Big fish, p.7
Big Fish, page 7
They lifted the body and carried it down to the beach. Bucky's feet seemed to sink deep into the sand at each step and then to slip backward as he pushed off, so the harder his legs worked, the more slowly he seemed to move. At last he said, "Let's put him down for a second. My arms are killing me."
They set the body on the sand and Bucky gasped for breath.
Ahmeyer said, "Rest for a few minutes while I'm gone. And lie down next to him. If anybody sees you you're two drunks looking up at the stars and telling your life stories. If you're standing up and he's not, it looks wrong." He set the knapsack on the sand.
Bucky sat down, his legs feeling light. "Where are you going?"
"I saw a few boats they rent down there by the main building." He started down the beach.
Bucky stood up and staggered two steps after him. "Wait. I'll go too."
Altmeyer chuckled. "He can't hurt you." He went back and placed the knapsack like a pillow under the dead man's head, then set off for the hotel.
"This could be a little tough," said Altmeyer. "The only tools I've got are that moron's knife and the crimper we used for the cotton bales."
Bucky was silent, following Altmeyer along the beach below the hotel. When they approached the building, Altmeyer kept to the shadows under the high concrete foundation that stretched up to the ground level where white stucco walls began and the brightly lighted windows faced the ocean. Only an hour ago they'd been on the other side of those windows, Bucky thought. He tried to remember how much of the beach he'd been able to see. He remembered the dark ocean and a straight white ribbon of surf, but he hadn't really been looking. He'd been thinking about the food, and about all the money that was going to come when the ship reached Yokohama, because at that moment all the work, and all the risk, would be over.
Altmeyer was already standing over a row of small boats pulled up on the sand beneath the wall. Bucky could see a heavy chain attached with a padlock to a metal ring embedded in the concrete. Altmeyer examined it closely, then followed
the chain with his hands as it ran through another metal ring at the bow of each boat.
Bucky stood behind him, wondering what to do, feehng time passing. Beyond the row of closed windows above him the mariachi band was playing the same monotonous song. It was muffled, as though it were coming from a distance. Alt-meyer was lying on his back inside one of the boats now, peering up under the small wooden foredeck. Bucky saw him reach into his pocket for the crimper, then watched his body stiffen in some kind of exertion, then relax again. After a time Altmeyer eased himself back and sat up on the seat, holding a nut in his hand, then putting it in his pocket. He moved to the boat beside it and repeated the process, this time more quickly. Altmeyer stood up and walked to the bow of the first boat and slowly pulled the long ring bolt out of the prow, keeping the chain from clanking, and freed the second boat.
He whispered to Bucky, "Okay, the oars are under the seats. Push it over there along the wall before you head for the water so you're not under the windows."
Bucky pushed the boat a few yards, Altmeyer behind him pushing the other in his tracks. When they reached the end of the wall, Bucky stopped and sat on the boat's transom to rest. Altmeyer joined him and leaned on the bow of his boat.
"This isn't too bad if you can hold out," Altmeyer whispered. "A few more yards and we can load up and go down to the water."
"I wish you'd picked the aluminum boats," Bucky said. "This thing feels like it's full of rocks."
"Aluminum won't do," said Altmeyer. "Let's get going."
Bucky pushed the boat down the beach, aware only of the gritty, hissing sound it made as it moved over the sand. It reminded him of something he couldn't quite place. He closed his eyes, thinking how little difference it made in the dark, and the sound came back to him. It was pushing his sled in the snow when he was a child. His hands were on the shoulders
of someone—maybe his brother Walter—and he was leaning forward slightly as he pushed. He opened his eyes and saw there was something ahead of the boat. It was on the ground, horizontal. With alarm he stopped pushing and stepped aside. "Wait," he said. "That's him."
Altmeyer caught up. He walked over and retrieved the knapsack, then grasped the body by the arms and dragged it to the boat. "Give me a hand." They hoisted the body over the gunwale and then stood facing one another. For the first time, Bucky realized Altmeyer was breathing heavily and slouching too.
Bucky said, "I still like aluminum boats better."
