Trap Line Part 24

She poked at the cool sand with dirty toes. Then she looked up.

"I'm sorry, Breeze."

"Me, too."

Albury took the heavy ivory-and-pink conch sh.e.l.l and left her a twenty-dollar bill.

He was nearly back to the car when she called, a figure lost in shadow.

"Take care of my boy, Breeze. Take care of my Ricky, hear?"

"I will, Peg," he replied softly, "Oh, I will."

BREEZE ALBURY found Tomas Cruz sprawled on the Winnebago's burgundy leather sofa. A pistol lay on the carpet alongside an empty champagne bottle. Tom watched him through hooded eyes. found Tomas Cruz sprawled on the Winnebago's burgundy leather sofa. A pistol lay on the carpet alongside an empty champagne bottle. Tom watched him through hooded eyes.

"Hey, Tom, how they hangin'?"

"What's that you're carryin'?" Tom asked warily.

"This? A queen conch. I'm going to take it to Ricky at the hospital. A get-well present."

"Ricky, oh yeah, sorry about that. You know how it is." Tom shrugged. "Make yourself a drink."

"Thanks, I will. I can see you've had a few already."

"A couple. Want a pop? They're over there." Tom gestured toward the cutlery drawer.

"No, thanks. I've only got a few minutes, got to get to the hospital. Those nurses are d.a.m.n strict about visiting hours." Albury poured himself three fingers of Bourbon.

Tom fished a gold lighter from his jeans pocket and lit a cigarette. "I'm glad you finally came to your senses, bubba. Tomorrow we deal and it's all over-no hard feelings. I get my square groupers, you get your money, Manolo gets off my a.s.s, and everybody goes home happy."

"Right." Albury toasted Tom and drained the whiskey.

"It's too bad things went so wrong," said Tom, "but I want you to know that we-me and Manolo-don't bear any grudge. And next time somethin' special comes along, somethin' we need a really good captain for, we'll give you a call."

"Thanks. By the way, I hear Manolo's out of town."

"That's right, bubba. It's my show till he gets back."

"No offense, Tom, but are you sure you'll have the money tomorrow?"

"s.h.i.+t. It's peanuts. I've got more than that on me right now. We're a big-time operation, Breeze, really first-cla.s.s. I tell you what: I'll throw in a coupla extra thousand for the boy's medical bills, how's that?"

"That'd be fine, Tom."

Albury's fingertips showed white against the conch. He was surprised he hadn't broken it. He looked at his watch. Another few minutes.

"Let's do the trade up around Ramrod Key," said Tom. "I've got it all figured out."

"That's fine, Tom. Only one problem-you're not paying enough. I want more money. Maybe we should wait till Manolo gets back."

Tom pushed himself upright on the sofa.

"What kind of s.h.i.+t is this? First all the ha.s.sle with the rip, and now you're trying to f.u.c.k me over money, too?"

"Ha.s.sles, Tom? No ha.s.sles, just business."

"Jesus! Don't you ever learn? Keep up with this s.h.i.+t, Albury, and I'll break your f.u.c.kin' kid's head the next time."

"Does Manolo know how cheap you're trying to be?"

"Manolo has nothin' to do with this. Nothin', G.o.dd.a.m.nit!"

"All the same, I think we should wait till he gets back."

"No!" Tom was roaring now. "You stole my load and you're goin' to give it back to me tomorrow, the way I told you."

"That's not how it's goin' down," Albury said quietly.

Crystal's timing was perfect. Tom was scrabbling on the floor for the pistol when the CB radio above the driver's seat burst to life.

"Ajax, this is Neptune. I have an urgent message from Thor. Do you copy?" Tom glanced reflexively at the radio. He was Ajax. Manolo was Thor.

Almost casually, Albury kicked the gun from Tom's hand. He came out of the chair with the controlled fury of a jungle cat. Tom had no chance.

Albury leaned against the bar to catch his breath, and Tom wailed up at him from the floor "Jesus! My arm, you broke my f.u.c.king arm."

