by Jana DeLeon
A second later, a shot ran out and the first bullet hit the water in front of the boat.
“Holy crap!” Dave said. “He’s shooting at us.”
“He’s already killed two people,” Gertie said. “Did you think he was going to put his hands up and go peacefully?” She looked over at me. “You’re armed. Fire back.”
I shook my head. “The odds of my hitting him at this distance with a pistol is slim. You got anything stronger?” I asked Dave.
“Only my six-shooter,” Dave said. “My hunting rifles are at home.”
“Well, then shoot the boat and sink it,” Gertie said as another bullet went sailing over us.
“I’m afraid that won’t work either,” Dave said. “The bilge would take the water out faster than it came in, and that’s if the bullet penetrated the hull in the first place.”
I wanted to ask him how he knew that, but I was afraid of the answer.
“Well, we can’t just keep following him while he shoots at us,” Ida Belle said as she cut the throttle to an idle. “As fast as this thing eats gas, we already don’t have enough to make it back to shore. We need a plan.”
I watched as the yacht drew ahead, growing smaller as it went, trying to come up with some way to stop its progress, but I was coming up empty.
“Maybe the DEA will get here soon,” Gertie said.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” I said. “Even if Carter can get information to the right people, then we have to hope they believe him. If we pass muster, they’d still have to arrange a helicopter or boat, and I’m not sure how quickly that can happen.”
“What if Ida Belle makes a close pass?” Gertie asked. “Could you hit Fletcher?”
“I honestly don’t know. You’re talking about a lot of variables—waves, wind, our movement, his movement—I couldn’t guarantee anything. And if we got close enough for me to hit him, then he can hit us.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Besides, when he saw us coming, he’d go inside the cabin and shoot from one of the windows. He’s not going to sit up there in the open.”
“There has to be some way to disable that boat,” Gertie said. “Where is a grenade launcher when you need one?”
Dave’s eyes widened and he bolted upright. “That’s it!”
He ran into the cabin and I looked over at Ida Belle, who looked as terrified as I was. Several seconds later, Dave came running out of the cabin with a speargun.
“What’s your plan?” Ida Belle asked. “You want to shoot his boat and reel him in?”
“Of course not,” Dave said. “We’d need a lot stronger line for that. Here, hold this.”
He thrust the speargun at Gertie and I stuck my arm out and grabbed it before she could get her hands on it. She gave me a dirty look but didn’t bother arguing. Dave bent over and started digging around in the duffel bag again. He glanced up at Gertie and winked.
“I got in touch with your online guy,” Dave said. “He had a contact in Naples that hooked me up.”
I felt my back clench and a second later he jumped up, clutching a stick of dynamite and a roll of duct tape.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“All we have to do tape this baby on the end of the spear and launch it over into his boat,” Dave said.
“You want to blow up his boat?” Ida Belle asked.
“You want to air fire a speargun?” I asked.
“Awesome!” Gertie said.
“What happens if you kill the guy?” Ida Belle asked.
“I’ll be happier in prison than if he gets away,” Dave said.
Given what Fletcher had done to his friend Mikey, his sentiment had merit, but I didn’t know how well it would stand up at trial.
“One way or another, I’m shooting this thing,” Dave said. “Even if I have to bail off this boat and swim over there to do it.”
There were several flaws in his logic, starting with lighting wet dynamite, but I was pretty sure Dave wouldn’t bother to think it through before he leaped over the side and tried to pull a Navy SEAL move that was doomed for failure.
“How far will that thing shoot in air?” I asked.
“Pretty far,” he said. “I shot one just like it at a buddy’s fishing cabin. We were sitting outside drinking beer that night and a five-point buck just walks right up into the clearing. Since we was fishing, no one had a rifle, so I went for the speargun.”
“How did that work out?” Ida Belle asked.
“Not so good,” Dave said. “I didn’t think about it going farther in air than water. Darn thing went right over the buck and into my buddy’s bass boat. Sank it right there at the dock.”
