Making Waves (17 page)

Malcolm eased himself onto the barstool beside Juli and pulled a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket. He used it to mop his brow before turning to Juli with a smile. “So, my enchanting ladies, what brings you to such an uncivilized establishment on this fine evening?”

The other six brothers dragged barstools over and arranged themselves in a circle around them, keeping a wary eye on Malcolm.

Phyllis lifted her drink and took a swallow, then beamed at Malcolm. “We’re here trying to—”

“We’re just here enjoying a drink,” Juli said, kicking Phyllis again.

“Hey!” barked one of the men, rubbing his shin and glaring at Juli. “She just kicked me!”

Malcolm picked up his sherry with one hand and slapped his brother with the other. He took a sip of his drink.

“Apologize for your disrespect, Winchester,” Malcolm said, taking a sip.

“But
she
kicked
me
.”

Malcolm kicked the legs of his brother’s barstool and sent the whole thing toppling backwards into a table. The table shattered, the barstool snapped in two, and Winchester’s skull hit the floor with a thud.

Malcolm took another sip of his drink.

“Um…” Juli said, edging away from Malcolm as she glanced down at Winchester. “Is he going to be okay?”

Malcolm seemed not to hear her at first, absorbed as he was in his sherry.

“He’s fine,” declared one of the other brothers. Percy? Pierson? “He’s got a steel plate in his head.”

“Oh. Okay.” Juli made a mental note not to say or do anything else to provoke Malcolm.

“So do you ladies enjoy literature?” Malcolm asked, taking another sip of his sherry. “Because I do so enjoy postmodern American poetry, particularly the Projectivists. So very avant-garde! You are American, right?”

“Um…” Juli said.

“Of course you are. As I was saying, I’m particularly fond of William Carlos Williams.
Paterson
—his modernist, epic collage of place—truly captures the essence of its locale while examining the role of the poet in American Society in the 1950s. Don’t you agree?”

“Um…” Juli said.

“But of course, we mustn’t forget the impact his tutelage had on other poets associated with the San Francisco Renaissance—obviously Williams’s affiliation with Kenneth Rexroth impacted Rexroth’s exploration of Japanese poetic forms and his deep fascination with transcendent love, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Um…” Juli said.

“Want to see my boobs?” Phyllis asked.

Malcolm smiled and took another sip of his sherry. “Absolutely, my dear. But first, I’d love to hear your thoughts on ancient Greek lyric poetry.”

***

A mile away and on another planet, Alex, Jake, and Cody were standing on the starboard deck of their former boss’s cargo ship, trying to assess the situation.

“Are they unconscious?” Jake asked, staring at the two large men Cody was holding by the shirt collars with their feet dangling limply beneath them.

“Either that or faking it,” Alex said. “I didn’t think he’d hit them that hard.”

“I didn’t realize he was carrying a spatula,” Jake muttered.

Alex sighed. “Cookie, you can go ahead and put them down now. Maybe you can tie them up while Jake and I check things out down below?”

Cody dropped the men in a heap on the deck. “Okay,” he agreed. “You sure you guys don’t need any help?”

Jake hefted his paintball gun and smiled. “We’ve got it covered. And we’ve got our map of the ship’s layout. You stand guard and yell if you see anything odd.”

Alex reached over to straighten Jake’s ski mask for the hundredth time, positioning the eyeholes over his eyes instead of his mouth. “You really think the rainbow-striped ski mask is the best idea?”

Jake’s grin widened between the blue and purple stripe. “We’re outlaws. This is what outlaws wear.”

“Right,” Alex said. “You think the girls are okay?”

“Yeah. They’re smart. They’ll get out if things go bad.”

“You notice if Juli took the urn with her?”

Jake shrugged. “Not sure. We can check the room when we get back.”

“Okay, let’s head below deck and get this over with.”

Alex turned and started moving toward the stairs. He knew the layout of the ship like he’d come to know the freckle at the top of Juli’s left breast. The boat was one of Kranston Shipping Company’s most popular vessels, utilized for hauling lumber and machine parts and steel around the world. Now they just had to find the diamonds.

