SILENT GUNS (21 page)

“
Schiller,” Graves said. “What are
you doing here?”

“
It wasn’t bullshit, was it?”
Schiller screamed at Harper, his face contorted. “Powder and
weapons. Powder bags for a 16-inch gun. The
Missouri
, ain’t
it?” Schiller hissed like a snake. “Rifles and machine guns, too! A
big time hit, ain’t it? What’s the deal?” Schiller disgorged a
horrible, screeching sound. Graves snapped. Schiller was too
surprised to dodge the blow. Harper watched in amazement, but it
all happened in an instant. Graves took one step forward, cocked
his arm; his hand screwed into tight fist and exploded it into
Schiller’s face. Schiller’s face flamed spattered red, his
breathing short and quick. His feet left the deck, his head spun as
his fingers clawed the air. Schiller landed flat on his back,
spread-eagled across the powder bags. His eyes were closed, his
jaws and lips hung slack. Harper walked softly over and stood
looking down at Schiller. Blood was trickling from the corners of
his mouth, his teeth bared like a wild animal. He bent over and
picked up the knife. He asked, gently, “Are you O.K., Schiller?”
Schiller lay still, his back pressed against a stanchion breathing
hard.

“
We’d better tie him up,” Harper
found himself cursing, his mind filled with nameless
words.

“
Leave him be. He ain’t goin’
nowhere,” Graves waved him off, “He ain’t gonna talk to nobody.
Now, we got two guys to watch.” He made a disgusted grimace and
whistled between his teeth, “We shoulda stayed on the
Missouri
.”

“
Maybe he’s not alone,” Harper
persisted.

“
Jesus!” Graves eyed him
bleakly.

“
Best we sit tight,” Harper said
dryly. “Take our chances, if there is, he’ll come looking for him.
Tie up Schiller and gag him, just in case.” Graves nodded. Hauser
paced the deck, snarling.

“
Hey! Schiller. How’d you like to
be dog food?”

They exchanged glances and laughed.

“
Naw! Hauser’d get
sick.”

“
Good dog, Hauser.”

Hauser wagged his tail.

* * *

“
Let’s skip out,” Lisa said as
they finished dinner at the Scarlet Tree. She was doing her lips.
She stopped for a moment, lipstick in hand and said, “Do you mind?
We could go to my place for an after-dinner drink.” Trent smiled.
“Sounds like a super idea.” He stared at her with concern. She had
carried the evening’s conversation: he listened, intently. She
never once mentioned Maxie. “Back to your apartment we
go.”

As she laughed, his anxiety lessened.

She picked up her handbag and they left.

“
Tony, you are my man of mystery,”
Lisa said, looking up at him coyly as they stood by the fireplace.
She set her drink on the mantle. Her voice was light, her mood soft
and playful. She shrugged. “I haven’t been honest with you, have
I?”

“
You did deal my ego a terrible
blow when you told me it was Maxie you were interested in, not
me.”

Lisa feigned disbelief. “Oh! Posh! You are a tease.
I admit I did track you down. I knew where and when you would be
meeting Madden. And, I admit I was callous; but, now…” They touched
hands. “Maxie is married, you know; but I am better looking.” I
tried to be gentle. She laughed lightly. Trent eased himself back,
not seeming to mind at all that half his drink was now on his
jacket sleeve.

“
I only mislead myself,” she said,
“Contacting Maxie was just another job, but then you got in the
way.” He put his arms around her and drew her tight. She came to
him willingly. Her closeness fanned the flames of desire. Yet,
inside, Lisa set off a small warning alarm. Was she still using
him? Yet, he did nothing to fend off her growing emotional
dependence. His weakened defenses warned him he was falling deeper
in love with her. Looking up at him, she reached and turned down
the lights. “I like it better darker,” she laughed softly. His
hands found hers and he drew her roughly to him. Under the flat of
his hands, he felt her back go rigid for a moment then pliable as
she moved against his body. Her hard, full pointed breasts pressed
against his chest through the thin fabric. Her mouth softened.
“You’re very quiet.” she said, her lips searching his. “What are
you thinking about?”

“
What do you think?”

“
You really loved Myrna, didn’t
you?” A sentimental sadness chased her features, her eyes
dreamy.

He looked at her emptily. “In truth, I did. Very
much.”

“
That’s lovely, very romantic,”
she said, her eyes misty. He could feel her breathing lightly,
almost sobbing in his ear.

