Champagne and cognac: a destablizing combination, new to Eddie. It made him restless, made him want to move, to disconnect from the grown-up world. He didn’t bother to say good night to the dinner guests; as soon as Jack returned to the bar, he just backed out of the fire’s glow into the darkness and started down the beach, shoes in hand.
The moon was higher and smaller now, but still a massive ball circling close by. It shone on the surf, breaking in orderly lines along the shore like waves of white-horsed cavalry in one of his history textbooks. Eddie came to the fish camp, went by his cabin, paused outside Mandy’s. It was dark and silent. He walked on, taking the path to the road, following it to the tennis court.
The backboard loomed in the silvery light, making Eddie think for a moment of JFK’s imprisoned brothers, jailed for losing their trials. Dime and Franco. Eddie crossed the court, damp with dew under his bare feet. He found the beginning of the short path, kept going to the shed.
He looked in. Moonlight flowed through the cobweb window, gleaming on the steel roller. Eddie sniffed the air, smelled red clay. All the other smells were gone.
Eddie stood there for a moment, thinking about what had happened in that shed, confirming the details to himself. Under the influence of champagne, cognac, the night, its importance grew.
Eddie went back to the road. He could have turned left; that was the way to the fish camp, to bed. But he wasn’t sleepy. He turned right instead and walked all the way to the flamboyant tree. For some reason-maybe it was simply the brightness of the moon-Eddie felt no unease at all about the night, as though he were in a place he knew well. He started up the path to JFK’s herb garden.
The walk was easier this time, partly because it was cooler, partly because the path seemed wider: no plants brushed his skin, nothing made him itch. Eddie mounted the long rise, came down toward the clearing, singing to himself:
Gonna get some goombay goombay lovin’
Gonna find a goombay goombay girl.
He couldn’t remember feeling like this, so elevated, so full of his own possibilities. Champagne, cognac, moonlight, banana-shaped tropic isle, Mandy. It was perfect. Then he saw that JFK’s herb garden was gone. Not a stalk remained.
Something rustled in the bushes. The first pulse of adrenaline went through Eddie. A little form darted from the bushes, scuttled across his bare feet. Not a pig this time-just a crab, but the realization didn’t come in time to block the second pulse. It washed the restlessness out of him. He wondered what crimes had sent Dime and Franco to jail.
Eddie returned to the fish camp, no longer singing. Both cabins were dark. He entered his. Jack’s bed was empty. Eddie undressed, lay down. A breeze curled through the screen window above his head, soft and smelling of the sea, sleep-inducing as the strongest potion.
Eddie dreamed of wild pigs swimming on a coral reef. Red bubbles streamed from their mouths. Something unpleasant was about to happen, but it never did. Instead there was a scraping sound, insistent. Eddie awoke, heard fingernails on the screen. He raised his head, saw Mandy’s face, obscure on the other side of the screen. She didn’t say a word. Eddie looked across the room, saw Jack’s still form in the other bed, got up. He went outside, closed the door without making a sound, felt Mandy’s hand in his.
Then her lips were at his ear. He heard her say, “I couldn’t sleep without you.” So quietly, she might have just mouthed the words.
Mandy led him into her cabin. He smelled ripe pineapple. Her body was a white glow in the darkness. She pushed him gently on the bed. The sheets were sandy. “So many things I want to do to you,” she said. “I don’t know where to start.”
She found a place. Soon Eddie stopped having clear thoughts. He entered a sensory world, where surfaces were liquid and the atmosphere was full of breathing. She entered it too. He was sure she did; he could feel her doing it.
The moon sank behind the trees. In the darkness, almost complete, that followed, the bed seemed to move, to drift away, taking them on a journey, the way he and Jack had once sailed the Spanish Main.
After, they lay in twisted sheets, her head on his chest.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she said.
He stroked her hair, damp and grainy with sand. “No one’s going to die.”
“The pig died,” Mandy said. “Just to impress a big shot.”
There was a silence.
“What did it taste like?” she asked.
“Pork chops a la cannabis.”
“Are you stoned?”
“Yes and no. Mostly no.”
“Me too.”
A breeze rose again, cooling them. They abandoned their bodies to it; this was luxury.
Then Eddie thought: Evelyn will be flying back to Florida soon; when she’s gone, Mandy moves down to cottage six. Questions began forming in his mind. Why was she with someone like Packer? How did they meet? Did he pay her? He realized he didn’t even know her last name. Eddie shuffled the questions, searching for a good way to begin. Finally, he said: “Where did you meet Brad?”
No answer.
“Mandy?”
She was asleep.
Eddie closed his eyes. There would be time for questions later.
Something thudded through his dream, heavy and rhythmic. The dream began reshaping itself to incorporate the sound. Then the screen door opened with a snick and slapped shut, snick slap, and Eddie awoke, too late.
Packer said: “You up, babe? We’re gonna have to be quick.”
