Buzz Cut (32 page)

***

Dream, reality, dark whisper across the universe. Whatever the hell it was, it was happening. It was happening as clearly as anything ever happened. With all the little gasps and heartbeats and shadows and stutters of a real moment, the right flesh tones, everything. Sugarman lying there in bed, knowing now he should have obeyed the dream, gotten up, crawled under the bed. Wishing he'd done it, but he'd debated it too long, once again letting his brain interfere with his instincts, missing the moment, and now it was happening.

"Hello, brother."

Sugarman didn't stir, staring back into the shadowy eyes.

"That's who you are, isn't it, my brother? Your name is Sugarman. My mother's name before I was born. I know that. I saw it in her things, her papers. I prowled through her desk and I saw the documents. A marriage license. A divorce agreement. Sugarman. That was her first husband, when she was a young girl. A black man like you. Her first husband, Sugarman."

Butler Jack was smiling, a broad empty grin like Sampson's.

"My mother hired you to stop me, didn't she? That's why you're here. To stop your brother. Kill him."

Sugarman looked nothing like Butler Jack. Nothing except the nose, straight and delicate. A little around the mouth. But the rest was different. The eyes were smaller. Butler's lips had a girlish preciseness. Lola's influence. Lovely Lola.

Butler moved closer to the bed, his thighs touching the mattress.

"Covalent bonds," Butler said. "That's what we are. You and I are chemically connected, sharing pairs of electrons. Two things, but one thing. The black fish chasing the white fish. Interdependent. Do you understand me, Sugarman? Do you hear me?"

Butler Jack raised the dagger. He raised the zapper. Both hands sparkling.

"We're the same. We're covalent. The black fish has the tail of the white fish in its mouth. And the white fish has the black fish's tail in its mouth. Round and round they go. Who is going to swallow first?"

***

"What's the
Juggernaut?
"

"It's a ship," Monica said. "It was in Baltimore, in dry dock, Bethlehem Shipyards. We flew up there yesterday, early afternoon. I guess it was yesterday. Seems like weeks ago. I stayed in the cab while Butler went to the ship and came back in a half hour. I don't know what he did."

"We can probably guess."

She'd put on the pair of sage chino shorts, a V-neck long-sleeved jersey. White. Thorn watched her dress. The clothes were simple but she did something to them, gave them flair. The shape of Monica's naked body was still radiant in his head. Storing it away in the long-term memory banks, tingling there.

"He sabotaged the
Juggernaut
somehow," Monica said. "That what you mean?"

Thorn nodded. He studied her a moment. The woman was prettier than he'd thought at first. It was a good deal more serious than pretty. Large blue eyes, bone structure impeccably proportioned. But it was not the dull-eyed, skeletal beauty of fashion models or movie queens. Her face was trim but vigorous, clear of makeup, a sharp glitter in the eyes as though there was much in the world that intrigued her, much she had left to say with those generous lips. A little curl in the right corner of the upper lip, a wisecrack mouth. There was also a delicate tension in the muscles around her eyes as if she were constantly steeling herself for a harsh noise or very bad news.

Thorn asked her what kind of ship the
Juggernaut
was.

"A tanker, I think he said. Yeah, ultra-large tanker."

"An oil tanker."

"I suppose so."

"Great," he said. "Fucking great."

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, slapping the blackjack against her palm. Thorn was still lying down. He picked up the sheet of typing paper and read the list again.

"Your name is Thorn. Is that first or last?"

"Both," he said.

"Thorn," she said, vaguely amused. She said it again. His name sounding exotic in her mouth as if she'd discovered a syllable no one else had found.

"Who was that on the phone? Your girlfriend?"

"Ex."

"Just ended?"

"Couple of days ago," he said. "Though I don't feel as bad as should."

She looked at him, waiting.

He said, "I'm processing it too fast. Like it wasn't rooted as deep as I'd thought."

She nodded, gave him a shy, sympathetic smile that pinged in his bloodstream. Thorn, the sexual simpleton. All dusted off, ready for action.

