The Night Charter (8 page)

S
HE DROVE THE
boat on through the rest of the night, until the sky began to pink with predawn. The hour and the sameness of the invisible horizon served to blend the minutes together, and Camaro did not realize at first that a new vessel had appeared on her radar. She cursed herself and throttled down instinctively. The vessel was headed their way without deviation. They were less than twenty minutes apart.

Parker was on the deck. “What's wrong?” he called up. “Why are we slowing down?”

“Someone's coming,” Camaro said.

“Who?”

“I won't know until they're here,” Camaro said. “Get everybody out on deck. Bait your lines and get them in the water.”

“Chapado, too?”

“Him, too. Everybody.”

Parker rushed to do her bidding. Camaro throttled down still further until they were almost drifting. They were some twenty-two miles offshore and fully in the grip of the Gulf Stream. Finally, she killed the engine altogether. Matt and the rest bustled on the aft deck as she switched on all the lights.

“What's going on?” Matt asked.

“We've been spotted. Someone's closing in on us.”

“Can you outrun them?”

“If it's one of the Border Patrol's fast boats we'll never make it,” Camaro said. “I need everybody fishing right now. We've been fishing all night. You understand?”

He did not answer her, but set about fetching his rod. Camaro directed them to the bait box, then came down to be sure they were doing it right. Chapado seemed confused by the borrowed rod and dropped his bait three times. She wanted to shout at him.

The sun was rising when she saw the Coast Guard vessel. It was an interceptor, coming in at about thirty-six feet and moving fast, cutting the water smoothly with twin engines in the rear. Camaro checked the men again to be certain they were positioned correctly and their lines were set, and then she climbed up to the flybridge and the radio. “This is the
Annabel
calling Coast Guard interceptor,” she said. “Come in Coast Guard.”

“
Annabel,
this is Coast Guard. Cut your engines and prepare for inspection.”

“We're already drifting, Coast Guard. Be careful: we have lines in the water.”

The interceptor closed on them. It was designed for long-range work, launched off the back of a Coast Guard cutter that itself would not have the speed or maneuverability to catch the go-fast boats that worked the waters off Miami. The Border Patrol had even quicker vessels.

Once it was within a hundred yards, the interceptor slowed noticeably and cruised in at low power. Like the Cubans before it, the interceptor slotted in alongside them. Two men stood on the after deck in the clear morning sun. Camaro waved to them, and they waved in return.

The crew of the interceptor tossed lines across, and they were bound together with another vessel again. Camaro came down from the flybridge and stood on the deck among the men, looking into the dawn. “What can we do for you, gentlemen?”

“Fishing?” asked one of the men from the Coast Guard.

“Looking for swordfish,” Camaro said. “We've been out all night.”

She felt Matt and the others shifting around her. She willed them to be still.

“How long you been in this spot?”

“Not long. I've been moving her around, looking for some good water.”

“We tracked you coming in from way offshore. Pretty deep water for swordfishing.”

Camaro elbowed past Matt and Soto so she could be face to face with the officer across the water. She read his name: Phillips. “I figured it was worth a shot,” she said. “Sometimes I get lucky out there.”

“Well, it caught our captain's attention,” Phillips said. “So now you know why we're here.”

“We've got nothing to hide,” Camaro said. “I was going to give it another hour and then we'd head in. It's been a long night.”

There was movement beside her, and Camaro glanced down. Matt still held his rod in one hand, but his right had slipped behind him. He lifted the back of his loose-fitting shirt, uncovering the butt of an automatic pistol. She caught his eye and shook her head slightly. He smiled.

“Mind if we come aboard?” Phillips asked.

“If you want,” Camaro said.

They used gaff hooks to bring the boats hull to hull, and then Phillips climbed over. He had his own gun, a pistol holstered at his hip. The other man was armed, too, but he did not board. Camaro did not know how many were still inside the wheelhouse.

Phillips checked the bait box first. “You been chartering long?”

“About a year.”

“How's it treating you?”

“I'm doing all right.”

“Good, good,” Phillips said, and he opened the transom fish box. He looked back at her. “No catch?”

“I'm catch-and-release.”

“Gotcha.”

The men watched Phillips as he stalked the aft deck, checking inside Parker's tackle box. Matt still had his hand behind his back. Camaro grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm to his side. Matt made a hissing sound, but did not speak up. None of them spoke.

Phillips pointed at Chapado, and the whole group of them froze in place. “You, sir,” he said. “What's your name?”

“Sergio Chapado.”

“Catch anything tonight?”

Camaro waited long seconds for the answer, aware of the thoughts clicking in Chapado's head. She made fists and screamed inside.

“Two mackerel,” Chapado said.

“Good size?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Take pictures?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to get the camera?” Camaro asked.

“Not right now,” Phillips said. He continued with Chapado. “What's that accent you have?”

“Cubano.”

“Where do you live?”

“Miami.”

“For how long?”

“Twenty years.”

Phillips paused. “I'm going to have a look inside,” he said.

“I'll show you around,” Camaro replied.

