Trouble in Paradise

"Yes. You think?"

"Yeah. It gets to where you can get in about twenty yards offshore and it's shallow enough to wade out."

"We let them get on the boat with the hostages, and we have a hairball," Jesse said.

"Like you don't have one now?" Doc said.

"Now we've got room to maneuver," Jesse said.

"Bad guys and hostages on a small boat in the open sea... ?" Jesse shook his head.

"You figure they're over on the other side, by the restaurant?"

Jencks said.

"Yes," Jesse said.

"That's where they were when they fired on the chopper."

"You don't want to go ashore there."

"No."

"Then we'll have to put you ashore where Snapper says."

"Can you swim?" Jencks asked.

"Yes."

"Good?" Doc asked him.

"Good enough."

"I hope so," Doc said.

SIXTY.

Marcy knew all of the hostages. Stiles Island was small, and those who worked there had a silent mutual contempt for those who lived there. The young blond woman who had been crying was Patty Moore. She was twenty-two and worked as a teller in the bank. The gray-haired woman who had comforted her was Agnes Till, the assistant manager. Patty was single, lived with her divorced mother in Paradise. Agnes was married with three grown children. She commuted to Stiles Island every day from Danvers. Judy, Mary Lou, and Pam were all tellers, all young, all white. Judy and Pam were married and childless. Mary Lou was a lesbian, though most people, including the Paradise Bank, didn't know it. She had spoken of it to Marcy once last spring at this bar on a Friday night after three Long Island iced teas. There were no black people on Stiles Island, residents or workers.

All of the women sat at two tables pushed together in the corner of the empty restaurant. They didn't talk. There was nothing to say. Patty Moore's eyes were still damp, but she had herself under enough control to be quiet. Marcy stared out the window and watched the early evening begin to darken the surface of the ocean.

Macklin was behind the bar. He took a shaker from under the bar and made some martinis. He held the shaker up.

"Crow?"

Crow shook his head.

"Ladies?"

No one answered. Macklin shook his head.

"Fine," he said.

"More for me."

He poured the martini through the spring strainer into a martini glass, rummaged under the bar, found a jar of olives, and added three to his drink. Then he raised it toward the group of women sitting close together and took a drink.

"Ahhh,"he said.

His movements were too quick, Marcy thought. And his jolliness was too forced, and there was something wrong with him. He'd been so calm when he'd come to the office and tied her up. He'd been-she thought about the right word-he'd been so contented when he'd arrived. Despite being his captive, or maybe because of it, she'd had a certain confidence in him to make this come out all right. Now he frightened her. She looked at Crow. He was unchanged. He was neither calm nor excited, not fast not slow, not kind not cruel. He seemed simply to be who he was.

Crow met her look.

"You're worried about Jimmy," he said.

She didn't answer.

"The fun part is over now for Jimmy," Crow said as if Macklin weren't there.

"All the pla

"What am I?" Macklin said.

"A fucking Lally column?"

"You know this is true, Jim," Crow said.

"You get to this point, job's done. All you got to do now is get out with the dough. And they might still get you before you do."

Crow turned his attention back to Marcy.

"That's what keeps him from crashing."

"Hey, Crow, maybe you could stop talking about me like I'm a fucking nut case? I know you're bad, but I'm sort of bad myself and you're starting to piss me off."

Crow smiled at Marcy.

"See?" he said.

"He's a danger freak."

Marcy didn't say anything. She didn't dare.

"You think I'm afraid of you, Crow?" Macklin said.

"This will go better, Jimmy," Crow said, "we don't get to shooting at each other."

Macklin poured himself another martini.

"You make-um heap good point," Macklin said and smiled widely at Marcy.

"Smart Indian, huh Marce?"

Marcy nodded very slightly, trying to be noncommittal.

"You ladies sure you won't drink something? Loosen up. You got to be here awhile, no reason not to enjoy it."

The frizzy-haired blond girl said, "I could have some white wine if you got some."

"Sure thing, blondie," Macklin said.

"Step right up here."

Still behind the bar, Macklin reached down and got a wine glass and set it on the bar. He took a bottle of California Chardo

"There you are, blondie."

Marcy knew the girl wished she hadn't asked. She hadn't realized she'd have to walk up there and get it. Separation from the group seemed frightening. She would, Marcy knew, feel isolated at the bar.

"I'll have a little wine," Marcy said.

It was as if she was listening to someone else's voice.

"That's the spirit, Marce," Macklin said.

She and Patty stood and walked together to the bar and took their wine.