Deep Shadow (23 page)

Talking louder, I said to Perry, “Do what I tell you to do and they’ll leave us alone. Goddamn it, listen to me!”

Perry snapped out of his trance and turned, his face showing confusion.

I told him, “Hide that rifle. Slide it under the truck or toss it into the bushes.”

King, who had pocketed the pistol, called, “Don’t be a dope, Perry. Jock-a-mo’s setting us up.” He was talking over his shoulder, moving faster toward the trees.
Leave Perry to confront police,
that’s what he was thinking. King was out of here.

I picked up the BC and the spent air bottle and walked toward Perry, saying, “Take your shirt off and start walking this stuff toward the lake. Do it now.”

“Huh?”

“Take your shirt off.”

“You’re crazy, dude. Let them see me? You don’t know what they’re gonna charge us with, man. You got no idea of the kinda shit that’s about to go down. If you knew, you wouldn’t—”

“Convicts on the run don’t take time out to go scuba diving,” I told him. “Listen to what I’m saying! They won’t find out who you are unless you give them a reason to land.”

The chopper had spotted us. I watched the craft veer two degrees, drop its nose and accelerate directly at us. Perry looked at the rifle, then lowered it before looking at me. “Okay, okay. Like I’m a tourist or something,” he said. “Is that what you mean?”

“If you don’t run,” I said, “they’ve got no reason to be suspicious.”

He replied, “I get it. Yeah . . . maybe . . . Maybe that’s smart.”

Perry hid the rifle by holding it parallel to his right leg until he was close enough, then slid it under the truck. I left the BC with the bottle standing upright as Perry removed his shirt—maybe a mistake because of his prison-white skin, tattoos showing, but there was no going back now.

As Perry carried my tank and BC toward the lake, I removed another bottle from the back of the truck and the canvas bag I usually carry on my boat, the one loaded with emergency gear. King and Perry had already pawed through the stuff, but it looked like everything I had packed was still there.

When the chopper was high above us, the pilot hovered, taking his time descending just in case we were armed and dangerous. The craft was painted government green on white with a big golden sheriff’s star aft of the cabin. Inside, I could see the pilot plus two cops—maybe wearing tactical gear, maybe not—but one of them was using binoculars from beneath his flight helmet. I waved at the helicopter as I said to Perry, “Put on that vest. Pretend you’re adjusting it.”

The man’s tattoos were garish red and green on his mushroom skin, a dragon covering his back, a snake crawling across his shoulders.

Not looking at me, Perry called back, “I’m wearing pants, for chrissake. They’re not gonna believe I’m going for a swim wearing pants and shoes.”

The chopper was dipping lower, and I was smiling up at the cops as I said to him, “You want them to ID that ink on your back? Put on that damn vest before they see it.”

I was making sense—I could see the man’s brain working it through. He picked up the BC, saying, “Why the hell are you trying to help us? Dude, that’s what I don’t understand.”

I didn’t reply. By the time the chopper was close enough for us to feel the wind wake, Perry had the BC on and was fiddling with the straps.

“Look at them and wave,” I told Perry, suddenly not so sure this act was going to work, mostly because of King, who, I now noticed, was crouched down beneath trees, hiding near the truck. Behave as if you’re guilty, no matter what the crime, and cops will react as if they are dealing with killers.

In this case, they were.

Because of the thick palmettos, there wasn’t a clean LZ that would allow an easy landing, but if they saw King they would call for backup, then stand watch until help arrived.

I returned my attention to the gear bag I was holding as if getting ready for another dive, but I used peripheral vision to watch as the helicopter dropped low enough that cypress trees began thrashing. King was on his belly now, hands protecting his head from debris. Look straight down, the pilot might be able to see him.

The chopper looked like an executive Bell, two big windows on the port and starboard sides. I wasn’t surprised that it was equipped with a PA system. I watched one of the cops lift a microphone to his lips before his voice boomed, “Orange County Sheriff ’s Department. Are you men okay?”

I let the cop with the binoculars see me nod. I held a fist in the air, a big thumbs-up.