Alex moved down one set of steps and turned left, jogging down a long corridor before hitting another staircase. He could hear Jake panting behind him, but he kept going, eager to get the hell out of there fast. They’d seen no trace of the original crew, and Alex was trying hard not to think about it. He was having a tough time thinking at all, worried as he was about Phyllis and Juli’s safety, wondering if they were okay, wishing like hell he hadn’t let them go off alone like that. He thought about how beautiful Juli had looked, how many men would kill just for the chance to touch her. If anything happened…

“Down here, you think?” he called over his shoulder to Jake.

“That’d be my guess.”

“Here, we’ll try this door.”

“You have the lock pick set?” Jake asked, breathless as he caught up to him.

Alex grasped the door handle and pulled. “Don’t need it.”

The two of them stepped into the cargo hold and blinked into the darkness. Alex fumbled on his tool belt for the flashlight and flicked it on, spreading a thick swath of yellow light across the yawning gulf of blackness. There was a musty smell in the air, something like wet cardboard and old seawater. He slid the beam along the wall and hit the light switch.

Alex was the first to see it. “What the—”

“Holy shit.”

They both stood staring, not sure what to make of the cargo surrounding them from all sides of the room. Alex turned and surveyed the rest of the cargo bay, seeing more and more of the same.

They both stood blinking in the dusty air, trying to make sense of things.

Jake shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

“But I thought we checked—”

“We confirmed it, Alex. We did. I just—”

“Are those really what I think they are?”

“Well what the hell else would they be?”

Jake took a step forward and reached out, but Alex pulled him back. “Wait. Don’t touch anything. Not yet.”

“But—”

Before either of them could argue further, they heard sounds above deck. A distinct hum, the rev of an engine. The thud of footsteps. A gunshot.

“Oh shit,” Alex said, dropping Jake’s arm. “They’re back early.”

“They can’t be back yet,” Jake hissed. “It’s only been fifteen minutes. Phyllis looked too hot for them not to stay longer.”

“Cody,” Alex said, heading for the stairs. “We’ve got to make sure Cody’s okay.”

He sprinted out the door and headed down the narrow hall, taking the stairs two at a time. He could hear Jake plodding behind him as the blood pounded in his ears. Alex rounded a corner and reached for the gun on his belt.

“That’s not a paintball gun, is it?” Jake whispered behind him.

Alex stopped short, flattening himself against the wall on the other side of the deck where they’d left Cody. He braced himself to pounce.

“No. Not a paintball gun. Yours?”

Jake shook his head. Alex gripped the gun and peered slowly around the corner.

What he saw made his blood run cold. On the deck of the cargo ship, the two unconscious men were still tied motionless, back-to-back, their wrists pinned together with the strings from Cody’s apron.

And in the distance, a cigarette boat was racing full speed toward the horizon, four hulking men silhouetted against the screaming orange sun.

Three men holding automatic weapons.

One very tall man with his arms behind his back.

“Jesus,” Jake hissed.

“Cody,” Alex said, and he took off running.

“So you agree deconstructionist and other poststructuralist strategies toward the interpretation of New-American poetic dissidents are ultimately futile?” Malcolm asked, staring thoughtfully at Juli as he signaled the bartender for another sherry.

Juli leaned forward, fully engaged in the conversation with Malcolm now that she’d determined he was more interested in a theological discussion of literature than in allowing his brothers to gang rape them. Frankly, she was enjoying a little friendly, poetic banter with a rival pirate.

“I agree that literary works don’t yield fixed, single meanings, but this effusion of philistine approaches to poetic deconstruction presents a challenge in the basic ideological notion that the social milieu implicit in the literary works are little more than an assessment of their relation to the pedagogy of Marxist interpretations.”

“No shit,” Phyllis said, taking another slurp of her drink as Blythe and Percy stared adoringly at her cleavage.