They went inside together, and Phillips bypassed the panel that covered the first aid kit and the hidden shotgun. Camaro breathed again. He looked in the cabinets and the tiny refrigerator and then in the stateroom and washroom. On his way out again, he stopped at the galley counter and fixed Camaro with his gaze. “Question,” he said.

“What is it?”

“If I check the IDs of all your charter clients out there, are they going to be legit? American citizens?”

Camaro nodded. “Of course.”

“Just checking, because so far everything's turned out all right. My captain thought you might be running dope in.”

“Not me,” Camaro said.

He thought. Camaro waited. “All right,” he said. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

“Anytime.”

Phillips returned to the interceptor, and the ropes binding the two boats were undone. He waved once from the deck as the interceptor turned away, and the men all raised their hands in unison. Camaro watched him go.

“Very smooth,” Matt said to her.

“Get your lines out of the water. Let's get this over with.”

They cruised the last miles among boats coming out for morning charters or simple trips on the open water, and soon they were in the marina again. The men were all gathered on the aft deck as Camaro brought them in and Parker tied them off. One by one they bled onto the pier.

“Hey, Matt,” Camaro called down when he had stepped off.

“What?”

“Where's my money?”

“You get it now. Parker?”

“I'm going.” Parker left the others. Camaro watched him make the walk back to the old pickup in the lot. For a moment he vanished inside, and then he was out again, moving quickly with an orange envelope in his hand. She came down to meet him. He put it in her hand. “Here,” he said.

“That's everything,” Matt told her.

Camaro didn't count it. “Then we're all done,” she said.

“We sure as hell are. I hope I don't see you around.”

“You won't.”

They walked away, only Parker looking back. He lifted his hand slightly, but she did not do the same. She climbed back aboard the
Annabel
and took the envelope inside.

O
NLY
M
ATT KNEW
where the handoff would take place, so Parker followed. He was tired, and the road danced in the edges of his vision. When this was over he would sleep for twelve hours, but there was this last distance to go.

They drove for thirty minutes in quiet Saturday-morning traffic until they reached a fenced-in compound of bright-orange storage units. Parker's phone rang, and he saw Matt's number. He answered. “What's going on?” he asked.

“This is the place. Park out on the street, okay? I'll let you in at the gate.”

Parker did as he was told. Matt punched in a code at the automatic gate and drove in. The gate was not quite closed again when Parker reached it, so he slipped through as it shut completely. The Charger squatted just a few yards beyond, its engine idling. Matt waved him over.

Through the driver's-side window Parker could see Chapado stuffed in the backseat with Soto. The man was sweating from the closeness and the morning humidity, and his shirt was stained at the pits. Matt snapped his fingers to focus Parker's attention. “We want unit 501,” he said. “It's way back in the corner. We'll meet you there.”

“Sure, sure,” Parker said.

The Charger rolled away and picked up speed until it reached the far end of the row and right-handed out of sight. Parker started walking. It was much cooler out on the water, even with the sun. He wished he were on the water now.

Unit 501 was in the extreme right-hand corner of the complex, rows back from the street and hemmed in on two sides by a high cinderblock wall topped with razor wire. By the time Parker got there, Matt and Jackson were already out of the car, though Soto and Chapado remained in their seats. The day would be punishing. The shadowed interior of the car allowed some respite.

Matt pointed his finger at Parker. “That bitch,” he said. “That bitch that
you
hired.”

“What did she do?”

“She has
attitude,
bro. Did you see me trying to make nice with her? She might as well have spit right in my face. She got paid
good
for what she did. I deserve a little gratitude for cutting her in at all.”

Parker did not know what to say. Matt was inflamed, pacing in front of the Charger. He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shook one out. Parker watched him light up and drag deeply. “I'm sorry,” Parker offered finally.

“You're sorry. You
are
sorry. A thousand charter-boat captains around and you have to pick the one who doesn't know her ass from a hole in the ground. Ten thousand is good money. It's
good money
.”

“Yeah, I know. I don't know why she did what she did.”

Matt smoked angrily, spitting clouds. “She better hope I never run across her again, because I'll push her face in, bro. I'll give her a
beat down
. You know what I'm saying?”

“I know what you're saying,” Parker said.

“And then she let the Coast Guard on the boat. Right on the boat! We could have been screwed then.”

“Yeah,” Soto agreed. “That was too close, man. Too close. She shouldn't have let them.”

“How could she keep them off the boat?” Parker asked. “They were coming on board no matter what. At least she kept her head. You were ready to start shooting.”

Matt smiled thinly. “Oh, you saw that, huh?”

“Yeah, I saw it. I thought we were doing this with no guns.”

“I make exceptions for my own safety,” Matt said.

“If you had shot those guys or resisted them at all, we'd never have made it to shore,” Parker said. “She did the right thing.”

Matt regarded him through a miasma of smoke. “You got a little love affair going on with her?”

“What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“I'm just asking because you seem real interested in sticking up for her. Well, I got news for you, bro: she's not interested in your dick. So don't go thinking you're gonna be setting up house with her later on. She's an ice queen.”

Parker shuffled closer. He was more tired than before. “All I want is to get this done,” he said.

