The Deadlier Sex Read online

  “Barbara says you tend to be too modest.”

  “She said that? What a nice thing to say. But it’s not true. The fact is, I’m not very interesting.”

  “You seem pretty interesting to me.”

  She turned away and, boom, the doors closed. We went out to the porch and sat in wicker chairs side by side. But not too close. She fiddled with her drink. For a moment, the conversation was strained. Outside, birds gawked and squawked from their nocturnal roosts. Mosquitoes whined to get in through the screening. The haunting woodwind notes of a mangrove cuckoo wafted through the night air. The full moon frosted the island in silver.

  “I noticed that the pontoon boat was gone when we got back from fishing.”

  “What? Oh. Some of the women went into town for a few things. Fuel, mostly. We use a lot of it out here. Way too much, really. We get it in Everglades City.”

  “I hope they don’t run into those four goons who were out here today.”

  She sipped at her drink. “Oh, the townspeople don’t give us any trouble. I assume those men are staying on an island near here. A bunch of them do off and on. They sleep and drink during the day, then fish illegally at night. Occasionally they give us trouble. You know that commercial fishing has been outlawed in the National Park, don’t you?”

  “I do. But actually, we’re not quite inside the boundaries.”

  “Which is exactly why they camp near us.” She gave a little shiver. “I wish someone would do something about them. They . . . they’re horrible.”

  “You didn’t seem frightened today.”

  She looked pleased. “I didn’t? Good. I don’t like the other women to see me frightened. But those men do scare me. I keep planning to turn them in, but I never have. This is such a desolate area, there’s no telling what they might do.”

  “Maybe blow up some boats?”

  She looked at me strangely. “Now why would you say that?”

  “Someone’s doing it. The Coast Guard has a special crew out trying to find exactly who and why.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “You do?”

  “Barbara told me.” She shifted slightly in her chair, that peculiar look of vulnerability showing on her moonlit face. “Do you mind if I ask you something? Barbara also said that the Coast Guard was going to arrest you. But then suddenly decided not to.”

  “That’s right. They had overlooked a few bits of information, and I just filled them in. No lawman likes to be charged with false arrest. That’s all there was to it.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “For some reason, she got the idea you were more than just an average innocent citizen.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She said the Coast Guard officer—what was his name?”

  “Chief Spears?”

  “Yes, that’s it. She said he treated you like a fellow officer after you had talked to him. Those were her exact words, by the way: ‘fellow officer.’ ”

  “She’s all wrong—but why the interest?”

  Saxan seemed a little embarrassed. Her face flushed, which made her eyes look even bluer. “Did it seem as if I was pressing? I’m sorry if I was. But the way you handled those men this morning, and that scar on your face and side . . .”

  “Barbara told you about that too, huh?”

  “Oh, God, now I do sound like a snoop. What I mean is that you obviously have some familiarity with violence, that’s all.” She looked at me a long time, as if studying my face. “It’s just that, for some odd reason, I find you . . . you . . .”

  “You find me what, Saxan?” I touched the tape on my nose. “Grotesque?”

  Hers was a fine deep laugh. “No. It’s strange, but I find you . . . well, anything but grotesque. Do you ever get that feeling about people—as if you know everything about someone, but really know nothing at all?”

  “Funny you should mention it, but I met a woman like that this morning.” I held her eyes for a moment: strangely haunting and haunted off-center eyes.

  And then her private door slammed again.

  Bang.

  The guy who jumped me was Tattoo—the one I had kicked headlong into the skiff that morning. I guess he decided he had to come back for a little revenge. At first I was surprised he hadn’t brought some help.

  And then I realized he had.

  Our dinner was one of the Irishman’s finer efforts. He had sluiced the broiled snook in melted garlic butter, and served it with fresh lime. With it were fried island-grown plantains, and fresh fruit salad from their little citrus grove. We had brought cold beer with us, and Saxan nursed another gin and tonic. The conversation was pleasant and superficial, but even so, it told me more than I had known about the woman’s background. She had been the wealthy daughter of a man she obviously didn’t care to talk about. She had traveled extensively, moved in the right circles, attended the best schools. There was no mention of a marriage, no mention of a man ever having been in her life. And I wondered all the more about her interest in me—if she was, indeed, interested.

  Afterward, Saxan and I went out for a walk. Westy insisted that, since he had cooked, he should clean up. The look he gave me told me that I owed him another favor: the first for saving my life in Cuba, the second for giving me some time alone with this woman.

  “Now, you two folks jest go on outside an’ enjoy the moonlight. It’s a fine soft night, it is, an’ I won’t be long with the dishes.”

  Moonlight suggests romance. And the mention of it seemed to make her nervous. She kept her hands stuffed into her pants pockets as we ambled down the Indian mound toward the water. She stopped once and gently fingered the shriveled leaf on one of the jasmine trees as if she suffered with it.

  “Nice bush, jasmine.”

  “Hmm . . . doesn’t it smell wonderful, Dusky. Are you interested in plants?”

  “About the same way I’m interested in cats.”

  “That’s a funny way of saying it.”

