Read Online Discretion by David Balzarini - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Balzarini
Tags: Mystery
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probably to the cabin and kitchen. Two men stand on the bow of the boat, fishing. They have drinks close by and a good tan to match the leisure. Both are well-built. Athletes maybe. Twenty-somethings.
Kill them.
ELEVEN
M y body tenses. This can’t be right. I must have misunderstood. Why would Christel want to kill two guys fishing on a boat?
I wave at Mike to shut down the engine. At my feet is Mike’s tactical bag, containing several guns.
In the past, I’d struggle to hit paper targets; these are people. Why must they die? What can be gained from killing them?
The distance closes between us, now about one hundred yards. Seconds pass and we get closer still, yet the men on the boat take no notice of our approach. But then the blond surfer looks my way; his expression changes from lax to tense. He drops his fishing pole and moves for the cooler. What he comes up with is black and narrow and he moves fast toward the rail of the boat.
He’s holding a gun.
Kill them before they kill you.
The blond surfer has a gun in both hands, aimed at us.
My bladder releases on its own; urine trickles down my leg and puddles on the floor.
The dark-haired man drops his fishing pole and moves toward the cooler between them, emerging with a black pistol. He takes the same stance, the weapon ready to fire at us at a moment’s notice.
“What the fuck?” Mike dives for the tactical bag and in one swift motion, draws a rifle from the bag and then a pistol, tossing it to Mayra. She frees the safety and points it at them, in a firing position on one knee. Mike is in position: finger on the trigger, the barrel of his Winchester pointed at the deck—Mike could kill them from here.
We aren’t assassins. Well, maybe Mike and Mayra could be, but I’m not. I’ve hardly fired a gun. And what does this have to do with Natalie? Is she on board?
Seconds pass. Maybe seventy yards between our boat and the cruiser.
Christel, do they know we are coming?
Yes. You have to kill them.
But I’m no killer. This can’t be right.
It is the only way.
“Colin, are these friends of yours?” Mike says, his attention on the men. He maneuvers so he can reach for the throttle.
“Let it go, Mike.”
“This is nuts. Why do a couple of dudes want to kill us?”
You must trust me. Take a gun from the tactical bag and kill them.
Thoughts stir through my mind; possible outcomes, answers—all result in death.
I can’t do this.
You have no choice if you want Natalie.
We drift closer. Four shooters hold position.
“Colin, we need to go back. I didn’t come out here to die today,” Mike says. He moves fast for the driver seat and pulls the throttle to reverse, the engine rumbles. He resumes his stance, ready to shoot.
“I have to do this.”
“Do what? Die in a gunfight? Not me.” Mike’s hand adjusts on the grip. The men on the cruiser stand still, like soldiers. Focused. The blond man draws the hammer on his pistol—a gentle pull of the trigger could kill any of us. We start moving away from the cruiser, yet he seems to be taking dead aim.
Arm yourself now and dive in the water.
I spring from the seat for the tactical bag and grab a pistol, and then lunge off the boat headfirst. I’ve fired this gun several times, but never in water. Time will tell if it’ll shoot. Gunfire erupts above the surface, but I can’t tell whether the shots came from the cruiser or Mike’s boat. My sense of direction is lost in the brown, murky water.
Surface. Target is above on your left.
Swimming with shoes on, I kick with all I have and point at the blond surfer, but the angle is bad, as I am too close to the cruiser. I allow myself to sink, as to tread water and keep the gun steady is impossible. He moves in sight; I take aim and pull the trigger, expecting nothing will happen. The gun fires and he falls out of sight. The kick from the gun nearly pulls it from my wet hands. A high-pitched ring in my ear makes it hard to think, impossible to
Kill them.
ELEVEN
M y body tenses. This can’t be right. I must have misunderstood. Why would Christel want to kill two guys fishing on a boat?
I wave at Mike to shut down the engine. At my feet is Mike’s tactical bag, containing several guns.
In the past, I’d struggle to hit paper targets; these are people. Why must they die? What can be gained from killing them?
The distance closes between us, now about one hundred yards. Seconds pass and we get closer still, yet the men on the boat take no notice of our approach. But then the blond surfer looks my way; his expression changes from lax to tense. He drops his fishing pole and moves for the cooler. What he comes up with is black and narrow and he moves fast toward the rail of the boat.
He’s holding a gun.
Kill them before they kill you.
The blond surfer has a gun in both hands, aimed at us.
My bladder releases on its own; urine trickles down my leg and puddles on the floor.
The dark-haired man drops his fishing pole and moves toward the cooler between them, emerging with a black pistol. He takes the same stance, the weapon ready to fire at us at a moment’s notice.
“What the fuck?” Mike dives for the tactical bag and in one swift motion, draws a rifle from the bag and then a pistol, tossing it to Mayra. She frees the safety and points it at them, in a firing position on one knee. Mike is in position: finger on the trigger, the barrel of his Winchester pointed at the deck—Mike could kill them from here.
We aren’t assassins. Well, maybe Mike and Mayra could be, but I’m not. I’ve hardly fired a gun. And what does this have to do with Natalie? Is she on board?
Seconds pass. Maybe seventy yards between our boat and the cruiser.
Christel, do they know we are coming?
Yes. You have to kill them.
But I’m no killer. This can’t be right.
It is the only way.
“Colin, are these friends of yours?” Mike says, his attention on the men. He maneuvers so he can reach for the throttle.
“Let it go, Mike.”
“This is nuts. Why do a couple of dudes want to kill us?”
You must trust me. Take a gun from the tactical bag and kill them.
Thoughts stir through my mind; possible outcomes, answers—all result in death.
I can’t do this.
You have no choice if you want Natalie.
We drift closer. Four shooters hold position.
“Colin, we need to go back. I didn’t come out here to die today,” Mike says. He moves fast for the driver seat and pulls the throttle to reverse, the engine rumbles. He resumes his stance, ready to shoot.
“I have to do this.”
“Do what? Die in a gunfight? Not me.” Mike’s hand adjusts on the grip. The men on the cruiser stand still, like soldiers. Focused. The blond man draws the hammer on his pistol—a gentle pull of the trigger could kill any of us. We start moving away from the cruiser, yet he seems to be taking dead aim.
Arm yourself now and dive in the water.
I spring from the seat for the tactical bag and grab a pistol, and then lunge off the boat headfirst. I’ve fired this gun several times, but never in water. Time will tell if it’ll shoot. Gunfire erupts above the surface, but I can’t tell whether the shots came from the cruiser or Mike’s boat. My sense of direction is lost in the brown, murky water.
Surface. Target is above on your left.
Swimming with shoes on, I kick with all I have and point at the blond surfer, but the angle is bad, as I am too close to the cruiser. I allow myself to sink, as to tread water and keep the gun steady is impossible. He moves in sight; I take aim and pull the trigger, expecting nothing will happen. The gun fires and he falls out of sight. The kick from the gun nearly pulls it from my wet hands. A high-pitched ring in my ear makes it hard to think, impossible to
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