Jonathan Kellerman - The Web

Drifting in opposite directions, we explored separately for a while, then I heard Robin burble through her breathing tube and turned to see her pointing excitedly at the far end of the reef.

Something torpedo shaped was shooting between us, speeding across the lagoon. A small sea turtle, maybe a foot long, head down, legs compressed, skimming the top of the coral as it headed for bluer pastures.

I watched it disappear, then looked back at Robin, making the OK sign. She waved and I paddled to her, extending a hand. We bumped masks in a mock kiss, then swam together, thrilled and weightless, suspended like twins in a warm salty womb.

When we got back on the beach we were no longer alone.

Skip Amalfi and Anders Haygood had spread a horse blanket thirty feet from our clothes. Skip was lying on his back, eyes closed, belly surging and collapsing as he sucked on a cigarette and blew smoke. Haygood crouched nearby, hairy thighs thick as logs, tongue tip sticking out the corner of his mouth. Concentrating as he pulled the limbs off something huge and ugly.

The biggest crab I'd ever seen. Easily thirty inches from claw to claw, with a knobby, blue, spotted carapace and pincers the size of bear traps. My year for monster arthropods.

Haygood looked up at us and snapped a leg free, watched the juice drip out of it, then held it up and waved it.

"Ma'am. Sir." Again, the gray eyes washed over Robin and I became aware of how she looked in her two-piece, hair dripping over smooth, bare shoulders, hips swelling above the low-cut bottom, the sharp, sweet contrast between bronze skin and white nylon.

She turned her back on them just as Skip sat up. Both men watched her trudge to our blanket. Walking in the sand made her sway more than she intended to.

"Big crab," I said.

"Stoner," said Haygood. "Great eating- can I give you a couple of legs, sir?"

"No, thanks."

"You're sure?"

"Forget it," said Skip. "Old man Moreland don't eat animals."

"That's right," said Haygood. "Too bad. Stoners are great eating. This one liked coconuts- that's why it's blue. When they eat other things, they can be orange. I've seen them even bigger, but he's healthy."

"Mean though," said Skip. "Bite your finger clear off. Best thing is throw 'em in the pot live- how was your swim?"

"Great."

"See any octopus?"

"No, just a turtle."

"Little one?"

I nodded.

"Last summer's hatch. They come in, lay at the breaker line, bury the eggs. The natives dig 'em up- makes a helluva omelet. The suckers that make it swim the hell out of here, but most of them get eaten, too. Sometimes a real stupid one comes back. Musta been what you saw."

"Checking out the old 'hood," said Haygood, laughing. His teeth were widely spaced and white. The sun turned his body hair into dense copper wire.

"Octopus are smart," said Skip. "Those big eyes, you swear they're checking you out." A glance Robin's way.

"Best omelet for my money is tern," said Haygood. "Lays pink eggs. First time people see it they freak out, think it's blood. But pink's the true color. Pink omelet." He licked his lips. "Salty- like duck."

"You can have it, man," said Skip. "Too fuckin' gamy."

Haygood smiled. "Well, I go for the pink."

Skip snickered.

"Shark's good eating, too," said Haygood, "but you have to soak the meat in acid or it tastes like piss- how long are you here for, doc?"

"Couple of months."

"Like it?"

"It's beautiful."

They looked at each other. Haygood snapped off another crab leg.

Skip said, "Rich people would dig this place, right?"

"I guess anyone who likes swimming and relaxing would."

"What about you ? What kind of stuff do you dig?"

"All kinds of things."

He dragged on his cigarette and flipped the butt onto the spotless sand. "Me and my buddy Hay here wanna build a resort. But different. Grass huts, like a Club Med. Pay one price up front, get your food, drinks, the works. No TV or phones or video movies, just swimming and digging the beach, maybe we'll bring some girls over to put on a dance show or something."

His eyes got hard. "So what do you think?"

"Sounds good."

"It does, huh?"

"Sure."

He spat on the sand. "I figure rich assholes from the mainland'd go for it in a big way, right? 'Cause otherwise, we'd hafta go for the Japanese tour groups like all the other islands do." He put both hands in front of his face, hooked his upper teeth over his lower lip and flexed his thumbs.

"Take pikcha, crick crick." He laughed.

Haygood smiled and examined the crab's legless body.

"Full of roe," he said. "A girl."

"We wanna get Americans, " said Skip. "This is America even though no one in America knows shit about this place."

"Good luck." I started to walk away.

"Wanna invest?" he called after me.

I was about to laugh, then I saw his face and stopped.

"I'm not really much of an investor."

"Then maybe you should start, man. Get in early. Guys who invested in Hawaii after the war are wiping their asses with hundred-dollar bills."

He held out a palm, as if panhandling.

"Hey, the man came here to mellow out," said Haygood. "Give him a break."

Skip flipped him a middle finger and his weak chin struggled for a jut. "Shut the fuck up, man. I'm talking business, here."

Haygood didn't speak, but his wrists flexed and the crab's torso shattered wetly.

Skip tried to stare him down, but the older man ignored him.

"Think about it, man," said Skip, passing some of the anger over to me. "Talk to your lady; she looks pretty smart."

Another glance Robin's way. She'd draped her shoulders with a towel and was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, looking out at the sea.

A voice to my back said, "Gentlemen," and Skip's dull eyes narrowed. Haygood wiped his hands with a T-shirt but his face didn't move.

I turned. Dennis Laurent stood on the sand in full mirrored sunglasses flashing white light. He looked vast. None of us had heard him approach.

He touched an eyebrow. "Doctor. Got a nice stoner, there, Hay. Must be what, six, seven pounds of meat?"

"Eight at least," said Skip.

"Pull it off a coco?"

"Didn't have to," said Haygood. "Lazy one, sleeping over there." He pointed to the tide pools.

"Nothing like an easy target," said Laurent. "I see you finally got in the water, doc. Nice?"

"Perfect."

"Always is. Have a nice day, gentlemen." He and I walked to Robin. His shoed feet were steady on the sand. Spotting the butt Skip had discarded, he picked it up and pocketed it.

"Those two give you any trouble?"

"No. Are they troublemakers?"

"Not generally, but they've got too much free time and one IQ between them, most of it Haygood's. Skip hit on you for his resort scheme, right?"

"Just before you arrived."

"Club Skip. Ready to call your broker?"

"Got a cell phone?"

He laughed. "Can't you just see Skip greeting a boatload of tourists-"Hey, welcome to fucking Aruk, man."'

"Chamber of commerce should hire him."

"Yeah," he said, "if we had one- hello, Ms. Castagna. How was the water?"

"Warm."

"Always is. Something about the lack of water movement and the insulating properties of the coral. I'm happy to see you two finally enjoying yourselves. Finally got a callback from the Navy: just headed up to the estate to talk to Mrs. Picker. They found the wreckage just inside Stanton. Nothing much left; they'll be shipping the remains back to the States, billing her later for the transport."

"You're kidding."

"Wish I was. Captain Ewing thinks he's being generous because the plane was trespassing on military property. He says he could have filed a complaint, fined Picker bigtime, and the estate would be financially responsible."