Albury watched, impa.s.sive.

"I'll take my money now, Tom."

"No."

"The money or the other arm."

"OK, OK. The money. Oh, Christ, it hurts."

"Where is it?"

"In the closet ... a false panel on the floor. There's a suitcase ... Take the money and get me to a doctor, OK, Breeze? For Chrissakes."

"Show me the money."

Albury followed Tom toward the sleeping area of the camper's rear. From the corner of his eye, he saw a bulky shadow and whirled to confront it. He jerked open the gla.s.s door of the shower stall and Drake Boone fell out.

Albury looked at the corpse.

"My, Tom, you have been busy."

"Look, just take your money and go, OK? This is not your business. You didn't see anything. OK? You're right, I was tryin' to cheat you on the money. Take what you want and we'll call it square."

Clutching his arm, Tom pointed at the closet. Albury grunted at the weight of the suitcase. He dumped it onto the bed, more money than he had ever seen. It smelled like wet dirt.

Albury eyed the cash speculatively. Tom lay half on the bed, his feet on the floor, babbling. It would be so easy: there for the taking. Albury sighed.

"I figure you owe me fifty-three thousand dollars, Tom-fifty for the Colombians and another three for my traps. Count it out."

"My arm ... I can't."

"Count, and I'll get you something for your arm."

Albury walked back into the camper's living area and rummaged through the cutlery area. Returning, he tossed four plastic bottles onto the bed. Tom wrenched the child-proof cap off one of them with his teeth and swallowed a handful of fuse-shaped capsules.

"Keep counting," Albury commanded.

Tom moaned. He sniveled. He cried. With painful, jerky movements, he labored to a.s.semble a pile of pills on the edge of the bed.

"There," he said at last. "Take it."

Albury distributed the money among his pockets. He saw the pills ignite in Tom's eyes and watched with scorn as Tom began shoveling the large pile of remaining bills into the suitcase.

Albury went forward and started the camper engine. He maneuvered the boxlike vehicle until it pointed down the concrete promenade. Sunset had emptied the dock. The few pa.s.sersby on the still night stared incuriously as Albury drove along the seawall until the Winnebago was about seventy-five feet from the end.

"Where we goin', Breeze? What're you doin'?" Tom whimpered.

"I get out here, Tom. Where you go is up to you. You get a fighting chance. That's more than you gave Ricky."

In belated alarm, Tom rolled off the bed in a shower of stinking money. He wriggled toward Albury, dragging his twisted arm.

Albury jammed the queen conch sh.e.l.l between the accelerator and the brake pedal. The engine raced. He slipped the camper into gear and jumped lightly from the cab. He walked away without looking back, ignoring the shout of alarm from the carrot-cake lady as she dove from the Winnebago's path. Albury was already lost in the shadows of the Old Town when he heard the splash.

Chapter 22.

PEG ALBURY fortified herself with three cups of black coffee from the hospital cafeteria. Customarily, she was not up and around like this at nine in the morning, but she had not slept well. She inserted a stick of spearmint gum in her mouth, adjusted her hair with trembling fingers, and bravely made her way to the nurse's station on the third floor. fortified herself with three cups of black coffee from the hospital cafeteria. Customarily, she was not up and around like this at nine in the morning, but she had not slept well. She inserted a stick of spearmint gum in her mouth, adjusted her hair with trembling fingers, and bravely made her way to the nurse's station on the third floor.

"Richard Albury's room, please."

A lovely Jamaican nurse picked up the telephone, smiled, and turned her back on Peg Albury. Moments later a starched, pinch-faced man appeared. He introduced himself as Mr. Jenks, the administrator.

Peg Albury groped for a chair. "My G.o.d. Not Ricky," she murmured. "Not Ricky, too. Is he dead?"

"You're Ricky's mother?"

Peg nodded.

"He's not here," Jenks said with an irritated sigh. "Mr. Albury removed him from the hospital about thirty minutes ago. Against Against doctor's orders, and against my orders. I told him the boy was not ready to travel. The arm needs another two days of traction." doctor's orders, and against my orders. I told him the boy was not ready to travel. The arm needs another two days of traction."