“How far away was the bass boat?” I asked.
Dave shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe fifty feet.”
I rolled around the variables. “Okay,” I said finally. “This plan is not totally without merit.”
“Seriously?” Ida Belle said.
“All we need to do is disable the boat, right? So if we can shoot the speargun into the back of the boat, we can take out the engines.”
“And a chunk of the hull,” Ida Belle said.
“So? If the boat sinks and Fletcher has to bail, then we fish him out,” I said.
“Or leave him as really big fish bait,” Dave said.
Gertie gave him an approving nod. “I like the way you think.”
“It’s this or he gets away, because we can’t risk driving close enough to lob dynamite in there by hand,” I said. “I wish there was another option, but I don’t see one materializing.”
Ida Belle looked over at Dave. “Are you sure you know how to shoot that thing? Because you’re only getting one shot given that we can’t attach a line.”
“Sure,” Dave said. “That deer thing was just a fluke. I grew up using a speargun. I just prefer fishing from a boat because it’s easier to drink beer.”
“See?” I said. “All perfectly reasonable responses. It’s just like we’re back in Sinful.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “In so many ways. Fine, then let’s get this show going.”
Gertie hooted, way too excited about setting off dynamite given that we were on a boat and halfway to Cuba. Dave grinned like an idiot as he loaded the speargun. He taped the dynamite onto the tip, then pulled a lighter out of his pocket and looked at us. “Who’s going to light this thing?”
I sighed. Ida Belle would be driving the boat. I needed to be firing my pistol to draw Fletcher off so we could get close enough to hit the boat with the spear, as we only had one chance to get it right.
I pointed to Gertie and she started doing a victory dance.
“Okay,” I said. “Here’s the plan. Ida Belle will pull up behind the boat, then make a sharp right so that Dave can fire over the side.”
Dave shook his head. “I don’t think I should be standing in the bottom of the boat to fire. At fifty feet away, I’d have to lob it in the air and hope for the best, as this boat is low in the water. But I can stand on the back and get a better shot into the rear deck of the yacht.”
“You remember the part where Fletcher will be shooting at us, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, but you’re CIA. I figured you could keep him off me long enough for me to make the shot.”
I blew out a breath. He was right about the trajectory, but I didn’t feel good about Dave being an open target.
“Fletcher’s shooting from fifty feet away as well,” Ida Belle said. “Unless he has a rifle with a scope, he’s probably not going to be very accurate at that distance with a pistol, especially with the movement of the boat. And he’s panicked, which will affect his aim as well.”
She was probably right. Unless Fletcher was an ace, the odds of him managing a perfectly placed shot were slim, but there was always the risk of the accidental perfect shot. Still, Dave had already said he was jumping out and swimming if we didn’t go through with his plan, and I had no reason to doubt his sincerity. The odds of him making it out alive with no boat or backup was less than n
one.
“Okay, fine,” I said finally. “But you wait until we’re in position and jump up there at the last minute. You’re going to have to aim quickly. Can you do that?”
“I hunt doves with a rifle,” he said.
“Nice,” Ida Belle said.
“Alrighty then,” I said. “Gertie, you and Dave will sit on the back and be ready to move when Ida Belle makes the turn. I’ll take the passenger seat and draw Fletcher off.”
Hopefully.
Everyone nodded and Ida Belle and I exchanged glances. I could tell she was as skeptical and as hopeful as I was. I said a quick prayer for all our safety, pulled my pistol out, and took my seat. Ida Belle moved behind the steering wheel and glanced around.
“Everyone ready?” she asked.
Gertie and Dave whooped it up. I gave her a single nod and she gassed it.
The yacht had turned into a small blip in the distance, but nothing that the speedboat couldn’t make up in record time. With the windshield cutting the force of air across my face, I was able to use the binoculars to zero in on Fletcher. He was still driving the boat from the top deck, but he looked back as we approached.