Juli glanced over at Phyllis, enjoying the sight of the older woman basking in more male attention than she’d probably seen in all her previous fifty-four years. Juli looked at her watch, surprised to see that more than an hour had passed since they’d entered the bar. Plenty of time for Alex and Jake and Cody to have conducted their spy mission.

She should probably begin wrapping up their discussion and making excuses to cut the evening short, but she was having such a lovely time. Besides, Malcolm’s six brothers were so enraptured by the sight of Phyllis’s décolletage, it seemed a shame to deprive them.

Suddenly, Alex burst through the door, his face ashen. His shirt was damp, and he was breathing like he’d just run to the bar from the other side of the island. Jake flew in behind him and doubled over, hands on his knees, his expression grim.

Juli jumped off her barstool, spilling her drink in the process. “Alex—Jake—what are you doing here?”

“There’s a problem,” Alex growled as he moved toward her. “We need to go.”

Juli bit her lip and looked from Alex to Jake and back at Alex. Oh God, where was Cody? She gripped the edge of the bar as her knees started to give. Alex reached out and caught her elbow, holding her upright.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Malcolm beat her to it.

“A problem?” he asked, standing up beside Juli. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. Malcolm J. Forthwald III. Always a pleasure to meet an acquaintance of such lovely and charming ladies.”

He extended his hand to Alex, who took it with an expression that was equal parts bewilderment and suspicion.

“Alex,” he said as he shook Malcolm’s hand. “Um, Juli—can I see you alone for a minute?”

“Well, yes,” Juli stammered with a quick glance at Malcolm.

Malcolm set his drink on the bar and regarded Alex with a serious expression. “Sir, if I may, I can assure you that I completely understand any needs you may have for the utmost discretion, and perhaps my knowledge of this island and my familiarity with delicate business matters can help you in your—”

“It’s Cody,” Alex interrupted, looking at Juli. “Three thugs with automatic weapons just kidnapped Cody and took off in a cigarette boat.”

“Oh, merciful heavens,” Malcolm said and clucked disapprovingly. “Was the boat, by any chance, a thirty-six-foot Racing Gladiator with a rebuilt 750-horsepower Richie Zul engine and a Bravo One XR drive?”

Alex stared at him. Then he looked at Juli. She gave him a small nod. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I trust him.”

“Trust,” Alex said. “Right.” He looked at Malcolm. “I couldn’t tell for certain, but that sounds right on the boat. Why?”

“Oh, dear.” Malcolm turned to his brothers and began chattering rapidly in Bajan. Juli perked up, trying hard to eavesdrop without looking like she was eavesdropping. Alex caught her eye and gave her a questioning look.

“You two are okay?” Alex whispered.

Juli nodded. “We’re fine. We don’t need rescuing. But Cody—”

Malcolm turned back to them as his brothers lined up in a row behind him.

“Let us help,” he said. “We’re partly responsible, after all. The cigarette boat is ours—it was tied down right beside a boat we recently
acquired
in a routine business transaction. And if my hunch is correct, the formidable crew you speak of were captives who’ve apparently escaped our control and are now, obviously, wreaking havoc and committing unsavory acts.”

“Captives?” Juli asked, feigning innocence. “You’re a literary theologian and a thug, Malcolm?”

Malcolm waved his hand, dismissing the details. “Gentlemen who were crewing a ship we gained control of the other day. Purely business; we required the boat for other cargo. These hostages, they’re friendly chaps—the original crew of the ship, you see. But they’re certainly not the most intellectual specimens. Truly, I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Phyllis frowned. “So let me get this straight, Malcolm. You stole a boat and took some hostages, but now the hostages have stolen
your
boat and taken Cody as
their
hostage?”

Malcolm looked thoughtful. “Yes, that does sound correct, my dear.”

Jake tucked his ski mask in his pocket and gave Phyllis a warning look. “Alex and I were just out for a stroll down by the harbor when we saw Cody being kidnapped. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

Alex didn’t reply. His eyes were on Juli, his expression guarded. “There’s a note,” he said and reached into his back pocket. Juli saw his hand shake as he unfolded it and held it out.