  “They go their way and I go mine.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can’t afford to be fascinated by everything. It spreads you a little too thin.”

  “I suppose so.”

  I stopped and took her hand. “But I am fascinated by you.”

  She looked up into my face. “Don’t, Dusky. There’s something about me you don’t understand.”

  “I understand that this morning you told me never to touch you again. But now you’re not pulling your hand away.”

  She made a halfhearted effort to remove her hand, then let it stay. “Let’s walk,” she said.

  It was down by the docks that Tattoo jumped me. A few seconds later I understood why. He didn’t want me to get near Sniper.

  I was about to say something clever to Saxan; you know, something designed to make her chuckle. But I never got it out. Suddenly there was this dark figure swinging down out of a chunky wisp of oak tree. In the strangeness of that moment, I thought: Geezus, they got gorillas on this island.

  But it was Tattoo.

  He came swinging down and hit me flush on the head. The blow staggered me. It sent me wheeling backward, fighting to clear the cobwebs. Little red and green lights popped off and on in my head. My nose burned.

  There was a scream.

  “You stupid bastard!”

  I heard the fleshy smack of knuckles against flesh, the rustle of bushes, and then Saxan was standing over me.

  “Hey, are you okay, Dusky?”

  I had landed butt first on the shell path, like someone who is having a bad time with roller skates.

  I pulled myself quickly to my feet. “What in the hell happened?”

  “It was one of them; one of the men from this morning. He jumped out of a tree on top of you.”

  “Only one?” I shook my head, trying to chase the fog away. I noticed that my nose was seeping again. And that Saxan was massaging her right hand, as if she had hurt it. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

  I took her hand in mine. It was already b
eginning to swell. She looked more shocked than I. “I guess . . . he was coming at you again, and I . . . I just hit him in the face as hard as I could with my fist.” Her giggle was close to tears. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  “I hit him really hard. He looked so damned surprised.” She studied her hand for a moment. “It’s throbbing—but it doesn’t hurt at all.”

  “Give it time,” I said. “Did you see which way he went?”

  She didn’t have time to answer. They had doused Sniper with gasoline. Luckily, they hadn’t had time to do a thorough job. There was a twocylinder roar of a small outboard, and then as I strained to see them through the moonlight, a hollow whoosh as my sportfisherman ignited.

  “Saxan, stay here! Get O’Davis—quick!”

  I sprinted down the docks, feeling the heavy planking sag beneath my 215 pounds. It looked like the end of Sniper. The entire wheelhouse was in flames. It was like seeing a favorite horse on fire, and I half expected her to scream. But she just sat there in the calm June night, stolid and sure.

  And burning.

  In long strides I half ran, half jumped from the gunnel to the top of the cabin, then grabbed the lowest stainless brace of the flybridge and pulled myself up to the deck, where the upper controls are located. But I had no intentions of starting her up. The big 2A40BC fire extinguisher was bracketed beside the pilot chair, where I knew it would be. I ripped it free, pulled the pin, turned, and made one long jump down onto the fighting deck.

  The flames were still fueling themselves on the gasoline. The gas can they had used was capless, sitting in one of the fighting chairs. In one swift motion, I swung it overboard, then turned the extinguisher toward the base of the flames.

  Its hoary spew smothered them with a harsh hoosh.

  I gave it a moment, smelling the acrid stink of burned plastic and gas, then emptied the rest of the extinguisher on the last remaining embers.

  “I brought the weenies, brother MacMorgan. Where’s the fire?”

  O’Davis stood on the dock, broad arms on hips, his red beard looking black in the moonlight. He wasn’t smiling.

  “The assholes,” I said.

  I could feel the adrenaline pouring through me, cold and deadly.

  “Damage?”

  “Melted some of the ignition wires, ruined the pilot chair. The cabin stinks like hell.”

  O’Davis hummed a troubled snatch of an Irish tune. “Might be a fine night ta pay a visit on yer playful friends. Pretty moon, it is—an’ I haven’t beaten anyone daft in too long.”

  “Not tonight,” I said.

  “Is this a new side of yerself I’m seein’, lad?”

  “Not tonight,” I said again. “They’d be expecting us.”

  I was lying. I didn’t care if they were expecting me or not. And I didn’t care on which island they were camping, how near or how far. The fact was, if I found them tonight, I would kill them. I know that coldness that comes over me all too well. And you just don’t go around killing rowdy fisherman.

  No matter how much they might deserve it.

  “Tomorrow night,” I said. “We’ll speak with them tomorrow night.”

  “Aye, then tomorrow it is.” He stood watching me for a long moment, and then: “An’ the more I study the look on yer big ugly face, Yank, the wiser that decision seems.”

  “Don’t you have some dishes to do?”

  “No. But I did meet a young woman here. Student o’ folk songs, she is. I’ve promised ta sing to her—and her friend, o’ course.”

  I looked up at him and forced a smile. He winked back.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Saxan was waiting for me on the end of the dock. She was still rubbing her hand.

  “How’s your boat? Is it badly damaged?”

  “Yeah. Fire will do that.”

