Metro Girl

by Janet Evanovich

  Gimpy was on hands and knees, sucking air. I grabbed the revolver that had fallen out of his hand when he went down, and I jumped back to a safe distance. I dropped the oar, and I two-handed the gun. Even with two hands, the gun was shaking.

  Gimpy’s eyes were on me, wide with terror. And I thought my eyes probably looked like that, too.

  “Don’t shoot me,” he said. “Take it easy. Jesus, I never believed in gun control until I met you.”

  “Into the water,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Jump!”

  “I got a bad foot. I’ll sink like a stone.”

  I sighted down the gun barrel, pulled the hammer back, and he jumped off the boat.

  He bobbed to the surface beside Slick, and the two of them hung there, about fifteen feet off the starboard side.

  “Swim!” I yelled at them.

  Gimpy was floundering, taking in some water, and Slick wasn’t doing much better.

  “For Pete’s sake,” I said. “Take the RIB.”

  There was a lot of splashing and sputtering, but they weren’t making much progress moving, so I grabbed the line to the RIB and dragged the RIB around to them. They hung on for a while, catching their breath, coughing up seawater. Then they dragged themselves into the RIB and lay there like a couple dead fish.

  I gave the RIB a shove with the oar, and the RIB drifted off. When I turned back to Hooker he was sitting on the deck, knees bent, head down.

  I knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

  “Give me a minute. I’ve got a real bad case of the whirlies.”

  I went back to looking at the guys in the RIB. They were just sitting there, letting the RIB drift. Not far enough away for me to feel safe. I fired off a shot that I knew would go far right of them. They looked at me like I was Demon Woman. Gimpy cranked the outboard over and headed for shore.

  Hooker was beside me, holding on to the fighting chair. “They’ve got the RIB?”

  “Yeah, they were going to drown.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Dead bad guys?”

  “I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “This would have been a great place to start.”

  Hooker leaned over the rail and threw up. When he was done throwing up he flopped back onto the deck and lay spread-eagle, eyes closed. “What happened?”

  “They tranked you.”

  “Tranked me?”

  “I know all about it because I watch Wild Kingdom reruns on television. I thought you were shot, but you aren’t bleeding, and there’s a dart stuck in your chest. Don’t move.”

  I pulled the dart out and looked at it. I was having a hard time seeing it because my hands were still shaking, and the dart was surprisingly small.

  “Lucky for you they weren’t using the big-game dart gun,” I said. “This must be the dart they use to tranquilize rabbits.”

  “How’d you get them off the boat?”

  “I asked them nicely.”

  Hooker smiled and rubbed his chest where the dart had gone in. “It stings,” he said. “Want to kiss it and make it better?”

  I bent and kissed him just to the side of the puncture.

  “I’d kiss you back, but I just threw up,” he said.

  NASCAR Guy’s sensitive side.

  I stood and checked on the bad guys. They were pulling the RIB onto the shore. They looked okay.

  “We should get out of here,” I said to Hooker. “Can you help me get the anchor up?”

  “No problemo.” He crawled to the dive platform, leaned over, and stuck his head in the water. He dragged his head out of the water, crawled to the fighting chair, and pulled himself to his feet. “You really should have killed them,” he said.

  We hauled the anchor up, and we got under way with Slick and Gimpy watching us. They didn’t wave good-bye.

  Hooker inched his way over to the Sea Ray. “Throw out a couple fenders on the port side. Let’s see if we can tie up to their boat and get you on board so you can fix their engines.”

  Ten minutes later I was climbing off the Sea Ray, back onto the Happy Hooker, bringing in the fenders. I’d sliced through fuel lines and sabotaged the electrical system. If Slick and Gimpy got back to the States, it wasn’t going to be in the Sea Ray.

  “Next stop, Florida,” Hooker said. And he took the Happy Hooker up to cruising speed.

  I played the binoculars across the water for a while, but there wasn’t anything else to see. Just azure sky and gently undulating ocean.

  Hooker stayed in the chair, at the helm, and I stretched out on the banquette behind him. It was Monday, and I supposed I was unemployed. It didn’t seem especially important anymore. I fell asleep, and when I woke up we were plowing through heavy seas.