Altmeyer shook his head. "Come on. It's nearly one thirty. I'll take the passenger ship, you take the other one. Row straight out to sea. Keep your eyes on the hotel lights, and make sure you don't get more than ten feet ahead of me. If we lose sight of each other out there we're in trouble."
Bucky pushed his boat to the edge of the surf, then straight into a wave that lifted it free of the sand, and sprawled over the transom as the stern rose under him. The wave's backwash drew the boat outward as he crawled toward the center seat, bumping his knee on an invisible strut. He struggled to fit the first oar into the oarlock, and the next wave wrenched it backward out of his hands. Then he remembered to set the fiat of the oar inside the boat before he worked on the other. When both oars were set he was already drifting broadside, and the next wave washed over onto his lap, the cold water causing a spasm in his lungs like a sob. But with the first pull of the oars he was heading seaward, and he sailed into the next wave without difficulty. He pulled three times, and then he was out of the surf in water that rolled gently in long, slow swells. As he rowed he could feel the boat surge forward and glide, and beyond the transom the black water eddied and bubbled in his wake. He looked around and saw Altmeyer rowing easily beside him.
They rowed for a time, and then Bucky looked at his watch. It was two o'clock. He glanced to the side and saw
I
Altmeyer rowing steadily and methodically, and Bucky rowed harder to remain abreast of him.
The next time Bucky looked at his watch it was because he was having difficulty seeing the lights of the hotel. It was dark enough now so the radium dial of his watch was brighter than he remembered seeing it. The air was different, too. He was shivering with cold, and there was a strong breeze that seemed to come from the land beyond the hotel, but had none of the warmth of the places where people lived. It was harsh and alien, and he thought of it as the wind outside the window of an airplane.
He said, "Altmeyer," but his voice seemed so quiet he could hardly hear it. "Altmeyer!" he shouted, putting up his oars.
Altmeyer rowed up beside him, their oars nearly touching as they rose and dipped on the slow, rolling swells. "Well?" said Altmeyer. "You still okay?"
"It's damned near two thirty, and I can hardly see the lights on shore. Isn't it deep enough here?"
"Sure," said Altmeyer. "I was thinking something like that myself. Give me a minute and I'll take care of our friend." He stepped aft in his boat, tinkering with something, then called, "Okay, come alongside so I can get aboard."
Altmeyer climbed in beside Bucky and took the starboard oar. "Let's see if we can get back in time to get some sleep," he said.
Bucky rowed for several minutes, then said, "Won't they find him?"
"No. Feel the wind? It's going to push him out to sea for the next couple of hours."
"Then what?"
"Hell, you gave me the idea. You said he looked like a Viking. At four thirty when nobody can see the smoke and he's out to sea, his firebomb goes off and gives him a Viking funeral. Whoever he was, he's getting a first-rate send-off."
They rowed together, matching the rhythm of their long, methodical strokes. The offshore wind made a low whistle now as it streamed down from the mountains and skimmed the surface of the ocean flat on its way out of the bay.
*'It's going to be hot tomorrow," Altmeyer said. "The wind is right out of the desert, even if it doesn't feel that way now."
Bucky rowed quietly for awhile, then said, "This whole thing feels awful. It's like when I was a kid and the other kids were doing something, so I did it too. Like stealing things from stores. As soon as I was in the door I couldn't remember how I got into it, and I felt like I was going to throw up, and I wished I hadn't agreed to it. I've felt like that since you came to my party. It keeps getting worse. I'm not cut out for it."
He heard Altmeyer chuckle in the darkness. "You might go years without this kind of thing happening, if you were careful. Most of the time it's like any other business."
"I'm scared. Really scared. You're never scared. I don't know why, but it doesn't matter. There's us and them, and you're them. I'm the only us."
Altmeyer said, "What happens is that you get scared enough times to get tired of yourself. The first few times, you find yourself pleading with God. 'If I can just get through this I promise I'll never get myself in trouble again. Just this once.' "
"That's how I feel right now."