"So what happened?" he said. "You and Butler were working together, going to pull off this hijack scheme, it starts getting scary and now you want out?"

"I was with him for exactly one day," she said. "He came and got me where I was hiding out, gave me a load of bullshit. I fell for it."

"You were attracted to him?"

She considered it a moment.

"Maybe I was," she said. "But I'm definitely over it now."

"Where was this? Where were you hiding?"

"Where I've been the last few years in the Keys. Sugarloaf Retreat."

"I know that place." Thorn nodded.

"Little motel with a dolphin in the lagoon, up the road from Mangrove Mama's."

"Yeah," she said. "Butler showed up a couple of days ago, said he had a plan in mind that was going to hurt my father. That interested me. I went along. But I had no idea."

"You're the 'her.' 'Locate her.' 'Study her.' "

"I'm the her."

"So this is about you? This whole thing, to impress you?"

"It's more than that. But yeah, he had a crush on me when we were kids, never got over it. It grew in his head, became something important. An obsession, I suppose."

Thorn nodded. He could imagine her as a kid. He could imagine not getting over her.

"What kind of security guy are you, no gun?"

"I don't need a gun."

"You're that good?"

He gave her the brightest smile he could muster. "I guess I'll have to be."

"You're going to need more than this, this blackjack."

"Think of it as a truncheon, it's scarier."

"Oh, great. Another word freak."

She crossed her legs, bounced the top one to a fast tune. Thorn looked past her out the window. A distant stab of lightning, gone so quickly it barely registered. A thunderstorm in the chart-less dark.

Out on the open water the only landmarks were the squalls. Small islands of weather swirling into view, their violent ceremonies unfolding quickly, then moving past and disappearing into the gray, anonymous distances. It came as a mild shock for Thorn to see that spear of lightning out across the stretch of empty water. He'd forgotten for a while that he was at sea.

For this was like no boat Thorn had ever been on. A giant hotel with its casino and vast nightclub, a half-dozen bars and restaurants, several pools, jogging track and spa and gym and library and assorted boutiques, its marble hallways and brass and neon and chrome. So big he'd lost the scent and taste of the sea locked away inside the laminated, veneered, ceramic-tiled rooms. Forgotten that he was not in some tasteless resort but afloat on the mile-high ocean. Subject to the same inexorable laws as any sailor in any vessel.

When he drew back to the moment, Monica's eyes were fastened to his, a wry smile, as if she'd caught him muttering confessions in his sleep.

He cleared his throat, squeezed the bridge of his nose. "So when you disappeared, all that fuss, the posters, all that, it was no kidnapping after all? You just ran off?"

"I was in college, about to graduate. It all got to be too much. My father, the way he was, so domineering, managing my life, every detail, my boyfriends, everything. Then my mother's suicide. I just wanted to start over. Get away from my father. Wipe out the past, make a fresh start. Do it on my own."

"I know the feeling."

"Look, Thorn, I don't want my father to know I'm here. He'd just try to pick up where he left off. He was spying on me when I was in college. He found out I was planning to marry this guy I was seeing at the time, David Cruz, so he swooped down, hired him, made him an employee. That's the kind of man he is. He buys people. Finds their weakness, pushes their buttons."

"David Cruz?"

"Yeah," she said. "When this is over, I want to go somewhere, disappear. Get it right this time."

"David Cruz is dead," Thorn said. "He was attacked in his cabin last night. Sliced up very badly."

Monica drew a sharp breath. "Here? On the
Eclipse
? David Cruz?"

"He was security chief, working with Sugarman, trying to catch Butler Jack."

"Last night? This happened last night?"

"Apparently. Though he wasn't found till this afternoon."

She dropped down on the edge of the bed, slumped over, eyes turning muddy. "Jesus God."

Thorn put a hand on her shoulder, massaged her lightly. She pulled away for a moment, then relented. He could feel the strain ease beneath his hands.

"This is my fucking fault. All of it."

"Don't be stupid."

She swung around, glared at him. Held the sap stiffly in her lap as if she meant to test it against his temple. He took his hand away from her shoulder.

