Deadout (11 page)

I smiled at the table, but no one was looking at me except Teddy. He didn't smile back.

“I saved you a seat, but then Elaine's friend showed up. Let's see if we can get another chair.” She beckoned the hostess. The table was strewn with empty plates, all smeared with egg yolks or syrup.

“It's okay,” I said, stopping her. “You guys are almost finished. Moose and his friends are here. I'll eat with them and see you back at the cabin.”

“Are you sure? There's plenty of room.”

There was absolutely no room. I wasn't sure I wanted to leave her with Teddy and his self-righteous eco-warrior charms, but I was sure I didn't want to sit with him and I was sure I didn't want to be sitting there waiting for my food to come out when everyone else was finished and leaving.

“I'm sure.” This time I gave her a peck on the cheek. “I'll see you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, relieved but concerned.

As I made my way to the other dining room, I could feel her looking at me. But by the time I got to Moose's table, she had turned back around, engrossed in conversation with the woman sitting next to Teddy.

As I sat, Benjy stood and waved over my shoulder. I turned to look and saw Annalisa coming our way, weaving through the tables.

Instinctively, I looked at Nola, and saw her eyes narrow as she watched Annalisa. She glanced at me, then turned back around and resumed her conversation.

Moose leaned close to me. “Benjy asked her to double-check our data.”

“I got here as soon as I could,” Annalisa said to Benjy, her eyes darting to meet mine, then back to the others. Her face was as somber as Moose's and Benjy's. She looked around the room, and I followed her gaze. A lot of the eyes in the room were on her, and I sensed that it was not just aesthetic appreciation. They were staring at our table, reading us. Benjy and Moose seemed to notice it, too. As Annalisa took the seat next to me, the buzz in the room seemed to change pitch.

Benjy leaned forward over the table, and the rest of us leaned toward him.

“They know,” he said quietly. “Pete and his beekeeper buddies have been staring daggers at me since I came in.”

Moose looked around. “Somebody said something,” he whispered, looking at me, then turning to Benjy. “What did you tell Pete?”

Benjy shook his head. “Nothing. I just said we needed a hand. But he already knew something was up.”

The buzz in the room became a whisper, and we heard a chair scraping the floor. One of the guys sitting with Pete stood up and slowly made his way to our table.

Benjy looked at Annalisa. “I hope you've got good news.”

She slowly shook her head.

“My bees are just about all gone,” the man said, looking down at us. “If you know something more about this, you need to tell us right now. You owe us at least that much.”

Benjy stood up, working his mouth like he was trying to find a little bit of moisture in there. I met Nola's eyes across the room, and we both looked up at Benjy.

“We're collecting data and analyzing it, Paul, just like I told you,” Benjy said. “We'll release the results as soon as we're done.”

“You already know,” someone else called out. “Why don't you just tell us?”

Benjy shook his head, holding out his hands, trying to calm things down. “Now, that's not true, and just as soon—”

While Benjy was talking, a cell phone chimed. One of Pete's beekeeper friends covered one ear and put his phone to the other. Then he shot to his feet. “Those bastards are doing it!” he exclaimed. “They're bringing in bees from the mainland.”

“Who is?” Teddy called out.

“Johnny goddamned Blue. They're bringing them over on the ferry.”

Every eye in the place was looking at the beekeeper—then they turned to the windows overlooking the harbor. The ferry was sliding across the water toward the dock, sixty yards away.

Teddy exhaled, shaking his head. “Son of a bitch,” he said quietly. There was a moment of absolute stillness, except for the silent progress of the ferry on the water. Then half the people in the restaurant surged toward the door.

The farmers looked up at Teddy, and when he followed, they did, too. Nola looked at me, wondering what to do, but suddenly there were a lot of people between us, and she followed them out the front door before I could tell her to stay put. Tyrique and Dawson shared a look, threw their napkins on the table in unison, and headed out, focused on Teddy. The two suits scrambled to follow them.

