Riptide

CHAPTER 35

Signing the register as “Mr. and Mrs. R. Bonds,”Jake Lassiter and Lila Summers checked into a small motel in Maalaea, a tiny town wrapped around the shoreline of a flat bay. They looked over the Crooked Rainbow at the marina. Twin diesel engines ready to power them out of Maui at first light. With Lila on the flying bridge checking the console, Lassiter crawled into the engine compartment.

“Clean, tanks full, fuel lines in good shape,” he called out. “Let’s see if the battery is topped up.”

He popped the battery cover and inspected the chambers. “Everything fine down here.”

He hoisted himself out of the engine compartment onto the deck. Lila was above him on the bridge, staring at the horizon. “Great boat,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get one like it. Catch some grouper and snapper in the Keys. Find an uninhabited island, watch the sun set in the Gulf — “

“Jake,” she interrupted him, “I was thinking it might not be such a good idea to go to Miami.”

“What?”

“If we go to Miami, you’ll have to give back the bonds.”

He crawled the ladder to the bridge. Lila settled demurely in the captain’s chair, knees tucked under her chin, the picture of innocence. She swiveled the chair toward him and cocked her head, waiting.

“I give back half, we keep half,” he said. “That’s my deal.”

Her smile was backed by iron. “No, Jake, you keep half. That’s your deal. The half is yours, not ours.”

“What do you mean? If it weren’t for you, there’d be no coupons at all, none. What’s mine is yours.”

“What if you get tired of me? What if you do what Keaka did, find someone else, and all of a sudden the money’s yours, not ours?”

Jake Lassiter took a moment. “That’s what happened? I thought you left Keaka because of the violence, the murders. That’s what you told me.”

She was silent. The jury shall not infer guilt from the fact that the defendant remains silent. That’s what a judge would say. But in the real world, it’s just the opposite. Cum tacent clamant, Charlie Riggs used to tell him. When they remain silent, they cry out with guilt.

“You lied to me,” Lassiter said.

She looked past him, toward the open sea. “A white lie. I wanted to stop you from going after Keaka, to keep you from being killed. I thought if you knew how dangerous he was…”

“So what did happen with you and Keaka?”

“He was flipping out on his Hawaiian king crap. He wanted to have twenty-one wahines to serve him like Kamehameha the Great. Lee Hu and I were the start of the harem. I told him thanks but no thanks, I didn’t think he was that hot one-on-one.”

First the killings, then a lie, now the bonds, he thought. What other surprises would there be? Time for cross-examine, starting with a leading question. “So what do you want to do with the bonds, keep them?”

“Of course. We earned them.”

“Like Hitter earned Poland.”

“Jake, don’t be foolish. We’ve got them. Why would we give them back?”

“Because they’re not ours!” he thundered in his courtroom voice.

She looked at him as if he were a slow learner. “Jake, we killed two men to get them.”

The we hung there, taunting him, but he ignored it and went back to basics. “Lila, we’ll get half, maybe eight hundred thousand. Isn’t that enough?”

“How much would that be after taxes? And how much income would we earn on what’s left if we just invested it?”

Now she’s angling for an M.B.A. from Wharton. “I don’t know, Lila, I’ll ask my accountant. What difference does it make?”

“It wouldn’t be much, would it, I mean for two people to live on.”

“Maybe enough for a boat, some papayas and wine. Just drift to wherever the trade winds take us.”

“Oh, Jake.” She moved next to him and touched her fingers to his lips. Her warm breath brushed his cheek. “I want more than that. Sometimes you just see me in a bikini on the beach.”

Her breasts pressed against his rib cage. He fought off the distraction. “What’s wrong with that? It’s a glorious lifestyle and you fit there, outdoors, au naturel.”

Lila Summers smiled, an indulgent smile. “All of us have to grow up. Keaka understood. What he did wasn’t legal, but there are worse things than growing pakalolo. Then he started looking for a big score, and frankly, so did I.”

“Why? For the money? For material things?”

“Jake, it’s such a big world. There’s Paris and London and wonderful hotels and restaurants and shops.”

So that’s what the money means to her, he thought. Not just the time to read great books and drop a line in the water to catch your supper. No, she wants supper served by white-gloved waiters.

“Look, Lila, if you’re worried about us, about me, let’s make a deal. When we get the money, the half, let’s split it down the middle, four hundred thousand for you, four hundred thousand for me. Fair enough?”

She wrinkled her forehead and walked to the rail, turning her back and staring again at the horizon. Lassiter’s mind raced. What if she says no? They’re ours, Jake. We earned them. All of them.

He didn’t want to face the question. Would he give it up for her, turn his back on Tubby, who died helping him, and on Sam, who trusted him? Overhead a half dozen black-crowned herons circled the shoreline, their bleats mocking him.

But then Lila turned back to him and said, “Okay, Jake. We’ll do it your way. We’ll take the boat to Honolulu, then fly to Miami. The eight hundred thousand is all yours. And so am I, for as long as you want me.”