  “Well, you don’t have to get mad at me!”

  I whirled on her. “Saxan, you may think this island is the best thing since seedless grapes, but since I’ve come in contact with it, I’ve almost been arrested, and had my nose broken and my boat vandalized. Now, forgive me if I seem a little upset, but it’s just that this is beginning to seem more and more like a bad roller-coaster ride. Just as things start falling into place, the whole puzzle collapses and I end up getting smacked in the face. Now, damn it, Saxan, something stinks around here. I don’t know what it is, but . . .” I caught myself just in time. “I don’t know and I don’t really care. If we can borrow your Shamrock tomorrow, I’ll run into Everglades City and get the necessary parts for my boat. Then we’ll let you women get back to whatever it is you do on this island.”

  I got that sense of emptiness from her again, as if she had shrunk back into a hole: some tiny, blue-eyed creature peering out at the rest of the world.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That last part was cruel.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  She shuddered slightly. “There’s nothing going on here, Dusky.”

  “If you say so.”

  “These women are all good people. They’ve all been injured in one way or another, and although they might seem wicked in the eyes of the rest of the world . . .”

  “I don’t want to hear this. . . .”

  “Maybe it’s because we frighten you.”

  “Maybe you do.”

  Jasmine bushes bordered each side of the dock. They were in heavy bloom, making the June night sweet with their odor. I reached over and broke off a big cluster of the small flowers.

  “Here,” I said. “Physicians wear stethoscopes. Botanists ought to wear flowers behind their ear.”

  She cupped the jasmine in both hands, hiding her face in it.

  “Dusky?” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Your nose is bleeding again.”

  “I know. With any luck, the creep knocked it straight this time.”

  10

  I was asleep in the infirmary when she came to me.

  Barbara had done a new plaster job on my nose, and stuck a bucket of ice beside my bed.

  Saxan had insisted that I stay ashore. And she was right. Until I got Sniper scrubbed and aired out she really wasn’t inhabitable.

  “I’m becoming a real pro at fixing mashed faces,” Barbara had said gaily. She had changed into long jeans, and she wore some kind of white, loosely woven blouse that was all but see-through. The dark-brown symmetry of areolas stood out invitingly and the material clung to the contours of her breasts.

  “One more time, and I’ll need a transfusion.”

  She had laughed. “Maybe you need one now. Damn, if you aren’t looking pale. And you’re kind of trembling.”

  She was bending over me, breasts warm against my shoulder, brushing my face occasionally. A ceiling fan whirled beneath the white globe of infirmary light, and it gave Barbara’s short blond hair a celestial glow.

  “I think your shirt’s ruined again.”

  “Looks like I’m going to have to make another visit to Sears.”

  “Goddamn, you have broad shoulders. Like a weight lifter or something.”

  “I grew up in the circus. Worked the trapeze.”

  She stood back and looked at her handiwork. “Circus, huh? Jesus, what a kidder you are. And you still look pale. You feeling okay?”

  “It might have something to do with that shirt you’re wearing.”

  She looked down at herself, as if surprised. “What? Oh shit, I didn’t realize. Look, I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  She looked uncertain for a moment, then pleased. “Hey, that’s kind of nice. You’re affected, huh?”

  “I think I can give you a solid yes on that. Why so surprised?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just that my ex-husband had a way of making me feel like a pile of shit about this high. Ugly, you know. And those bastards on the Blind Luck didn’t help any. This is the first time i
n a long while I even thought about being . . .”

  “Attractive?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “That’s a nice way to put it.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “So—Saxan says you’re to sleep right here. And that you can use our boat tomorrow to go into town.”

  “Too bad this didn’t happen earlier—I could have caught a ride in on the pontoon boat.”

  She looked puzzled. “What?”

  “Saxan said some of the women went into Everglades City for fuel.”

  “That’s odd. That town closes up tight as a drum at six. Maybe they just had to make some phone calls or something. All we’ve got out here is a CB radio—and that doesn’t work half the time. Saxan’s trying to scour up enough money now to get a VHF with a big tower—in case of emergencies, you know. She’s going to talk to Ms. Abhner about it.”

  There was an awkward, sensual moment before she finally turned to go. Then she stopped and turned back.

  “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

  “Take what the wrong way?”

  She came over to me on the table, leaned down slowly, bright-green eyes looking into mine, and kissed me. She drew back, then kissed me again: her lips warm and moist and open.

  “Nice,” she said softly.

  “Is that part of the prescription, nurse?”

  “Kind of,” she said softly. “For one of us.”

  She flipped the light off, shut the door behind her, and was gone.

  It was almost three in the morning when Saxan came to me. I know because I checked the green glow of my Rolex when I heard the infirmary door open.

  She stood there in the pale moonlight for a long time, undecided. She wore some kind of gauzy, hip-length T-shirt. I could see the silhouette of her body firm and taut, nipples elongated in the upward thrust of breasts. Twice she retreated outside, but then stepped back.

  “You’re letting mosquitoes in.”

  She jumped, startled.

  “You’re awake?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a nice dream if I’m not.”