  “We’re going into Key West,” Hooker said. “The weather’s changed, and I’m not feeling comfortable with waves this size. I need to refuel anyway. If I can use Vana’s slip I’ll stay in Key West. If I can’t, I’ll try to get a captain to take her to Miami with me.”

  Ten minutes later, Key West was in sight and Hooker was on the radio, calling the Key West dockmaster, arranging to use Vana’s slip.

  “I got the slip,” Hooker said to me, “but this is going to be messy. This is way too much boat for me to dock by myself in these conditions.”

  We rode into the marina on whitecapped rollers, and Hooker cut to an idle. We found our spot, and Hooker sent me to the back of the boat with a walkie-talkie. There were two dockhands from the dockmaster’s office already in place, waiting to help us tie up.

  “Watch your footing back there,” Hooker said to me. “I’ve got wind and tide pushing me, and I’m probably going to ram the pier. I don’t want to dump you into the water.”

  When we were finally secure, Hooker thanked the dock hands, and then he turned and rapped his head on the control panel. Thunk, thunk, thunk.

  “I need a drink,” he said. “A big one.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. You only rammed the pier twice. And you didn’t do any damage when you drifted into that other boat. Well, not a lot of damage.”

  “On the bright side,” Hooker said. “You did great. You didn’t even drop the talkie.”

  We collected some food, grabbed our duffel bags, and walked three blocks to the Mini. Hooker drove around a little, making sure we weren’t being followed, before parking at Vana’s. We went inside and collapsed on the couch.

  “I’m exhausted,” Hooker said.

  “You’ve had a full day. You wrangled leeches. You got tranked. You trashed a pier.”

  “I’d chase you around the house,” Hooker said, “but I don’t think I can get off the couch.”

  I took the food into the kitchen and made us sandwiches. I brought the sandwiches out to the living room with a bottle of vodka and a single glass.

  “Not drinking?” Hooker asked, taking a plate from me.

  “Maybe later. I have seventeen messages I have to answer, and I don’t want to be drunk when I talk to my mother.”

  “Yeah, mothers hate that.”

  Ten minutes later, Hooker was asleep on the couch. I draped a blanket over him and tucked myself into a guest room. I slipped under the covers of Vana’s comfy guest bed, but it was a while before I fell asleep. Too many things to worry about. Too many loose ends

  Hooker was showered and dressed in fresh clothes, drinking coffee in the kitchen when I shuffled past him in a guest robe and poured out a mug of coffee.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Morning.” He wrapped an arm around me and dropped a friendly kiss on the top of my head, like we were an old married couple.

  “Nice,” I told him.

  “It’s going to get nicer. Unfortunately, not immediately. I just got off the phone with Judey. Todd called him first thing this morning. Todd said Flex moved from Miami to Key West. We didn’t see her because they’re anchored on the other side of the island. Todd said the helicopter’s been flying nonstop, and that everyone was told to take shore leave t
oday. Todd went to the marina to have breakfast with a friend and saw the Happy Hooker. He thought maybe Bill was living on the boat.”

  “Good thing we’re safe in this house.”

  “We’re not that safe. If someone halfway tried, they’d come up with Vana’s name and address, since the boat’s in his slip.”

  “Are we scrambling to get out of town?”

  “Darlin’, we’re scrambling big time.”

  I took a three-minute shower and threw some clothes on. We grabbed our bags, made sure the lights were out, locked up the house, and followed the stepping-stones to the Mini. The instant we were in the car, a black Town Car pulled in behind us, blocking our exit. Two men came out of nowhere, one on either side of the Mini. They had guns drawn.

  “Stay cool,” Hooker said to me.

  The doors were wrenched open and we were walked back to the Town Car. One of the men got in the back with us and one got in next to the driver.

  “Mr. Salzar would like to talk to you,” the guy in the back said. “He’s invited you onto Flex.”

