Little Tiny Teeth

FIFTEEN

“Cisco tried to kill you?”

It seemed to Gideon that everyone there – John, Tim, Mel, and Vargas – said it at the same time, in exactly the same astonished tone. He wasn’t sure if he’d said it himself, or only thought it.

She seemed taken aback by the chorus of incredulity. “Well, I… I think it was Cisco. I mean I couldn’t see. It was dark, it was-”

She shuddered, then suddenly glanced down at herself, at the flimsy, wet summer bathrobe that was clinging to her and the men’s pajamas underneath, and then at the circle of males surrounding her. She lifted her chin and drew the robe around her with her arms. “I have to change,” she said stiffly. “Give me twenty minutes, if you please. Captain, I don’t suppose there’d be such a thing as hot chocolate on this ship?”

“Of course there is, professor. I’ll have it for you at once.”

“Thank you.” She turned to leave.

“But wait, where is he?” John asked. “Where is Cisco?”

“He jumped,” she said. “He’s gone. After he threw me in, that’s what I was trying to tell you!” An angry glare at Gideon. “But you’ll never find him now, not after all this time.” Then, with a final, penetrating, accusing glance at Gideon, she turned and swept away and up the stairway, with considerable elan.

“What did you do to her?” John asked Gideon. “I thought you just saved her life.”

Gideon shrugged. “I thought so too. I guess I took too long.”

“Dames,” Mel said, the voice of experience. “You can’t please ’em.”

She had been sound asleep, she explained. She had been roused by what she thought was scuffling that seemed to be coming from next door – not from Gideon’s cabin, of course, but from Scofield’s, on the other side. Then, still three-quarters asleep – she wasn’t sure if it was minutes later, or only seconds – she heard what seemed to her to be someone being violently sick outside her cabin. She put on her robe and went out on deck to see if she could help. Cisco – if it was Cisco – was standing there with his back to her in what looked like a nightshirt, or maybe it was just a long shirt down almost to his knees, gripping the railing with both hands, mumbling to himself, and staring fixedly down into the moving water.

She paused to sip the hot chocolate that Vargas had given her, hunched over the cup and holding it with both hands as if to warm them, although the temperature was still in the eighties. It was two-thirty in the morning, still pitch-black. Everybody but Scofield, who had been observed to have had a couple of pots of his “digestive” tea up on the roof earlier that night, was there now, gathered around her at their table in the dining room. They were all in walking shorts and polo shirts or tank tops, the established daily uniform of choice. Vargas had made “fresh” coffee by opening a new jar of Nescafe.

She continued. Something about his rigid posture, about how tightly he was clutching the rail, told her that something terrible had happened. She was frightened. She began to back quietly away, back to the safety of her room, but the movement must have caught his eye. He had her before she’d taken two steps, both of his arms around her, squeezing the breath out of her. In what seemed like a fraction of a second he’d wrestled her to the railing and heaved her over. Cisco was incredibly strong, far, far stronger than he looked. If it was Cisco.

“Maggie,” Duayne said, “Cisco’s a pretty strange-looking man. So skinny… and the way he holds his head… I’d think he’d be recognizable, even from the back.”

“Well, he wasn’t,” Maggie snapped. “It was dark, he had on this long thing, he was turned the other way. Maybe I should have asked him for an ID?”

“No offense, Maggie,” Duayne said, taken aback. “I only meant-”

“Captain, where does Cisco sleep?” John asked.

“In the next to the last cabin on the port side, next to the storage rooms.”

“Tim, would you go check that room, please? Knock, and if you don’t get an answer, open the door and peek in, see if he’s there.” Gideon could see that John had assumed his cop persona. A crime had been committed, there was no responsible official there to look into it, and so John, being John, had readily jumped in as the man in charge, a state of affairs that no one seemed about to challenge.

“Why didn’t you yell for help?” he asked Maggie.

She blinked, as if it was something that hadn’t occurred to her before. “I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “You think that’s what you’d do, you know that’s what you should do, but when it happens to you, your mind doesn’t work right. And it was so quick! The whole thing couldn’t have taken two seconds. I was flying through the air before I knew what was happening. It was as if I was paralyzed,” she mused. “I couldn’t struggle, couldn’t scream, couldn’t-” She ran out of words and shook her head.

“Maggie, that’s a pretty bad gash you’ve got on your leg,” Gideon said. He’d only noticed it a moment before. “You’d better get some antiseptic on that and cover it up. In this kind of climate you don’t want to take any chances.”

