Frank stood and pulled Gilmore up with him.
On the tundra to his right he could just make out one arm sinking rapidly into the ground.
It was the man who had given him a smoke.
The Duke ran up to where Frank stood.
"What the fuck?"
"Sink hole," Frank said.
The Duke turned suddenly and punched Gilmore in the stomach.
"I told you to warn us, ass hole."
Gilmore doubled over, then the Duke ripped the black garbage bag off his shoulders.
"All right, men, on to Shagak Bay," the Duke said.
He shoved Frank and Gilmore in front.
As he passed the place where the man had disappeared, he paused a second.
"So long, Resnick," he said, like it didn't matter.
Frank trudged on the soupy ground.
"You got another bag, Gilmore?"
"Yeah.
Help me get it on."
Frank did as the two of them marched along.
"I got something to tell you, Gilmore," Frank said.
"Yeah?"
"Latisha stayed.
She didn't go.
And it wasn't for you or me.
She said she was staying - to help out."
Gilmore said exactly what Frank thought he was going to say.
"How come you know this and I don't?"
"I was at Doc's when she came in."
"Fuck you, Villa."
There could be no coalition between them while Latisha was an issue.
The Duke walked right behind them with another man.
He began to brag about his first sexual encounter with Saturday Phillips.
"Shit, man, I just ripped the clothes off her and took a big feel of them monster tits of hers and whoo-we, it was party time.
I stuck it into her, then Kazam!
And then, well, by God, it happened again."
Frank noted a tone of unreality about this story.
It was as if the Duke had lifted it word for word from a trash novel. Next he started on a detailed description of how he killed Darrell Johnson.
This really bothered Frank because Darrell, in addition to being a mechanic who could make any car work, got along with everyone.
They trudged on for another hour and finally Frank saw Shagak Bay as they rounded a corner in the trail.
Their purpose as
"sink hole finders" was finished.
Now what?
Frank thought again of what had happened to Darrell Johnson.
Would that be their fate, too?
When they got to
the beach and stopped walking, Gilmore began to shiver.
Water had worked its way down his back through his makeshift rain coat.
His head was uncovered, his feet were cold and his hands were numbed by the cold wind. He knew he was in trouble. He heard the Duke launch into a whole series of fuckin' items: fuckin' snow, fuckin' wind, fuckin' wet beach, even the fuckin' tarp, referring to one of the large canvas tarps some of the Duke's men had the foresight to bring.
They huddled at the base of a sandy cliff and covered themselves with tarps. They seemed to have forgotten about him and Villa.
The snow had changed to rain,
but the wind had increased.
It howled down a valley opposite them and hit them full force.
Villa jerked him toward an overturned fiberglass rowboat that had a large gash in its bottom. Villa managed to raise the boat enough so that the two of them could crawl under it.
Under the boat Gilmore began to shiver even more.
"What's wrong?" Villa asked.
"I…I…I'm cold, Villa. I…I…I want to sleep."
"No sleeping.
To sleep is to die.
Now listen, Gilmore, we can't get any wet clothes off you or me with our hands tied this way, so the only thing I can think of is to have you lie face down, then I'm going to get on top of you to keep you warm."
Villa seemed to be talking to him from far away.
Gilmore stretched out.
"F…F….Fuck, Villa, you ain't thinking of fucking me, are you?"
Villa got on top of him, face down.
"Use your head man. How the hell am I going to get my fly open?
That's a sign of hypothermia, you ain't making any sense.
Talk to me."
Gilmore heard a bottle crash against a rock outside the boat, but it sounded far away.
Villa felt heavy and warm on him.
He wanted to sleep.
"Talk to me, Gilmore."
He felt Villa's chin dig into his back.
"That's my booze, Villa.
Those guys are drinking my booze."
"The last thing you need, Gilmore, is booze."
"You took my woman."
"I didn't take her and she's not your woman, she's not my woman, she's her own woman."
Woman.
Latisha. They were lying together in the bed, and he wanted to sleep. Sleep.
Again he felt Villa's chin in his back.