“May I?” Malcolm asked, extending his hand. Alex looked at Juli again, and she nodded.

He handed him the note, and Juli peered over Malcolm’s shoulder.

“‘Dear Pirates,’” she read. “‘We borrowed you’re boat—’” She stopped and threw up her hands in exasperation. “God, I hate that, don’t you? The contraction for ‘you are’ is misused so often it just makes me want to scream!”

“Indeed!” Malcolm agreed. “Truly, this abuse of the English language is an atrocity of the highest magnitude.”

“Focus, guys,” Alex said, tapping the corner of the note.

Juli grabbed the note and kept reading: “‘We borrowed you’re boat, and we borrowed you’re guy. Just let us get away fast and we’ll send you’re guy back tomorrow with you’re boat. If you come after us, we’ll—’” Juli scrunched up her face. “What is that word there?”

Alex closed his eyes. “I believe that’s supposed to be ‘torture.’”

“Spelled with a ch?” Malcolm said, aghast. “Honestly, I don’t understand this lack of education in—” He stopped and looked at Juli. “You’ve gone very pale, my dear.”

“Cody,” she whispered and looked at the note again. “Someone would torture Cody?”

Alex gritted his teeth. Juli saw a tiny muscle twitch at the corner of his eye.

“It appears that way,” he said.

“We have to get him back.” Her voice sounded very small to her.

Malcolm nodded once, then turned to his brothers and gave two sharp claps.

“Blythe, Percy, Winchester, Prescott, Pierson, Phillip, shall we see what we can do to be of service to our new friends?”

The six brothers were still staring at Phyllis’s legs. Malcolm sighed, then sucker punched Percy in the gut.

“Gentlemen?”

“Yes, Malcolm,” they murmured and bowed their heads.

Alex just stared, words failing him. Juli gave him a guarded smile and touched his arm.

“Honor among thieves, right?” she said.

Alex closed his eyes and shook his head. “This was really not part of the plan.”

***

Alex was trying hard to understand what was going on. Apparently, Juli’s new pirate friend was more interested in literature and chivalrous conduct than in acquiring prostitutes or pondering the technicalities of illegal activity.

“He doesn’t know we’re pirates,” Juli pointed out back at the hotel room as she and Phyllis hastily swapped out their hooker garb for more practical attire. “For all he knows, we’re just hapless vacationers whose friend has been kidnapped.”

Phyllis was hunched over her laptop, alternately tapping at keys and wriggling out of her bustier. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for online, but it seemed important that he keep his eyes averted as she undressed.

Jake, on the other hand, offered no such courtesy.

“You need any help with those little hook things, Phyllis?”

Alex sighed. He had bigger things to worry about than Phyllis’s privacy. Like where the hell those guys were taking Cody. And how the hell he might go about getting him back. And whether Cody’s kidnappers had a clue their new hostage was a former employee of Kranston Shipping—the same company that wrote
their
paychecks.

“Are you sure Malcolm is trustworthy?” he asked Juli, ducking as she flung her bra across the room and began tossing clothing out of her knapsack.

He watched as she pulled out the urn and set it on the nightstand before reaching back into her bag to continue flinging clothing. She yanked a pale blue tank top over her head and wriggled her arms through the holes before turning to give him an incredulous look. “Define trustworthy,” she said. “I don’t think he’d hurt us, but he is a pirate. He’s probably missing a few scruples, but isn’t that exactly why we need him?”

Jake looked up from where he was chivalrously assisting Phyllis with the zipper on her thigh-high boot. “We sure as hell need his boat and his firepower. Where else are we going to get a go-fast boat on short notice?”

“Or the ability to clear customs with no questions asked,” Phyllis added. “Which is something Malcolm seems to have.”

Alex sighed. They had him there. Wherever the hell those guys were taking Cody, they could get there about three times faster in their cigarette boat than Alex and the crew could possibly move in the fifty-three-foot powerboat.