"Breeze got him?" Peg held her straw hat to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought.

"Where is your husband?" Jenks asked sternly.

"He's my former husband, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I know. I had to find out about Ricky's accident from the shortstop on his team. Think of that, mister."

"You must find Mr. Albury. A person cannot just waltz into this hospital and s.n.a.t.c.h a patient out of a room and waltz out again. There are rules, Mrs. Albury, and laws. One of our orderlies is down in the emergency room at this moment, having his face sewn up. I suppose it's my fault. I told him to stop your husband down in the lobby. Apparently Mr. Albury was not of a mind to be stopped."

Peg nodded absently. "He's a contrary sonofab.i.t.c.h, all right." She fitted the hat back on her head. "Did he say where they were going?"

"He did not," Jenks replied. "He asked what his son's bill was, and of course he wouldn't wait while we added it up. He simply handed me five thousand dollars in cash and headed for the door. Just like that."

"Too bad," Peg Albury said, rising. "Ain't that enough? Five grand ain't enough?"

"It would have been, yes," Jenks said caustically, "if your husband had not helped himself to one of our ambulances."

Peg Albury aimed herself toward the elevator. "Former," "Former," she clucked. "Former, former, former. Good morning, Mr. Jinx." she clucked. "Former, former, former. Good morning, Mr. Jinx."

IT WAS HUGE BARNETT himself who supervised the recovery of the Winnebago. He lined up two tow trucks, side by side, wheels chocked, near the end of the pier. He badgered a young mate from one of the tourist boats into diving through the clear green water to fasten the lines. A growing crowd watched in macabre silence from the seawall around the square. himself who supervised the recovery of the Winnebago. He lined up two tow trucks, side by side, wheels chocked, near the end of the pier. He badgered a young mate from one of the tourist boats into diving through the clear green water to fasten the lines. A growing crowd watched in macabre silence from the seawall around the square.

"Together now," Barnett bawled.

The trucks strained. The Winnebago lurched. A large bubble of air broke the surface, and in another minute, bits of debris floated up, swirling in the current.

They looked like rumpled bits of paper. By the time anyone realized what they were, hundreds of them floated around the docks.

"Holy s.h.i.+t, that's money," came a shout from the crowd.

People stripped on the seawall. They dove into the water the way Conch kids of Barnett's era once dove for nickels thrown by tourists. Word raced through Old Town. In ten minutes, there were nearly three hundred people in the water, thras.h.i.+ng, yelling, punching, clutching for the bills. One woman almost drowned.

Huge Barnett lost his famous cool. Slack-jawed, he stomped furiously on the pier. Then he hit on a solution that would again earn him time on the evening news. One anchorman would report it wryly as the "Great Key West Swim-in."

"That's evidence," Barnett howled through his bullhorn. "Evidence in a crime. It must be handed over to the police. So don't move, anybody!"

THE AMBULANCE barreled along Truman Avenue with lights flas.h.i.+ng, but no siren. Ricky had agreed that a siren would be overdoing it. Through a Demerol fog, he watched his father at the wheel, weaving through the morning traffic with a sleepy, serene look on his face. barreled along Truman Avenue with lights flas.h.i.+ng, but no siren. Ricky had agreed that a siren would be overdoing it. Through a Demerol fog, he watched his father at the wheel, weaving through the morning traffic with a sleepy, serene look on his face.

"How's the arm?"

"Feels like a bus backed over it."

Albury reached across and squeezed Ricky's good hand. "We're almost there."

Teal had tied the skiff at the old Navy docks. He was sitting on a creosote stump, reading the morning Citizen Citizen, when the ambulance pulled up. Albury gingerly led Ricky to the bonefish skiff. Together he and Teal extricated the boy from his hospital gown and redressed him in a pair of jeans and a modified, one-armed rain jacket.

The skiff nosed into the northwest channel. Albury sat aft with an arm around his son.