Bullet Beach (25 page)

This time he had mixed business with pleasure and though she was quite capable of taking care of herself, her presence became a liability to both of them. Her presence also erased the advantage of his having ‘nothing to lose.'

The German who appeared to be in charge was a large man. He wore a faded Hawaiian-style shirt. He whispered something to the guy next to him, a skinny guy in an oversized tee shirt. After a brief exchange, the skinny guy got up from the table and headed out to the street, but not before he glanced quickly at Shanahan. This group of four ran counter to the stereotype of the intelligent German. But that didn't mean they weren't dangerous.

Shanahan instinctively felt his canvas bag to make sure the ‘Peacemaker' was still inside. It was.

The table was quiet. Others drifted in. Shanahan's mind drifted from Maureen to his brother and how this all started. He had simply come across an old photograph. He was in the photograph as were his parents. And that could have been it, but for the bare leg of a child in the bottom right hand corner. Just the leg – as if the figure had not quite made it out of the picture. And now Shanahan was here – his reason for being here as vague as the dreams that haunted him.

After a whispered conversation, another at the table of Germans left. Outside, the man turned the opposite direction of the first. This left two of them, the larger man who seemed to be in charge and the one missing two front teeth. These were thugs, Shanahan concluded – not a bright one among them. They had plotted one person leaves at a time; but if that was supposed to be some sort of spontaneous act, the whispering and the dutiful, almost robotic departure made it almost comedic.

There was a plan afoot, but for Shanahan the question was whether the plan had to do with him, his brother or some other no doubt foolish undertaking. In a few moments, the answer began to take shape. The two who had left, returned, guiding what appeared to be a nervous and reluctant fifth person to the table. He was seated near the large, Hawaiian-shirted man and the toothless one.

While Shanahan took in the tabletop drama, the big German looked Shanahan's way and smiled. It was the first time anyone at the table acknowledged him. The big man whispered something in the newcomer's ear. From the look on the newcomer's face he didn't find the information encouraging.

It was a show, Shanahan concluded. They were trying to intimidate him by intimidating another in his presence. Shanahan could confront them. He'd lose. He could call the police, but there were four of them, all four of them more fluent in the ways of Thai police and politics. He decided to deprive them of an audience. If they were doing it for him, then they'd no longer need to do it if he were gone.

An afternoon nap, dinner on the party beach of Patong, a kickboxing match, a stop at a liquor store to pick up a bottle of whiskey and a walk back up over the hill to his room above the bar. It was pitch black when he opened his eyes, stirred awake by the delicate picking of the lock. His revolver felt heavier than usual. He took aim at the door. He was about to pull the trigger when he heard the whisper.

‘It's Fritz,' the voice said.

A flashlight beam crawled over Shanahan until it found his face.

‘Good God, you were going to kill me?' the man said, slipping in and shutting the door behind him.

‘Yep,' Shanahan said. ‘You were within seconds of certain death.'

‘That's how it is for me,' Fritz said, ‘I live my life as if every moment precedes my death by seconds.'

Shanahan sat up in bed, his back against the wall, poured Fritz a drink. Fritz sat at the foot.

‘I thought I said “goodbye”,' Fritz said.

‘It could have been “goodbye”, but then here you are.'

‘If you were someone else, I'd swear you stayed because of the ruby, but I suspect you've done it out of some altruistic sense of brotherly love . . . or responsibility. What you've done, dear Dietrich, is jeopardize not only my fortune but my life. I have this under control. Of sorts.'

‘Of sorts,' Shanahan repeated.

‘Yes. But you should have followed your pretty woman back to wherever you came from. Lived out your life. We had our little family reunion. That should have taken care of the hauntings.'

‘The Germans, are they after you?'

‘No one's after me. They are all after the ruby. But yes, they work for a concern in Bangkok.'

‘Are they capable of building a bomb?'

‘Sure. What do they need? A clothes pin, some metal, some powder, a few wires, a battery and a fuse. A piece of cardboard is attached to a string. When the door opens the cardboard is pulled out allowing all the parts to come together for ignition.'

‘You know a lot about this,' Shanahan said.