Not that they had any idea where they were going. The thugs in the cigarette boat had been headed north–northwest when he and Jake had lost sight of them, but they could be anywhere by now. Lucky for them, Malcolm was willing to provide a boat and assistance slipping into foreign harbors with minimal hassle. Trustworthy or not, Malcolm and his brothers were good allies to have right then.

Alex couldn’t stop checking his watch. Couldn’t stop blaming himself. Twenty minutes. Cody had been gone twenty minutes. They could be anywhere by now.

“Ohmygod! Check this out!” Phyllis shrieked, buttoning up her blouse with one hand as she scrolled through something on her laptop with the other.

Phyllis finished buttoning and turned the laptop screen toward Alex. “I’ve been monitoring communications since the boat was seized yesterday, and there hasn’t been anything at all about the hijacking. Not a word, which seems weird since he would have gotten the ShipSafe alert too. But look what came through just a few minutes ago.”

Alex stared. It was a simple e-mail, vague enough to sound like correspondence conducted through the normal course of business. But to Phyllis, Alex, and Jake—who’d spent the last twenty years reading between the lines in Tom Portelli’s communications—it was clear the hijacked crew had gotten in touch with him. The same guys who now had Cody were communicating with Portelli, and now they were set to rendezvous.

“St. Lucia,” Alex said, snatching a map off the counter. “Makes sense. It’s the closest neighboring island.”

Jake nodded, already penciling it out on a chart. “It’s one hundred miles due west. They’ve still got a half-hour head start, but we can make it in under two hours if we take Malcolm’s cigarette boat.”

“Malcolm’s not just loaning us the boat, right?” Juli asked. “I mean, he’s going with us?”

“They want their stolen boat back,” Alex said. “I’m sure they’ll want to be there to reclaim it from the guys who took it.”

“So how many people can fit in one of those little cigarette boats?” Juli asked.

“There’s only room for four or five people, and I’m sure Malcolm will want at least one or two of his brothers along,” Alex said.

Phyllis frowned. “Shouldn’t someone stay here in case Cody’s kidnappers try to contact us for ransom or something?”

They all stared at each other. Jake was the first to speak. “Alex, you and Juli should go. Phyllis and I will stay here in case Cody gets in touch.”

Alex scratched his chin, not sure that was the best plan. “Well—”

“He’s right,” Phyllis said. “Malcolm loves Juli; she needs to go. It’ll keep him in line. And at least one of you boys needs to be on that boat, and one needs to stay here.”

“And someone needs to be here to make sure the cargo ship doesn’t disappear before we figure out what’s going on,” Jake added. “Maybe we can even get back on board while you’re gone, get a closer look at that cargo. Maybe see if you and I missed something the first time through.”

Alex looked at Juli. She’d been terrified of the water less than a week ago. Now she was getting dragged out into the open ocean in a cigarette boat. Could she really handle that?

Juli looked up at him and offered a weak smile. Alex cleared his throat. “Juli? You all right with this?”

Juli’s eyes were wide and a little fearful, but she nodded. “Got any ginger?”

He tossed her a bag, and Juli caught it with one hand—a hand, Alex noticed, over which she’d already slipped her seasick bands. She was ready.

“Do I have time to pee?” she asked.

Alex nodded and watched as she disappeared around the corner and into the bathroom. The second she locked the door behind her, he picked up the urn.

“Alex, no!” Phyllis hissed. “Not now.”

Jake glanced in the direction Juli had vanished, then back at Alex. “Do it quick.”

Alex hesitated. Was it wrong to invade her privacy? Not to trust her after how much they’d shared?

“Hurry,” Jake urged. “Just a quick peek inside. Then we’ll know if she’s hiding something.”

Alex shook his head. “No.” He started to set the urn back on the nightstand. Then he picked it up again, studying it.

“Oh, give it to me,” Jake snapped, marching over and snatching it from his hand.

“Jake, wait—”

With a quick flick of his thumb, Jake popped the lever on the bottom. The top of the urn flipped open and Jake squinted inside.