Tricky Business (32 page)

TARK WATCHED THE BLONDE WOMAN IN THE casino uniform dive into his boat, exactly the way the naked guy had. He was furious that, with the bouncing Zodiac messing up his aim, he'd been unable to hit either of them. He wondered who these people were, and why they kept knocking Kaz into the ocean. He also wondered who
else
was going to come through the door.

Glancing up every few seconds, he finished untying the Zodiac, which began to fall behind the ship. Tark clambered back to the stern, where the outboard was idling. His plan now—Tark always had a plan—was to bring the Zodiac back up to the stern of the
Extravaganza,
cut the lines to his fishing boat, then shoot many holes in the hull. With any luck, his boat would take on water fast enough that the naked guy and the woman would think it was sinking, and they'd come out where Tark could kill them.

The waves were getting bigger the farther he drifted from the lee of the big ship. Spray splashed Tark's face as, slinging the TEC-9 over his shoulder, he gripped the seat with his right hand and cranked the throttle with his left, coming back up to the big ship, twenty yards away, now ten, now five. He eased off the throttle and turned the Zodiac sideways, sliding it toward the first of the two lines holding his boat to the
Extravaganza.
He pulled out his knife and . . .

“HOLD IT,” a voice shouted. A
woman's
voice.

Tark looked up on the platform and saw a cocktail waitress pointing Manny Arquero's AK-47 at him.
What kind of cocktail waitresses did they hire on this ship?

“I AM A COAST GUARD OFFICER,” she shouted. “PUT DOWN THE KNIFE, AND THEN SLOWLY REMOVE THE GUN.”

“I SAID PUT DOWN THE KNIFE, AND SLOWLY REMOVE THE GUN,” the woman repeated.

Tark put the knife down. He still had his left hand on the throttle. The engine was idling, so the Zodiac was falling behind the
Extravaganza.
It was three yards away from the platform. Now five.

“REMOVE THE GUN AND BRING THE BOAT BACK,” said the woman. “OR I WILL SHOOT.”

Seven yards, now. Ten. Tark reached down with his right hand, slowly started to unsling the TEC-9. Twelve yards.

“TAKE IT OFF AND BRING THE BOAT BACK NOW,” the woman said, and as she did, Tark ducked down and cranked the throttle to full as he yanked it sideways, sending the inflatable into a surging turn away from the ship. Tark couldn't hear, over the engine noise, whether the woman was shooting or not, but he assumed she was. As he raced back into the darkness, the swell of the waves obscuring him from the ship, he felt a surge of elation.
She wasn't going to hit him.

But in a few seconds his elation turned to alarm as he realized that, although she hadn't hit
him,
she had definitely hit the Zodiac. More than once, in fact, to judge by how quickly it was losing air and settling into the dark water.

“FUCK
ME,
” Tark screamed to whatever dark sea spirits were out there, as he yanked the engine sideways again and turned the sinking Zodiac back toward the receding ship. Having got that out of his system, he began, yet again, to make a plan.

 

“OK, SEE HERE?” ARNIE WAS SAYING. “THE ‘N'? That stands for north.”

Arnie and Phil had, after some argument, agreed on which one was the compass. They were now arguing about how it worked.

“I know the ‘N' stands for north. I'm just saying, does that mean the ‘N' is
facing
the north? Or does that mean when the ‘N' is facing us, then we're going north?”

Arnie thought about that. He couldn't bring himself to admit he didn't know the answer, so he said, “They should put directions on this thing.”

“Those ARE directions,” said Phil. “What do you think north is? It's a
direction.”

“I don't mean that,” said Arnie. “I mean, how it works, they should put on there.”

On the floor, Eddie groaned.

“Take a look at him,” said Arnie. “See how he's doing. I'll drive this thing.”

“Why should
you
drive?” said Phil. “Why shouldn't I drive?”

“Because I'm a better driver,” said Arnie. “Fifty-one years I drove, I never had an accident.” This was not, technically, true. Arnie had been forced to quit driving when, at age 81, he had driven his car, a 1986 Oldsmobile, into a convenience store, which he claimed had not been there earlier.

“I never had an accident, either,” said Phil. This was, technically, true, in the sense that he had never hit anything, but only because for the last few years of his driving career he never went more than fifteen miles an hour, which is the speed he was clocked at on Interstate 95 when he got the ticket that finally persuaded his children to take away his car keys.

Eddie groaned again.

“Will you for Pete's sakes LOOK at him?” said Arnie. “The man is in pain down there, and I can't bend over anymore.”

“All right, all right,” said Phil, starting, slowly, to get on his knees. “You can drive. For now. But don't go too fast.”

“Jesus, what are you, my
wife
?” said Arnie, and he began to turn the wheel.

 

ON THE FIRST DECK, JOHNNY AND TED TROTTED up to Joe Sarmino. Before they could even ask, he pointed toward the stern and said, “Everybody go that way.”

“Wally?” said Johnny. “The guy in the band with us?”

“Him too,” said Joe.

“Do you have, like, a gun or something I could borrow?” said Ted.