“ What?” She stared down at her leg – the wrong leg first, then the right one, then reached down to touch, very gingerly, a still-bleeding wound on the inside of her left ankle. Blood had seeped down into and spotted her white sneakers, worn without socks. “I didn’t even know I had this,” she said with wonder. “I didn’t feel a thing.” She produced a Kleenex and dabbed it against the wound.

“That’s because your system’s still in shock. Don’t worry, you’ll feel it when the vasoconstriction reverses. Any minute now.”

“I remember, I hit my leg on the railing as I was going over. That’s when it must have happened. I think I even gave a yelp, but-”

“You did,” Gideon said. “That’s what woke me up.”

“And thank heavens it did!” she said fervently, and then her face softened. “Gideon, I haven’t really said thank you to you.”

“As a matter of fact, you did. The very first thing. After you finished slugging me.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry about that. I thought you were Cisco. Oh dear, I split your lip, didn’t I?”

“It’s nothing,” said Gideon, who had been dabbing a tissue at his mouth. By now the bleeding, hardly copious to begin with, had almost entirely stopped.

“Well, when we get to Leticia, I owe you the biggest, best dinner money can buy.”

“Oh, I think a beer’ll cover it,” he said, smiling.

She returned the smile. “You’ve got it. Anyway, as soon as I landed in the water my brain started working again and I screamed for help. Then when somebody yelled ‘Man overboard’-”

“Me again,” Gideon said.

“-he just climbed over and heaved himself into the river too.”

Ah, and that was the second splash, thought Gideon. Until then he’d been uncertain whether he’d really heard two splashes, or if he’d imagined – dreamed – one of them.

“I saw him hit the water,” Maggie continued, “but it was too dark to really see anything. Then you showed up and I thought it was him coming after me. I don’t know what happened to him. I hope he drowned.”

“He probably just swam for the shore,” said John. “Probably made it without any problem too. The Javaro’s not much more than a hundred yards wide here. Maggie, do you have any idea of why he would have attacked you?”

She shook her head slowly back and forth, still cradling the mug of hot chocolate. “I don’t have a clue. I guess he was… well, you know how he was.”

“Yeah, the cheese slid off his cracker a long time ago,” Mel said.

“I want to apologize,” a visibly disturbed Vargas said. He had run off to get some antibiotic cream and a supersized Band-Aid for Maggie, and having applied them, he was hovering over her with the pot of hot chocolate, punctiliously topping off her cup every time she had a sip. “I had no way of knowing the man was… was crazy, insane. I assure you, if I had any idea-”

“Nobody’s blaming you, Captain,” John said. “All right, let’s-”

“He’s not there.” Tim had returned. He was standing at the entrance to the dining room, looking sick and shaky, making no move to approach.

“Hey, buddy, what’s the matter?” Phil asked.

“I-” He had to steady himself on the doorjamb. It seemed to take all his courage to continue. “I checked Dr. Scofield’s room too. He’s not there either. He’s… he’s dead, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, hell, he’s probably still up on the roof,” Mel said, “sleeping it off. He lapped up a hell of a lot of ‘tea’ last night.”

Duayne nodded. “Yes, that’s probably so. Yesterday morning, I was up there early to see the sunrise, and he was still in his deck chair, sound asleep.”

Tim was shaking his head, back and forth, back and forth. “No… no…”

“Well, why would you think he’s dead?” Maggie said irritably, perhaps vexed at being yet again shoved from center stage by Scofield.

“Because-”

“No, hold it,” John said. “Before we go there, let’s just see if he is upstairs.”

“I’ll go and check,” Phil said, getting up.

But Tim continued to shake his head, looking sicker by the second. “I’m telling you. You won’t find him.”

Phil soon returned, shaking his head. “Not there.”

A search of the nonpassenger section of the ship by one of Vargas’s crew produced the same result.

Arden Scofield was no longer aboard the Adelita.

“Okay, Tim,” John said. “Let’s hear it. What’s going on here?”

Tim had joined them at the table by now, and Vargas had had the galley scare up some hot, predawn picarones and honey for them, which all but Tim were attacking as if they’d had nothing to eat for a week.

“I should have told you before,” Tim said miserably. “I almost did, really – but I never thought – I mean the idea that he would – Jesus Christ, I still can’t believe it! I mean-” And his face was in his hands.

“Goddamn it, Tim-!” John began, but Gideon stopped him with a hand on his arm. He made up a cup of heavily sugared coffee for Tim and put it in front of him. “Tim,” he said gently, “take a couple of sips. That’s right, good. Okay? Now. Take your time. Who are you talking about? Who is ‘he’?”

Tim lifted a haggard face. “Cisco. Cisco killed him.”

