Tom McInnes - Dog Island Part 30

The skinny speaker stepped toward me and threw a fist this time. But I saw this one coming and slipped the punch. When his hand had swung around and he was off balance, I stepped forward and kicked him in the b.a.l.l.s with every ounce of strength left in my body. A thick groan came from deep in his chest as his legs lifted off the ground and he fell facedown on the floor, squirming and puffing and making the same guttural sound over and over.

I heard running, and a strong hand grasped my arm. Half a second later, a fist slammed into my left kidney, and I fell to one knee.

Legs and fists swirled around me as more men rushed forward. I caught a flash of cowboy boot, jerked my head back, and felt the wind from a hard kick aimed at my mouth. A knee hit and pain exploded in my chest, and I went down in a hailstorm of pounding boots.

Automatic gunfire shattered the air inside the metal building.

"Stop!" An accented male voice boomed above the celebration.

There was a pause as murmuring filled the s.p.a.ce above my head.

Again automatic gunfire crackled throughout the warehouse, and pieces of the boxes lining the walls spun and danced under the floodlights.

"Step away from Mr. McInnes." The Bodines looked for the disembodied voice, but they didn't move. The unseen man shouted, "Now!"

Jean-clad legs had just begun to back away when a pair of creased and starched jeans walked past and swung a cowboy boot into my stomach. A single, penetrating explosion echoed inside the warehouse, and skinny Ben Franklin fell backward and landed perpendicular to my prostrate body. A ragged, b.l.o.o.d.y hole poured blood from the place where his left eye had been.

I pushed my chest up off the floor just as another shot echoed inside the metal walls, and I glanced over to see a man in a tank top fall to his knees with a hole in his chest. He looked surprised; then he fell dead.

The voice came again, and I was sure I could hear echoes of an equatorial accent. "Mr. McInnes, you may leave."

A quiet mumbling started again.

"Mr. McInnes! Get up and get out of here!"

I was on my feet and moving fast through the outside door. I ran out past the trucks and looked for whatever help was there. A soft, familiar voice came out of the darkness. "Over here, Seor McInnes." And Carlos Sanchez stepped out of the night. At his side was Deputy Mickey Burns.

I said, "What's going on?" It was a stupid question, but I wasn't really in a smart mood.

Sanchez said, "You are safe."

I nodded at Burns. "I was safe before he brought me here."

Sanchez puffed on his ever-present cigar. "Actually, no. You weren't. There was a price on your head. Those men inside wanted you dead."

"And now they don't?"

Sanchez shrugged.

In the distance, I could hear helicopter blades beating the night air. I pointed at the sky with my good hand. "Is that yours?"

He nodded.

"Was Deputy Mickey here in on this all along?"

The deputy spoke up. "That's Deputy Burns. And what I've been doing is none of your business."

The freckle-faced deputy was puffing himself up to fill Leroy Purcell's shoes; he was ready to don the Caterpillar-cap crown of the next King Jethro. And he seemed a lot surer than I was that there would still be a few Bodines around to follow him after tonight.

As I stood there thinking about all that, I heard running and turned to see a dozen men in black clothing round the corner of the warehouse and disappear inside. Each man had an angular automatic weapon suspended from a shoulder strap and secured by one hand.

I asked, "What's going to happen in there?"

Sanchez drew again on his thin cigar, making the red tip glow like a hot coal in the night. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yeah. I do."

"There will be a boating accident. A chartered fis.h.i.+ng vessel has already left the marina in Carrabelle. The names on the charter will match those of the men inside."

"Am I safe?"

He nodded.

"What about my clients?"

"You and they have nothing else to fear from Leroy Purcell's branch of the organization." Sanchez turned to Deputy Burns. "Go see what's happening."

The deputy squared his shoulders and said, "I don't want no part of this."

Sanchez turned to face Burns and simply said, "Now."

Two seconds pa.s.sed while the deputy tried to think of a way to salvage some dignity, and he turned toward the warehouse.