A quick turn, Lassiter thought. Slashback. One second she’s going one way, up a wave, then slash, she jibes and rockets down again. First she’s the Goddess of Desire, sun-drenched hair flying in an ocean breeze, then with a blade or hot rock in her hand, she’s a one-way ticket to the morgue. Another turn, the air calm after a squall, all sweetness and springtime.

He reached for her, and she kissed him, and he closed his eyes and lost himself in the kiss. When their lips parted, she smiled and laughed. “Hey, what’s a girl got to do to get some dinner around here?”

They showered and ate at a small restaurant, feasting on seafood Provencale — shrimp, scallops, and calamari cooked in a casserole with tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, and wine — and Lassiter had the waiter dust off a bottle of Cristal champagne.

When they returned to the room, Lila’s cheeks were glowing and she kissed him with an exploring tongue. They were both exhausted, but they made love as they had in the crater. She locked her heels behind his buttocks and demanded all of him, her grip loosening only when her moans built to a crescendo and she exhaled a series of short cries that caught in her throat.

When she lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck, his mind took over from his loins. So much she had kept from him. Why? Lassiter held her in his arms and pushed back the questions. He told himself he should be happy. He had the bonds and Lila Summers, too. But his mind wouldn’t let it go, kept asking questions. “Committing crimes,” he whispered in the dark, “doesn’t it bother you?”

“Taking the bonds from the little man after he had stolen them didn’t seem like a crime.”

“And the killing?”

She sighed. “Keaka was going to kill you, maybe me too. He had to die. Lomio killed your friend. He deserved to die. The Cuban would have sent Keaka and me to prison if he could. He deserved…” Lila stopped in midsentence, a cloud crossing her face. Her eyes darted quickly to Lassiter lying next to her. He saw the look and let it pass. Then it sunk in.

He rolled over to look her squarely in the eyes. “Why the mention of Berto? You had nothing to do with that.”

“Of course. But… I don’t know. He’s dead, too.”

And dead is dead.

Lassiter was still trying to focus, to see something tucked in the shadows of his mind. That night on Molokai. Everything had happened so fast then. What was it Keaka had said? Then he remembered.

“Lila, on the beach that night, I asked Keaka to fight me, mano a mano, like he did with Berto in the swamp.”

“Yeah?”

“Why was Keaka so confused? He looked like he didn’t know what I was talking about, finally said something about haoles still being stupid after two hundred years.”

“Did he say that?” she asked, yawning and stretching like a tawny cat.

“Yeah, he did. And one other thing. He said Lee Hu doesn’t care for you. Why not? What’d you ever do to her?”

Lila didn’t raise her head from the pillow. “I don’t know, Jake, maybe she’s jealous because I was Keaka’s old girlfriend.”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s just funny. Keaka kills Berto and walks off with his girlfriend, but she ends up hating you.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Berto was my friend, a guy soft as a dish of flan. Who killed him?”

She sat up. “What difference does it make now?”

Lassiter rolled onto his back, his lawyer’s mind racing, the evasive witness all but admitting the crime. Maybe she was right. What difference does it make now?

Dead is dead.

The words kept pounding at him. She already was a killer, sending Keaka and Lomio off to the happy hunting ground. But he still had to know.

“Lila, did you kill Berto?”

Lila ran a hand through the thick mane of her hair and looked away. “All right. Most of what I told you already is true. Keaka and I were going to bring coke in from Bimini in a hollowed-out board. Mikala tipped us. The Cuban, your friend, was a DEA snitch. Keaka was going to take care of it himself, get the money, and you know, kill him. But Keaka was being followed. On the beach he saw a man watching him through binoculars. Keaka doesn’t, or didn’t, miss those things.”

“That was Franklin, the DEA agent. He was guarding Berto.”

“Maybe sometimes. But once we hit town, he stuck to Keaka like a sunburn. On the beach, in the hotel lobby, everywhere. So a small change in plans. Keaka spent the better part of the night in the hotel bar, with the DEA agent two tables away watching him. I went to the swamp and took care of the Cuban. There wasn’t much to it, one karate punch to the throat, then I crushed his windpipe.”

Jake Lassiter closed his eyes and saw Lila squeezing the life out of Berto, showing no more emotion than if she were cracking a coconut on the beach. He stood up, but all the stuffing was out of him, his bones filled with mush. He sat down again and studied the top of his bare feet.

“Jake, now I’ve told you everything, why I left Keaka, the killing in the swamp. Don’t worry, that’s all there is, nothing more, really.”

That’s all, Lassiter thought. A homicide in Miami, conspiracy to transport drugs, receiving stolen property, two homicides here. At least she hadn’t tried to overthrow the government. He looked at her. She’d just confessed to first-degree murder but didn’t beg for forgiveness, didn’t shed a tear. You could grow old waiting for Lila Summers to cry over spilled blood.

“Jake, besides the fact that Keaka was getting to be a pain with his Hawaiian macho crap, there was another reason I left him.”