In the general burst of exclamations that followed this, a thought flitted briefly across Gideon’s mind: it seemed as if an awful lot was being blamed on someone who wasn’t there to speak for himself.

“He threw him overboard,” Tim continued.

“You know that?” Gideon asked.

“No, I don’t know it; how could I know it? But it’s obvious. That was the scuffling that Maggie – Dr. Gray – heard, don’t you see?”

“Well, why would Cisco-” Mel began.

With a wave of his hand John quieted him and retook command. “Captain, don’t you think you’d better run up to the wheelhouse and turn the boat around and go back and see if you can spot Professor Scofield? You might have a look for Cisco as well.”

Vargas, at his usual station overseeing the buffet table, jumped to comply. “Meneo, you come too,” he said in Spanish. “I want you and Chato up front searching for them. Take the other lamp.”

“Okay, Tim,” John said, “go ahead. Why would Cisco want to kill Dr. Scofield?”

“He hated him, that’s why. That stupid spider in his bag? That was Cisco. That thing with the spear and the shrunken head? That was Cisco too. He just wanted to, to scare him, to humiliate him.”

Gideon permitted himself a small, internal a-ha of satisfaction, and from across the table Phil doffed an imaginary hat in his direction.

“You knew about that – about the spider and the shrunken head – and you didn’t tell anyone?” John asked, seeming to swell as he grew more stern.

“I…” Tim’s expression had become more shamefaced than anything else. “I didn’t know about it at the time, no. He told me later, up on the roof that night.”

“But you kept it to yourself. You didn’t tell anyone.”

“I… no. I’ll tell you the truth, I thought it was funny – well, I did.” He paused to drink more coffee. “I thought he had it coming.”

“And did he tell you he was going to kill him too?”

A sudden twitch of his fingers jammed the cup onto its saucer, slopping coffee over the side. “ No! It’s just that it makes sense now, after what happened to Maggie and everything. He threw Dr. Scofield overboard too. How hard would it have been to dump him over the side if he was all doped up from that tea?”

“That’s a pretty big leap, Tim,” Gideon said.

“No, it isn’t. Last night – I don’t mean tonight, I mean the one before – he told me, all mysterious and weird-like, that he wouldn’t be around the next day, that he had something to take care of, and that he’d be back the day after, or maybe not. Maybe we wouldn’t be seeing him anymore at all. He had other things on his plate. It all adds up now, but at the time, I never thought he meant to kill anybody, I just thought he was – Dr. Gray, you were there, remember?”

“I was?” Maggie said, startled. She had been vacantly pushing the remnants of her picarones around her plate with her fork. She put the fork down. “Yes, that’s right, I was. I do remember that, Tim. But I thought it was just more of his wild talk, I didn’t take it seriously.”

“Well, of course not,” Tim said eagerly, “I didn’t either, that’s my point. I mean, who knew what he was talking about half the time?”

“But Tim, I never heard him say anything about the lance, or the spider-”

“No, no, he wouldn’t say that in front of you. That was after you left, when we started on that mampekerishi shit he brought.” He winced. “Oh, hell, excuse me, I-”

“Tim,” Gideon interrupted, “why would Cisco hate Scofield? How did he even know him?”

Tim gathered himself together, visibly trying to collect his thoughts. When he sucked twice at an empty coffee cup, Gideon got up and got him some more, which he sipped equally absently. “I think everybody knows that old story about Dr. Scofield,” he said, addressing the whole of his rapt audience. “About how the Chayacuro attacked him and his friends, the two brothers?”

Nods all around.

“And how they had to leave the first brother after he got hit by a poison dart, and they heard the Indians chop his head off, and then the second brother got hit by a dart and died in Dr. Scofield’s arms?”

They nodded again, expectantly now.

“Well, it’s not true. He didn’t die in Dr. Scofield’s arms. Dr. Scofield just ran away and left him there to die. But he didn’t die. When the Chayacuro found him they knew him, see, because he’d done some fieldwork with them when he was working on his dissertation. They’ve got an antidote for the poison – they make it from sugarcane – and they gave it to him. He lived with them for three months, became what they call a shaman’s apprentice, got really deep into their drugs, and never went back to the States after that. He’s lived in South America ever since, in Bolivia and Colombia, I think, but mostly right around Iquitos.”

“This can’t be going where I think it’s going,” John said.

“Anybody remember his name – the second brother?” Tim asked.

“Frank,” Mel said. “Frank Molina.”

“That’s right. And Frank in Spanish is Francisco. And short for Francisco is-”

“‘Cisco,’” breathed Gideon.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” said Duayne after a moment’s stunned silence.