  Flex was still anchored offshore. No place big enough for it in the marina, I guess. Or maybe they wanted to be far enough away so the tourists couldn’t hear me screaming while I was being tortured. Whatever the reason, we were put in a large RIB and motored out to the boat. The RIB tied up at the stern and we were escorted to the second deck.

  Even under these circumstances it was hard not to be impressed. There was a lot of high-gloss wood and polished brass. Fresh flowers in vases. The furniture was perfectly restored Biedermeier. Couches and comfy chairs were upholstered in the ship’s colors of navy and gold.

  Salzar was waiting for us in the salon. He was at a writing desk. A laptop and a mug of coffee sat to one side on the desk. Puke Face stood behind Salzar. There were two chairs in front of the desk.

  “Be seated,” Salzar said. As if this was some friendly little meeting. Like maybe he was a mortgage broker. Or a marriage counselor.

  Hooker slouched into his chair and smiled at Salzar. “Nice boat.”

  “Thank you,” Salzar said. “It’s quite unique. Calflex is very proud of it.”

  “Nice of you to invite us on board,” Hooker said.

  This got a weird little cat-playing-with-the-mouse smile from Salzar. “You have something that I very much desire. I’ve been on your boat. The object that I desire isn’t there. And I’ve just received a call from my associate. The object isn’t in Richard Vana’s house. And it isn’t in the Mini Cooper. So I have to assume you’ve hidden this object.”

  “What object are we talking about?” Hooker asked him.

  “A canister. Red cone. Black-and-green stripe. Sound familiar?”

  “We turned that over to the navy when we arrived,” Hooker said.

  Salzar shifted his eyes to an aide by the door, and the aide left the room. “That would be unfortunate,” Salzar said. “That would make me unhappy. And it would mean I’d have to torture you for no good purpose. Other than pleasure, of course.”

  “What’s so special about this canister?” Hooker asked him.

  “It’s filled with fear,” Salzar said, smiling again. “And fear is power, isn’t it?”

  The aide returned and shook his head, no.

  “My source tells me the canister was never delivered to the navy,” Salzar said. “You might want to rethink your answer.”

  “Your source is wrong,” Hooker said.

  Salzar hit a button on his laptop and a photo appeared on the screen. He turned the laptop so Hooker and I could see the photo. It was a picture of Maria. Her hair was lank and stuck to her face. She had a swollen lip and a bruise just under her left eye. She was looking into the camera, and she was spewing hatred.

  “This picture was taken earlier this morning,” Salzar said. “The chopper picked up the Sunseeker leaving the island. Infrared technology is so helpful. It allows you to see all sorts of things, like people and very dense cargo such as gold bricks. Bottom line is, we followed Bill and Maria to Port Royal and paid them a visit. My men found the gold, but unfortunately, not the canister. As you can see, we gave Maria an opportunity to share with us, but it turned out she didn’t have much to share. Now you have a similar opportunity.” He leaned forward on the desk. The line of his mouth compressed, and his pupils shrank to pinpoints. “I want that canister. I’ll stop at nothing to get it. Nothing. Do you understand?”

  Hooker and I didn’t say anything.

  “I have another picture you might enjoy,” Salzar said. “The resolution isn’t as good as I’d like…picture phone quality. Still, I think it’s a compelling photo.” He clicked on an icon and a second photo filled the screen. It was Bill, sprawled on a carpeted floor, bleeding. He’d been shot in the upper arm and chest. Hard to tell if he was dead or alive.

  I heard someone sob. I guess it was me. And then Hooker reached over and grabbed my wrist and squeezed. And that was all I felt. Hooker at my wrist. No thoughts in my head. No emotion. Just Hooker squeezing my wrist. How’s that for a defense mechanism? Can I do denial, or what?

  There was absolute silence in the room. Time stood still for several moments. And then the silence was pierced by a siren. Everyone stood, me included. My first thought was police siren, but the siren was internal to the ship.

  Salzar closed the laptop and handed it over to Puke Face. The door to the salon was opened, and aides were running outside the salon. The siren stopped and the captain came on over the intercom.

  “We have a fire below decks. All guests are advised to leave the ship.”

