Tricky Business (33 page)

THE OUTBOARD, ALMOST TOTALLY SUBMERGED now, sputtered, then died, as Tark reached the bow of his fishing boat. Standing precariously in the now-swamped inflatable, Tark was just able to reach out and get hold of the railing running along the deck. With his feet in the Zodiac, he slid his hands along the railing, working his way along the starboard side toward the stern, where his boat was tied to the Extravaganza platform.

 

“OK,” SAID ARNIE. “I GOT IT GOING EAST NOW.”

“East,” said Phil, from the floor.
“East?”

“East,” said Arnie. “Like he said.”

“He said
west,”
said Phil. “He said steer it
west.
”

“Like hell he did,” said Arnie, although he suspected Phil was right. He'd gotten a little confused there, thinking east because he knew Miami was on the East Coast. But he was not about to admit that to Phil.

“YES I'm sure,” said Phil. “He said WEST.”

“OK, then,” said Arnie, starting to turn the wheel again. “You don't have to make a federal case out of it.”

Phil started the slow process of rising to his feet.

“I'm gonna drive,” he said.

 

“
JESUS,
” SAID TED.

“Oh MAN,” said Johnny.

The two of them had moved quickly past the three bloody bodies, one of them pink, lying in the stern of Tark's boat. They now found themselves in the main cabin, which reeked of the combined stale vomit of five men. Desperate to escape the stench—but not to go back out with the bodies—they clambered up the ladderway. At the top, they found themselves on the bridge, which was dark. It was also, like the cabin, highly aromatic. But this was a different smell.

 

 

. . . ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM . . .

 

WALLY WAS WATCHING KAZ. KAZ WAS WATCHING Wally.

Wally was thinking Kaz looked like he was getting ready to try something. This was correct. Kaz had decided he needed to make a move now, while the Coast Guard cocktail waitress from hell was gone. He figured his odds were good against this asshole who clearly didn't know one end of a gun from another. He would give it another thirty seconds, wait for something to happen, some opportunity to make a move.

He didn't have to wait thirty seconds.

The opportunity was Tark's head, appearing over the stern on his fishing boat. Tark was climbing over the side, holding the line from the bow of the Zodiac in his hand. His gun was slung over his shoulder.

Tark was planning to quickly tie the Zodiac to his boat—
he must not lose the Zodiac
—then shoot everybody on the platform, cast off, and get the hell away from the ship. When he got out of sight, he'd transfer as much of the cash as he could onto his ship, throw the bodies overboard, and get moving again. He wasn't sure where he'd go, but he knew he'd come up with a plan.

Kaz saw Tark first.

“HEY!” he shouted.

Wally turned for an instant to see what Kaz was looking at. He intended to turn right back, but froze when he saw Tark climbing into the back of his boat, gun slung over his shoulder, holding the line from the Zodiac bow in his hands.

“UUNNNH” was the noise Wally made as Kaz slammed into him from behind. He went down face first, the TEC-9 clattering ahead of him on the platform, Kaz scrambling over his body to get at it.

Tark, forced to decide between cleating the Zodiac to his boat or dropping the line so he could use his gun, correctly chose to drop the line, grab the gun, and start firing.
Pop pop
his first two shots missed but
pop pop pop
his last three slammed home as Kaz, dropping the gun he had just managed to pick up, staggered backward, then sideways. And then, for the third and final time that evening, Kaz fell into the Atlantic Ocean.

Tark then turned and
pop pop pop
fired at the fleeing form of Wally, who, as soon as he'd heard shooting, had started scrambling in the opposite direction, and was just able to dive sideways and up, into the recessed lifeboat deck, as Tark's shots went past.

Tark, seeing his target disappear, whirled to his left. The Zodiac line was gone.

“FUCK,” he said. He ran to the starboard side, leaned over, and saw the wreckage of the most valuable inflatable boat in the world disappearing to the stern in the
Extravaganza
's wake.

“FUCK,” he said again, and whirled back to untie the lines to his boat. Which is when he saw Fay—who'd heard shots and turned back—come running through the doorway to the ship. She had her AK-47 in firing position, but she was looking to the left, down the platform to where Wally had been watching Kaz, and where she assumed the trouble was. And thus Tark had the extra second he needed to grab his gun and squeeze off a shot.

Wally saw it. He was on his stomach in the recessed lifeboat deck and had inched his head around the bottom of the opening, where he could see the platform. He saw Tark untying the boat. He saw Fay come running out. He saw Tark fire. He saw Fay turning, looking surprised, and putting her hands up to her head. He saw her stumble forward. And he saw her disappear, both hands still clutching her head, off the edge of the platform.

Tark took a last quick look around for somebody to shoot, reslung his gun, and finished untying his boat. Freed at last from the
Extravaganza,
it began to fall back into the darkness. Tark figured it had been no more than a minute since he'd let go of the Zodiac. It would be close by. He had a good searchlight. He'd find it. He
knew
he would. He'd beaten all these other assholes, hadn't he? He'd find the money, and he'd work out a plan, and all would be well. Tark allowed himself, for the first time in many tense minutes, to take a deep breath.

This is when he felt Frank's arms come down over his head, around his neck.

