"I want to go over dead," Groiter said at last. "Get me square between the eyes, from up close."
Corey laughed. "You know I almost forgot something. I have something to show Kenji, but first I gotta go tweak the autopilot a few degrees to miss the outer buoy." When Corey returned, she held a photograph. "Mr. Kim Lee had rather cleverly hid this under the leather of his Gucci briefcase." She held it in the light in front of Kenji; it was obvious he didn't like what he saw. "I took the liberty of sending it to the cops."
"Wanna see, bitch? You might be interested in this."
Corey held it in front of Maria's nose like an excited child with a secret. Effortlessly Corey used a strong arm to turn Maria's body so that the halogens hit the picture square. It was a woman's nude and headless corpse and stuffed between her legs was a man's decapitated head, his mouth open as if in a scream. Maria's stomach turned.
"See, on those thighs, that TS tattooed on either side of that rose stem? That's because those thighs are dedicated to one Tom Swanson. And that's because those are the thighs of one Catherine Swanson. And that head came off the photographer who supposedly killed her. But if he killed her and fled the scene, how can it be that his head is between her thighs? Groiter here took the picture just in case he ever had boss trouble."
Corey got in Kenji's face.
"Now, how did the lady lose her head? It seems that she had been blowing Kenji, and Groiter wasn't positive he could get every molecule of cum out of her mouth. All kinds of nasty new DNA tests, you know."
"I want a knife," Kenji said.
"Oh, this isn't what I think it is? That hara-kiri thing?" Corey laughed. "We get to watch while you spill your guts on the deck? Is that it?"
"I want a knife."
"This I gotta see," Corey said. "Too bad Janet isn't here. You wanna slit your guts too, like your boss?"
Groiter didn't dignify her with a response.
Corey stepped into the boat's galley behind the wheel-house and returned with a long, thin-bladed knife for filleting fish.
"This do?"
Kenji nodded.
"Let's see what you got, Jap. Impress us with your cojones."
She set the knife at his feet and stepped back quickly with the gun leveled at him. Kenji stooped and retrieved the knife. "I need my hands," he said, holding them out. Warily she unlocked the shackles.
Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt, each button made to seem special. Then he removed the garment and deliberately laid it over the rail. Staring into the distance as if he were alone, with both hands wrapped around the handle, he poised the knife in front of the left side of his belly. He waited.
Maria felt her throat constrict. "Please don't."
His eyes betrayed nothing-it was as if she hadn't spoken. In an instant he raised the knife and with all his strength drove it to its hilt, then pulled it across his belly, making a wound that gaped like a grotesque smile. There was a slight sound-like slop in a bucket. Intestines started to spill as he dropped the knife. Blood poured out, but not a sound escaped his lips. Kenji began to fall when Corey jumped, throwing her shoulder into the bloody mess as if she were desperate to get him over. He toppled with a splash, the force of the water on his shoulders dragging the concrete over the side. In a second or two he was gone, leaving only a crimson ribbon.
"Jesus Christ. He had balls after all." Corey carefully cleaned the knife on his abandoned shirt, then tied a lead weight to the garment and dropped it over. The knife she put behind her in the waistband of her pants.
"Shoot me in the head point-blank," Groiter said.
This final, last-ditch effort at escape was pathetically obvious. Maria was certain that Groiter wasn't fooling Corey. Groiter would try to grab the gun. But Corey appeared willing to play the game. For Corey it would be one last torture, a chance to snuff the tiny spark of hope that still remained.
She pointed the gun at his forehead. "Come on, asshole. Give it your best shot." One step at a time, Corey got closer, baiting him until the barrel was just two feet from his nose.
Quite predictably, he grabbed for the gun. Maria actually saw Corey's finger pull. Nothing. Horror crossed Corey's face in the split second she realized there would be no bullet.
Jerking on the gun with the brute strength of utter desperation, Groiter sent Corey hurtling toward the rear corner of the fishing platform. Instinctively, she saved herself from going overboard, grabbing the only thing in sight-an upright piece of pipe bolted to the deck, known as a downrigger. Swinging around the heavy metal, she jumped back into the boat and hit Groiter's hands with a well-aimed kick. The gun stayed in his grip, but the blow from her foot knocked him off balance. For a moment he windmilled his arms to stay upright. Finally, he squatted, flicked off the safety, and fired-but it was too late. Corey had darted around the deckhouse.
The rapid turn of events gave Maria cause for slightly more hope. Neither of her enemies was clearly in charge. She struggled with her bonds, knowing that if she could get to the wheel she might also have currency for negotiation. If she could turn the boat around in the face of a standoff, she might not even be required to negotiate. Groiter for the moment ignored her, concentrating instead on Corey.
Quickly Maria looked around and spied a sharp gaff hanging by its handle on the back of the deckhouse. The curved point was six inches off the deck. It would serve to jam into the knots that bound her wrists. With great effort she began to inch her body to the instrument.
Corey clenched the anchor chain and ground her jaw in rage. Hunkering down behind the large anchor windlass near the bow, she tried to seize upon the obvious solution. There wasn't one. They were passing through the coastal shipping area to San Francisco without a radar reflector in the fog.
The pair of Perkins 4-108 diesels droned quiet and smooth. The front hatch was battened down. Food and fresh water were below but inaccessible to all of them. Groiter had his concrete boots on, and if she moved, he would kill her. That left only the hog-tied Fischer bitch.
Perhaps she could get him when he dozed off. But most likely that would take a while. Throwing things might work, but he had seven shots remaining and could shoot when she rose to throw. If she were able to physically outlast him, she could take the gun when he fell unconscious.
As if reading her mind, Groiter spoke. "Hey, I'll shoot holes in the bottom if I have to."
"Let's talk, Groiter." Corey closed her eyes and tried to relax. She sighed and took deep breaths. Fear of something she could only barely define seized her. Maybe she was wrong.
It was nearing sunrise; they were miles out at sea now. Maria watched Groiter squatting in obvious pain, fighting to stay conscious.
For Maria there was only one means of deliverance. She had to free herself or she would die. Although the gaff was potentially helpful, she couldn't get the critical knots over the point. Attempting to loosen her wrists in order to complete the maneuver entailed pulling taut the loop around her throat. Now she felt the circulation being restricted in nauseating light-headedness with every effort. She didn't know how many times she had tried to lift the knots over the point of the gaff and failed.
By now she was desperate and prepared to risk strangling herself. Mustering her energy, she lifted both her wrists and her head, trying to get the knots positioned over the gaff. The rope bit into her neck and she wanted to gag, but she persisted. At last she got the point wedged into the knot. But now there was constant tension on her neck. Feverishly she worked at the knots, pulling the outer knot down over the point. She fought the urge to gag and panic.