“
I blame myself,” he
trembled.

“
How noble,” she exclaimed,
sweetly. “Do you think of me as you did Myrna?” Her voice was
distant, almost child-like. “Eddie left me, you know, he died and
left me… abandoned me.”

He unbuttoned her blouse.

She pressed him away. His breath stopped, a
heartbeat stilled. He wanted to hold her, to tell her everything.
His plans, fears, and hopes: all the things he held bottled up
inside, dreams he not dared confide. She turned her face away as if
to shield from him what was deeply felt in her heart. He leaned
forward, kissed her cheek lightly. “I need you.” His tone was of
boyish innocence.

She did not hear.

Lisa drew a deep breath. “Maxie told me a great
deal.” A veil of coldness passed between them, her voice turned
unemotional and flat. Lisa had shifted gears. Trent was aghast. His
mind clicked over. What had he said? What had he done? He blurted
out, “What did Maxie say?”

“
He told me the money is in San
Francisco and that he’ll take me to it,” Lisa relaxed
slightly.

Trent sighed. “Do you trust him?”

“
Why shouldn’t I?” she seemed
peevish.

“
No reason,” he grinned
awkwardly.

He slipped his arm around her.

“
Maxie asked only to finish his
job on the
Missouri
. He didn’t want to let you
down.”

“
Did you agree?”

“
My client did. But, they either
get the money or that will be the end of Mr. Hirsch.” There was a
sharp edge in her words.

“
Does Maxie understand the
terms?”

“
Yes.” She broke away. Her lips
parted to form words and the cold veil fell away. “You don’t
despise me, do you?” She threw herself against him, burying her
face in his chest. He felt her tremble, sob deep sobs. He held her
tightly, unable to think or speak. She said tenderly, “Can you
forgive me?” She lifted herself on her toes and kissed him on the
mouth. “Let me make it up to you,” she purred softly. She
unbuttoned his shirt: he unfastened her skirt and let it drop to
the floor. Tossing aside the rest of her clothes, he stood back
admiring her. “You have a beautiful body, Lisa,” Lisa challenged
his manhood. Lisa could not know it would be their last evening
together. The moment had to last a lifetime.

* * *

Newby perched at the head of the
Helga
’s
gangway. Hauser had curled up asleep at his feet. His mind still
reeled. He wiped his mouth and busied himself examining his
crumpled clothes. He felt the stubble on an unshaven face rasp
against the back of his hand. His face was sickly with deep marks
of strain and fatigue. Small tears of yellow mucus gathered at the
corner of his eyes.

“
Schiller’s tied up in the aft
hold,” he jumped up and blurted out as Trent came aboard. Trent
compressed his lips in a “What else?” Without asking, Newby added,
“And Harper’s missing.” The words hit Trent like a bucket of ice
water dumped over his head. “And, Graves and Hirsch?”

“
They’re on guard
duty.”

“
Has Madden shown up?”

“
No sign of him since we got
in.”

Graves ambled forward. “Harper and me caught
Schiller in the aft hold. He went right to the powder bags. He
figured it out. It was all Harper’s fault. Shooting off his mouth
damn near got me killed.”

“
Where’s Harper now?”

“
He pissed me off, so I popped him
one,” Graves said. “He got mad and took off. I couldn’t leave
Schiller and the Captain to chase after him, so I let him go. Good
riddance! He’s a fruitcake.”

“
Did he take anything with
him?”

“
No. He just lit out.”

“
Had he been drinking?”

“
Not so as I could
tell.”

“
Now, you go find him.” Trent
spoke softly, without heat, but there was fire in his eyes. Anger,
bitterness or just self-pity, Harper had failed completely to make
himself part of the team, as if by admitting his weaknesses, he
might expose his vulnerability. Yet, those weaknesses were there to
see. As hard as they tried, the men did not embrace him, odd-man
out.

Trent wiped his forehead as he strode aft. Schiller
laid in the hold, a crumpled figure, mouth gagged, hands and feet
securely tied. Blood trickled from under the gag splotching his
chest red. Graves’ foot decorated his cheek with a raw imprint.
Schiller’s craggy features stood out, his face a thin,
hollow-cheeked puddle of flesh. A long, pointed nose protruded from
amongst a collection of pockmarks and red scars. Schiller’s eyes
darted nervously. His body radiated tension, alertness, coiled to
strike, a rattlesnake without a rattle, Trent mused, as Webster
might have written: Schiller—a small and slight animal, with the
quickness of a ferret and the inborn survival instincts endemic to
wild animals. Graves and Schiller thrived in a world where force
and senseless brutality ruled. Trent ripped off Schiller’s gag.
Filthy expletives poured from his mouth; a human form of expression
denied the animal kingdom. Tempted to jam the gag back in, he let
him mouth off until he tired.

