Randy White: Gone

I had been kneeling by the stove. Now I stood. Olivia didn’t sound calm, exactly, but there was a sureness in her attitude that I had to take seriously.

“The first thing he’ll do if he thinks I’m gone is open that”-she pointed at the little fridge-“to see if I robbed him. That’s where he hides valuables-that container I opened while you were on the radio? He bought it at some novelty shop. Thinks it’s too clever for me to understand.”

I had seen Olivia close the refrigerator door after retrieving a manila envelope, which was odd, but I was too busy with Key West Coast Guard to ask questions that could wait until later.

“I know it makes no sense to you, which is why I have to be the last one to leave this boat. Besides, I have the right -you don’t.” Once again, Olivia touched a hand to her back pocket.

It was true I didn’t understand how a refrigerator door could trigger an explosion, but she didn’t give me a chance to ask. Instead, she silenced me by pointing to the cabin’s only mirror. “You know why I covered that with a towel? Because I can’t bear to see what he’s done. Haven’t had the courage to look at myself since our so-called honeymoon-a cruise to Key West that was so… disgusting , I can’t believe it was me.” Eyes closed, she shook her head.

Sybarite. I had been right, but took no pleasure in it now.

As if it were accidental, I had moved between Olivia and the mirror, afraid she would pull the towel away. Her appearance was better now, wearing clothes that reminded me of certain bird-watchers I’d met. The tall ones who prefer tartan plaids and move with the gawky grace of wading birds. But Olivia might be upset by her face, and this was no time for emotions or arguing. I had just made a decision of my own.

“Neither one of us is going to booby-trap this boat,” I said in a tone that refused questioning. “If Ricky’s going to burn in Hell, let someone else be the judge. We’re getting out of here right now!” I put my hands on the girl’s shoulders, gave a reassuring squeeze, then steered her toward the door.

Olivia balked for an instant but didn’t argue, which was a relief. What I didn’t notice, though, was that she left behind a little beach bag she’d packed with mosquito spray, her purse, the manila envelope, and her sketchbook. Of all those items, as she’d already told me, her drawings were most important.

Later, that detail would prove Olivia Seasons still knew her own mind. She had left the bag on purpose.

–

WE WENT OUT onto the stern, where mosquitoes were waiting beneath a sky blacker for all the stars. To the east, heat lightning sparked over the Everglades; to the north, my eyes struggled until I had matched the whine of an outboard motor with a gray shape that was gliding toward us fast, now only two or three hundred yards away. Closer than I’d expected due to a southeast wind that was blowing the sound away from my ears.

“My Lord,” I said, “we cut this too close. Get going!” I urged Olivia toward the front of the boat, now wondering if I should risk even a minute or two feeling around in the water for the pistol. That the gun had belonged to my Uncle Jake made it more of a loss but didn’t compare with the sudden panic I felt. I was desperate for a shield. Anything that would keep two hard men at a distance, whether my engine started or not. The thought of Ricky’s hands on me again, or Schneider’s rough features, was too loathsome for my imagination to allow. Yes-a small amount of time was worth risking even though the chances of me finding the pistol were slim. Nothing hides a small object so well as a few feet of black water, especially when it’s near a boat that is shifting on its lines like the cruiser was doing now.

“Do you see them?” Olivia had some speed in her legs and was already on the front of the boat, me right behind her. To get a better look, she stepped up onto the hatch that opened to the v-berth below, then said, “There they are!”

“Don’t use your flashlight,” I warned, crossing to the rail. “That engine’s so loud, they won’t hear us once we’re in the water. But if they see a light, they’ll know it’s us and might-” I caught myself before making it worse. Start shooting, is what I’d intended to say. Instead, I told her, “You get over the rail first. Then me.”

“Aren’t you going to look for your gun?” Olivia asked the question without turning. She appeared inches taller than me because the hatch was elevated, a lean exclamation point against the mangrove darkness.

“Not until we’re in the water,” I said, irritated because I was waiting, one leg over the safety rail. “Which is where you should be right now.”

“I’m coming ! But someone should keep watch while you’re looking.” Then Olivia’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, saying, “Shit, it’s Eugene and him!” The familiar profanity seemed an endearment when she added, “Don’t panic. There’s a bar too shallow to cross, so they’ll have to wind through the channel.” She turned and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go! I’ll be right there-promise!”

It did pop into my mind that, later, I didn’t want to have to explain to Lawrence Seasons why I’d allowed myself to be separated from his niece. On the other hand, we needed that pistol. Olivia had meant what she said, and I believed her. So I lowered myself down the railing, then used a branch to balance myself in the tangle of roots. The outboard seemed louder for some reason, now I was near the water. It pierced my ears like the whine of a dentist’s drill, boring deeper into my head as the boat flew closer.

I pulled off my shoes, as I knew I must, and waded along the edge of the cruiser, searching the bottom with my feet. The bottom was hard shell and marl, the water warm to my waist. Off to my right, from the shadows, boomed the baritone Woof of the alligator or croc I’d heard earlier. It was close now, somewhere at the edge of the mangroves. The croc I’d seen on Sanibel was over twelve feet long, four hundred pounds, but there wasn’t enough room in my head for more fear. So I ignored it. Funneled all my concentration into my toes and continued searching. I’d been at it for less than a minute when a spotlight torched the mangroves to my right and caused me to duck. That’s when Olivia’s face appeared over the railing and she called, “I forgot my bag! Keep looking, Hannah.”

If I could have reached up and snatched the girl into the water, I would have. “No!”

“Or… I’ll meet you on the ridge, if you think that’s safer.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“But I have to!” Olivia was already turning. Then, over her shoulder, she had to say it again.

“I promise!”

NOW THE LITTLE BOAT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH THAT I COULD hear fragments of what the men were saying. Eugene complaining to Ricky, “… damn light out of my eyes! How you expect me…” And Ricky slurring, “Son of a… you want me to bleed to death…!”

Then Eugene, his voice turning toward me as the boat turned, saying, “… shotgun off the deck, it’ll rust… awww, no more beer!” And Ricky answering, ”… drive the damn boat,” before raising his voice to warn, “To the right, the right! Missed the last marker…!”

From where I stood, having just climbed onto the cruiser’s bow-for the second time that night-I couldn’t see if the jon boat made the turn in time. I’d been squatting over the forward hatch, trying to open its corroded hinges, but now paused to listen. Obviously, Ricky felt confident he had reached his destination, because, after several seconds he switched off the spotlight and roared, “OLIVE OYL! SUGAR DADDY’S HOME!” The man sounded staggering drunk from beer-or loss of blood-his oily confidence gone.