As we drew closer, he cut his speed and hurried over to the ladder. He was moving downstairs, which wasn’t good. God only knew what kind of weapons he had in the cabin. If he came out with a rifle, then all bets were off. A pistol shot might not penetrate the hull, but a rifle should. I motioned to Ida Belle and pointed down. She nodded and pushed speed up a bit more.
We were closing the distance fast, and I figured in another ten seconds or so, we’d be in position for the turn. I looked back at Gertie and Dave.
“Get ready!” I yelled.
A couple seconds later, Ida Belle made the turn and killed the engines. At the same time, I jumped up from my seat and took aim at the cabin windows, which is where I assumed Fletcher was hiding. The returning fire confirmed my assessment, and I was relieved that he was still firing with a pistol. In my peripheral vision I saw Gertie light the dynamite and fired again as Dave jumped up on the back of the boat.
I fired off another two rounds but didn’t want to unload because I didn’t have a spare magazine. A second later, I saw the rifle barrel extending out the cabin window.
Holy hell!
I took aim at the cabin window, but the boat pitched as I squeezed the trigger and I was way low.
“Hurry!” I shouted, my pulse spiking as I heard the rifle fire once, then again, both bullets hitting the side of the boat.
Dave squeezed the trigger and let the spear fly. The recoil sent him reeling backward across the deck and into the water. At the same time, another round from the rifle hit the boat, just below where Dave had been standing. I held my breath as the spear hurtled through the air, praying that it hit its target.
Bull’s-eye!
The spear arched up and made a perfect landing right onto the back deck of the boat. The rifle disappeared from the window and a second later, Fletcher came running out of the cabin and dived over the side. The blast came right behind him, taking a good portion off the back of the boat.
We all started cheering and then heard Dave shouting behind us.
“A little help here,” he said. “I think I blew out my shoulder. Or my face. Maybe both.”
Ida Belle and I leaned over the side and hauled Dave up. His face did look a bit worse for the wear, but that and his shoulder would heal. Dave took one look at the slowly sinking yacht and let out a victory cry.
“Where is that piece of crap?” he asked.
“He went over the side,” I said.
“Should we pick him up?” Gertie asked.
“Uh, Houston, we have a problem,” Ida Belle said. “Is it just me or is the ocean getting closer?”
Crap!
One or more of the rifle shots must have penetrated the hull, and that last one had entered where the engines were.
Ida Belle tried to start the boat but one engine wouldn’t fire. She turned on the bilge, but I had serious doubts that it could keep up with the flow in. Especially if we weren’t able to get on top of the water and leave.
“Can you get us closer on one engine?” I asked.
Ida Belle nodded and began to slowly maneuver the boat toward the sinking yacht. The entire back was already submerged, and the bow was tipping upward at an ever-increasing angle.
I spotted Fletcher, clinging to a seat cushion. “There he is.”
And that’s when the second engine cut out. The boat glided to a stop, seeming to sink even deeper as it slowed. Water started to seep in around our feet. This was so not good.
“Do those cushions float?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dave said, then got excited and rushed into the cabin. “I think I saw an inflatable raft in here.”
Ida Belle grabbed the radio and sent out a Mayday call with our coordinates. A couple seconds later, a voice came over the radio saying the coast guard had been notified and to hold tight until they got there. Since we didn’t have any other options, I thought it was an unnecessary use of words, but I supposed they did it to make people feel better.
Dave emerged from the cabin with a giant piece of wadded rubber. “I hope the pump’s wrapped up in here because I didn’t see it anywhere.”
“Me too,” I said. “I really don’t want to blow up my rescue raft.”
“Gertie can do it,” Ida Belle said. “She’s got enough hot air to lift a blimp.”
Gertie gave her the finger and we tugged the raft apart, letting out breaths of relief when the pump was tucked inside. We made quick work of the inflation, and it was a good thing, because the boat was going down faster than I thought it would. We launched the raft over the side and everyone climbed in except Dave, who tossed his duffel bag to us, then jumped aboard.
