The Pickle Boat House (28 page)

“Does that mean I should just let them kill my father?”

“Of course not! I thought you hated him.”

“Anger and hate aren’t the same thing. I got him into this mess, and I’ll try to get him out. But that’s it. I want nothing else to do with the man.”

Van tried to hide her smile. “Okay, but you can afford this?”

Ryan rolled his eyes before closing them for the final few minutes of the trip. Minutes later, Bennie pulled up beside the residence and office of Van’s physician, Dr. Alan Champ, who had agreed to see Ryan after hours.

“You, my friend, were very lucky,” the doc said as he turned from the chest X-ray hanging against the fluorescent screen. “The seventh rib is cracked just in front—very common type of rib injury. Fortunately, the lungs look good. There isn’t much I can do. I would prefer not to wrap the ribs.

“The best advice I can give you is to take it easy—no sudden moves, no heavy exertion. The ribs will heal by themselves, and I can write you something for pain. Was this a grudge match?”

“Excuse me?”

“There isn’t much I haven’t seen in my years of practice, Mr. Thomas. Bruises and cuts on your forearms indicating you were in a defensive posture, nothing on the face, ribs cracked, just short of major lung and rib damage. I would say someone wanted to send a message in a brutal but controlled way.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Ryan said, slowly shaking his head, not wanting to give away any more than the doctor had already surmised.

“Don’t worry, everything here is confidential,” the doctor added, gently placing his hand on Ryan’s shoulder.

“Thanks for seeing me at this hour, Doc. Come by the Phoenix sometime. Drinks are on me.”

“I might just take you up on that,” Dr. Champ said as he led them back out to the office exit. “But only if you promise not to do any more brawling. Good night, my friends.”

* * *

Bennie dropped Van and Ryan off at Van’s house and promised to pick Ryan up in the morning. Cracked ribs were not going to keep the man down.

While Ryan could struggle through the pain and personal injury inflicted by Hector, he was having a harder time dealing with Hector’s demands. Bailing Richard out was not a problem. Laundering money, on the other hand, was a huge one. As much as he hated to admit it, HYA had him backed into a corner. But he wasn’t having any dirty dealings going down at the Phoenix. He arranged to meet the courier the following Monday, just outside town.

Wary of being followed, Ryan slowly drove a couple of loops around town and then cautiously swung out onto the highway and sped off for the drop site. It wasn’t clear whether Hector’s laundering scheme was set up to punish Ryan for perceived personal injuries or to serve a higher HYA purpose. Either way, Ryan had to be there.

He arrived early and coasted to a stop under an old oak at a dead end. He didn’t have long to wait. A sleek black car quietly pulled up behind him. Ryan stayed in his car and waited. HYA be damned—he wasn’t just going to walk out and meet trouble.

A door swung open, and the driver got out. With his hat pulled down over his face, he wasn’t easy to identify, but he had a distinctive walk. As the figure drew closer, Ryan let out a yip and scrambled out of his car. Three strides, and he had the man by the hand and shook it fiercely.

“Marcus, why I never … not in a million years,” he said. “It’s been ages.
You’re
the courier? So you’re having a midlife crisis?”

Marcus returned the hug, slapping him on the back and then pushing a wincing Ryan back to get a good look. “You’re looking good, Ryan, but now isn’t the time. Change of plans. Forget about Hector. That asshole is never gonna change. He’s totally off the reservation.

“I’m in a hurry, so I’ll make it brief. Hector Senior had a stroke day before yesterday, and he isn’t long for this world. It’s hush-hush, but it won’t be long before a whole new world order is established. Hector Junior is out—too volatile for the senior partners. My guess would be Bishop—no friend of yours, obviously. I’m here to warn you. He’s gonna clean house. Bishop isn’t going to cut any deals with you like Hector did. He’s already forced Hector Senior into backtracking on what he promised you. HYA is going to use you until they get what they want. When they find out you won’t play anymore you’re history.”

“And you?”

“I’m on a one-way ticket out—Caymans.

“And the real courier?”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to meet the courier they would have sent. Hector Senior sent me instead, to warn you and to ask a personal favor. He still thinks a lot of you. Listen up.”

