What had seemed like something to be avoided moments ago now seemed like precious security, and I wormed my way into the deepest clump of brush. Almost instantly, I was tangled in greenery and torn by thorns. I tried to pull away from a plant that had attacked me and I backed painfully into a small and well-named saw palmetto. By the time I had pulled myself free, I was bleeding from several deep cuts on my arms and my shirt was torn. But complaining never does any good, and I was sure no one had thought to bring Band-Aids, so I kept crawling.
I inched forward through the underbrush, leaving several more small and valuable pieces of my flesh behind on the carnivorous bushes, until I got to the far edge of the little forest, where I hunkered down behind a fan of palmetto fronds and peeked out at the river. The water roiled as if a giant hand just under the surface had begun to swirl it into motion, and then it settled into a slow and steady stream, as if it were a real river instead of a circular pond.
And as I watched, the pride of Buccaneer Land, the terror of the seven seas, the wicked ship Vengeance floated into view and came to a stop at the ancient and rotting pier that jutted into the river on the bank, just below me and to my right. The water roiled again, settled down into a slow flow, and the Vengeance rocked ever so slightly but stayed in place at the dock. And although there was no sign of the ship's roguish crew, there was at least one passenger on board.
Tied securely to the mainmast was Samantha Aldovar.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Samantha did not look like the kind of passenger I had seen on board the Vengeance in my youth. Aside from having no cotton candy or souvenir pirate hat, she was slumped over, perhaps unconscious, maybe even dead, her weight hanging against the ropes. From my hiding spot on the small bluff, I had a decent view of most of the things on the deck. Next to Samantha stood a large black barbecue grill, with a thin column of smoke wafting up from under the cover. Beside it was a big five-gallon cooking pot on a stand, and a small table where several indistinct but familiar-looking objects gleamed sharply as they caught the light.
For a moment, nothing moved but the shredded half of the Jolly Roger flag on top of the mast. The deck was deserted, except for Samantha. But someone else had to be on board. In spite of a large fake wheel at the stern, I knew the boat was controlled from inside the cabin. There had also been a lounge in there, with a refreshment stand. Somebody must be down there, working the controls. But how many? Just Bobby Acosta? Or enough of his fellow cannibals to make things dicey for the good guys, who oddly enough included me tonight?
The flag flopped. A jet flew overhead, wheels down, coming in to land at Fort Lauderdale Airport. The boat rocked gently. And then Samantha rolled her head to one side, another anemic broadside puffed out from the cannons, and the cabin door thumped open. Bobby Acosta came out on deck with a scarf tied around his head and a very unpirate-ish Glock pistol held up high. "Whoo-hoo!" he yelled, and he fired two shots into the air as a small gaggle of happy-looking partygoers about his age, male and female, followed him out on deck. They were all dressed in pirate gear, and they all headed directly to the big cooking pot beside Samantha and began filling cups from it and chugging the contents.
And as they settled into their lighthearted and carefree amusement, I actually felt a tiny glimmer of hope blossom in my heart. There were five of them and only three of us, true, but they were clearly lightweights, and they were guzzling something I was quite sure was the intoxicating punch they liked so much. In a few moments they would be high, goofy, and no threat at all. Wherever the rest of the party might have gone, this bunch would be easy. The three of us could step out of cover and round them up. Deborah would have what she came for, we could sneak away and call for help, and Dexter could get back to reinventing normal life.
And then the cabin door opened again, and Alana Acosta slithered out on deck.
She was followed by the ponytailed bouncer from Fang, and three nasty-looking men carrying shotguns, and the world turned dim and dangerous once more.
I had known Alana was a predator from what the Dark Passenger had whispered as we stood beside her Ferrari. And now, seeing her here so clearly in command, I knew that my brother, Brian, had been right: The head of the coven was a woman, and it was Alana Acosta. And this was not merely her trap; it was also her invitation to dinner. And if I could not come up with something really clever, I was going to be on the menu.
Alana strode right to the rail, looked out into the park more or less between me and where I thought Deborah should be, and she called out, "Olly olly oxen free!" She turned and nodded at her posse, and they obligingly put the shotguns to Samantha's head. "Or else!" Alana yelled happily.
Clearly her bizarre yodel about oxen was some sort of British children's ritual, meant to summon everyone to come in: Game over, come to home base. But she must have thought we actually were children, and very dull children at that, if she supposed we would come obediently out of our hard-earned cover and trudge into her clutches. Only the rankest ninny would fall into that kind of stupidity.
And as I hunkered down for what I assumed would be a long game of cat and mouse, I heard a shout to my right, and a moment later, to my very great horror, Deborah came into view. She was apparently so obsessed with saving Samantha-again!-that she had not even spent two seconds thinking about the consequences of what she was doing. She simply sprang out of hiding, ran over to the ship, and raced up beside the pier to surrender. She stood there below me looking defiant, and then very deliberately she drew her pistol and dropped it to the ground.
Alana clearly enjoyed the performance. She went to stand closer, where she could gloat at Debs properly, and then turned and said something to the bouncer. A moment later he wrestled the decrepit boarding ramp over the side and thumped it down onto the dock.
"Come on up, dearie," Alana said to Deborah. "Use the ramp."
Deborah stood still and looked up at Alana. "Don't hurt that girl," she said.
Alana's smile grew huge. "But she wants us to hurt her; don't you see?" she said.
Deborah shook her head. "Don't hurt her," she repeated.
"Let's talk about that, shall we?" Alana said. "Come on aboard."
Deborah looked up at her and saw nothing but happy reptile. She dropped her head and trudged up the ramp, and a moment later two of the shotgun-toting lackeys grabbed her, jerked her arms behind her, and duct-taped them in place. A mean little voice in the back of my head suggested that this was only fair, since very recently she'd merely watched them as they did the same thing to me. But kinder thoughts emerged and shouted that one down, and I began to fret and scheme on how to get my sister loose.
Alana, of course, had no intention of allowing any such thing. She waited for a moment, looking out across the park, and then cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, "I'm quite sure your charming companion is out there somewhere!" She looked at Deborah, who stood with her head down, saying nothing. "We saw him at the carousel, dearie. Where is the bugger?" she said. Deborah didn't move. Alana waited for a moment with a smile of pleasant anticipation on her face, and then called out loudly, "Don't be bashful! We can't start without you!" I stayed where I was, frozen motionless among the thorns.
"Well, then," she called out cheerily. She turned and held out a hand, and one of the lackeys put a shotgun into it. For a moment I was torn by anxiety, and it was worse than the thorns. If she threatened to shoot Debs… But she was going to kill her anyway… and why should I let her kill me, too? But I couldn't let her hurt Debs Unconsciously I raised up my pistol. It was a very good pistol, extremely accurate, and from this distance I had about a twenty percent chance of hitting Alana. The odds of hitting Debs were just as good-or hitting Samantha, and as I thought that the pistol rose higher, all by itself.