“We'll get it done. I made a call. Chapado's people are on their way right now. All we have to do is sit tight, and fifty grand will come right to us.”

Parker leaned against the Charger. Matt gave him a poisonous look. He took his hand from the car. “It's going to be all right,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Hells yeah,” Matt said. “
More
than all right.”

I
T WAS NEARLY
forty-five minutes of waiting before Matt's phone rang. He dropped his latest cigarette and ground it under his toe before exhaling a billowing pall that lingered around him, stinking of ash. “Yeah, this is Matt,” he said when he answered. “Yeah, you're in the right place. The code's 4837. Come all the way to the back. Unit 501. Yeah, he's with me. All right.”

Matt thumped a fist twice on the hood and Soto opened the Charger's door. He clambered out, and then caught Chapado by the arm, dragging him into the light. Chapado was sweatier than before, though from nerves or the weather, Parker did not know. He was perspiring himself, the moisture crawling down from his pits and along his sides.

A few moments later they saw the SUV. It was white and gleamed in the steadily rising sun. It cruised slowly up the row, creeping past the storage units, until it was ten yards away. The driver did not turn off the engine but let it idle as two Latino men stepped out onto the asphalt. One was young and carried an attaché case identical to the one Parker kept hidden in his home behind the wainscoting. The other was much older and empty-handed.

“Hola,”
Matt greeted them.
“¿Cómo va todo?”

The man who carried nothing looked through Matt and past him to Chapado. His brow had been furrowed, but when he saw Chapado, his forehead smoothed. He had deep lines on his face that did not go away. Parker could tell he did not smile often. “Señor Chapado,” the man called, “are you all right?”

“Estoy bien.”

Now the older man acknowledged Matt, squinting at him through the glare of the early morning. “I have brought your money as you requested,” he said. “Fifty thousand dollars in used bills.”

Matt smiled. “All right, all right, all right. That's what I'm talking about. You give us the money, and you can have your guy.”

The older man signaled to the younger. “Go,” he said.

The money was brought forward. Matt did not move from his spot by the Charger, half seated on the nose of the car. The younger man held the case out like a talisman, and it was only when he was within a few paces that Matt extended a hand to take it. “Thanks so much,
amigo,
” he said.

Parker did not see Matt draw the pistol from the small of his back. Suddenly it was in Matt's other hand, brandished in the face of the younger man. Both of them had their hands on the attaché's handle. The younger man let go only when Matt shot him in the eye.

It was a moment of perfect clarity. Everything around Parker snapped into focus, from the glint of the sun off the yellow paint of the Charger to the droplets of blood that remained suspended in the air when the younger man's head snapped back from the impact of the bullet. Parker saw the dead man's fingers slip free of the case and then the whole body collapse backward as every muscle released at once and the tension vanished from every joint.

The older man grabbed at his chest at the moment Matt shot him in the leg. The driver's-side door of the SUV swung wide, and a burly Latino in a suit bulled out. Matt stepped forward with the pistol and fired three rounds. Two drilled through the side window and into the driver, while the third ricocheted off the windshield and left a divot surrounded by sharp white cracks.

Chapado called to the dead men in Spanish, but Parker could not find his own voice. His mouth worked on empty air, struggling to form some sound, but there was only Matt laughing and the older man on the ground bleeding heavily from his wounded leg. Soto and Jackson said nothing and did nothing.

Matt stood over the wounded man and leveled the gun at his head. “Hurt?” he asked.

“I'm having a heart attack, I think.”

“That's too bad. Maybe you'll bleed to death first.”

“Why are you doing this? What have you done?”

“The price just doubled. You wanted to pay a hundred grand for this asshole, but now you're going to pay two hundred. If you want to see him alive again after today, you'll have the money together in
twenty-four hours
. I'll call you with the details. Don't try to call me. You understand?
¿Entiendes?
”

The man nodded, his face warped with pain. “I will tell them.”

“You do that.”

Matt turned back toward the Charger and flipped the attaché case over his shoulder, holding it loosely by two fingers. He smiled again, but only for Parker and the others.

Parker spoke. “Matt…what the hell?”

“Your cut just went up, my friend,” Matt said. “Sandro, get that asshole back in the car. We've got to split before the cops show up.”

“We didn't talk about this,” Parker said. “You didn't say anything.”

The smile became a frown. “Are you turning into a little bitch or something, bro? Is that what I'm hearing?”

“No, but—”

“Relax,” Matt said. He put the gun away and clapped Parker on the shoulder. “I've got it all under control. You just worry about your end.”

“What's my end?”

“Getting the front money. It's time for us to divvy up. I'll call you with the spot, okay? In the meantime, maybe you ought to get the hell out of here, huh? You don't want to be around here when the cops find this mess. Oh, and something else:
I'm
going to hang on to this fifty grand, okay?”

Parker struggled for more words, but he was breathless. He watched Matt get into the Charger and turn the ignition. The car peeled away, driving past the dead body of the younger man and leaving the older man in a pool of his own blood. Parker stood frozen for a whole minute, and then he ran. He ran and he ran and he did not stop until he was safe in his truck and headed for someplace far away.