The two men walked in the shade of the trees as Marcus leaned in close, a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, reciting instructions from HYA’s most influential member. Ryan didn’t speak but nodded occasionally as he looked up to study Marcus’s face. It was deceptively quiet and peaceful except for the occasional crackle of a twig underfoot.

“I don’t know,” said Ryan, running his hand through his hair. “That’s a lot of documents. It’s going to put me in a very bad position.”

“Realizing it’s a delicate matter, he’s giving you free rein to take care of it your way. Handle it, Ryan. If you don’t do it for honor, at least consider whether it’s worth landing on the wrong side of the fence. Even after death, Mr. Young can be extremely grateful … or very vindictive.”

Ryan nodded. He had seen it all too often and had been smart enough—or, more accurately, greedy enough—to have experienced only HYA’s gratitude. “All right, I’m in,” he said, extending his hand to Marcus.

“Good. I guess there is some honor among thieves.” Marcus laughed and shook Ryan’s hand. “Wish I could stay and talk, Ryan. Watch your back. See ya again sometime.”

Ryan couldn’t say much about honor among thieves. There was something to be said, however, about finding one’s true self and gaining a conscience in the process.

Marcus walked quickly to his car and was gone. Marcus and Hector—it was hard to understand how two brothers could be so different.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
KARMA’S A BITCH

Bennie wiped along the bar top, eyes pausing momentarily on a slight imperfection along the bar’s inner bar edge. He sighed. It looked like greasy fingerprints. He rubbed a little harder, and slowly it disappeared from view.

“You gonna make out with that bar top all night, or go home to a nice warm bed?”

Bennie laughed. “No sir, Ryan. I’m heading out. How about you? Why are you still hanging about?”

“Van brought in these things for decorating. Pretty neat stuff—there’s even a crossbow in here.” Ryan pulled the bow out of the cardboard box, loaded a hunting bolt into it, and sighted down the shaft. “I think that would go right through someone. Interesting … in a macabre sort of way.” He gently set it back down on the desk, pointing away from the two of them. “Van’s busy, and I’d like to get these up on the wall, and this box out of here. Don’t tell her I said that. It’s just … this place is my castle,” he said, laughing. “I don’t want any outside-world distractions. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, you need a place to call home—can’t just drift forever. If you don’t mind some advice, put some deep roots down here. You could do worse. It’s obvious you and Van have a connection. Mine it for all it’s worth.” Bennie shrugged sheepishly. “Tomorrow’s deposit is counted and in the safe. See you tomorrow. I’ll lock the door behind me.”

Ryan smiled. “I’m putting down right here, until the day I die. Night, Bennie. And thanks, I really do appreciate everything you do around here. I probably don’t say it enough.”

“Once is plenty. Night,” Bennie said, and flipped the lights off behind the bar.

* * *

Just outside town, Hector put a bundle in the trunk of his car and headed toward the Phoenix. His mind empty, he drove along on autopilot until he reached Main Street, where he snapped out of his stupor and flipped off his headlights.

He could make out two cars in front of the Phoenix as he coasted down the silent, empty street. He pulled around the side of the building and parked, then walked back toward Main Street with his bundle, stepping lightly over the sandy ground.

“
Jesus!
” he muttered at the sound of a car door slamming. He flattened himself against the wall, hearing for the first time the rapid pounding of his own pulse in his ears. He peered around the corner of the building just in time to catch sight of Bennie’s car pulling away from the curb.

“Perfect.” Emboldened by his sense of luck, he headed straight for the front door of the tavern. The handle was locked. Stifling the urge to shake the doors, he instead pulled from his pocket a small plastic pouch of thin metal picks, selected two, and went to work on the lock. With a skill acquired in childhood, Hector worked the tools, feeling the tumblers align … until he could hear the click of the lock mechanism surrendering. Quickly and quietly he slipped inside, checking from left to right to left again and seeing no one. He paused and listened. Strains of classical music floated from the rear of the tavern.

Hector studied the image of the mythical bird over the bar. “Rise out of these ashes,” he muttered as he uncapped the can and began pouring gasoline along the outer wall of the front room and down the back. For a moment, he stopped short of the office door, where he could hear Ryan moving about. Sliding the handgun from his waistband, he breathed deeply and stepped into the doorway.

“Good evening Mr. Thomas.”