‘I've been around.'

‘Why are they stalking me?'

Shanahan knew why. He wanted Fritz to keep talking, to keep drinking.

‘They know you are here for one of two reasons,' Fritz said. ‘Maybe you're trying to help me. Not good. Or you want the ruby too. Even worse. You are not only dispensable but dispensing you is desirable.'

There was a long moment of silence, Shanahan seeing his brother's face, much more like his own in the near darkness.

His brother said, a serious tone in his voice, ‘Why
are
you here?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You don't know?' Fritz asked incredulously.

‘I never used to do anything without a clear purpose,' Shanahan said. ‘That's not so true anymore.' He filled Fritz's glass.

‘Just a feeling?' Fritz asked. There was accusation in his voice.

Shanahan growled a yes.

‘What the hell do you do all day? I can't imagine you're much of a shopper and I doubt if you brought a surfboard along.'

‘I eat, drink, look around for you. Back in Bangkok I squeezed in a couple of laps in the pool.'

‘Not afraid to get in the water these days. Not afraid of sharks?'

‘Not in the swimming pool.'

‘Swim pretty good?'

‘For a man of my age, maybe.'

Fritz leaned forward. ‘So you're all settled down, a little house somewhere on a tree-lined street? A dog maybe?'

‘Something like that.'

‘What's wrong with you. The woman make you soft?'

‘She made me better.'

‘I'm just jealous. Pay no attention. I gotta get outta here.'

‘Are there others after you?' Shanahan asked. He didn't want Fritz storming out just yet.

‘Probably. And that's worse because if I can't see them, I don't know how to avoid them.'

‘What will it take for you to get your treasure and get out of here?'

‘You think I'm drawing this thing out? Jesus, Dietrich. It's a day-by-day, minute-by-minute situation. I'll know it when the moment is right and then I'll be gone. And let me remind you, this isn't a team effort, Dietrich. You screw this up, my boy, and I die, you will come to know what a haunting really is.'

‘You'll chase me around hell, is that it?'

Fritz laughed and coughed. Shanahan handed him the bottle of whiskey.

‘You know the old man could still be alive,' Fritz said. ‘People live to be a hundred.'

‘Speaking of hell, right? Anyway, we're the old men now.'

Fritz took another sip of whiskey.

‘You're not drinking so much,' Fritz said.

‘Yeah I am. You're just not paying attention. You have your mind on the loot.'

‘You know this is it for me. This stupid ruby,' Fritz said, ‘having it makes the difference between a life lived as a slimy, bottom-feeding parasite or as a legendary discoverer who lives out his life with at least a measure of respect. I won't be world famous. But among those who count I'll be a prince. No, a king. They'll talk about me long after I'm gone.' He went quiet again and Shanahan tipped the last of the whiskey into his brother's glass.

Fritz had been right about his brother's drinking. Shanahan sipped and sipped only a little. He knew that if Fritz had survived the life he said he lived, dodging between corrupt authorities and greedy thieves, he had survival skills. Following him in his territory at night wouldn't be easy. It was important for Shanahan to keep his senses about him and to dull his brother's.

The night was warm and the air thicker than usual this close to the sea. At four in the morning, there were no lights to be seen. Fritz made it easily out of the dark, empty bar that opened to the road, then to the beach. He walked along it, near the water, away from civilization. The moon wasn't helping. Last night it showed nothing. Tonight, just a sliver of it was enough for Shanahan to see a blurry shadow half walk, half stumble in the night.

For a moment, Fritz disappeared away from the water. Shanahan had let some distance intervene and worried that he had left too much, that he had lost him. But the shadow reappeared, dragging something behind him. Fritz pulled it into the surf and climbed in. Fritz began to paddle out to sea.

Shanahan couldn't believe that his brother could go very far in such an insubstantial craft. He waited. He estimated he had waited ten minutes before he heard the distant sound of an engine starting.

Fritz was hiding on an island. As clever as the old, retired intelligence sergeant might have thought he was – getting his brother tipsy enough to follow undetected – he was at a loss now.