I looked up to search the stars for the helicopter, and a pistol fired next to my ear. I fell to one knee and froze. Deputy Mickey Burns of the Apalachicola Sheriff's Department lay dead on the ground. I turned to see if Sanchez was still alive. He was. And he was sliding what looked like Joey's Walther PPK into a hiding place inside his coat.

Suffering a broken wrist, a shoveled back, and multiple kicks and stomps had taken a lot out of me. It took some effort to get back on my feet. I asked, "Am I next?"

Sanchez just said, "No," and then paused to look at the blanket of stars spread overhead. "The helicopter will be here soon.

It will take you to only one place. Dog Island. I am sorry about your hand. You hold it as though it is broken."

I nodded.

"Too bad. There is no medical help on the island. In any event, you will check into the inn and stay there until morning. At that time, you may take the ferry to Carrabelle. After that, you are free to go wherever you please."

"Except the police."

"Yes. Except the police."

"Why Dog Island?"

"Arrangements have been made. It is the island or, well, nothing. Perhaps, so you will understand, nothingness would be a better word."

"Why are you doing this?"

Sanchez paused to look at one of his men who had exited the warehouse. The night-clad soldier nodded at Sanchez, who shook his head in response. The soldier went back inside the building. The two-named patriot turned back to me. "Your young client deserved none of this. You are in trouble only because you tried to help." He paused. "We are not criminals. We are soldiers. This mess was, in some ways, our doing. I have decided to set it right, to the extent that that's possible."

I studied his aristocratic features in the moonlight. I said, "And Purcell got out of line." He didn't answer, so I repeated the same words and added, "And it's as good a reason as any to take the Bodines out of the picture once and for all."

Sanchez smiled. "As I said, we heard you were smart."

Suddenly the helicopter appeared over the treetops and dropped its tail as it began its descent into the compound.

I yelled over the blades. "One more thing." Sanchez looked at me. "Whose idea was it to bring a dethroned Panamanian dictator's nephew into the country?"

Carlos Sanchez rolled his cigar between manicured fingers. A few seconds pa.s.sed before he said, "We did. And we knew the dangers a.s.sociated with his family's presence. But he was well connected in Castro's government, and we thought his contacts would be worth the risk."

I shouted. "And was it? Was it worth all this?"

His only answer was to point at the helicopter and say, "Go."

I ran to the chopper and climbed inside. The helmeted pilot lifted off as I watched Sanchez walk to the warehouse door, speak with one of his soldiers, and then hurry to a waiting Hummer. As the helicopter climbed into the night sky and leveled out over the black ma.s.s of oak and cypress treetops, I could have sworn I heard the jarring staccato pops of automatic gunfire echoing inside the warehouse and splintering the night air.

epilogue.

Bright suns.h.i.+ne filled the bedroom. A cool spring breeze floated through open French doors, softly ruffled the sheets, and lifted me out of a deep, satisfying sleep. I smiled and reached over for Susan. She was gone, and my heart missed a beat before I realized Carpintero, Leroy Purcell, anda"thanks to New Cubaa"the rest of the renegade Bodines had gone on to their rewards, if the kind of afterlife that was likely to greet them could be called a reward. I plumped my pillow and leaned my back against it. I didn't look at my watch or the clock on the bedside table. Judging from the sun, it was somewhere around midmorning, and that was close enough.

Sounds of Susan piddling in the kitchen drifted up the staircase.

I rolled out of bed, and, after brus.h.i.+ng my teeth and splas.h.i.+ng a little water on my face, I lifted the terry cloth robe off the hook on the bathroom door and wandered out onto my second-floor deck. And that's where I was, leaning against the railing and watching a tanker headed for the Port of Mobile, when Susan appeared in the doorway with a large gla.s.s of orange juice in each hand. And, only two days after being rescued from root-cellar imprisonment, she looked pretty d.a.m.ned good.

Lying in bed last night, Susan and I had talked long past midnight, and now I understood most of what had happened.