“
Are you done?” Trent
demanded.

“
No! You bastard, but you are!”
His hard voice reeked of malice.

“
You’re in no position to
say.”

“
Screw you! I’ll get loose.”
Schiller rolled over, shaking and tearing at his bonds.

“
Don’t bother. I’m going to let
you go,” Trent said. Stunned, Schiller stopped struggling, his
mouth hard set with doubt. “But not just yet.” Schiller spit out.
“Why all the hardware?” His eyes widened, and then narrowed into
thin slits. “It’s for money, ain’t it…real big money! Yeah!”
Schiller’s mind, always running in devious channels, clicked over.
“It has to be,” he exclaimed. “But, how?”

Trent laughed, “You don’t have all the answers, do
you?”

“
I’ll take a cut,” Schiller shot
back. “It’ll buy my silence.”

“
You leave me
speechless!”

“
Why not? I don’t go back on
deals.”

“
You mean, like the one you had
with the Captain.”

Schiller snarled.

“
You’re going to let me loose so
you can kill me? Ha! And Larsen, too.” Schiller laughed a sickening
laugh, “I’m a real problem, ain’t I. My offer is still
good.”

Trent felt his face tighten, “Schiller, you talk too
much.” He stuffed the gag back in his mouth, climbed out of the
hold and banged the hatch shut. “Secure it.” Maxie kicked down the
dogs. He was certain Schiller worked alone. Schiller was a shark, a
predator, and sharks worked alone, searching out the weak and the
crippled. Schiller had picked the wrong victim. The shark would
serve him, Trent smiled in silent triumph.

* * *

Graves and Newby bailed Harper out of jail.

The long walk back to the
Helga
did not
improve his disposition. Stomping on board, he kicked at Hauser,
who scampered to the upper deck. Graves pushed him through the door
to the crew’s cabin. He braced himself to stand erect. Hirsch and
Trent sat drinking.

“
Still running, eh! Harper?” Trent
said, coldly.

“
He was at the Police Station,”
Newby reported. “We checked the bars. Found out about a fight. Fit
his description. The cops were fingerprinting him when we got
there. We told the cops we were shipping out at 0500 and we had to
get him back onboard or he’d be left behind. We paid the
fifty-bucks. I guess the cops figured they might get stuck with
him. They hesitated, but let him go.”

Harper dropped his head and stared at the floor.

“
The cops will know who he is by
morning,” Hirsch said.

“
Did you tell them what
ship?”

“
They didn’t ask.”

“
Good! I hope 0500 is early
enough.

Harper grumbled, said nothing, but held his head
down.

“
Harper, you’d better be worth all
this trouble!

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 15

A diesel engine coughed, then kicked over.
Navigation lights flashed on. Lines cast loose in the darkness
splashed nearby. A propeller thrashed, and then churned, settling
into a steady thump, thump, thump. Maxie set the throttle, latched
open the engine room door, wiped his hands on an oily rag, then
climbed the ladder to the working deck. He leaned on the rail and
watched boathouses and shipyards slowly slip by. The
Helga
was his good luck omen.

On course for the Locks, Trent rang down half-speed
as the
Helga
cleared the crowded shoreline and sailed out
into Lake Union. Moonlight touching housetop roofs appeared as
steps ascending the surrounding hillsides. Under reduced speed, the
Helga
crept slowly beneath the Aurora Bridge that carried
Seattle’s early morning commuters. Lampposts, strung out
necklace-like, marked the length of the bridge deck where it
spanned the western leg of the Canal. As the
Helga
pierced
the dark abyss that lurked beneath the bridge, Trent rang down
one-quarter speed. Way fell off. Astern, to the East, a faint slash
of light blue rimmed the peaks of the Cascade Mountains. The smell
of land close-by stirred memories of Hampton Roads and Thimble
Shoals. Trent unconsciously braced himself, half expecting the
Duluth
to come charging out of the fog; but it was clear and
dark.