Joe shook his head. “No gun,” he said. “Your friend already ask. I give him my corkscrew.”

Ted frowned, then turned to Johnny and said, “Let's go.”

They trotted toward the stairwell, both thinking the same thing.

. . . ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM . . .

 

FAY, KEEPING THE AK-47 IN SHOOTING POSITION, stood at the edge of the platform, scanning the dark water. She didn't know if she'd hit the guy, but she knew she'd hit the boat, she knew it, probably more than once. The inflatable would probably stay afloat, she figured, but it would be swamped, and it couldn't get far before the engine would get wet and die. Maybe the guy would risk turning back.

Fay stared into the darkness, listening for the sound of an outboard over the roar of the sea and the wind. So focused was she that she failed to see Kaz's hands appear on the top of the platform, failed to see the big man haul himself onto the platform twenty feet to her right, rise to his feet and circle around behind her, hesitating as he debated whether to try to grab her gun, or just shove her off the platform. She failed to see him as, having decided the surest answer was to just give her a shove, he stepped forward, hands out.

And she failed to see Wally jump on Kaz's broad back from behind and drive the corkscrew into his right shoulder blade.

She did hear it, however; Kaz's scream was surprisingly high and piercing for a man of his bulk. Fay whirled and saw Kaz going down, Wally clinging to his back. Kaz rolled and threw an elbow backward, knocking Wally sprawling. Kaz started to rise.

“DON'T MOVE,” said Fay. He looked up at her, at the gun pointed at him, and stayed on the platform, his left hand going to his injured shoulder.

Fay studied him. This was not the guy with the inflatable.
Where was the guy with the inflatable?
She glanced over at Wally, who was getting to his feet, corkscrew still in hand.

“You OK?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Any time,” he said.

“Is that a corkscrew?” she said.

Wally looked at it. “Yeah,” he said.

“Do you think you could handle a bigger weapon?” she said.

“I could try,” he said.

“There's a dead guy over there holding a gun,” she said. “Why don't you go pick that up?”

Wally, a man who exactly one hour earlier had been playing “My Funny Valentine,” pried a TEC-9 from the hands of a dead criminal, this being the second of the two TEC-9s Tark had planted on members of Manny Arquero's crew, back when Tark's plan had been running like a Swiss watch.

“Bring it here,” said Fay. She checked to make sure the safety was off, then said, “OK, you pull the trigger, it shoots, got that?”

“Got it,” said Wally.

“OK,” said Fay. “I'm gonna . . . hold it.” She was looking at the doorway to the ship; a head had just peeked out and ducked back inside.

“It's your friend,” she said to Wally. “Tell him he can come out.”

“IT'S OK,” said Wally. “YOU CAN COME OUT.”

Ted's head peeked around the corner, followed by the rest of Ted, followed by Johnny. They came over, surveying the scene—the bodies, Kaz, Wally, and Fay.

“Oh, man,” said Johnny.

Ted noted the TEC-9 in Wally's hands and said, “That's not a corkscrew.”

“Nope,” said Wally.

“Did you get help for the captain?” said Fay. “Did you find a doctor?”

“We found a nurse,” said Ted. “But we couldn't get back in.”

“What?”
said Fay.

“The door to the, whaddycallit, the bridge,” said Ted. “It's locked.”

“We pounded on it and pounded on it,” said Johnny.

“But they didn't open it.”

“Damn,” said Fay. Then, “Wait a minute—who's steering the ship?”

“What?” said Ted.

“Somebody's turning it,” said Fay. “Look.” She pointed to the wake, now clearly angled off toward the left.

“Oh, man,” said Johnny.

“OK, listen,” said Fay. “You”—she pointed to Kaz, still on the platform—“you stay right there. You do not move. You”—she pointed to Wally—“keep your gun on him, and shoot him if he moves. You can shoot him if you have to, right?”

“I already stabbed him,” said Wally. “I can shoot him.”

“OK,” said Fay. “You two”—she pointed to Ted and Johnny—“get on that boat there”—she pointed to Tark's boat—“and get on the radio. That'll be up in the bridge, near the steering wheel. Get on channel sixteen, remember, channel sixteen, and say we have an emergency on the
Extravaganza,
OK? Tell them we need assistance out here right now. Stay on there and keep telling them, OK?”

“OK,” said Ted and Johnny, heading over to Tark's boat. When they got there, Ted looked into the stern and shouted back, “THERE'S MORE BODIES IN HERE.”

“Just get on the radio,” said Fay.

“Oh,
man,”
said Johnny, as he and Ted climbed over the transom.

Fay turned to Wally. “I'll be back as soon as I can,” she said.

“Where're you going?” he said.

“I need to find out who's steering this ship, if anybody is,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

Holding the AK-47, Fay trotted through the doorway into the ship. She was very reluctant to leave the stern, but figured that right now her biggest responsibility was the hundreds of people on the ship, currently being steered God knows where by God knows who. But as she raced up the stairway to the first deck, the question nagged her:
What happened to the guy in the inflatable?