Off the Chart Read online

  “Wow,” Thorn said. “Indispensable.”

  “Fucking-A I am.”

  “What’s with these code bullshit?” Thorn said. Eyes closed, head resting against the seat, like he could give a damn. Marty off-balance now, determined to prove Thorn the useless know-nothing he was.

  “The code gets you into the shipping Web site.”

  “Sounds boring,” Thorn said. “I thought the pirate life was all thrills.”

  “It’s a business,” Marty said.

  “Like I said, boring.”

  “Hey, every fucking ship in the world of any size is on that site. You got the code, then you know where they are every minute of every day, where they’re going, what they’re carrying. You can get their maintenance records, names of the crew, any fucking thing you want. Without the code, you’re out there blind, sailing around looking for whatever the fuck comes along by chance. Or trying to follow ships out of port, tag along without being noticed. Or you gotta have a spy onboard, using a cell phone to send the GPS coordinates. But all that’s bullshit. There’s a hundred different ways it can fuck up. Having the code changes everything. Makes it efficient, makes it work.”

  Thorn opened his eyes and looked at the big man. That little curl of hair was holding firm across the front of his black flattop, glistening like it was held in place by a glop of lard. Marty scowled back at Thorn, eyes pinched, chin hard; one more little shove and the swinging would start.

  Marty Messina would’ve probably turned out okay if he hadn’t been busted so young. Probably still be sitting on his stool at Tarpon’s, married, with kids in junior high. Drinking too much, shooting off his mouth, rubbing shoulders with tourists and business hotshots around Key Largo. He could’ve pulled that off. Had enough raw smarts to supervise dishwashers and waitresses and bartenders. Getting his macho kicks bullying suppliers, using a little muscle to wrangle better prices on yellowtail and grouper and shrimp and lobster. But Marty didn’t strike him as a guy fated to be a killer. Just a poor slob who got unlucky in his formative years and went to jail and took the crash course in dog-eat-dog one-upmanship that was required inside. When he got out, he was just as dim-witted as before, but now he was full of cocky swagger. Muscles pumped, brain dazed, whatever half-assed morals he’d had long gone. And then Salbone threw him a simple job. Essential to his operation, but no great challenge. Making phone deals, talking to guys around the globe who handled warehouses and trucks and drivers. Thorn didn’t know for sure, but he suspected those guys were close relatives of guys he’d met who handled legitimate warehouses and trucks and drivers. Not talking neuroscience.

  “So what’s the pirate party about? Vic’s coronation? He gets his crown, takes charge of the world?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  “And that’s his entrée with these people, huh? The code.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sounds like your run-of-the-mill hacker could figure that out. What’s the big deal?”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Marty said. “Salbone’s computer guy was a freaking genius.”

  “Whiz kids are a dime a dozen, Marty, haven’t you heard? These days every ten-year-old is hacking the Defense Department.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But nobody’s thought of this. Salbone was the only one doing it. All those other disorganized fucks are out there cruising around without a clue, wasting fuel; half the time they hit a ship it’s empty, deadheading back to port. They need the code and they damn well know it.”

  “Any of these clowns actually met Vic? They know what they’re getting into?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The guy’s a fuckup, Marty. You haven’t noticed?”

  Marty stared at him for a moment but said nothing. Then he busied himself with brushing lint off the chest of his black T-shirt and fixed his eyes on the seat back in front of him. Thinking about it, registering it, maybe for the first time—that he was going into battle with a full-fledged gonzo at the helm.

  Thorn swiveled in his seat and peered back at Anne. She was hunched forward, eyes tight and wet, her body shaking, her sobs lost in the furious clamor of rushing wind and engine noise.

  Thorn turned back to Marty, leaning into the aisle to be heard.

  “Was it you who slit Jimmy Lee Webster’s throat?”

  “Yeah, like I’m going to talk about that shit with you.”

  “I see you as more of a small-arms kind of guy. Bullet in the back of the head when no one’s looking. Like those sad old folks on Markham’s yacht the other night. But throat slitting, I don’t know, that’s too in-your-face for Marty Messina. Sounds more like a Vic Joy specialty.”

