Larry turned to Von Joel, who was slowly strolling up the gangplank. He wafted his hand to signal the crew to begin to lift anchor, and the chains began their slow, uneasy turn. As he stepped onto the deck, Charlotte called for the gangplank to be drawn up. They were on their way.
Larry was being drawn down into the cabin area by Lola. He never even saw Von Joel deftly remove the gun that had been tucked into the back of his trousers. Ever cautious, he would have, if it had been necessary, killed Larry, just as he had killed the man who had brought him the deposit key all those years ago, a man that Von Joel had trusted, who had suddenly started wanting more than the share they had agreed. He had no idea Von Joel was going to split it fifty-fifty. He had been welcomed on board, had even had a few glasses of champagne with Von Joel before they had strolled up onto the deck, stood looking out over the dark, still waters. Nothing in Von Joel’s manner had given the slightest indication of his intentions. When he had unhooked the guard rail, there had been a moment of dread, terror even. They were miles out, but he thought that having the key still on him meant that he was safe. He had been wrong. Von Joel simply kicked his feet from under him, and as he floundered in the water, had stood watching.
“For Christ’s sake, Eddie, get me up. I got the fuckin’ key. You can’t get the money without it... Get me out... I got the key.”
Von Joel had turned away, walked to the bow of the boat, and sat, listening to the man thrashing around. He didn’t care if he drowned, or if he got the safe-deposit box key back. It wasn’t the money that concerned him, it was the fact that he had trusted this man, like a brother, and he had betrayed him.
When the cries subsided, Von Joel put on a rubber suit and aqua lungs and dived in. He found the body, even searched it, but if he had the key on him, it had dropped way down, fathoms down. It was while he was in the water that Von Joel slipped his own wristwatch onto the dead man’s wrist, emptied his pockets, and then returned to the boat. The body was washed up two weeks later, but he had never identified it, never visited the morgue. By that time the sharks would have had a good go at the man, hopefully not chewing off his arm, with the wristwatch inscribed to “Eddie Myers with love from his wife Moyra.” It had been good night, Eddie, good-bye, Eddie, and Philip Von Joel set out for Marbella... He was setting sail again now. He’d have to change his name, keep on the move. He had a few encumbrances, too, now, such as Jackson and the two girls.
He had to bend his head slightly to enter the cabin. The throb of the engines had started. The boat swayed as the water churned and frothed like the champagne Lola already had open. She was filling four glasses to the brim. She passed one to Charlotte, another to Larry, and lifted her own at the same time Von Joel reached for his. Larry was about to say something, a toast perhaps, but Lola tapped his arm. It was a tiny gesture, but an indication that they were not equals, and Larry was onto it fast. He kept his glass lifted, his eyes met and held Von Joel’s.
“To us, to the future, no regrets, no betrayals...” It was not done with a flourish, a relish even. Von Joel’s voice was husky, and solemn. He looked first at Charlotte, then to Lola, and lastly to Larry. Only then did he raise the champagne glass to his lips, only then did he laugh that infectious, wonderful gut laugh that had stayed in the mind of a young, eager police officer, a laugh that the same police officer, now a sergeant, had recognized all those years later. Larry had known instantly that he was right. The man calling himself Philip Von Joel was in actual fact the supposedly dead Edward “Eddie” Myers.
“You’ll have to do somethin’ about that laugh, Eddie... It’s very distinctive...”