There wasn’t time for jumping under the bed, or into a suit of armor, or onto a greenhouse roof, or any of the other places they think of in funny movies. There was only time for Eddie to raise his head, time for Mandy to make a sleepy complaint into his shoulder. Then Packer, in singlet and jogging shorts, was standing in the middle of the room with his mouth open. Packer didn’t say anything. He backed away, to the door, out.
“Oh, God,” Mandy said, sitting up, covering her breasts although there was no one to see but him. “With those people here. I can’t believe-”
The door burst open. Packer had found his voice, a yelling one. “You fuckin’ little hoor.” He came toward the bed, hands squared into fists, shaking. “You fuckin’ little hoor.”
Mandy sat there, covering her breasts.
“Don’t say that,” Eddie said, getting up.
Packer ran a furtive glance down Eddie’s body, almost as though he couldn’t help himself, then said: “You don’t tell me anything, boy.” He took a swing at Eddie, powerful, but long and slow. Eddie had been in a few fistfights: where he came from that was part of growing up. He leaned back. Packer’s knuckles grazed his shoulder.
“Don’t do that again,” Eddie said.
“Who’s going to stop me?” said Packer, getting ready to throw another one. But the way Eddie had moved made him pause. His eyes darted around the room, perhaps searching for a weapon. There was nothing obvious. That left his yelling voice.
“You’re dead.” Packer stormed out, banging the screen door shut behind him.
Mandy was up, tugging a T-shirt over her head. “You’ve got to get out of here,” she said.
“Why?”
“Why? He’s coming back with his gun, that’s why.”
“Over something like this?”
“What else?” She was looking at him in a way he didn’t like, as though seeing him from a new angle.
“What about you?” he asked.
Mandy didn’t answer. She went out the door; Eddie followed. Jack came hurrying out of the other cabin, zipping up his shorts. He saw them, glanced down the beach where Packer was running as fast as he could, ungainly, almost stumbling, toward the cottages; and understood at once.
Jack strode up to Eddie. Jack was looking at him in a new way too.
“Didn’t I tell you?” he said. He said it again, louder. Then he hit Eddie across the face with the back of his hand. Eddie fell, partly because of the force of the blow, partly because it was Jack.
His brother stood over him. “You’re a fuckup, you know that? You couldn’t even cut your goddamn hair.”
“Leave him alone,” Mandy said.
Jack turned on her, raised his hand again, maybe to strike her, maybe just to threaten. At that moment the Trimbles walked out of the bush. They wore bermuda shorts and polo shirts, carried binoculars and butterfly nets.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Mrs. Trimble, taking in the scene: Jack and Mandy, half dressed, Eddie, naked and bleeding on the ground.
Trimble stepped in front of his wife, raising his butterfly net like a symbol of office. “What’s the trouble?”
Jack wiped his hands on the sides of his shorts, managed a smile. “No trouble, Mr. Trimble. Just a little roughhousing, that’s all.”
Trimble frowned. “Looks like trouble to me.” He offered his hand to Eddie, helped him to his feet. “Get dressed.”
Eddie went inside his cabin, threw on clothes. When he came out, Jack was saying, “Lepidoptery, isn’t that the word?”
Trimble ignored him. He was looking at Mandy. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Have you?”
“At the Pelican Club. You were waiting in the car for Packer after lunch. He said you worked for him, I don’t recall in what capacity.”
Mandy started to reply, but Jack interrupted. “She’s no longer with the company.”
“Then what’s she doing here?”
Jack was still forming his answer when the sound of a revving engine came from the beach. Everyone turned, saw the jeep racing toward them, spewing rooster tails of sand. Packer was at the wheel, brandishing his rifle like a dervish.
“Run,” Mandy said.
“What about you?”
“He won’t hurt me,” Mandy said, but her eyes weren’t so sure.
Eddie grabbed her hand. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Cotton Town.”
“The commissioner lives there,” Jack said. “That’s all we need.”
“Then what do you suggest?” asked Mandy, her voice rising.
“Anything else.” The jeep fishtailed over the sand. Packer was shouting something at the top of his lungs.
Mandy glanced around wildly. Her eyes fastened on Fearless. “Who’s got the boat keys?”
Eddie answered: “I do.”
“Let’s go.”
“In the boat?” Jack said.
“Why not?” said Mandy.
“What do you mean, why not?”
Mandy looked at Jack. “Relax.” She tugged at Eddie’s hand.
Jack opened his mouth to reply, closed it.
“What the hell is going on?” said Trimble.
Eddie and Mandy started for the path.
“Wait,” Jack said.
At that moment, the jeep came bouncing over a dune and into the fish camp. Packer saw Eddie, swerved in his direction. He roared right by Trimble, recognized him too late, glanced back to be sure, hit the brakes, and lost control of the jeep. It plowed into Mandy’s cabin, flattening it like a doll-house, and came to a stop at the edge of the bush.
Packer staggered out, bloody and dazed, but still holding the gun. He swung it in Eddie’s direction.
“There’s not going to be any violence,” Trimble said, pointing at Packer with the butterfly net.