  Marty looked up the aisle at the cockpit, checking Vic, seeing if he was eavesdropping through all that motor noise and vibration. He wasn’t. Then Marty turned back to Thorn with a sour smile.

  “You’re pretty smart for a fucking dead man.”

  “And those cages,” Thorn said. “Got to hand it to you guys, that was a nice touch. A little historical flashback.”

  “Marshall’s a welder,” Marty said. “He goes into Vic’s workshop; half hour later, he’s whipped one of those together. That little shit can fly.”

  “Webster told me that he and Vic made some kind of deal. Vic copped a plea or something. What was that about?”

  Marty considered it for a moment.

  “You didn’t know about that, Marty? He leave you in the dark?”

  “I’m a full partner, asshole. I know every phase of the operation.”

  “Is that right? So you knew about Webster? Or maybe that was one phase he left you out of, one of Vic’s side deals?”

  “Vic conned him,” Marty said. “He was scamming him, that’s all. Same as he does everybody. Webster was freelancing, trying to pick up some spare change. Hitting on Vic for payoffs, and Vic was leading him on.”

  “Dirty? No way. Webster was a true believer.”

  “Wouldn’t call it dirty,” Marty said. “More like the guy had aspirations.”

  “What? To be a pirate? To join in?”

  “Him and Vic were birds of a feather. Talking all that pirate shit. You should’ve heard those two dumbshits go at it. Webster might’ve even known more than Vic. Buccaneers, privateers, brigands. Man, I get nosebleed listening to that crap. Like sitting in school.”

  “He was Secretary of the Navy. He’s not going to flip for Vic Joy.”

  “Webster fucked up somehow,” Marty said. “A while back, I forget when. He ordered some ship to be sunk but got the wrong one. People died. Some damn thing like that. It was a big deal in the newspapers. They dragged his ass in front of a Senate hearing. It pissed him off and he never got over it. He was going to get his reputation back by bringing down Salbone, but deep down I guess he was still pissed at the navy and government types, so Vic got to him. Found his soft spot: pirates and money.”

  “Found his soft spot, then whacked him.”

  “Hell, Vic didn’t do that,” Marty said. “Him and me were off in the jungle when those guys got hit. Way I heard it, Webster and his friends kissed you good night and that was their last official act on earth. Old Marshall’s pretty proud of himself. Him and Charlie taking down three big-time spies.”

  Thorn remembered it then. The Cadillac pulling up to Webster’s room, the two men getting out.

  Marty said, “What really turned Vic against the guy was how Webster kept going on about Salbone. Salbone this. Salbone that. This great big ex–Mafia guy, like he’s some kind of rock star. Vic hated that. Hated hearing it all the time. Vic’s offed Salbone, wiped out his crew, taken over his business, and he has to hear from Webster how great the guy is, how all the pirate hunters in the whole world are after him. I mean that was part of Vic’s plan, make the law think Danny was still out there roaming around somewhere. Make them spend time looking for him while Vic went about his business. But he just got tired hearing that shit. Salbone, Salbone, Salbone. Pissed him off in a major
way.”

  “No respect,” Thorn said. “Feeling slighted.”

  “Vic’s big on respect. Like guys I knew in the joint. Worst thing you could do was forget to salute when they came in the room.”

  “If it was all a con, why’d Webster put on that big show for me? He had about a thousand slides, this big speech. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’re not listening to me, man. Webster thought Salbone was still out there. He was working his ass off to nail him. Playing footsie with Vic on the side. That’s all. It was just a matter of timing. He wound you up, sent you off, then he turned around and Marshall’s there slitting his throat.”

  “Well, it isn’t going to work, Marty. Sooner or later, they’ll put it together, realize Salbone’s dead, follow the bread crumbs back to Vic.”

  “Whatever you say, hotshot.”

  “The feds aren’t stupid. They’re going to put it together.”

  “He’s got that covered, too. Vic’s thought it all out. That’s what you’re for, Thorn, to take over after they finally put two and two together.”