There was a bottleneck at the door, and by the time it started to clear, the rest of the room had gotten up to follow, probably just to watch whatever was going to happen.

I looked over at Moose.

Benjy shook his head. “This isn't good.”

We got up to follow them, but the door was still jammed. Good thing there wasn't a fire, I thought. “Follow me,” I said, leading them through the kitchen, toward the back door.

The dishwasher looked up at us, surprised. “Sorry, you can't come back here.”

“Oops,” I said as we filed past him and out the back door. “My mistake.”

We got out in front of the crowd and got to the terminal next door just as the ferry was touching the dock. The crowd from the Black Dog was right behind us.

We ran along the rows of cars waiting in the staging area to get on the ferry. By the time we got to the ramp, it was already down and cars were driving off. The crowd surged forward, Teddy out in front. The car coming off slammed its brakes, almost rear-ended by the car behind it.

Teddy put his hands on the car's hood—a bit dramatically, I thought—and peered through the windshield as the driver honked his horn and gave him the finger. Teddy straightened, looking around him as the vehicles streamed off the ferry.

The guys directing traffic yelled a few words, but at the sight of the crowd they backed up and got on their walkie-talkies.

There were only a few cars left when a black, unmarked flatbed with a tarp-covered load pulled off. Teddy ran toward it, the rest of the crowd following right behind him. The driver tried to go around him, but Teddy stayed in front of the truck, slamming his hands onto the hood. The driver started honking and yelling, but as the crowd wrapped around the truck, he began to look scared. The rest of the cars pulled around him and sped away.

I spotted Nola in the crowd, hanging back. She looked scared, too. Off to one side, Tyrique and Dawson were scowling at Teddy. To the other side, the two suits were looking around nervously.

I pushed through the crowd, stepping up next to Teddy and holding up my hands. “Calm down, everybody,” I shouted over the din. “Let's not get out of hand.”

“No!” Teddy shouted. “Don't calm down! If they're bringing these bees onto our island, things are already out of hand!”

The crowd circling the truck roared in agreement. Half a bagel bounced off the windshield, leaving a smudge of cream cheese.

The driver revved his engine, scared and angry and threatening to drive off regardless of who was in front of him. I knew the scene could easily turn violent.

Then a voice boomed out, “Stop it!” and everybody did. The crowd parted, making way for Jimmy Frank, the cop who had showed up at the Alehouse. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked, scolding and incredulous. “What's gotten into you people?”

Teddy stepped forward, the self-appointed leader.

Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“This,” Teddy said, pointing at the truck. “They're bringing those goddamned industrial bees onto the island, with all their death and diseases.”

Jimmy stepped back. “Bees?”

The driver of the truck opened the door and stood up on the edge. “What are you talking about?”

“We've got enough problems on the island,” Teddy said. “We're trying to salvage what we can of this growing season. This is the last thing we need.”

The driver looked confused. “I ain't got no bees.”

People turned to look at him.

The driver shrugged. “I ain't got no bees. I'm delivering drywall. You can look if you want.”

Jimmy shook his head and waved the guy back. “No, that won't be necessary. Now, you people get out of his way, and let the man go about his business.” The crowd stepped aside, grumbling, and as the truck drove slowly past, Teddy jumped up on the back bumper and tore back the tarp. Drywall.

The crowd went quiet as the truck drove off, and as the sound of its engine receded, another sound took its place, a rhythmic thumping,
whump, whump, whump,
soft and low, but powerful enough that it was shaking my sternum. People started looking around, trying to find the source of it, but I knew the sound and I spotted it right away. Out over the water, two specks flying low, getting bigger and growing louder.

 

19

They seemed ominous, like angry insects. Death from above, I thought.

As they got closer, the others picked them out. Soon everyone had turned to stare at them.

The helicopters were massive, bright yellow with red markings, each dangling a white box almost as big as the helicopters themselves. The boxes looked like cargo containers, or RV trailers. One looked sleek, with rounded corners and windows, the other more boxy. It wasn't until they were almost on top of us that the red markings plastered across both helicopters and both trailers resolved into the Stoma Corporation logo.

