Greg Rucka - Critical Space

Beneath my knees, I felt the boat begin to vibrate, the slight lurch as we pulled away from the pier.

"How bad is it?"

"I'm not qualified to say," Carrie told me. "She's lost a lot of blood, obviously, and she's going to need a doctor. Go up to the bridge, tell Jerry that he should call Bennet."

"Who's Bennet?"

"Someone who doesn't ask questions. He's in St. Vincent, we can be there in an hour. I'll stay with Giselle and watch the tourniquet."

I scooped up my go-bag and left the cabin, climbing the steep steps back to the deck, then climbing a short ladder to the bridge. Jerry was at the wheel, opening the throttle. Bridgett was at the rail by the ladder, watching him closely. When I got up to them, she tapped my shoulder and motioned back at the pier, which was rapidly disappearing in the distance. There didn't seem to be anyone milling about the Jeep, anyone intent on pursuing us.

"Carrie says to call Bennet," I told Jerry.

"Then we shall call Bennet." He took a hand from the wheel, reached over to the console beside him where a variety of electronics were resting. There was a small sonar array, and something that I presumed would feed him the latest weather, and a GPS reader. There was also a satellite phone, already on, and he picked up the handset and, with his index finger, began punching in a sequence of numbers. After a couple of seconds whoever he'd dialed answered.

"It's Gerard for Bennet. Quickly, please." He turned the wheel slightly, then let go of it long enough to open the throttle further. "Bennet, yes, I'll be there in an hour… gunshot wound, leg… no, no, clear out the office, it'll be me and the injured and two others… looks like shotgun… let me ask, un moment."

Jerry moved the handset down, poked the mute button on the satellite phone. "How much?" he asked me.

"Fifty U.S.," I said.

Bridgett opened her mouth to speak, probably objecting to my total lack of business sense, but Jerry nodded as if I'd named an appropriate price, took the mute off the phone again, and said, "Twenty thousand, U.S… bien, and no paper, Bennet, none."

He hung up the phone, went back to handling the wheel. "You will pay us before we arrive," Jerry said. "Give the money to Carrie."

"No problem." I headed back for the ladder, dropped back down to the deck. When I landed, my head spun again, and I wobbled, but this time didn't need to grab anything to keep myself from falling. I hoped that meant the Viagra was starting to wear off.

Bridgett followed. "Is there a plan or are you just flying blind?"

"We're going to get her stabilized, and then we're going to get her back to New York." We were moving along the water at a fast clip, and the wind was forcing me to raise my voice. "I have to get her secure, someplace where she can be defended. Then I'll figure out what to do next."

Bridgett produced her Ray-Bans from inside her jacket. She wasn't wearing her traditional leather, but the windbreaker was still black. Even though she'd hidden her eyes, her mouth had turned sour. "You think that sprung motherfucker's going to try again?"

"He ran because he lost control of the situation. You heard what he said, he's not going to stop."

"So you're not going to, either?"

"She hired me for a job. I'm going to do it."

"What the hell is going on between the two of you?" Bridgett asked.

I stopped counting out bills and looked up at her. The sun was behind her, and I had to squint. "You want to ask something, Bridie?"

"Were you honest with Oxford or was that a lie?"

"I don't think that's the question," I said, zipping the bag closed and standing up again. "You're not just asking if I've slept with her."

She ran a hand through her hair, looked away from me to the Caribbean. "You not banging her isn't really the assurance you might think it is after you've lived with her for four fucking months."

"You'd be happier if I had?"

"You're wound around her and she's yanking your chain. You're a goddamn pushover, you know that? You arm yourself so tough, you go diesel, you go fucking hand-to-hand with killers, and yet when you meet a pair of tits who bats her eyelashes and says 'help me help me,' you go all to putty."

"I hope you're including yourself in that," I said.

"Oh, I am. But I've never asked you to kill for me, babe. I never asked you to break the law."

"But it's fine when you've done it yourself."

"I'm not a killer. She is."

"Was."

Her laugh was sharp and mean. "Your wishing her a conscience doesn't change what she is. She's a fucking murderer, and you need to remember that."

"You should maybe wait until you have the facts before you go passing judgment."

"I have all the facts I need."

"Then we've got nothing more to discuss."

Bridgett finally looked from the ocean back to me. Her mouth had gone tight. Then she turned and walked away, heading for the bow and a view where she didn't have to look at anything she didn't want to see.

I took my bag and went down below, where I gave Carrie fifty thousand American dollars and then sat beside the bunk. She'd put a pair of shorts on Alena, and a shirt, and it made her look less vulnerable. Every ten minutes I released the tourniquet to let blood flow back into Alena's lower leg, and then I tightened it again. Carrie kept changing the bandages.

Alena continued to stay down. I got the splinter out of my foot.

Bennet was a middle-aged black man with a Jamaican accent who ran a clinic in Kingstown, St. Vincent. Jerry avoided the main harbor in Kingstown and instead landed us at Barrouallie, off Wallilabou Bay, and Carrie dealt with the one man at customs while we snuck Alena off the boat and into the back of a truck. Twelve minutes later we were in a surgery with dingy white paint on the walls and ceiling and cracked robin's-egg tile on the floor. Jerry handed Bennet his money as soon as we were alone, and while Bridgett waited outside, he and I watched as the doctor started to work.

"She's doped." He'd already started giving her blood, and had just hooked up an I.V. "What'd she take?"

"Etorphine," I said.

He glanced up from where Alena lay on the bed, shaking his head. "Not recreational."

"No."

"Maybe for the best. Narcotic, she's not feeling a thing right now. I can bring her back up with a hit of diprenorphine when I'm done working on her leg."

"Just stop the bleeding," I said.

He snapped on a clean pair of latex gloves, prodding the wound gingerly. "Deep wound, bone shards. I go digging in there, burning things closed and picking this shot out, could be a permanent disability."

"Is there another option?"

He scratched the bridge of his nose with a latex-covered thumb. "You take her to the hospital, they have surgeons could maybe do it. Tibia and fibula, problem is you can't break one without the other, and they're both ground up in here."

"No hospital," Jerry said.

"But I'm saying to you that I do this, she may not have everything in this leg that she once did, you understand?"

Jerry looked at me. I nodded.

"Okay, that's fine," Bennet said. "It's going to take me some time."

"Take all the time you want," I said. "Just make sure you do it right."

"Okay, that's fine," Bennet said again, and he began to work.

As soon as I'd stepped into the hall, Bridgett asked, "Well?"

"He's working on her. It'll take a few hours."

"In the meanwhile we do what?"

"I've asked Jerry to take me back to Bequia. I have some things I have to do there."

"Things that you don't want to tell me about?"

"No, things I need to do alone."

"And you want me to stay here?"

"I want you to stay with her, watch her. Make sure nothing happens to her."