  Marty looked away.

  “What’re you saying?”

  Marty laughed to himself.

  “You don’t get it, do you? Smart guy like you, missed the whole thing.”

  Thorn was silent, eyes open now.

  “They’re going to put it on you, asshole.”

  “What?”

  “Put it on you. Make you the fall guy. You’re sniffing after Anne, hanging with Vic, then when it’s over, you’re holding the shitcan. Vic wants your land, wants to do that bit of business with you, but it’s not his way to do just one thing at a time. He’s got this two birds, one stone philosophy. He takes your land, then hands you the shitcan and walks away. You’re still alive, or you’re dead, it doesn’t matter.”

  “How the hell could I be a fall guy?”

  “Cops love guys like you, Thorn. You got no standing. What’re you going to tell them, ‘Hey, wait, don’t put me in jail, this guy, the Secretary of the fucking Navy, deputized me’? Yeah? Who the fuck’s going to believe that?”

  “Stupid, Marty. Never work.”

  “Whatever you say, Thorn. You’re the smart guy. Except you haven’t been acting real smart lately. You swallowed the whole thing, just like Vic said you would, came charging into his place, acting all cool. Mr. James Bond, secret agent, putting on a show for me. Man, it was all I could do to keep from laughing in your face. A fucking puppet on a string, Thorn. You and your buddy Sugarman, you guys were perfect, running around, making a big fuss. Getting the sheriff involved. Couldn’t ask for more. So when Vic gives you up, everybody’s all primed and ready to haul your ass off to the dungeon.”

  “For what? I kidnapped my friend’s daughter? I killed those people on the yacht? I killed Webster?”

  “Could be,” Marty said. “You got any alibis?”

  “What garbage. Where’s my motivation? Why’d I do it?”

  “Ask Vic, it’s his story line. He’s working out some movie idea. He’s the star, and you’re the sucker. I’m sure Vic’s got a line of bullshit ready. Do you, Thorn? You got a story anybody’s going to believe?”

  “Fuck that,” Thorn said. “Nobody’s going to believe I killed those guys, hung them up in cages in my own backyard.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I guess we’ll have to see. Best story wins.”

  “Sheriff may not be a fan of mine, but he won’t buy that.”

  “You heard Vic talk. Can you match that?” Marty chuckled. “And look at it from the cops’ angle. Is it easier for them to pin something on a hothead with a long history for fucking up or against Vic Joy? Owns half the Keys, two hundred lawyers on twenty-four-hour standby. My money’s on you, bud. You’re going down. One way or the other.”

  Thorn stared at the bulkhead. It sounded crazy. Implausible as hell. But as he ran back through the last couple of days, he could recall an uncomfortable list of moments that would be hard to explain. Things he’d done that could be misconstrued, twisted around, made to appear suspicious. Wrong place, wrong time, giving Taft a ration of shit; Fox, too. Even Alexandra had doubted him enough to leave. Sugarman had stormed off.

  He turned back to Marty. The big man was smiling at him.

  “You realize, Marty, you’ve got some other feds sniffing your trail, too? Guy named Fox talked to me this afternoon. He seemed to have a bead on you and Vic. Been watching your place. Wouldn’t surprise me if they’re tagging along right now. Out there in the clouds behind us somewhere.”

  Marty sneered.

  “We got that covered, too. A diversionary movement.”

  “Yeah? Hoodwinked the CIA, huh? You sure about that?”

  Marty said, “Three Cadillac limos go racing out of his place this afternoon. One right after another. Whole fleet of cars with the staff riding inside. Dark windows so nobody can tell what the fuck’s going on. You’re standing outside watching the front gate, what would you do?”

  “Follow the Caddies,” Thorn said. “If I’m stupid.”

  “They are,” Marty said. “Don’t get your hopes up. The Caddies are still driving up I-95, headed to fucking Georgia with a convoy on their tail. Nobody’s going to save your ass. You’re done, you’ve made your last wisecrack, Lone Ranger.”

  Thorn looked out his window for a few moments. Then turned slowly back to Marty.