Mandy took off. It was all happening quickly, and Eddie was only eighteen. He ran too. There was a cracking sound behind him. He ran faster.
The sea was calm, the charts clear, Fearless’s tank filled to the top. They sighted Bimini before noon. By that time, Eddie had the answers to his questions.
Her last name was Delfuego. She’d come to Packer as an office temp, been hired full time, gone out one night for drinks with the boss. He wasn’t as bad as Eddie thought. His wife was a cold bitch, he had lots of worries, but he treated Mandy well and had big dreams that she was part of. Et cetera. The answers to his questions: he could have heard them on afternoon TV, but what did that mean? Packer was out of the picture now, wasn’t he?
“Of course,” Mandy said, wrapping her arms around him.
Fearless skimmed over a glossy blue sea. “I’m supposed to go to USC,” Eddie said after a while.
“I know. You’ll meet Raleigh.”
“Raleigh?”
“Raleigh Packer. Brad and Evelyn’s son. That’s how they met, Jack and Brad.”
“I thought they met through some kind of alumni booster club.”
“Brad? He didn’t graduate high school. That’s what he’s making up for now.”
A voice came over the radio. “Fearless? That you?” It was JFK. “Come in, Fearless. Listen good. Don’ you-” Then nothing.
“What was that?” Eddie asked.
Mandy stared out to sea. Eddie could feel her thinking, but she didn’t answer. He repeated the question.
“I don’t know,” she said.
They waited for JFK to make contact again. He did not.
The sun was still high in the sky when the mainland came in view, at first not land at all, but the high-rises of Lauderdale floating on the horizon.
“Aim to the right of that pointy one,” Mandy said.
Eddie turned the wheel. “What if he’s waiting on the dock?”
“There’re a zillion marinas here,” Mandy said. “But he wouldn’t come anyway.”
“Why not?”
“He’ll be too busy trying to pacify Evelyn.” She was quiet for a moment. Then she said: “He’s in love, you know.”
“With Evelyn?”
“With her connections.” Now they could see the land itself, a low brown hump; other boats appeared on the water. “Have you got connections, Eddie?”
“No.”
“What about Jack?”
“Jack’s not a connection. He’s my brother.”
She gave him a kiss. “I don’t have connections either. But at least we’ll be all right for money. We’re going places, you and me.” She took binoculars from under the console and studied the shoreline. “Make for that little gap.”
Eddie steered for a gap between two buildings. A red, white, and blue cigarette emerged from behind a trawler and swung around in their direction. Mandy watched it through the binoculars for a few seconds, then focused on a seagull flying by with a fish in its beak.
“Going to the head,” she told Eddie. “Back in a flash.” She went below.
Eddie, one hand on the wheel, pulled out his wallet, counted what he had. Sixty-seven dollars. Why would they be all right for money?
When he looked up he saw that the red, white, and blue cigarette was much closer, moving very fast, coming right at him. Eddie was sure he had the right of way but changed course nevertheless. The cigarette changed course too, still coming at him.
Now it was near enough for Eddie to see that there were four figures on board, all dressed in orange. Eddie had heard stories of pirates in the islands, but he wasn’t in the islands now, he was in sight of the mainland. He changed course again; the red, white, and blue boat mirrored his move.
And then it was on him, sweeping around Fearless in tight circles of spray. Four figures in orange jumpsuits: four men, all with deep tans and short haircuts. One was the driver, one had a bullhorn, two had rifles, pointed at him. Friends of Packer, Eddie thought at once: Packer had radioed ahead. Eddie considered turning, making a run for the open sea, but knew Fearless didn’t have the speed.
“Mandy?” he called. No answer.
The cigarette pulled up alongside. The man with the bullhorn called out, “Cut your engine.”
Eddie slowed down, but held his course. One of the riflemen stood up and fired a shot over Eddie’s head. He throttled back to neutral.
“I said cut.”
Eddie switched off.
“Hands behind your head.”
Eddie put his hands behind his head. The two armed men climbed over Fearless’s rail. “Don’t do anything stupid,” one said.
“Packer’s the one being stupid,” Eddie said.
“Say what?” Eddie felt a rifle muzzle in his back, kept silent. “Let’s go below,” said the man.
Eddie twisted around. “You’re going to kill me over something like this?”
“Who said anything about killing? It’s not a capital crime, not yet.”
They went below, Eddie and the four men. The men searched the berths, the engine compartment, the galley, the head. Eddie assumed they were looking for Mandy. She wasn’t there. He noticed that his scuba gear, normally hanging on the wall by the galley, was gone. He said nothing, not wanting to give her away.
The men didn’t seem discouraged. One returned to the cigarette, came back with crowbars and axes. They ripped up the deck boards. Underneath lay densely packed vegetation, tied in bales, looking so incongruous that at first Eddie didn’t know what it was. Then he did.
Herb.
“You’re under arrest,” said one of the men. He took a file card from his pocket and read Eddie his rights.