“I figured we might need the duct tape for handcuffs,” he said.
We all scooted around, trying to make room for four people and the huge duffel bag.
“Maybe you could just keep the tape and ditch the rest?” I suggested as we started rowing. “You know, for a little more room.”
“There’s a six-pack of beer in there,” Dave said. “And my lucky seashell. I can’t toss it over.”
I shook my head and kept rowing. As we drew closer to Fletcher, I could see the fight was finally gone out of him. Of course, the blast had taken out his boat, his weapons, and likely his hearing, and he was adrift on a seat cushion in the middle of the ocean, which limited his options. We paddled alongside him, and Dave and I dragged him onto the raft while Ida Belle kept my nine-millimeter aimed at his head, lest he get any ideas. I secured his hands behind his back with the tape and we stuck him on one side of the boat.
Then Dave punched him dead in the face.
I was afraid we’d have to wait hours for the coast guard to arrive and prayed that the tiny raft would hold given its extensive cargo. But I’d forgotten about Dave’s fishing buddies. I heard a boat in the distance and scanned the water, trying to locate the source.
“There!” Ida Belle shouted.
I turned around and saw Sea Bass Steve’s fishing charter creeping toward us. We all started high-fiving and celebrating as Steve drew up.
“You guys okay?” he asked as he and the other fisherman tied off the raft and helped us onboard.
“We’re better than okay,” Dave said. “We got the sumbitch that killed Mikey!”
“That him?” Steve asked and pointed to Fletcher.
Dave nodded.
“We could rig him up on the heavy-duty line,” Steve said. “We passed a school of tiger sharks about fifty yards back.”
“Nah,” Dave said. “I want him to rot in prison the rest of his life. Sharks deserve better eatin’ anyway.”
“All right,” Steve said. “But at least let us tie him to the side of the boat and dangle a little.”
Fletcher, who’d been silent up until now, started yelling like a five-year-old as they hauled him to the railing and dropped him over the si
de, securing him with a rope underneath his arms.
Dave opened his duffel bag and handed us all a beer.
“Worked out perfectly,” he said. “One for everybody.”
“I’m sorry about your friend’s boat,” I said. “I hope you’re not going to get into trouble.”
“Nah, he won’t care,” Dave said. “He never wanted the boat anyway. He’ll make out better this way. Had it insured.”
I smiled. I’d had a flash of panic when I’d realized we’d almost been caught in a raft with a school of sharks nearby, but it had passed as quickly as it came. After all, we were all alive and the bad guy was tied up and tempting sharks. Ida Belle had gotten to live out one of her dreams of driving a speedboat. And Gertie and Dave got to blow something up.
Best of all, we’d solved the case.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It took a couple days for the DEA to untangle everything. But finally, Fletcher was behind bars and Gertie was off the hook, much to Benton’s dismay. The entire mess Benton had made of things was also sweeping the community, and we had no doubt that the sheriff’s retirement was not going to go as Benton had planned. The DEA had caught the resort owner in Mexico and hauled him back to the US to face charges, and they’d arrested a whole host of other people along the Florida coast, including a crew on Barefoot Key. It was quite a big takedown and our involvement in apprehending one of the main players had become national news.
Gertie, of course, was thrilled. Ida Belle and I were not.
After a run-in with a particularly pushy reporter and the “unexplained” destruction of ten thousand dollars’ worth of camera equipment, the DEA took pity on us and moved us to a private island they used for retreats. The mansion on the island came complete with a housekeeper, cook, and beach butler, which I’d never heard of but was totally cool.
So now, I sat on the beach of a private island, on my recently extended vacation, holding a drink that had just been served to me by the butler. Ida Belle reclined in the chair next to me, a frosty drink in one hand and her e-reader in the other. Gertie had discovered a metal detector among the beach toys and was off searching for pirate treasure.