John Avery - Black Cobra

POP!

The top third of the man’s head disappeared in a puff of red mist, spitting bits of brain and bone on the girls and their diamonds. To their infinite horror, the man remained conscious long enough to look into their eyes — as if to say, What the fuck just happened?

Jason watched through his scope as the body slumped forward and rolled onto the deck. The girls screamed — distant, silent screams — and looked around, mortified, clutching white beach towels to their soiled breasts.

Jason smiled, proud of his marksmanship. He preferred killing at a distance. Watching someone die through the scope was like watching it on a movie screen — it was unreal, surreal even, and much easier on the stomach.

Today would be a good day — a very good day. At last, for him and for Brandy, things were about to change. The beautiful, 65-foot Cayman Jewel and all of its bounty would soon be theirs, carrying with the distinct, if not dubious, honor of being their ticket out of poverty.

Brandy heard the pop of the rifle’s suppressor and poked her head out of the wheel house. “Well?” she said. “You spent our last dollar on that damn rifle… did it work?”

“Of course it worked,” Jason said, carefully wiping his expensive rifle down with the towel to remove any salt spray.

“I can’t believe the range it has,” Brandy said. “I couldn’t even see the boat, much less the target.”

“The AWSM is rated at over 1,600 yards,” Jason said. “Back in 2009, in Afghanistan, a UK sniper used the same rifle to hit two enemy machine gunners consecutively at a range of 2,707 yards. That’s over a mile and a half. Longest kill on record.”

“Unbelievable,” Brandy said.

“I’ll take the helm now,” Jason said, returning the rifle to its case. “Put on something sexy. You’re going to look really good in diamonds.”

Jason maneuvered his boat up next to the Cayman Jewel . Brandy tossed two dock fenders over the side, and Jason tied up toward the Jewel’s stern near her swim step where she was lower to the water and they could more easily board.

He instructed Brandy to stay behind and stand ready to untie if necessary; then he pulled his pistol and stepped aboard their new yacht.

Jason had been on some nice boats before but never one as nice at this. The exquisite luxury yacht felt huge when compared with his, and exquisite in every detail. If ever a king’s palace could float, this would be it.

The dead man lay face down in a pool of blood that had soaked into the teak decking. Jason kicked himself for not doing the deed when the man was over an area decked with fiberglass — this was going to be difficult to clean.

The girls were nowhere to be seen. Jason walked every inch of the upper decks and then headed downstairs to check below.

Having checked every conceivable hiding place, Jason found no one. He made his way topside and looked back across the water toward Grand Cayman. Only an experienced ocean swimmer could reach shore from this far out, and after seeing how they were built, Jason knew these girls didn’t qualify. He spotted one of the white beach towels floating nearby and his suspicion was confirmed: The girls had chosen drowning over the horror of ending up like their boyfriend, basically committing suicide.

Jason weighted the body with some SCUBA weights and several yards of duct tape, and then tossed it overboard. He did a cursory cleaning and covered the remaining bloodstains with a clean towel — as he had expected, a thorough scrubbing was required. Then he jumped back over onto his old cabin-cruiser.

“Pack your things,” he said to Brandy.

“Really?” Brandy said. She kissed Jason on the cheek and touched her hand on her throat as if she were already wearing her new diamond necklace.

Jason saw this and said, “You can forget about the jewelry. The girls jumped overboard, taking their diamonds with them.”

“ What? You’re kidding me!”

“With a million in diamonds weighing them down, they’d have sunk like stones. It all belongs to Davy Jones now.”

Brandy touched her fingers to her throat again and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Jason and Brandy abandoned their old boat and boarded the new one. Jason untied and set the cabin-cruiser adrift.

In spite of their losses, Jason and Brandy had plenty to celebrate. After all, the Cayman Jewel was worth ten times what the diamonds would have brought. Jason poured two glasses of Dom. Romane Conti, and he and Brandy toasted their success.

“I’m really sorry about the diamonds,” Jason said, stroking her hair.

Brandy was touched. Jason hadn’t appeared to care one way or the other. A million in diamonds would have suited her just fine, but she was content in their new home. “I’ll live,” she said, managing a little smile.

They finished the first bottle of wine and as Jason went to open another, Brandy took him by the arm and led him below decks to thank him for her new yacht.

When Jason awoke the next day, it took a moment for his confusion to clear. Then he remembered he was aboard the Cayman Jewel .

He climbed out of bed and looked out the cabin’s large tinted window. The sun was nearly overhead.

He hadn’t slept much the night before. His plan to steal the luxury yacht had gone well, of course, but not that well. His chances of selling the yacht without getting caught were slim to none, and the diamonds he was counting on to raise some cash had gone to the bottom of the sea. How would they pay for fuel and maintenance — and food? How would they live?

He felt an urgent need to get off the yacht and go ashore for a while. He picked his jeans up off a chair and pulled what remaining cash he had out of the pocket: forty U.S. dollars — enough for one good lunch.

He reached over and shook Brandy awake. “Wake up,” he said. ”We’re going out to eat.”

Brandy raised her head and aimed one sleepy eye at the clock, and then flopped back down on the pillow. “It’s too early… ” she whined.

“It’s 12:30,” Jason said. “Get dressed, I’m hungry.”

Brandy talked Jason into letting her take a quick shower, and then they went to lunch at a popular Grand Cayman, beach-front, burger restaurant.

The hostess seated them at a table by the water and their server took their drink and appetizer orders.

Jason had planned to talk to Brandy about their need for cash; but before he could get a word out, Brandy held her left hand out to him and wiggled her naked ring finger. “See this,” she said. “It’s been two years since you hauled me down here to the Caymans, and it’s still bare!”

This was the last thing on Jason’s mind and he couldn’t come up with a good answer. “I said I’d marry you and I will,” he said bluntly.

“You’ve told me that like a million times!” Brandy cried. “I’m growing old listening to your excuses.”

Even though they couldn’t afford their new yacht, Jason figured it still carried some weight in an argument. “I got you a new yacht, didn’t I? That should count for something .”

That statement was so utterly ridiculous, Brandy couldn’t even laugh. She held up her hands, shaking her head. “Whatever.” Then she turned to look out at the water.

She noticed a young man sitting in the booth next to them. He wore a ball cap pulled down over shoulder length, sun-bleached brown hair. She guessed he was eighteen or nineteen. The young man’s back was turned and he continued to work on a green-chili burger with no onions and no cheese. He had sailed 80 miles down to Grand Cayman from his home in Cayman Brac just for this meal, and he was savoring every morsel, washing each delicious bite down with a sip from a double Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.