"Talk to me, Gilmore."
"You're weird, Villa.
Just a little nap now."
"Count, Gilmore, count."
"One, two, three, four…fuckin' fuckin' fuckin' Duke is a fucking animal.
Five, six…" now for sleep.
The chin dug into his back.
"Eight, nine… Does this mean I owe you, Villa, if you save my life?
Ten, eleven…."
"Keep counting, God damn you."
"…twelve, thirteen, fourteen…"
When Gilmore woke up, he saw daylight through the hole in the overturned boat.
He remembered making it to five hundred something.
Villa lay next to him, asleep.
He felt miserable
-
fever, severe cold, aches and pains.
But his worst problem was a need to relieve his bowels.
"Villa," he pushed him with his foot, "I need help.
Loosen my pants."
How humiliating to have to ask someone to loosen his pants and then to take a crap with another person tied to him.
He could never forgive the Duke for this.
Villa made it easy by indicating he needed the same kind of help. When they were finished, they sat next to each other and leaned against the side of the overturned boat.
"How we gonna get out of this, Villa?"
"It looks bad.
Maybe convince the Duke that our people won't shoot if he puts us at the point."
"Yeah, but one problem.
Look."
Gilmore pointed to the hole in the fiberglass bottom. Thick, soupy fog hovered over the hole and wisps of it drifted inside.
"Nobody can see anybody in that soup."
Villa nodded.
They sat together in silence.
The wind picked up and whistled under the edges of the boat and through the hole in the top.
Rain pelted down on the boat and yet Gilmore could still see the dense fog through the hole.
Where else in the world could you have heavy rain and wind, yet still have fog?
Villa sat quietly, staring at the hole. What, in God's name did a fun-loving woman like Latisha see in this straight dude? Well, maybe she was just having a little fling. Women were like that - they were always falling in love with a priest or a minister or in this case, an idealist.
She'd get over it and then she'd
come back to him for some good old sex and a lot of laughs.
Still the guy was a mystery.
Why would 254 people vote him in as leader and only 225 vote for him?
He had run a campaign that would have done a Kennedy proud, while Villa had done little but levy more taxes.
What went wrong?
Maybe there was real wisdom in the organization saying, "Let someone else front for you in the public arena.
You pull the strings behind the scenes."
"I've got an idea," Villa said.
He crawled over to the hole, pulling Gilmore along with him.
Then he stuck his face into the hole and bit down on a piece of fiberglass.
Jesus, Gilmore thought, he's losing it.
Villa bit a piece of jagged fiberglass off and sat down again behind him.
He started to work on the rope between them.
By damn, Gilmore thought,
they might get out of this yet.
Villa sawed away.
What if they did escape?
Number one, the Duke would die, but what about Villa?
Surely a boss could not let a wife-stealer off?
Did it count that Villa had saved his life?
That he was saving it again?
Were they even?
What if he let Villa run the government and control all the Duke-type cons that came to the island?
Then he could run the Sea Otter and open a bank and…there were endless possibilities. Of course, he would have to keep control of the prisoner council in order to keep Villa in check, but instead of getting his own muscle, why not use the muscle Straight Frank had already established?
All he had to do was get the council to ban things he didn't like and Joe Britt would have to enforce them.
Gilmore congratulated himself for having these insights as Villa sawed away.
But it occurred to him that business leaders had been using the existing government for years.
He realized his thoughts were not new.
For crime to prosper, a stable, honest government was necessary.
He remembered how the organization had once sent him to Panama to explore some business opportunities, but he recommended against any investment.
The government was in the hands of bigger crooks than the people he worked for.
"Pull, Gilmore," Villa said.
He did and the rope between them broke.
"Now I'm going to work on your rope, Gilmore."
He could feel Villa sawing away.
"What's that liquid?" Gilmore asked.
"Blood.
My hand's cut up from the fiberglass."
Once Villa had freed him, what was to prevent him from taking off, leaving Villa to the Duke?
Nothing.
Villa was a trusting man.
The wind seemed to increase in intensity, rattling the boat.
Villa kept cutting his ropes.