Frank had finally managed, with a last desperate effort that felt as though he were ripping his arms from their sockets, to get his hands in front of him and peel off the duct tape, moments before he'd vomited a terrifying amount of blood. He was still bound hand and foot, and he was very weak, very dizzy. As he'd struggled awkwardly to his feet, he'd known he'd have only one chance at Tark.

As Tark felt the arms come down, he'd ducked down and twisted sideways. He almost got out. But Frank, messed up as he was, was still quick, and he got his right forearm into Tark's neck and jerked hard. Tark grabbed Frank's arms but could not weaken the big man's grip. Frantic now, Tark reached down for his gun, trapped between his body and Frank's, and began to pull it out. Frank felt what Tark was doing but could not use his bound-together hands to stop Tark. He could feel the gun coming free. Tark would have it in his hands soon. Frank realized that Tark could bring it up and fire it behind him, into Frank's face.

The gun was out now. Tark was bringing it up. Frank, not really thinking about anything but getting away from it, spun around so that his back was to the transom, bent his legs, and heaved upward and back, hanging on to the choking Tark, the two of them falling backward together into the ocean; Frank almost welcoming this, knowing it was finally over; Tark still struggling, still trying to come up with a plan, as the darkness crept into his brain.

WALLY FROZE FOR A MOMENT WHEN HE SAW FAY fall off the platform. She needed help, he knew that. But there was a guy out there trying to kill him.
But she needs help right now.

Wally peeked around the lifeboat-deck opening. The guy with the gun had untied the fishing boat, which was falling back into the darkness behind the
Extravaganza.
The guy was at the stern, but not looking Wally's way. Wally jumped out and ran to the platform edge.

“Fay!” he shouted. No answer. He frantically scanned the ship's wake and . . .

...and there she was.
Her body, anyway, a wave lifting it up, as if to display it to Wally, maybe fifteen yards behind the ship. She was facedown and not moving. And getting away every second.

Wally kicked off his shoes and was about to jump when he had the smartest idea of his entire life. He turned, sprinted back to the lifeboat deck, grabbed a life preserver, turned, sprinted back to the edge of the platform, and leaped into the sea. He went under, came up, looked around, saw the brightly lit
Extravaganza,
moving away. Holding the life preserver in one arm, Wally started side-stroking in the opposite direction, toward Fay, toward the darkness.

 

. . . ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”
ROAR VROOM WHAM
“FUCK!” “FASTER!”

“LOU,” shouted Stu Carbonecca. “I GOT TO SLOW IT DOWN NOW. THE ANGLE OF THE WAVES IS GONNA . . .”

“YOU DON'T SLOW DOWN,” shouted Lou. “YOU KEEP GOING AS FAST AS YOU CAN, YOU HEAR ME?”

“BUT LOU,” said Stu, terrified of the consequences of arguing with Lou Tarant
—nobody argued with Lou Tarant
—but equally terrified of the consequences of pushing the Cigarette to this insane speed in these seas, “WE ARE GONNA . . .”

He shut up then, because he saw the wave coming, a very large one, at a bad angle. He yanked the wheel to the left, but there wasn't enough time. The Cigarette roared up the face of the wave and launched itself into space, but this time rotating, corkscrewing through the air, staying airborne so long that it rotated 270 degrees, which unfortunately was 90 degrees too little. In the next instant, at 70 miles per hour, it crash-landed on its side, the boys in the cockpit had time for only part of one last plaintive chorus . . .

“OK, LOOK AT THIS,” ARNIE WAS SAYING. HE had removed a card from his wallet and was brandishing it at Phil. “This is an official New Jersey driver's license.”

Phil took the card, brought it up to the lower lens of his trifocals, studied it for a moment.

“This is
expired,
” he said. “This expired in 1989.”

“Oh yeah?” said Arnie. “So where's
your
license?”

“I didn't bring it with me,” said Phil. “I didn't think I'd hafta drive the boat.”

“Well you don't hafta,” said Arnie. “I can drive the boat.”

“You don't even know which way,” said Phil. “You were driving it
east,
for Godsakes.”

“OK,” said Arnie, “now I got it going west.”

Phil looked at the compass.

“It says we're going north,” he said.

“Let me see that,” said Arnie.

“See the N?” said Phil. “N means north.”

“I know that,” said Arnie.

“I think I should drive,” said Phil, grabbing one side of the wheel.

“NO,” said Arnie, grabbing the other.

The two old men bumped against each other, each trying to break the other's grip on the wheel. After a moment, they both realized it was hopeless.

“All right then,” said Phil. “Be an idiot.”

“All right then,” said Arnie. “I will.”

And the
Extravaganza
steamed on into the night, Arnie firmly in control of his side of the steering wheel, Phil firmly in control of his.

 

THE AROMA THAT JOHNNY AND TED SMELLED ON the dark bridge of Tark's boat was a pungent mixture of flatulence and love juices. The flatulence was of course supplied by Tina, who, like Johnny and Ted, had clambered up the ladderway to escape the shooting and the dead bodies and the puke stench. There she had found Jock, and in her terror, she had forgotten her jealous rage and clung to him fiercely. He had clung fiercely back, every bit as confused and horrified as she was by the bizarre carnage outside.