swung open. He heard someone clear his throat and head toward the bow.
“Where’s that beer?” a man said.
“Haven’t brought it up yet.” A different man.
“Hey!” the first one yelled. “Thought you were going to bring up some Coronas!”
“Can’t find a bottle opener,” a woman answered, her voice coming from the passenger area below.
“Jesus, I got one up here. Come on.”
Clop-clops up the stairs, accompanied by the clinking of bottles being carried together.
“Here,” the woman said.
“What about Kat?”
“I didn’t ask her.”
A snicker and the sound of bottle caps being removed.
“Cheers,” one of the men said.
So much for most of them being below. Plan B, then.
Quietly, Robert slinked back to the stern and climbed to the upper deck, this time pulling himself all the way up. He retrieved the flare gun and crept over to the pilothouse.
Eyes closed, he tried to remember the layout of the room on the other side of the wall. Carlos Guzman, the Albino Mer ’s captain, had always invited Robert up anytime he was making the trip between the island and the mainland. But it had been several months since the last time Robert was on board.
The boat’s controls, he recalled, were located along a counter that ran across the front of the cabin. There was a stool bolted to the floor in front of the wheel, where Carlos would sit. Behind this was an area big enough for three or four people to stand in. To the right side was the door to the top deck.
No. That wasn’t correct.
The door was on the left, while the stairway leading down was on the right. There were some cabinets, a counter, and the boat’s controls, but that was about it, he thought. So if Pax was at the wheel, then whoever was with him would be standing in the area behind him.
Robert stepped over to the left corner, crouched, and moved around it. The window in the top half of the door was open. He started to rise so he could peek inside, but stopped before he reached the lower edge when he realized the front window was reflecting an image of the cabin’s interior.
He repositioned himself until he had a good view of the reflection. Pax was right where Robert expected to find him, and behind him was the third man of the group. The guy was holding a rifle and leaning against the back wall, looking bored. So that meant the final person, the other woman—Kat, perhaps?—was the only one in the lower deck.
Robert moved behind the pilothouse, aimed the flare gun, and pulled the trigger.
__________
A FLASH OF red light filled the cabin.
“Shit!” Luke said, surprised.
The glow quickly dimmed as a flare flew over the bow and out to sea. As Luke took a step toward the window, something thudded on the top deck outside the cabin door. In the reflection, Pax saw Luke change direction toward the noise.
“What was that?”
“Don’t know,” Pax said. “One of your friends playing with flares, I guess.”
The man pulled the door open. “Who the hell’s screwing around out there? You scared the crap out of…” His words faded as his gaze fixed on the deck toward the back of the pilothouse. “What is that?”
He stepped through the doorway. The moment he was out of sight, Pax hurried over to the trap door above the stairs, dropped it shut, and rammed the locking bolt into place, sealing the cabin off from below.
__________
A S SOON AS Robert fired off the flare, he tossed the flare gun down on the deck near the back corner of the pilothouse. He had to wait only a few seconds before he heard the door open.
“…scared the crap out of…What is that?”
Not Pax’s voice.
Robert was a mere two feet from the flare gun, his right hand raised above his head, holding the pistol like a hammer. He heard the man step outside and approach the flare gun without any caution. Robert caught sight of the back of the guy’s head as the guy leaned down to pick up the gun.
With only a slight hesitation, Robert smashed the
“Where’s that beer?” a man said.
“Haven’t brought it up yet.” A different man.
“Hey!” the first one yelled. “Thought you were going to bring up some Coronas!”
“Can’t find a bottle opener,” a woman answered, her voice coming from the passenger area below.
“Jesus, I got one up here. Come on.”
Clop-clops up the stairs, accompanied by the clinking of bottles being carried together.
“Here,” the woman said.
“What about Kat?”
“I didn’t ask her.”
A snicker and the sound of bottle caps being removed.
“Cheers,” one of the men said.
So much for most of them being below. Plan B, then.
Quietly, Robert slinked back to the stern and climbed to the upper deck, this time pulling himself all the way up. He retrieved the flare gun and crept over to the pilothouse.
Eyes closed, he tried to remember the layout of the room on the other side of the wall. Carlos Guzman, the Albino Mer ’s captain, had always invited Robert up anytime he was making the trip between the island and the mainland. But it had been several months since the last time Robert was on board.
The boat’s controls, he recalled, were located along a counter that ran across the front of the cabin. There was a stool bolted to the floor in front of the wheel, where Carlos would sit. Behind this was an area big enough for three or four people to stand in. To the right side was the door to the top deck.
No. That wasn’t correct.
The door was on the left, while the stairway leading down was on the right. There were some cabinets, a counter, and the boat’s controls, but that was about it, he thought. So if Pax was at the wheel, then whoever was with him would be standing in the area behind him.
Robert stepped over to the left corner, crouched, and moved around it. The window in the top half of the door was open. He started to rise so he could peek inside, but stopped before he reached the lower edge when he realized the front window was reflecting an image of the cabin’s interior.
He repositioned himself until he had a good view of the reflection. Pax was right where Robert expected to find him, and behind him was the third man of the group. The guy was holding a rifle and leaning against the back wall, looking bored. So that meant the final person, the other woman—Kat, perhaps?—was the only one in the lower deck.
Robert moved behind the pilothouse, aimed the flare gun, and pulled the trigger.
__________
A FLASH OF red light filled the cabin.
“Shit!” Luke said, surprised.
The glow quickly dimmed as a flare flew over the bow and out to sea. As Luke took a step toward the window, something thudded on the top deck outside the cabin door. In the reflection, Pax saw Luke change direction toward the noise.
“What was that?”
“Don’t know,” Pax said. “One of your friends playing with flares, I guess.”
The man pulled the door open. “Who the hell’s screwing around out there? You scared the crap out of…” His words faded as his gaze fixed on the deck toward the back of the pilothouse. “What is that?”
He stepped through the doorway. The moment he was out of sight, Pax hurried over to the trap door above the stairs, dropped it shut, and rammed the locking bolt into place, sealing the cabin off from below.
__________
A S SOON AS Robert fired off the flare, he tossed the flare gun down on the deck near the back corner of the pilothouse. He had to wait only a few seconds before he heard the door open.
“…scared the crap out of…What is that?”
Not Pax’s voice.
Robert was a mere two feet from the flare gun, his right hand raised above his head, holding the pistol like a hammer. He heard the man step outside and approach the flare gun without any caution. Robert caught sight of the back of the guy’s head as the guy leaned down to pick up the gun.
With only a slight hesitation, Robert smashed the
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