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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Officially dead
>> Kona
Daren Guy killed the engine, Sonya Chan tossed the side bumpers over the rail, and the yacht Wet Spot slid gently against Daren's fishing boat, anchored out in the bay.
"OK, here we go, Soosh," he whispered. "Gotta be quick, you and me off and she's turning right around again. And do not call me by my name. It's Skipper." He paused to give Sonya a quick kiss. "See ya soon, babe, you got the wheel ..."
"Hold on, I need to get some things off the other boat," she said, fingering the speargun.
"Sonya, we gotta go, now!" Daren said in an urgent whisper. "This boat cannot be spotted!"
But she was already moving in that direction, taking the speargun with her. Daren realized she hadn't been without it since Sushi Leclaire and his 12 Filipinas came aboard. And wondered where the other gun was. "OK, but be quick. Like, 60 seconds or less.
"Frickin' women, I tell you," he muttered as she stepped nimbly from one bobbing boat to the other. "It's a good thing I love you."
Sonya quickly unlocked the padlock on the cabin door, ducked inside and started scooping up items from a mental list she'd been composing.
"You go ahead too, Soosh," Daren said. "I'll hold the wheel."
Sushi leaped onto the fishing boat. Compared with the elegance and luxury of the yacht, this was flotsam with an outboard. But he was only there momentarily, and stepped uneasily into the little dinghy tied at the stern, awaiting Daren, hoping it stayed afloat until they got to shore, a quarter mile away.
They heard Sonya hustling through the cabin, drawers being opened and closed, and she emerged just one minute and 20 seconds after entering, carrying in one hand a small backpack that was stuffed with her stuff, in the other her trusty speargun.
She'd been working on a plan, a way to save the 12 girls below deck from the sex industry, and it was complicated by her need to keep Daren officially dead, at least, if she was to get both his Lotto millions and the insurance millions. And as she stepped back aboard Wet Spot, it suddenly became clear -- if Daren were discovered ashore, it meant he was alive, and she was out two mill plus and went back to hustling tables at the Yacht Club. And Sushi didn't need Daren to tell him how to get to Pele's Bath, he could ask directions from the rental car company.
She set the backpack down, in slow motion, running all her tumbled thoughts through again.
"C'mon, babe, move it, we gotta go! The wheel's yours ..."
Daren heard a click, saw Sonya releasing the speargun's safety.
"Hey, what's going on?!"
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Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com