It looked as though Purcell had dispatched Rus Poultrez and Sonny Teeter to grab Susan from Seaside while Joey and I were busy on Dog Island looking for Carli. Purcell had wanted Susan as a hostage. Poultrez, on the other hand, wanted Susan to help him find Carli. What neither of them counted on was Susan plugging Sonny with her little snub-nosed .38 when he broke into the Seaside cottage where she was manning our listening equipment. That's where the hole in Sonny's side and the blood at the Seaside cottage had come from. Unfortunately, Susan only got off one shot before Poultrez grabbed her from behind after coming in the back.

Apparently, Poultrez and Sonny had spoken freely in front of Susana"probably because they planned to kill her later. Susan heard Poultrez say that he knew Carli had headed for Meridian, and, after finding Susan's address in her purse, Poultrez and Sonny just sat Susan in the backseat and headed for the farm. She had waited for a chance to get away, but none came.

When they arrived, the house was empty. So, Sonnya"just having been gut shot and alla"decided that killing Susan right then was a h.e.l.l of an idea. Poultrez disagreed and finally snapped Sonny's neck to drive home his point.

What I didn't know and couldn't figure out was the sequence of events at the farm. When did Carli get to Coopers Bend and why was Susan in the root cellar unhurt...?

"h.e.l.lo?"

I came back into the present. "Oh, hi."

Susan smiled. "I'm here bearing gifts."

I took a gla.s.s in my good hand; my right fist was locked in plaster and suspended from a sling. "Orange juice is a gift?"

"Yes. From Minute Maid. What were you thinking about?"

"Poultrez and Sonny and the rest of it."

Susan set her gla.s.s on the railing and plopped down in a redwood deck chair. "You're not still worried, are you?"

"Oh. h.e.l.l, no. I'm just trying to piece it all together. You mind if we talk about it a little?"

"I told you last night. I'm fine."

I thought maybe she was a little testy about the subject for someone who was fine, but I let it go. I said, "I just didn't know if you wanted to mess up a great morning like this by talking about it." Susan looked at me, then picked up her gla.s.s and sipped some juice. So much for my stab at sensitivity. "Okay. Here's what I don't understand. I know Carli didn't get to the farm until after you and Poultrez and Sonny were already there. But I don't know how long Carli was there with her father before I showed up."

Susan rose out of her chair and came to stand beside me. "I guess a couple of hours. Poultrez locked me in the bomb shelter just after Carli got there. I didn't have a watch, but about two hours or so is my best guess. And Poultrez killed Sonny before I went in. So..." Susan put her elbows on the railing and leaned out to look down the beach. "In case you're wondering, you probably saved Carli from being raped by showing up when you did. She told Sheriff Nixon in Coopers Bend that, when her father heard you outside, he had just 'started on her.'" Susan made a face. "G.o.d, what a way to put it."

"Better than most of the alternatives."

"I guess. Anyway, he's gone and she's going to make it." I shrugged, and Susan said, "Really. I believe that. Loutie's going to take care of her for a while. Get her some counseling, whatever she needs. Like I told you from the first, there's more to Carli than meets the eye."

"What about her mother?"

"It's pitiful. Carli says not to worry. Apparently, the mother's kind of... well, she's just about what you'd expect to be married to her father."

I drank some orange juice and said, "Oh."

I was thinking about Carli and watching three slack-jawed pelicans drift over the bay when the phone started ringing. I set my juice back on its round wet spot on the railing.

Susan said, "Let the machine get it."

"Turned it off."

"Well, then just let it ring."

As I turned to walk inside, I said, "I stabbed a guy in the throat two days ago. They know it was self-defense, but it wouldn't be a great idea for the cops to think I had sneaked off somewhere. I'll be right back."

I walked around and sat on the bed before picking up the receiver.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Tom?" It was Carlos Sancheza"known in political circles as Charlie Esteveza"and he apparently had decided that we were on a first-name basis.

Unfortunately, I wasn't sure which name to use. So, all I said was, "Yes?"

"Carlos Sanchez."

That answered that. "Good morning, Carlos." Two could play at that game.

"How's your friend? The giant with white hair."

"The giant with white hair is fine. He's back in Mobile, and he's got a beautiful woman to nurse him back to health. The doctors say a few weeks and he'll be back to normal."

"That is good to hear." Sanchez hesitated just as Susan walked into the room.

She whispered, "Who is it?"