"Sure. The thing is, after a few times it starts to sound stupid. You know you're full of shit. Not later, after it's over and you're home in bed, but while you're saying it, your voice sounds like it doesn't even belong to you."
Suddenly Bucky heard the waves breaking on the beach. He looked over his shoulder at the hotel. It wasn't just a few lights in the distance now, but a dark, sprawling shape above the surf. Bucky and Altmeyer rowed hard to keep the boat before the waves until the keel plowed the sand, then they both climbed out and quickly hauled the boat onto the beach. Neither spoke as they pushed the boat back into its place
among the others. Altmeyer fitted the ring bolt back into the bow and replaced the nut while Bucky carefully slipped the oars under the seats.
They walked together in a meandering course along the track their boat had left on the beach, letting their feet dig deep and kick sprays of sand across the grooves from the keel and boards. At first they moved slowly and purposefully, but as they neared the water's edge they began to trot, to kick the sand into piles. Bucky ran back and forth across the trail, then tripped and rolled a few feet, pushing the cool sand at the surface aside to feel the warmth beneath, and below that, the damp, close-packed frigid layer, like a foundation.
He lay still for a moment, feeling the muscles of his back and shoulders aching from the exertion. Altmeyer passed him, and Bucky sat up and pushed himself to his feet, then followed. The breeze was warmer and gentler here, with a smell of plants. He walked behind Altmeyer across the lawn to the bungalow, brushing the sand off his clothes.
Altmeyer whispered, "Come in for a minute," as he swung the door open.
Rachel was sitting on the bed, still dressed for dinner, her back straight and her arms folded. The room was dimly lit, but Bucky could see that it had been carefully cleaned and the suitcases were packed.
Rachel said, "Okay?"
Altmeyer said, "Fine." He glanced at his watch and went into the bathroom. "The old Buccaneer came through for me."
Rachel walked to the sideboard and poured Bucky a glass of something that looked to him like Scotch. "Drink this, old Buckwheat. You're soaked to the skin. It'll help."
Bucky took the glass with both hands and swallowed some, feeling the warmth move down his throat into his belly.
Rachel was already filling two more glasses. Bucky glanced at the bed, the bedspread still smooth and tight. She hadn't even lain down, he thought. The only sign that anyone had even been in the room was the pillow tossed carelessly
beside the place where Rachel had been sitting. He looked more closely, and he could see the butt of a pistol like the ones they'd shipped today, the knurled black handgrip just visible beneath the pillow. It looked too big for her hand.
He said, "You're both over it, aren't you?"
"What?" said Rachel.
"Being afraid."
"Oh," she said. "You're never over it. Even Altmeyer is scared. What you get over is being surprised. It's not much. It's no comfort or anything, but it gives you a Httle edge. You don't spend a lot of time recovering from being startled, thinking about how you got into trouble, whether there's something you should do or some way you can avoid doing it."
"That's all?" Bucky gulped more Scotch.
Rachel nodded. "When he comes in here he's going to want to be hugged and fawned over, because it's over and he's alive and I'm aHve. That's what he gets out of it, and it's what I get out of it too. We get to be scared together after it's over."
Altmeyer opened the door and entered the room wearing a bathrobe. He walked slowly, and rolled his right shoulder a few times as though he were trying to detect a stiffness in the joint. Then he picked up the glass Rachel had left on the sideboard and lifted it toward each of them before he drank.
Altmeyer stood at the rear door of the van and watched the customs man scan the flat, empty floor, then nod once. "Got anything to declare in the suitcase?"
"Not today."
"Okay," said the customs man, and gave a wave of his hand that meant both close the door and go away, and stepped back to judge the next vehicle's potential for carrying contraband.
Altmeyer climbed back into the driver's seat and started the engine, then joined the traffic that streamed away from the border onto the highway. "Too bad about this, Bucky," he said. "Business isn't usually this strenuous."
"I can hardly lift my arms. I also managed to get exactly twelve minutes of sleep, one at a time."
Altmeyer drove on in silence, over a set of railroad tracks and past a row of whitewashed shops, then turned a corner marked with a freeway sign. "Well, you've done your part, and when I get back we'll all forget the worst of it."