A gasp worked its way through the crowd as people recognized the logo, but it was drowned out as the helicopters roared overhead, banking slightly to the south, the trailers swinging out as they did. Flying that low, they disappeared in seconds, nothing left but the receding
whump, whump, whump,
and the cluster of shocked faces.

“Jesus Christ,” someone said. “That's Stoma Corporation. They're bringing in GMO bees!”

“She brought them here,” one of the beekeepers said, pointing at Annalisa, and the noise ratcheted up again as the crowd constricted around her, yelling and cursing. “She works for Stoma!”

“I had nothing to do with it,” she protested, putting up her hands. I stepped in front of her and so did Jimmy Frank, though it looked like he was wondering what the hell was going on.

I put my head next to his. “These people are losing it,” I said. “You need to get her out of here.”

His eyes lit up before he could hide it. Then he nodded seriously and spoke into her ear. With one arm around her shoulder, he held up his badge and led her through the crowd.

Maybe they thought he was arresting her, or maybe he just commanded that much respect, but no one followed for more than a few steps.

The crowd scattered, people rushing in all directions. I had the impression that some of them were going after the helicopters. I looked around for Nola, and spotted her sitting on a curb comforting an upset Gwen.

I went over to them. “You okay?” I asked Nola.

Gwen nodded, wiping her nose.

Nola got to her feet. “We're okay. Do you think those are really genetically engineered bees?”

I nodded.

“People are going to go nuts.”

“Well, yeah, especially with your friend Teddy getting them all riled up.”

“They should be riled up,” she said indignantly. “Doyle, this is important.”

“I know it is, but so is not inciting a mob to tear apart an innocent drywall delivery man.” From the corner of my eye I saw Teddy speaking furtively on his cell phone, his eyes looking around nervously.

“Teddy was just trying to stop something terrible from happening,” Nola said. “No one was hurt.”

“Not yet,” I replied.

Gwen put away her tissue and stood.

“Okay,” Nola said, putting her arm around Gwen. “I have to get Gwen home. We can talk about this later.”

As she said it, Teddy started fast-walking toward the low wall that separated the staging area from the sliver of beach that ran from the ferry terminal past the Black Dog. He looked like he was up to no good, but he always looked that way to me. Then I saw the two suits jogging after him and Blue's bodyguards following after them. It was like he was the Pied Piper of assholes, except he wasn't leading them off the island.

Teddy hopped over the railing and onto the sand. A couple of seconds later the two suits climbed after him and then Tyrique and Dawson did, too, with a little more difficulty.

When I caught up with them, Teddy was scurrying down the beach. The two suits had turned to face Dawson and Tyrique, looking like they were ready for action, but by the time I jumped down from the wall, they were pushing themselves up onto their hands and knees, their faces covered with a mixture of sand and blood. I stuck the landing, planting myself in the sand next to the two suits, between Blue's bodyguards and the rapidly receding Teddy Renfrew. I immediately asked myself why.

Tyrique snorted and Dawson shook his head, putting his hands together and cracking the knuckles in his fist. It was a cheesy move, but he did it well, producing a lot of sound.

“Listen up, Shorty,” he said, looking down at me. “I ain't got a problem with you and I don't want to mess with no cop, but Richie Rich over there has been poking my man Blue for months, so why don't you let us teach him some manners and we'll be on our way.”

I shook my head. “Can't do it. You know that.”

I hoped he wasn't going to ask me why, because I didn't have a good answer. Instead he took a swing, surprisingly fast for a big guy. I mostly got out of the way, but let his fist graze the tip of my nose, so I could go down on my hands and knees and come back up with a fist full of sand.

Apparently, they didn't watch a lot of bad movies, because they totally didn't see it coming. I whipped my hand hard, right to left, and sprayed both their faces with sand. I think their eyes actually widened, getting as much of it in there as possible. Maybe they were surprised I'd pull such a dick move.