  “And what if Anne doesn’t come across with the code? My bet is your new pirate friends are going to be a little disappointed. Might get messy.”

  Marty worked up a grin.

  “She’ll come across.”

  “You think she gives two shits what happens to me?”

  “I saw the way you two were going at it; even if it was an act, you were turning each other on.”

  Thorn watched a fly sail past Marty’s head toward the small window next to him. It butted against the plastic, circled back, and butted again.

  “Anne’s in love with a dead man, Marty. A man you assholes killed. Why’s she going to help you out?”

  “’Cause she’s like you, Thorn. Cut from the same cloth.”

  “Which cloth is that?”

  “Guys like you, man, I’ve seen it over and over. You fuckers can’t help yourselves.”

  “So, tell me. I need to know. How do guys like me work?”

  “You got your Dudley Do-Right rule book stashed in your mattress. Every night you get it out, memorize how to act tomorrow.”

  “I wish,” Thorn said.

  “Stand up and salute, recite the pledge. That’s who you are.”

  “My mattress burned up back there, Marty. The rule book’s in ashes.”

  “You fuckers always got a cute answer. Well, this time you don’t, Thorn. This time it’s me and Vic with the cute answer.”

  “Anne won’t give you the code,” he said. “She doesn’t care about me.”

  “You better hope she cares.”

  “Between you and me, Marty, I can’t see her helping out with anything her brother wants to do. Ever again.”

  “A couple more hours, I guess we’ll see about that.”

  “Yeah,” Thorn said. “I guess we will.”

  Twenty-Nine

  “The sign, Daddy.”

  “What? Huh?”

  Sugarman had dozed off, head down on his folded arms lying atop the little antique desk. Alexandra waked him with a thump on the back. Janey was whispering again; in the background the machine-gun fire had ceased. Sugar rubbed the focus back into his eyes.

  “The sign, I saw the sign.”

  “You did? Good. Good.”

  “Two men were fighting and they bumped into it and knocked it crooked and now I can see it. Part of it.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “G-r-a-y-g-h,” she said, spelling it out. “That’s all I could see. Two words. Gray something.”

  “Okay, Janey, that’s terrific. We can use that. It’ll help, I’m sure it will.”

  “I feel terrible, Daddy. I’m
hot and I’m shivering and I’ve been throwing up. My stomach really hurts.”

  “Have you been drinking the Cokes, sweetheart?”

  “No.”

  “Do it, darling. Drink a Coke. You need fluids.”

  “They’re Chinese, I think.” She was whispering again.

  “Chinese?”

  “The men outside. Some of them are Chinese. They killed an agouti, Daddy. They shot it and cut its fur off right outside my cabin. It was gross. And some other kind of people are out there, too, not just Chinese. Weird talking.”

  “How many people have you seen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “More than ten?”

  “Yeah, more than that.”

  “Twenty?”

  “I don’t know, Daddy. A lot. A lot of people. Mostly men. But some women, too. And some of them have those things you used to use in the backyard to cut down the agave plant. A big blade.”

  “Machete?”

  “Yeah, a machete. Some of the men are waving those around.”

  Sugarman sat straight in the chair. The air hardening in his lungs.

  “Listen, Janey, listen to me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re coming to get you.”

  “You are? When?”

  “As soon as we can figure out this last thing. But soon.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Soon,” Sugarman said. “But we need to know where you are, which cabin. What the arrangement looks like.”

  “Arrangement?”

  “The way things are spread out. How many buildings there are? How they’re spaced? Are you on one end of the area or the other?”

  “I’m south, Daddy. I’m on the south. There’s, I don’t know, five or six buildings I can see. All of them look alike, except for one big one that has a screen porch. Mine is next to a little pond.”

  “Okay, that’s super. You’re doing a fantastic job. Now, Janey, you need to go into the bathroom and shut the door and lock it.”

  “The battery thing is blinking, Daddy. The computer is making a beep.”

  “Okay, okay. Listen, go into the bathroom right now, Janey, and lock the door and stay there until—”