Suicide Squeeze

When Co

The boat shuddered violently. The sound of the world breaking. Co

31

“Mister! Hey, mister.” The voice was young, female. “Are you dead? You need some help?”

Co

He lifted his head, which throbbed angry above his left eye, touched the wound, sticky with blood. He lay on the deck at an odd angle. He wasn’t at an odd angle. It was the deck.

He’d hit a sandbar in the middle of the river. The prow pointed up at an angle, the stern dipping nearly below the waterline. The engine was still ru

“Mister?”

He focused on the voice. A teenage girl in a blue bikini. A speedboat. Five teenagers in all, boys and girls on the river for a good time. Blue Bikini Girl kept looking at him, waiting for a sign.

Co

They waved. The dude behind the wheel throttled forward and the speedboat shot down the river like a bullet.

Last night’s memories congealed, lined up for inspection as Co

The Japanese? Maybe they wanted to question him the same way they’d questioned Folger. Tied to a chair.

Co

He went below and forward to check the bilge, see if there’d been a hull breach. No leaks. No problems.

The main cabin was a mess, dishes and bottles scattered, items jarred loose on impact. Even the ugly seagull painting had been knocked off the wall. The glass in the frame had shattered. Co

He picked up the seagull painting. The wooden frame had cracked too, and it almost came apart in his hands. He sighed, let it drop. Fucking mess is going to take forever to clean up.

Again, Co

Behind it a stu

Co

Through the fog of his disbelief and pounding head, Co

32

Itchi shivered in the morning light, welcomed the sun, which quickly baked him humid, his wet clothes heavy. Finally, the night was over. He’d been afraid to venture in the dark, the too-near sounds of furtive movement among the shrubs and cypress trees terrifying. He’d heard that Florida swamps teemed with alligators and venomous snakes and the occasional sodomizing redneck.

The thought he should call Toshi on his cell phone and ask for rescue tempted Itchi more than once. But he was much more afraid of Toshi than he was of alligators. Toshi tolerated failure poorly. Itchi had been careless, had let Samson sneak up on him. When Samson started shooting, Itchi’s reflexes had taken over. He’d leapt into the water, and when he’d tried to climb back aboard, Samson had opened fire again.

Itchi had bungled, been caught by surprise, had let Samson escape and cowered in the dark swamp wallowing in fear and indecision. No, Toshi wouldn’t be pleased. Toshi, it seemed, was nearly always displeased about something. Itchi was supposed to have broken into Derrick James’s office and slipped out again without anyone knowing, but had been forced to kill James when the man had walked in suddenly. Toshi had called Itchi a careless oaf.

As a young man Itchi had been told he would be feared and respected as a Yakuza. At the moment, he felt only wet and hungry.

He stood, stretched his legs, and looked about. No path, no obvious way through the swamp and back to civilization. He made his way down to the river’s edge, looked across. If there’d been a house or something, Itchi would swim the river and make his way back to the hotel. He sca

The ancient gods, however, were occasionally merciful. That’s what Itchi’s grandmother had often told him and what he thought now when he saw the little inflatable dinghy hung up on a low branch and bobbing with the current.

He gleefully waded into the river up to his thighs, grabbed the side of the dinghy and heaved himself into it. He pulled the cord several times before ascertaining the little outboard was out of gas. Sometimes the ancient gods were not all they were cracked up to be. He dumped the outboard into the water, grabbed the paddle, and headed downriver.

The river seemed to stretch on forever, at least in comparison to last night’s quick journey in the speedboat. He stroked, fell into a rhythm. When he rounded the bend and saw the Je