"I always wanted somethmg not to tell my grandchildren about," Bucky said. After a moment he added, "Get back from where?"
"Japan," Altmeyer answered. "The ship can't make Yokohama in less than eleven days, so I've got a few days to rest up, and still be there long enough to get used to the time zone before I have to do anything."
"Can't your men there take care of things?"
"Men?" Altmeyer grinned. "I don't have any men. What do you think I am, Robin Hood?"
"You had people in Ensenada, people on the ship. You don't have anybody in Japan?"
Rachel sighed. "Altmeyer doesn't employ people, he just corrupts them on a per diem basis. These people aren't his loyal minions, just independent entrepreneurs he knows."
Altmeyer said, "The guy in Ensenada owns the warehouse, or his brother does, anyway. The captain of the ship just doesn't mind picking up a few extra bucks by loading things in a different order from what it says on the manifest. He still ends up with fifty bales of cotton when he lands."
Bucky tried to shrug, but winced from the pain. "I suppose it keeps your payroll down."
"Why are we going to Japan, by the way?" asked Rachel. "That wasn't the original deal."
Altmeyer didn't move his eyes from the road, but now his voice was apologetic. "I'm sorry, baby, but I'm the only one who's going this time. It wasn't the original deal, but I'd say we have to see what we can salvage out of the new deal."
"I'm going," said Rachel. "You know I am, so it would be foolish to spend a lot of time arguing."
"No."
Thai iTs aU settled. Well gst a suite in the Impenal Hold, rigltt above the Emperor's Palace.''
This is vefy dutrmng/' said Bticky. It makes yoa both '3foiilli6ir is probabfy tlie teniL But what are you talk-
**W§ just AUn^er hein; himsdf. The Self-Made Baby. His voice even gsU deeper when he's in this mood, did yoo nolioeT'
'^o^ Altmeyer said distincdy,
IXio't itttemtpL"* Radid turned to face Bucky. lie's foing to need nqr help, and so he's goii^ to have to take it But he won't do it unless he's satis6ed that he didn't ask for it and that I convinced him. He also win spend some time tiyinf to scare me to death at whaf s going to happetL"
''What is going to happen?"
Alimeyef ssad^ I'm not sure, to tdl you the truth. That gi^ last ni^ wasn't a burglar. He was just plain trying to kin us in the easiest way, without having to take any chances,"
1 don't know anydnng about your business, but you most have made a lot of oiemies over the yeais. Evetyfoody has competitors, even ones he doesn't know abom
Aluneytr shook his head. The first rule of tins trade is that you dco't make any enemies. Any competitor would have hit tis at anodier time, when we had the money or the guns, U he knew we were in the trade he'd know that sooner or later we^d have either cash or merdiandise. Besides, nobody followed us there. I was careful about that"
**It doesn't sotmd conclusive," said Bucky. ''Obviotisly they found us, whether you saw them or not"
'^o, Bucky," said Rachel *^What he's saying i% that it had to be somdxMly who knew in advance where we were going, and that means they knew about this deal. He's right,"
*nVhyr
**Beczme they knew where we were, and what they were going to do about it, but they couldn't have followed m — couldn't even have seen us."
"How can you ten?"
^'Because they didn't try to kill you," said Altmeyer.
"Oh." Bucky stared out the window. For several minutes he said nothing. Finally he said, "I see. We're not going to get paid."
"It's nearly two million dollars," said Rachel. "It's probably worth going over to ask."
LOS ANGELES
T
4 4 ^^ ■ ' hey X-ray everything from the side, like this," said Altmeyer. moving the edge of his hand along an imaginan' conveyor. 'It comes in from the plane on a lusease carrier and thev scan it as it eoes through. Some things you can arrange so they throw a silhouette on the machine that doesn't look familiar, but then you still have the chance that they'll take your suitcase apart looking for drugs or absurd amounts of money or whatever. And at Narita they keep moving the metal detectors."
"So you gave up." said Bucky. ''A wise choice.'' He fondled his empty glass. "I prefer to hve of! the land, myself."