TWENTY-FIVE

Cross stopped back at his place, showered and dressed as though he was heading to church – something he hadn't done since leaving home when he was 17. Cross headed for Eaton, Indiana before swinging northeast to Lake Wawasee. If this was to be his last day as a free man, then he would visit his parents and Maya, the little girl he left in their care.

The old farmhouse and what was left of the farm itself, sat on a back road away from town. It was the house he grew up in. Handsome, but neglected and slowly slipping back into nature.

‘Breakfast?' his mother asked.

‘Had some,' he said, looking out of the window. Maya, who had been playing with the goat on the grass between the house and the barn, noticed the car and came running in.

‘What did you bring me?'

Cross laughed. She was her mother's daughter.

‘Just me.'

‘Oh,' she said, disappointment easily read on her face. ‘OK,' she said. She grinned and reached out for Howie to hug her.

‘What brings you up this way this morning?' his father asked, coming in from the bedroom, pulling his robe together. ‘Or is this the weekend already?'

His father seemed to be getting smaller with each visit.

‘No. I might have to be away for awhile,' Cross said, then interrupting himself. ‘I could do with a cup of coffee.' As his mother retreated to the kitchen. ‘So I thought I'd stop by for a short visit first.'

No point in alarming them yet.

‘You're all dressed up,' his father said. ‘A wedding or a funeral?'

‘Don't know yet,' Cross said bewildering his parents. But they were used to such bewilderment when it came to their son.

They talked, mostly of his father's medical condition – recovering from a serious heart incident and his mother's misunderstanding with one of the neighbors. They talked about Maya's school year, which would begin in a few weeks and of the prospects for some sort of normal home life for her. Maya, bored with such conversation, deserted them, for the outside.

‘We gonna get to keep her?' Cross senior asked.

‘Nothing else to do,' Cross said. ‘You OK with the way things are?'

‘We are,' his mother said. ‘We're just worried. Where are you off to?'

‘Work may take me away. I wanted to spend some time with you before I went. It's a little up in the air. There's a chance I'll be here on the weekend. But I don't want you worrying if I'm not.'

Cross's phone rang. He got up and walked out on the front porch.

‘Where are you?' Kowalski asked.

‘Eaton. I'll be off to the lake soon.'

‘The natives are restless. Taupin and his attorney are stirring up trouble with the city council and reporters are nipping at the DA's heels. Saddler really went out on a limb for you.'

‘She knows Taupin is guilty. She knows who he is. I've got today. They gave me today to figure this out.'

‘Things change, Cross.'

‘They don't know where to find me.'

‘I'm sorry,' Kowalski said, ‘where did you say you were?'

‘Thanks,' Cross said. He clicked off the phone, took out the battery. He walked out to the yard where Maya and her goat seemed to be having some sort of
tête á tête
. As he approached, the goat looked at him warily.

‘You know I love you.' Cross dropped down on his haunches in front of Maya. The goat eyed him. Mischief was brewing. ‘Join the club,' Cross said to the goat. ‘You know that, right? That I love you.'

Maya was real quiet, staring at him, a look of panic replaced by a kind of blankness. Finally she said, ‘Oh silly.'

‘I know. The thing is I might have to be gone awhile.'

She nodded.

He was sure Maya's mother was never this intimate, but he knew too that she left her daughter often and for long periods of time. She was used to it.

‘You'll watch over them?' He nodded back to the house. ‘You can do that?'

‘Of course,' she said. ‘What do you think?' She hit him playfully on the shoulder and ran off, followed by the frisky goat.

Driving was therapy. It always had been for Cross. After he'd killed the two men in a field, the men who had abducted Maya's mother some many months ago, he went on the long drive to Iowa to visit a friend. As the miles and miles of interstate crossing redundant flat fields of farmland passed by him he began to shed the stunning effect their deaths had upon him. This, in some ways, was worse. He had watched this man, with ice-cold purpose, kill a man and then his own wife. No anguish. No anger. It was an execution prompted by the ultimate in practicality. So cold, so inhuman it seemed to Cross that while his brain could process it in some fashion, his mind, colored by at least minimal humane expectations, could not.