The voice asked, “Do you have permission to be on this property?”

I doubted if they cared. There was no way the cops could check without landing, and I knew they weren’t hunting for trespassers. It wasn’t a question, it was a test. The man was fishing for a reaction as one of his partners studied us with the binoculars.

I nodded an emphatic
Yes
and added another thumbs-up.

“We’re looking for two male suspects—two men traveling on bicycles. Or maybe on foot by now. They’re both about the same height and build. About six-three, a hundred and seventy-five pounds. Have you seen anyone in the area who matches that description?”

As if asking Perry a question, I said to him, “Act like you’re thinking about it, then shake your head no.”

I noted that Perry’s hands were shaking as he knelt over the air bottle and then reached for the regulator hose. He didn’t look up as he replied, “We’re fucked. I should’ve kept the goddamn rifle!”

I said in a pleasant voice, “Shut up and don’t panic. You’re okay,” then looked up at the chopper. I shrugged and shook my head,
No,
my expression telling the crew
Sorry, we can’t help you
.

“If you see two males who fit that description—if you see
anyone
suspicious—please call nine-one-one. Don’t try to confront them, don’t attempt to follow. Do you understand? These men are armed and extremely dangerous.”

I nodded another emphatic yes as I watched the cop with the microphone listen to something the man behind him was saying. Again, the voice echoed down through the chopper wash. “Are you
sure
everything’s okay?”

I nodded.

The two men conversed again before the PA boomed, “It’s late in the day to be diving. Is there some kind of trouble?”

As I shook my head no I touched my watch, then I pointed to the sun. Next, I pointed at the lake. I punctuated the response by flashing an
OK
with thumb and forefinger, then another thumbs-up.

They could interpret that any way they wanted. The cops were trained in air recovery, which meant they knew something about diving. Novice divers often do their first night dive in the safe confines of a quarry. Maybe they would make the connection.

They did.

The PA system boomed, “Have a good day, gentlemen, but stay on your toes. The guys we’re after could be somewhere in this area.”

I offered a final thumbs-up, feeling the binoculars fixed on us, seeing the pilot inspect our scuba gear strewn around the truck, as the chopper tilted, then lifted slowly. The noise of the rotor blade rumbled louder as the aircraft spun sharply to port, then accelerated away.

Not moving, I said to Perry, “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Do it until they’re out of sight.”

I gave it a few beats before I stood, turned and yelled to King, “Stay where you are, you dumb-ass. Don’t move! This is the second time you’ve screwed up—and it had better be the last!”

 

 

When the chopper was gone,
I walked toward the truck to check on Arlis. King emerged from the trees. He held the pistol in his right hand, not smiling. His face was different—a blanched, wide-eyed look that told me I’d finally gotten to him. The manipulator had been manipulated.

King hollered, “No more of your smart-ass remarks—you hear me, you piece of shit? Mister high-and-mighty! Don’t think the King won’t shoot you ’cause I will.” His voice had a different quality, too. All the smirking subtleties were gone.

I was thinking,
The King, huh?,
and ignored him as he screamed, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

The real King had finally made an appearance—a fragile ego masked by bluster and all the machinations of a vicious child.

I didn’t look at him. I continued walking. I thought he might pull the trigger again, but felt confident that he would intentionally miss. Cuban gold pesos and a vehicle—without me, King had no venue of escape.

From behind, I heard Perry gliding up beside me, walking fast, saying, “Hey—you gotta answer my question, dude. I want to know. Why’d you do that? You got rid of the cops—
why
?”

King heard him as he intercepted us. He was nodding his head, his face was mottled with anger. “There’s something weird going on here, Perry. I don’t like it, man. I don’t trust this dweeb. What he just did makes no sense. Jock-o, what is your story?”

I said, “I don’t have a story. You’re too dumb to understand it if I did.”

In the back of the truck was an Igloo cooler. I opened it, took out two bottles of water and turned to Perry. “Captain Futch needs his hands free. Cut him loose. Let me give him some water. I’m not discussing our next move until his hands are free.”