  Salzar moved from behind the desk. “Hugo, you come with me. Roger and Leo, take Ms. Barnaby and Mr. Hooker to shore and see that they’re safely transported to the garage.”

  Smoke was beginning to seep into the salon, so we all migrated to the sundeck at the stern. Before we could get to the stairs, there was an explosion below decks and the lower deck was engulfed in flames. Salzar and Puke Face moved forward along the outside rail and were swallowed up in black billowing smoke. The smoke roiled around us, and the next thing I knew I was flying through the air. Hooker had picked me up and sailed me out over the rail like a Frisbee.

  I splashed down and immediately kicked myself up to the surface. Hooker was a couple feet away.

  “Swim for shore,” he yelled at me.

  I did a couple strokes and an RIB pulled up to me. It was Todd. He dragged Hooker and me into the RIB and took off. I was choking on smoke and seawater, holding on for dear life as the RIB bounced through the chop. There were a lot of boats in the area now. Emergency vehicles screaming in the distance. The shoreline was filling up with gawkers. Todd aimed for a small sand beach away from most of the traffic. He rammed the RIB aground, and we splashed to shore.

  “I have the Mini parked close by,” he yelled. And we ran after Todd.

  Hooker took the wheel. I took the seat next to Hooker. And Todd crammed himself into the backseat. No one spoke. We just hunkered down, teeth chattering, and rocketed out of there. We got onto Route 1 and crossed the bridge to Cow Key.

  Todd was the first to talk. “I guess I’m out of a job,” he said.

  “Holy fuck,” Hooker said. “Saved by a fire. What are the chances?”

  “Pretty good, since I set it,” Todd said. “Judey called me back and filled me in. I was staying with a friend not far from Vana’s house, so I walked over to see if I could help with anything. I saw them load you into the car and take off. Another car immediately showed up and did a fast search of the house and the Mini. When they left I borrowed the Mini. Lucky the keys were still in the ignition. I parked at Wickers Beach and saw them ferrying you out to Flex. So, I ran and got a RIB. No one noticed me tie up to Flex. The only people left on the boat were Salzar’s people, and they were all in the main deck salon and in the pilothouse. I knew you were in trouble, so I thought I’d set the fire alarm off. I was down in the engine room, holding my lighter up to a sensor, and I don’t know what happened, but I heard someth
ing go pop and then there was fire everywhere. I ran out and got back into the RIB. I didn’t know what else to do. And then all of a sudden Barney came flying through the air!”

  “Do you know anything about Bill?” Hooker asked Todd.

  “No. What about Bill?”

  Hooker took his cell phone out of his pocket. He shook the phone and water sloshed out. “Do you have a cell phone on you?” he asked Todd.

  “Yep.”

  “Salzar had a picture of Bill bleeding,” Hooker said. “It looked like he’d been shot. I know Bill was in Naples, so let’s start there. Call the hospital in Naples and see if Bill’s been brought in.”

  Todd got connected to the hospital and asked about Bill. There was a lot of un hunh, un hunh, un hunh. And Todd disconnected.

  “Okay,” Todd said when he got off the phone. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. The bad news is Bill has been shot. The good news is he’s in stable condition. They said he was in the recovery room. That he was out of surgery. And he was stable.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t like when Bill’s hurt. I know he’s all grown up, well, sort of grown up…but he’s still my little brother.”

  “Bill’s going to be okay,” Hooker said, his hand back at my wrist with a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll try calling in an hour. Maybe you can talk to him.”

  We passed through the lower Keys and then we were on the Seven Mile Bridge. The water was choppy below us and the Mini was buffeted by wind, but she held the road. We came up to Marathon Plaza and Hooker slowed for two guys fixing a flat on the shoulder. The car was a white Ford Taurus. We got closer and Hooker shook his head. Disbelieving. It was Slick and Gimpy.

  “I’d really like to run them over,” Hooker said, “but I don’t think I could get away with it this close to the Plaza.”

  “Too bad we threw Gimpy’s gun away. We could shoot them.”

  “God knows how many people that gun has killed,” Hooker said. “It wouldn’t have been smart to get caught in possession of that gun.”