“Yeah?”

She rolled onto her knees and hugged him from behind, her breasts warming his back. “I wanted you.”

Jake Lassiter was silent.

“And I still do,” she said. “I care for you. You’re like an overgrown puppy that needs protection.”

Sure I need protection, Jake Lassiter thought. Who wouldn’t after hanging out with a woman who strangles, slices, and buries them, one after another? He thought about it some more. The violence hadn’t bothered her at all. Should have figured that, the way she’d dispatched Keaka and Lomio in the past two days. A man dies and her missing orgasm roars into town like a runaway train. Another man dead, her engine heats to the red line. Keeping her satisfied could decimate the male gender. And what did she see in him, Lassiter wondered, a dreamer in wing tips and button-down shirts who thinks he can take this strong, beautiful, violent woman and wrap her up in a pink ribbon.

“Do you still care for me, Jake?”

He wasn’t proud of the answer, but there it was just the same. “Does the sun still rise in the east?” he asked quietly.

Lila Summers arose before dawn and silently gathered her belongings. She looked down at Jake Lassiter, lying on his side, clutching the pillow where she had been. She reached into her duffel bag and pulled out a dive knife, felt the jagged edge, cool to the touch. Kneeling by the bed, she placed the sharp point within an inch of Lassiter’s jugular and held it there. Seconds passed. She held the knife steady, studying him, listening to his breathing. She moved the knife to his temple, then brushed back his shaggy hair over an ear. She leaned close, grazed his ear with a soft kiss, and whispered, “I love you, Jake, as much as I can love.”

Lila carefully placed the knife on the nightstand, making no sound, pulled on a pair of shorts and a halter top and quietly left the room. Over one shoulder she carried a duffel bag with her clothing. Over the other shoulder, just as it had been in the race to Bimini, was a waterproof yellow pack crammed with treasure.

Jake Lassiter thought he was dreaming. He heard Lila’s voice saying she loved him. Must be wishful thinking or wishful dreaming, his mind was saying, shaking off the sleep. He stretched out a leg to find her.

Nothing. He reached with a hand.

The bed too cool.

His eyes opened.

Nothing.

He got up. No Lila in the bathroom. A quick look around, no yellow pack.

It was happening again, Lila gone, the emptiness spreading. He jumped into his pants. Barefoot, he ran outside and stopped. The dock was only two hundred yards away. It was not quite dark and not quite light, a slice of the sun behind him rising over the peak of Haleakala in the distance. Puffy clouds dappled the calm bay with pale silver shadows.

Barely twelve hours since he’d saved her life, and she chooses the money instead of him. His mind racing, the image from the top of the Iao Needle flashed back. How strange that the great athlete would stumble. How unlike her to show such fear.

Then he saw it all for the first time. Her eyes were pleading with him not to let go.

He’d had a good grip on her and the leverage to haul her up. And he was strong. No way he would drop her. Unless he meant to. Which is what she feared. Keaka Kealia would have dropped her, she said. And she would have pushed Keaka off the cliff, too. Or anyone who happened to be in the way at the time. Including Jake Lassiter. Because there wasn’t much difference between Keaka and Lila, and Jake Lassiter had known that for longer than he cared to admit.

And now he knew it all. She had killed Berto and tried to kill him. She had tried to push him off the cliff and, dangling there, thought he knew. But he hadn’t known until now. He never figured she would kill him for slips of paper that could be exchanged for more paper that could be exchanged for cars and furs and jewels. Now he stood paralyzed in the ashen morning light.

Seconds passed.

Then he ran after her. Or after the bonds. He didn’t know which.

He ran toward the end of the dock, his feet picking up splinters from the wooden planks. He heard the engines turn over before he saw the Crooked Rainbow. It began to pull away, Lila on the flying bridge, guiding the big boat into open water, leaning a little on the throttle. He neared the end of the dock and had to slow down to keep from falling in.

He yelled her name.

She didn’t turn around.

Jake Lassiter would remember many things about the next few moments of his life. One was that Lila Summers didn’t turn around. She must have been able to hear him, even over the rumble of the twin engines. She wasn’t that far away and he had good pipes. But she didn’t turn, she just watched the water in front of her and kept heading toward the open bay. Later, remembering the scene, he decided she had heard him but wouldn’t turn, because tears were running down those granite cheekbones. He wanted to believe it, but he would never know.

The rest was frozen. Slowly, so slowly, like a dream. Jake Lassiter stood there yelling, but no words came out.

First he saw the flash.

Next he heard the roar.

Then he felt the concussion.

The flash was orange, the smoke black, a fireball from within the Hatteras, reaching to the sky, scattering a dozen gulls, drowning out their cries. A splintering of wood, fiberglass, canvas, plastic, and metal.

The huge gas tanks exploded, one after another, launching a thousand missiles of shrapnel, the boat tearing itself apart, leaving nothing above the water, and what was left floating was disintegrated or burning, tiny pieces of indistinguishable matter disappearing into the tomb of a black sea.