she did back in Cross when those goons had you guys trapped in the jail.”
Taters nodded, grimacing as he turned his head and popped a nitroglycerin pill. “She’s a gal not to be trifled with. That’s the Taters Malley Theory on her.”
<><><>
“I always wanted to say that line,” Charteris said, laughing.
Pilate reddened. “Hilarious,” he said.
“Obviously, I plan to use you as a bargaining chip. You know all about chips, eh, Mr. Pilate?”
Pilate nodded. “Yes, the legendary poker chip. Whose idea was that, anyway?”
Charteris smiled. “Apparently Miss T couldn’t resist a touch of the dramatic.”
“I figured putting the coordinates in a poker chip was something a Bond villain type
like you would do,” Pilate said.
“I’m flattered,” he said.
“So, we just sit here and wait?” Kay asked.
“No,” Charteris said. His British accent was middle class, aspiring for aristocratic and not quite making it. “You’ll come along as proof of life. You will do what we tell you to the letter or else this will not end well for you or your friends. Now, on the way over, you can be comfortable in the backseat of my Land Rover or you can get back in the car boot.”
“Do we have your word we will be released when you get back what’s yours?”
Charteris paused at the door and looked at him a moment. “Of course.”
“I believed him, didn’t you?” Simon said.
Chapter Twelve: Jamaican Jam
Thanks for joining us. Exit through the gift shop.
What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?
<><><>
“Shop’s closed,” Taters said, peering through the door.
“The Toyota leads me to believe she’s still here,” Taters said. “I’ll go around back.”
"Well, what the hell do I do?" Taters asked.
“Be conspicuous.”
Taters flipped Buster off.
Buster peered into the Toyota on the way behind the shop. No dive gear or tanks, just a couple of backpacks. Gun drawn, he hugged the wall and crept toward the back, where he spotted a back door that he expected.
He paused and listened a moment, then started creeping towards the door. Two steps closer and it opened, shedding a wiry black man with dreads and a muscular white woman, trying to sneak out.
“Freeze,” Buster shouted.
“Damn it,” T said, raising her hands. Romeo raised his, dropping a large knife into the gravel.
“All right,” Buster started to say, interrupted by Taters who appeared on the other side of the building’s back door. “Anybody else in there?”
The pair said nothing.
“Look, we don’t have time for this,” Buster said. “We think Kay and John may still be alive, and we need to know where to find them.”
T looked at Buster, then Taters. “You’re not with Charteris?”
“Who’s that?” Taters said.
“You guys do look a little long in the tooth to be wid him,” Romeo said.
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