Tampa Burn

THIRTY-EIGHT

I ran to him, tried to scoop him up in my arms, but realized he had grown too big for that: a lanky, rangy kid with a big jaw, big hands. So I hugged him to me instead, so weak in the knees that I felt my legs might buckle.

He stood very stiff, as if embarrassed, kept saying patiently, “O.K., Doc. That’s enough, Doc. It’s good to see you, too.”

Then: “What in the hell took you so long? I sent you every damn hint I could think up, and you still took forever. You should have asked Tomlinson if you needed help figuring it out.”

He wasn’t smiling, but I found that funny and began to laugh, and he chuckled for a moment, too.

But then, looking at the 50-gallon drum, he grew serious. “Praxcedes is in there, isn’t he?”

“That’s right.”

“What’re you going to do with him?”

I could see now that there was a large, skin-colored bandage on my son’s neck and another on his arm where Dr. Santos said he’d been burned.

I said, “I’m not sure,” which was a lie.

I knew precisely what I was going to do-but I had to act quickly. A couple of miles away, I could see the helicopter’s running lights now, broad white beam still scanning. It was getting closer.

I said, “It might depend on what the guy did to you. You can tell me. It’s O.K. There’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

My son shrugged, started to speak, but paused to listen to a banging that was now coming from inside the drum. Then a muffled howling, too.

As the pounding continued, he said, “The night he snatched me, he did this.” Lake lifted his arm briefly, as if it were an exhibit. “But it’s not bad. That’s the only time he hurt me. Until tonight. Tonight, he knocked me out with ether. It made me puke. I guess he planned to kill me, but… I don’t know what happened. I woke up, and had this-” He touched his neck. “It’s a little cut about an inch long. I guess he started, but then stopped. There was blood on me, but he’d already stuck on the bandage. Or someone did.”

He added, “I met a doctor he snatched, too. She’s a nice lady, but really scared. So maybe she’s the one who took care of me.”

No-it couldn’t have been Dr. Santos. She didn’t know that Lake was still alive.

For some reason, the monster had spared my son.

It didn’t matter. Not to me, it didn’t. I was still going to take my revenge. The Gulf of Mexico awaited. But I had to get it done very soon. The Coast Guard helicopter had banked sharply, was now beginning to vector toward the lights of the freighter.

I said, “In that case, unless he gives me some trouble, I’ll wait here with him until law enforcement shows up. You and I can talk later. But remember the lady doctor you mentioned? I’m worried about her. Would you mind running up to the fourth deck and checking on her? Maybe bring her down here to the main deck. So we’re all together. With some luck, you’ll be flying back to the mainland soon.”

The boy didn’t budge. He stood there staring at me, then began to shake his head. “You’re lying, Doc. I know exactly what you’re going to do the minute I’m gone. I’ve done a ton of research on you. It took me more than a year, but I found out who you are. What you did… and what you do. You’re not going to do it again. Not with me here. I’m not going to let you kill him.”

I was stunned. Was it possible? I said, “ You’re the one who found my files?”

“Yeah, me. And it wasn’t easy. It took me fourteen or fifteen solid months to dig up the photos and piece it all together.”

“Then showed it to your mother.” I said this with unintended bitterness.

“No. I would never have done that. Not to either one of you. She. .. snoops through my things. It’s the sort of thing she does. She has

… some chemical problems. But I’m the one who found out that you assassinated my great-uncle, Don Blas Diego. You murdered him. Him and at least two other men who were fighting for my country. Our revolution.”

Lake was walking toward me now as he talked. I realized, for the first time, that he’d found Harris Lilly’s Glock 9 mm; that he was holding it near his leg so it wasn’t easily seen. That’s why he’d seemed so stiff when I hugged him.

Why would he feel it was necessary to hide a gun from me?

I said, “It’s not murder if it’s sanctioned. It’s a process. You’re studying biology, so you should understand the difference. Diego was a ruthless little psycho. That’s the truth. We can talk about it. But later, not now.”

Soon, I’d be able to hear the helicopter.

Lake said, “ Your truth,” as he continued to approach me. His attitude, his tone, the way he now carried himself, suddenly all seemed confrontational.

I said, “Lake? Why are you carrying that gun?”

I’d begun backing away, trying to maintain some space between us.

He seemed not to hear… or he chose to ignore me, because he said, “Praxcedes Lourdes was fighting for the Revolution, too. The man you have sealed in that can. He’s crazy. He’s a monster. But he was still part of the cause. That’s why you want me to check on the doctor. It’ll give you time to kill him. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it, Doc? Kill?”

Still backing, I said, “Do you have any idea how many people he’s murdered? Look at his face-you’ll see his trophies. He abducted you, for God’s sake. My son. How do you expect me to react?”

His voice growing louder, Lake said, “But he’s insane. His head was crushed in when he was a kid. He’s sick. There’s a medication out now that might change his entire behavior. Even if it doesn’t, who are you to judge?”

I replied, “Someone has to,” then watched, immobile, as my son began to lift the Glock toward my chest. He was letting me see it now, no longer hiding his intent.

“Nope. I’m not going to let you murder him, Doc. I can’t. Your days of interfering with our country’s politics are done. Same with the assassination bullshit. It’s not necessary. ”

My breath coming in shallow gulps, I held my hands up, palms out, wanting him to stop before I was forced to react-there was no way I could bring myself to hurt him.

But I had to act… had to do something. Still backing away, I asked him again: “Laken? What are you doing with that gun?”

I’d decided to dive toward him, to roll-block his legs from beneath him… when he suddenly flipped the pistol around in his hand.

The abrupt movement caused me to jump. I stiffened, expecting to hear a round explode.

Instead, he caught the handgun by the barrel, then held it out to me butt-first.

“I found this on the deck up there”-he glanced toward the ship’s house-“when I first saw you knock Prax unconscious. I took the bullets out because I don’t want you to use it. I don’t want you to do that. .. stuff anymore. He’s sick, Dad. People get sick and do crazy, terrible things. So let him out of the barrel, O.K.?”

Slowly, I reached and took the Glock from his hand, thinking that if it didn’t belong to someone else, I’d have thrown it into the sea. Lake was facing me, standing close enough to put his hand on my shoulder, and he gave me a little shake.

“Hey-are you O.K.? You look all pale. Are you hurt? Your head’s bleeding.”

I leaned my weight against him, feeling weak-kneed again. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Do you promise me that you’re not going to kill the guy?”

I remembered saying to Tomlinson something about pathology; that when illness is involved, a person’s behavior can’t be judged as either moral or immoral.

Did I really believe that?

Sometimes. Maybe.

“ Promise me, Dad?”

The pounding and howling from inside the drum were louder now, as I replied, “You know what, Lake? You’re right. I promise. But… do you mind if we leave him locked in there? I really don’t want to have to deal with the big bastard again.”

My son looked at me, and then he grinned. “Sure. The guy did the same thing to me last night, you know-stuck me in one of those cans.” He shook his head. “He really is an asshole.”

The noise of the helicopter began to vibrate through the hull of the ship.