Ben shrugged. “Why would I rip you off, Sonny? I never had to mention the gold in the first place. If it makes you feel better, I’ll work it a little at a time. Doesn’t matter to me.”
Considering Ben’s logic, Sonny relaxed.
While Dyze had never been a vocal detractor of Ben’s eccentric artistry, the old man had often radiated silent hints of nominy whenever Ben was around. Suddenly the assembled group got a fresh view of Dyze, the Ben Blackshaw booster. He said, “Lordy go to fire, Ben, we all been wondering why ye drudge so hard on the water when ye got such a gift, but there’s no telling ye nothing. You’re your pappy’s rock-headed boy all right. And that LuAnna don’t have a headpiece on her at all.”
Though not as flashy as pom-poms, hot pants and a halter top, from Dyze this counted as real encouragement in the sideways Smith Island syntax.
Art Bailey agreed. “It’s an idear. We could make a fair jag of it.”
Dyze said, “Ye really want to live in New York City?”
Ben smiled. “Oh hell no. But we’d have to lay low someplace after all this. Might as well be near the gallery as not. To mind the shop, so to speak. LuAnna and I would manage for the time it takes us to do the work. Manhattan’s just an island. And we know our way around islands, doncha know.”
Sam Nuttle said, “Hang on. This dog don’t hunt. About these fonny boys what kilt Hiram, and Charlene, and Ginger, what was the best damn gunning dog around. They come all this way, gone to all this trouble for six hunnerd thousand? It’s nothing to sneeze at, but …”
Ellis said, “Ben, I don’t think these gentlemen understand the full extent of the problem.”
All eyes turned to Ben for enlightenment. “I’m on it, Ellis. Sam’s right. Chalk didn’t come here for a bar of gold.”
Dyze smiled, scenting the truth. “Then why’s he here? What’s he really after?”
A voice from the stairwell. “I hope your pace-maker’s up to taking this kind of news, Lorton.”
It was LuAnna dressed in a spare change of clothes she kept at Ben’s. Baggy khakis, and a tent-like flannel shirt. A vision in L.L. Bean. She stood at the bottom of the stair. Her forehead was bandaged. Eyes blacked, she looked Dachau gaunt with a ghostly pallor lurking just below her tan. She leaned heavily against the wall. Mary Joyce and Kimba Mosby stood close behind their beloved survivor in case she fainted. LuAnna looked at Ellis, who lowered his eyes, then at Ben. He nodded she might as well get on with it. She caught Ben’s look and, like Ellis, realized that these neighbors could be as dangerous as outsiders when it came to staggering plunder.
She spoke cautiously, not yet revealing all the facts ’til she better understood the mood of the crowd. “Ben says that happy little bar was in a box. And in that box, there weren’t eleven more bars just like it.”
The grin stamped in the gold was now mirrored in all the faces of the Councilmen.
CHAPTER 35
Chalk was glad to have made it to land alive. The skiff was a leaking nightmare, but his hunch was paying off. He and Slagget waited, and watched, as the black inflatable skimmed across a heaving Tangier Sound to the secluded boat landing on the Eastern Shore. The crew climbed out and stood in the chilly water, positioning the bucking inflatable to winch onto the trailer behind a matte black Chevy Suburban.
At a signal from Chalk, Slagget opened fire. A staccato buzzing sawed from behind the inflatable’s team, jittering the tall weeds by the landing ramp’s edge. A man pitched forward across the boat, bounced off the sponson, flopped into the water and sank.
The buzzing ripped forth again. Another man’s chest bloomed red. He went down. Thrashed weakly, stirring up mud. The inflatable’s captain dived for the water.
“Down!” The captain’s voice was shrill, shaking. “Fan out! Take cover!”
The rest of the team dived into the cold water like kids at the end of Adult Swim. Their eyes scanned wildly for the invisible enemy. They drew pistols. The leader fired a few rounds blind into the storm.
Chalk waited while the intruders lay in the water, letting the cold soften them up for what he had in mind. One man was still on dry land, stretched behind the Suburban’s left rear tire with a grazed leg. A corpse from the first volley floated up out of the water next to the leader who grabbed it and pulled it close as a shield. The body had absorbed at least one round already. Why not a few more for the cause?
Interesting, thought Chalk. Resourceful. He spoke up. “This is going to sound corny as hell but no shit, we’ve got you all surrounded. You know the drill. Throw down your weapons. Drop them in the water right now. It doesn’t have to get any worse than it already is.”
One of the intruders, momentarily torn between homicide and a martyr’s suicide, yelled, “Allahu-Akbar!” He fired two rounds into the weeds across the landing. Behind him, Slagget’s shotgun barked. A hole the size of a Ruby Red opened in the intruder’s back. The man rolled, lay still.
Chalk shouted, “I hope you cocksuckers habla the Inglés! Surrounded means you should damn well do what I say. Capisch? Anybody!”
The leader spoke softly, “Who are you?”
Chalk smiled. “A broad!” Then louder, “Baby, my name’s Legion, for we are many. But you can call me Maynard. Now drop them! And I’m not talking about your knickers. At least not yet.”
The woman hunkering in the cold water tried to buy time. “How do I know you won’t kill us all?”
Chalk spoke again. “You don’t know, sugar-tit. I could be lying. I do it all the time. For damn sure the four of you will croak from the cold there in the water if you don’t drop your goddamn weapons, raise your hands, and stand up! Don’t get me wrong. I can wait. Ammo’s expensive. I’m already looking at serious cost overruns on this gig. Got to trim where I can. Up to you.”
The woman scanned around her. Her squad-mates waited for some kind of orders, eyes darting with terror. One of her men crouched low in the water near a floating body. The dying soldier’s eyes were half-open, like a man half asleep, three-quarters stoned, or ninety-nine percent status-asparagus. Chalk watched her appraise her situation, calculate her team’s readiness for more fight, and the dawning realization her men were useless and helpless.
Chalk called out, “What’s it going to be, sister? I got a Thermos full of black coffee here. Lot’s of sugar in it, and none of that damn cheese they go for in these parts, I swear. We all want the same thing. We should talk this through. Get together. Ideate. Synergize!”
The woman shivered, said, “I can hear you well enough.”
Chalk spoke again. “You got brass ones, baby, I’ll give you that. What’s your name?”
After a moment, “Tahereh.”
Chalk said, “Tahereh. A lovely name. Goes with your very sexy voice. Are you very sexy?”
Chalk enjoyed watching the woman blush hot even as she froze to death. He went on. “Here’s how I see things shaping up, Tahereh. And I’d rather not be shouting our business back and forth in public like this, but that’s life I guess. Anyhoo, there’s the matter of some gold.”
Tahereh said, “What gold?”
Chalk paused for a moment, then spoke again. “Sorry, Tahereh. Just pouring a cup of coffee. Damn tasty if I do say so. Sweet! Sure you won’t have some? It’s dee-licious.”
Tahereh said nothing. Her lips were turning blue. Her teeth chattered, and no amount of clenching would stop it. She said, “What gold, Maynard? What are you talking about?”
Chalk said, “Look, let’s not play stupid, okay hon? You know what gold. And you know about the device for that matter. I’m guessing that’s what you were buying when my delivery boy went on walkabout. Am I right, or am I right?”