"What did you think of my bank idea?" Gilmore asked.
"Not much.
I've been busy with your aborted take over."
"Hey, don't blame me.
I'm tied up, just like you.
You got to have a bank here.
People want to start businesses, they want to build things, they want to ship new cars from Seattle."
"I can't think of a worse bank official than you, Gilmore."
"Hey, Villa, you don't get to pick your bank officials.
The job of the government is to provide a safe environment for banking."
Villa snorted.
"Like we have to stop drug-crazed guys from robbing Gilmore's bank so they can go to Gilmore's Sea Otter and get a fix?"
Suddenly Gilmore felt the rope snap.
He pulled his arms in front of him and rubbed his wrists.
Villa's blood covered his hands. He untied his leg bonds and then untied Villa.
Today the enemy was the Duke, not Villa.
The wind shook the boat again, bouncing it up and down. He couldn't wait to get back to the Sea Otter, get in some dry clothes, eat a hot meal and then plan the death of the Duke.
Somebody looked into the hole and then quickly turned the boat over.
It was the Duke.
"Hey, Larson, come here.
These two got free."
Villa nudged him as the boat bounced right side up and they both sprang for freedom, Villa going to the right and he to the left.
But he had to slow down - the fog was thicker than the day the Aleut came, if that was possible.
Gilmore stuck his arm out and tried to walk fast.
He hit something.
It was Larson.
"Shit."
Larson grabbed him and stumbled back to where the Duke and his men were breaking camp.
"Should I kill him?"
Larson asked.
"Naw, we may need some cannon fodder," the Duke responded.
"Where's the other one?"
Larson shrugged and proceeded to tie his hands and feet. Gilmore felt a terrible sick feeling in his stomach as his hands were tied behind him again.
His wrists were still swollen and red from the last bonds.
Despair filled his mind - he would never make it back to his warm office at the Sea Otter where he could examine the reports from the bar and the firewood business and the prostitution and think about setting up a bank.
The Duke gave orders as Larson tied him up. "Pavel, you climb that cliff and act as lookout.
Pavel left, muttering about not being able to see anything in the fog.
"You guys," the Duke ordered four others, "pick up that tarp and give me some shelter, so I can study the map.
Larson, get over here and show me where we are."
Larson jerked the rope on his hands even tighter than last night.
Gilmore wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in his stomach.
Larson joined the Duke under the tarp and pointed to the map. Although the tarp was only ten feet by twelve and four men held it by ropes passed through grommets at each corner, it flapped noisily in the wind.
Duke shouted out at the men, "Hold that god-damn thing still, will you?
I can't hear a fuckin' thing."
Suddenly it was quiet outside.
The rain continued, but the wind died.
Anticipation rode on the quiet air.
Duke came out from under the tarp.
"Big wind, shit! It ain't even blowin'.
Where's this fuckin' williwozzle?
Time to get moving up to . . . "
For a second the wind stopped completely.
It seemed as if all the air was sucked off the beach.
Their campsite became a vacuum.
The fog thinned.
Gilmore felt that
something terrible was about to happen.
He remembered what Straight Frank had said once about a williwaw, how dangerous they were.
This was the wind the Duke was dissing.
The williwaw hit.
The tarp over the Duke's head flapped violently.
One man lost his grip and the rope tied to his corner slashed about wildly, lacerating the other three men.
The Duke and Larson tried to get out from under the tarp, but they were knocked over.
On the other corners two men let go of the tarp, but the last man got his arm caught in the rope.
The tarp flipped all the way over and pulled the man into some rocks.
His arm was stretched forward while his body was wedged in.
Gilmore watched as the wind flapped the tarp up and down until the man's elbow was a bloody pulp.
The williwaw knocked Gilmore off his feet onto his stomach. He crawled to the boat which one of the Duke's men had turned over again.
The man was under it.
Gilmore scrunched back under it.
The boat rested on uneven ground, allowing the wind to get under one corner and bounce it up and down like a seesaw.
"Hang on to the sides," the other man yelled, "so it won't blow away."