Circle of Bones - Kling Christine (полная версия книги txt) 📗
“Nice boat you got out there,” Spyder said. “That your boat or a charter? You drive that here all by yourself?”
Thor crossed his legs and there wasn’t but one wrinkle on his pants – the crease straight down the front. For a minute Spyder wondered what Thor had looked like driving that black Donzi across the channel. Bet he almost crapped his fancy fuckin’ pants.
“Were you born a complete moron or did your mother drop you on your head?”
“What the –”
“Shut up. That was a rhetorical question. One only need look at your brother to know the answer. So, both boats are gone?” Thor asked.
Spyder nodded. He wanted more than anything to smash his fist into the asshole’s face, but this asshole owed him money, and Spyder knew from experience that men had a tendency not to pay after you hit them.
“I assumed as much. Half the day is gone, and you are just now returning with this news. You have no idea when they left, I assume.”
“Hey, you didn’t say we had to sit up all fucking night watching ‘em. We checked yesterday before dark and they was both there.”
Thor leaned forward and adjusted the screen on his GPS tracker. “We know she’s down at the south end of Dominica. Odds are he is, too.” He snapped the lid of the box closed and stood. “Let’s get moving.”
Spyder stood his ground in the middle of the salon. “We ain’t going nowhere ?til we see some money,” he said.
Thor stepped out from behind the table and faced Spyder. “You are going to do what I tell you to do.”
“Hey man, it’s been four days since we bought that last food. It’s gone. We got no food, no beer, and none of your fancy wine neither. Boat’s gonna need both fuel and water. Me and my brother been working for you and your friends for more than a week now, and we ain’t been paid nothing. ‘Fore you go telling us what to do, you got to pony up, man.”
“Working?” Thor looked around the salon. A pair of jeans lay across the glass coffee table next to the GPS tracker, the ashtrays overflowed, and the galley countertops were invisible beneath the double layer of dirty dishes. “This boat looks like a garbage dump and judging from the smell in here, you’ve spent all your money on illegal drugs. I don’t pay for that kind of stupidity.”
“Fuck you,” Spyder yelled. “I ain’t stupid and I ain’t your boat nigger.” Asshole could do his own work. Spyder headed for the sliding glass door.
He had no warning before something slammed into the back of his head. His knees buckled. He sprawled face first onto the carpet. Before he really understood what was happening, Thor’s fancy loafer slammed into his kidney. Spyder tried to yell fuck you again, but all that came out was another “ugh” as air was forced from his mouth by another kick. Spittle slid down his chin dripping onto the carpet. He started to push himself up onto his knees, when he felt hands come from behind and close around his neck. The hands yanked him up, straightening his back, though he was still on his knees.
Spyder had a perfect view out the glass door, blue water and white yachts, dark birds circling the sky. He had no air in him and those hands had cut off any hope of getting more. He struggled at first, flailing his arms, trying to strike at the body behind him, the body attached to the hands that now held his life in their iron grip. As he grew weaker he focused on those birds, vultures probably, circling over some dead thing. Flying away like he wished –
Then, he heard a thunderous bang and the hands released his throat as Thor was flung sideways. He heard the crash when Thor hit the glass coffee table, knocking it off the stand and shattering the glass. Then it was quiet except for the sound Spyder made as he gasped for air, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Over and above the noise of his own breathing, he heard a click. Followed by another click.
Spyder turned around. From the stairs that led down to the forward staterooms, Pinky came walking past the galley holding the stainless steel pistol in both hands, continuing to pull the trigger on the empty chambers. When he came within reach, Spyder stretched out his arm and took the weapon from his brother’s hands. He’d never checked to see if the magazine carried a full load.
Thor lay still on his right side next to the broken glass, and a pool of blood darkened the rug under his shoulder. The side of his face that had struck the table was covered with blood. The man’s eyes were closed, and Spyder hoped the fucker was dead.
Pinky got an arm under Spyder’s elbow and helped him to his feet. Spyder shrugged off Pinky’s assistance. His whole body hurt like a son of a bitch, but he’d had the shit kicked out of him before. It wasn’t the first time. And they needed to get the hell out of there. He knew that cops weren’t far off after the sound of a gunshot.
“I can walk. Let’s go,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Spyder stepped over Thor’s legs and headed for the sliding door. He turned to look for his brother. Pinky had stopped in the middle of the main salon and he was staring down at Thor. Spyder watched as Pinky slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out another magazine. He offered it to his brother.
Spyder shook his head. No more noise. The dude wasn’t going anywhere. If he wasn’t dead already, he was gonna bleed out. It was time to get moving before the fucking French cops arrived. His brother reached down then and pulled the wallet from Thor’s back pocket. Then Pinky picked up the GPS black box off the glass covered carpet.
“Hey bro,” Spyder said as he slid open the glass door. “Come on. I always wanted to drive one of these fucking Cigarette boats.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Scott’s Head Bay, Dominica
March 30, 2008
1:00 p.m.
“You knew my father?” Cole asked as he shook the man’s small hand. The firm grip surprised him.
“Yes,” Michaut said. “He was a very persistent man. Typical English.”
Cole laughed. “I guess you did know him.”
“Please, sit down.” The old man dragged the chairs closer together. As he eased himself into the chair, he said, “We have much to talk about. I asked Julliette to bring us coffee.”
Cole looked at Riley, then back at the old man. “Mr. Michaut, we don’t have much time. There’s a man looking for us. Not a nice guy. I don’t want him to find you or your family.”
The old man nodded. “Mademoiselle,” he said looking at Riley’s face and neck. “He did this to you?”
Riley nodded.
“I understand. This will not take long. And please, call me Henri. It has been a long time since anyone called me by that name. Except your father. Like you, he wandered into my garden one day asking questions about the war. I did not know at the time that he would become a very dear friend.”
The back door to the house opened and the young woman came out carrying a tray with three glasses of ice water, mini cups of coffee, a bowl of sugar cubes and a small silver pitcher.
“That smells so good,” Riley said as she took a cup.
“My father didn’t make it easy to find you, Henri,” Cole said. He, too, took a cup and sat on the edge of a chair.
“Yes, that was to protect me.” Henri shook his head. “But when a man is ninety-two years old, there is not so much to fear. It is only for my family that I am afraid. I spent most of my life hiding here on this island, afraid they would find out that I knew their secrets. It was only when I met your father that I realized there was something I needed to do before I die. Something I needed to share. Your father said he would help me.”
“And now I will if I can.”
Michaut nodded. “As he said you would. Your father suspected something might happen to him after he wrote about the Surcouf. And he told me if that happened, then I was to expect you.”
Cole glanced at Riley and smiled. “For someone I only met once in my life, he knew me pretty well, I guess.”