"Butler asked me if I'd been faithful to him, if I'd waited for him. Something I scribbled in a note to him when I was twelve years old. He was still holding on to it. And when he realized I hadn't been loyal, he blew up, stalked off in a rage. He blurted out David Cruz's name. But I had no idea David still worked for the cruise lines, that he was on board. It had to be Butler. He walked off full of all that anger. Because of me."

She dropped the sap on the bed, stood up, paced over to the bathroom, went in and slammed the door.

He could hear her in there, quiet at first, then a couple of quiet whimpers escalating gradually until she was sobbing like a desperate child. Great waves of hurt rolling up from the place where they'd been stored long ago. Thorn lay on the bed and listened and felt a grumble resonating inside him, his own matching wail trying to take shape. The howl of one dog setting off the others. But he resisted as he usually did, breathing his way past. Determined not to take any more voyages to the outer banks of gloom and self-pity.

In a few minutes she quieted. The water ran. She blew her nose. A wonderful, healthy honk. A moment or two more passed before she stepped out. Her face glowing, eyes set.

She came over to the side of the bed and looked down at him. She sniffed, backhanded her nose. "I'm sorry about coming on to you like that. My stupid fucking striptease. That's not me. I'm not some slut."

"I can see that," he said. "But I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

"You won't tell him I'm here. My father?"

"I'm not a Morton Sampson fan."

She shook her head, rubbed a hand across her buzz cut. Looked off at another spray of lightning, a cobweb of bright blue.

Thorn said, "It must have been hard for you to stay hidden for so many years. Even in the Keys."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you're so . . ."

She swung her head around, stared at him.

"I'm so what?" Her face was clenched. "What were you going to say?"

Out the cabin window Thorn caught a glimpse of more lightning, the flashes smothered by a bank of distant clouds.

"You're so noticeable."

She chewed the word for a moment, then her mouth softened, her lips tinged by a smile. He'd passed some test with her, but he wasn't sure what it was.

"Okay," she said. "What do we do now?"

Thorn picked up the list again. He flicked the edge of the page with a finger, lay it aside. "We need to show Sugarman this."

"Then what?"

"Then the captain. We should be able to persuade him to do the right thing."

"Do you know what the right thing is?"

"I'm working on it."

"And then?"

"Then we need to find a dictionary."

She shook her head uncertainly. "What? There's a word on that list you don't know?"

"No, something else. An idea."

Sugarman's howl sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of some moldy pit. Hollow and forlorn. All hope abandoned. Thorn scrambled off the bed. He flung open the connecting door and rushed to Sugar's bed.

Sugarman was sitting up, breathing hard.

"What is it, man? You all right?"

Eyes glazed, Sugarman looked at Thorn for a moment then lunged forward and seized him by the throat and, with startling strength, he slung Thorn sideways against the wall. Before he could roll to his feet, Sugarman was out of the bed, the leather sap rising into the air above him and smashing against Thorn's temple, once, twice. A twisted branch of light filled his head. Thorn yelled, clinging to a thread of consciousness as he raised his arms to ward off Sugar's attack.

Monica must have waked Sugarman from his savage trance. All Thorn knew for sure was that the clubbing stopped. He rolled onto his belly, reached up to feel the damp swelling. The side of his head was numb and aching at once. He heard voices behind him, then felt a cool washrag press against his skull. Felt her turn him over, cradling his head in her lap. Felt her fingertips.

Thorn opened his eyes and the throb was already beginning. His short furlough from pain was finished.

Sugarman sat on the side of his bed, bare-chested, his striped pajama bottoms drooping down. The stripes wavering in Thorn's vision. Sugar's skin glimmered, lathered with sweat. He was gasping, wide chest rising and falling, greedy for air.

"I thought it was him," he said. "Butler Jack. Man, I looked at you and I thought you were him. Oh, sweet Jesus."

"Too bad it wasn't him," Thorn said. "You would've killed the fucker and we could've had ourselves a nice boat ride through the Caribbean."