To Hector’s surprise, he was staring down the bolt in a crossbow held by Ryan, who sat calmly on the edge of his desk.

* * *

“Good evening, Mr. Young. I’ve been expecting you.”

Hector didn’t blink, but a wave of stunned rage washed over his face.

“Don’t look so confused,” Ryan said. “Your brother warned me. I
am
surprised you’re here so soon, though. Were you going to shoot me in cold blood, or should we talk for a while? Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand,” said Hector, quickly regaining his composure. You think that contraption is faster than a bullet?”

“Probably not, but it’s just as deadly and, unlike your pistol, already aimed at center mass. I’m a patient man—not something I can say about you. Unfortunately for you, you have very expressive eyes, and I can read them quite clearly from here. You, on the other hand, have
never
been good at reading people. Why aren’t you heading out of the country, like your brother?”

“I am—just had some unfinished business. Millions waiting for me in an offshore account.”

“Millions? I’m going to have to ask for a raise.”

“Where did you see Marcus?”

“Outside of town, as he was leaving. I always had a lot of respect for him—he adopted?”

“Of course not,” Hector sneered. “He just could do no wrong.”

“Maggie going with you?”

Hector scowled. “No, thanks to you.”

“This isn’t going to turn out well. We’re both going down. You know that, right? Why not walk away—millions of dollars and a chance that Maggie could come around? I’m not worth it.”

Hector began to nod. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re worth it to me. You have to go … You just have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Hector retorted, growing agitated.

“I’ve already tripped the silent alarm. McCall will be here shortly. I’m going to give you a five count to leave before this arrow mounts you on that wall behind you. Your choice. One …”

“Pull your head out of your ass,” Hector growled. “You can’t walk away. The shake-up at HYA is from top to bottom. They’re going to come after you, get it? It’s only a matter of time. You can’t hide in this little two-bit fantasy life of yours.”

“We
both
can walk away. I’m small potatoes. I’ll deal with whoever HYA sends, just as I intend to do with you. I’m not giving up what I have here. Two …”

“That Hardy woman—she loves you.”

“And Maggie loves
you
. Three.”

“You’re no small potatoes—you’re HYA’s best. They dream of cloning people like you. But you never deserved their trust. You were no different from me—just with more finesse. Always out for yourself. Why did you give it up? I’ll never understand. You had everything—everything I ever wanted.”

“People change, Hector. I changed. I’ve finally found something more important than me. I’m no longer any competition for you. Go to the Islands. Four …”

The crossbow’s old cording pinged as it began to fray. Hector brought up his gun and fired. In the same instant the arrow caught him in the chest, pinning him to the wall behind him. Ryan dropped the crossbow and slumped to the floor as the bullet ripped through him. A moment of eerie quiet filled the room. As Ryan lay in the growing pool of his own blood he waited for the cascade of memories to carry him away to a more peaceful place—not memories of the despicable life he had led, but the smiling faces of Van, Bennie, and Jean as they floated through the happiest days of his life. But no memories came. He looked over to see Hector, skewered against the wall like some sacrificial Christ, atoning for no one’s sins but his own. He didn’t move, but Ryan couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

“Hector?” No reply.

“Hector!” Ryan called a little louder, but there was still no answer. With agonizing difficulty, he began to crawl across the floor, propelling himself with his legs and his left arm. When he reached Hector, he grabbed hold of his pant leg and began to pull himself into an upright position. Hector screamed out in pain.

“You son of a bitch. You’re not dead.” Ryan pulled himself up until he was face-to-face with the man who had just robbed him of everything.

“Pull it out,” Hector gasped.

“If I do, you’ll bleed out.”

“Better than this.”

“Karma’s a bitch,” Ryan replied, and with a last effort, he reached up with both hands and broke the fletched end of the arrow off a few inches from Hector’s body. Everything went black to the sound of a bloodcurdling scream.

“Fucking hell!” said Officer McCall, bursting into the room with weapon drawn. He recoiled at the sight of Hector still pinned to the wall, and Ryan slumped at his feet. “Clear, but it’s bloody,” he called over his shoulder. “For crying out loud, these assholes …” He reached out to check for any sign of life. “Little, get an ambulance here stat. This one has a weak pulse. I think the other one’s gone. Trouble from the moment I laid eyes on ’im …”