Short Straw

Thirty-three

JOE BIG BEAR GOT OUT HIS DOUBLE-BARRELED SHOTGUN from the storage compartment under the living room sofa of his trailer and wiped it with an oily rag. He took it out to his pickup, rummaged in the aluminum tool chest bolted to the truck bed and came up with a good-size vise. He clamped the vise to the tailgate, got a battery-operated radial saw out of the toolbox, changed the blade and began working on the shotgun's barrels. Thirty minutes and two blades later, he had a sawed-off shotgun. He used the saw to take off most of the wooden stock, too, leaving only enough for a hand to grip. Finally, he filed the rims of the barrels to remove any burrs. The whole thing was only about two feet long. He loaded the weapon with double-ought buckshot and put it under the seat of the pickup. He was armed.

BARBARA CHECKED HER WATCH: they had been underway for forty minutes, which meant they were pretty much in the middle of the Gulf of California. Now to see if her luck was holding.

She got out of the car and looked around; she was alone in the garage. She found the stairs and walked up two decks to the top of the little ship. She looked both ways from the door and saw no one, so she stepped out onto the deck. The wind from the ship's passage blew her hair around her face, and she brushed it aside as she walked aft. Vittorio was standing, his back to her, his hands on the rail, looking aft at the boiling wake. No one else was in sight. Perfect.

She walked toward him, careful to keep her steps light. Then, when she had only six feet to go, he glanced over his shoulder and turned around, smiling. He leaned against the rail and opened his arms. "Come here," he said.

She couldn't fight him face to face, she knew that; she'd have to think of something else. She moved into his arms, and the bulge at his crotch gave her the answer. She kissed him, grinding her body into his, and the bulge grew. The railing cut across his ass.

"I know what you want," she said, reaching down and unzipping his fly.

"Well, we are all alone up here, after all," he replied.

She knelt, unbuckled his belt, pushed down his pants and took him into her mouth, getting a noisy response from him. He ran his fingers through her hair, took hold and pulled her to him.

Shit, she thought. She pulled back and took him out of her mouth. "If you want me to keep doing this, don't mess up my hair," she said.

He took his hands away and gripped the railing on either side of him. "Any way you want it, baby," he said.

She continued her work, massaging his balls with one hand, and suddenly, convulsively, he began to come. She reached down, hooked her fingers under the bottoms of his jeans and heaved quickly upward.

"Hey!" he yelled, grabbing at the railing, but it was too late. He flew backward over the side and disappeared into the frothy wake.

She watched for a minute, but he didn't come up again. All that was left was his hat, floating upside down on the water. If they ever found him, an autopsy would show no violence, just drowning. She wiped her mouth with a tissue, threw it overboard and walked back toward the stairs. In a moment, she was back in the rear seat of the car, dozing off, satisfied. She didn't wake up until she heard the car door open.

"Barbara?" Cupie said.

She raised her head and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Huh?" She didn't have to act to look sleepy.

"Have you seen Vittorio? We're coming into La Paz, and I can't find him."

"No," she replied, "I've been asleep."

"I'll go look again." He closed the car door and left.

Now, she thought, there's only Cupie to deal with.