“You’re not going near the old man,” King snapped. “For all I know, you’ve got the truck keys stashed in your wet suit.”

I pushed the bottles toward King. “Then you do it, but I’m watching every move you make.”

I stood near the window as Perry helped Arlis sit, then used my big survival knife to cut the plastic that bound his wrists. The knife was sharp and it took only a swipe. From Arlis, I expected threats and insults, but the man had been paying attention. For an instant, his eyes locked onto mine, and I understood. He was playing a new role now, the role of the injured old cripple. Let them think he was beaten. Arlis was still in the game.

I said, “Cut his ankles free, too. If he vomits again, he’s got to be able to climb out of the truck.”

Perry was in charge and he let me know it, saying, “Shut your mouth. Grandpa can puke all he wants, I don’t give a shit. I’m not watching the old bastard every second. His feet stay tied.”

Arlis was gulping water. I had never seen him so quiet and meek. “I ain’t going anywhere,” he mumbled through the window. “Just leave me alone, let me be.” Without risking eye contact, he pulled the passenger door closed, then flopped his head on his chest as if he wanted to sleep.

I knew that Arlis had the keys. His hands were free. All he needed now was an opportunity to start the truck and go.

I took two bottles of water for myself and walked toward the lake, expecting Perry and King to follow. They did. I was calculating Arlis’s chances, picturing how it would shake out. With his ankles bound, it would be tough for him to manage the clutch and accelerator without stalling the engine. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Once he got the truck started, he would have to bounce through fifty yards of palmettos and bushes before the tree line offered him any cover. Until then, Perry would be able to plink away with the Winchester. A 30-30 slug would pierce the thin metal of the cab, no problem.

Now I wished I had told Arlis to wait until dark. As King and Perry followed me to the lake, I tried to contrive a reason for returning to the truck so I could pass along the message, but Perry wouldn’t let me near the thing.

“You’re staying right here with me until you explain what the hell’s going on. You could have ratted us to the cops but you didn’t. Why?”

King couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Maybe he’s flush out of friends. He probably wants to spend some quality time with his new playmates. Just the three of us, alone. Isn’t that right, Jock-o?”

I almost smiled. That was exactly what I wanted—me alone with Perry and King, just the three of us. Instead I said, “I lied to the cops because I had to.”

“That answer doesn’t cut it, man. Lied to the cops because you had to?” Perry found that funny. “Jesus Christ, who doesn’t?”

“We don’t have permission to dive this lake,” I told him. “But that’s only part of it. The old man doesn’t really own the property. If the real owner finds out about the plane wreck, who do you think owns the salvage rights? Even if we do all the work, he can still claim everything we recover. That’s why I didn’t want the cops to land.”

Perry thought about that until he decided it made sense, but King wasn’t buying. Maybe it was because he didn’t believe me, but more likely it was because he was pissed off and looking for an excuse to shoot me. It was all there in his face and his body language. Trouble was, King couldn’t piece together an alternative motive. Why would I refuse help from the police?

King didn’t understand because he knew nothing about me. He soon would.

King said, “Even with his two buddies dead and the old man bad hurt, he still didn’t want the cops to land? This is weird, Perry, very weird.” The man was shaking his head as he studied me. “Your pals are down there—we saw all three of you go in the water. The cops would’ve called in help. Other divers would’ve showed up to retrieve their bodies.”

I said, “So what? There’s no rush now.”

“That’s cold, Jock-o. One look at you, I can tell you never spent day one in the joint. But, man”—he allowed himself to smile—“you got all the qualifications. You don’t give a damn about anybody but yourself. A marine biologist, huh?”

I said, “Nothing’s going to change the fact that my friends are dead. When I get back, I’ll call the police. They’ll have to notify the property owner. Do you see where I’m headed with this?”

King rolled his eyes as Perry took a step closer to hear, but not too close.

I said, “Police divers are going to see what’s down there. They’ll see the wreck. They’re bound to see a few coins even after the rockslide. Or maybe a gold bar.”

Perry whispered, “I get it now. Jesus Christ.”