Blackwater Sound

‘How about my name?’ Arnold said. ‘You happen to let that slip?’

Brandy pressed her lips together, fluttering her lashes. It was probably how she’d gotten out of trouble in the past. But it wasn’t working with Arnold.

‘You did, didn’t you? You told them my fucking name.’

Brandy gave a guilty nod.

‘Jesus God,’ Arnold said. ‘You fucking idiots.’

Lawton slid his hand inside the box and pressed both buttons at once. The hum deepened. It sounded like a tuning fork held close to the ear. Lawton could feel his knee joints buzzing.

Across the room the television made a pop and went black.

At the bar, the two men with cell phones jerked them away from their ears. One man tapped his phone against his palm, then pressed it against his ear again. He shrugged and set the thing on the bar. The bartender was fiddling with the remote, trying to get the TV on again. The Christmas lights twinkling along the top shelf of liquor bottles had gone out.

Arnold grabbed Lawton’s wrist and pulled his hand out of the box.

‘Aw, shit, Lawton, what’d you do?’

‘Nothing.’

Arnold looked across the room at the dead television.

Then he snatched the blueprint off the table and slid it into the envelope. He prodded Lawton with his knee and the old man slid out of the booth, and Arnold got out after him.

‘Wait a minute,’ the kid said. ‘Let’s talk about this like adults. Nothing’s changed. Not really.’

‘The fuck it hasn’t.’

Brandy was looking at the blank television.

‘That’s what it does? It turns off televisions?’

Arnold stood there a moment staring at the two of them.

‘Peretti, you’re overreacting, man.’

Arnold headed for the door. Lawton padded behind him, lugging the box.

Outside in the daylight, Arnold halted and took the box out of Lawton’s hands. Overhead a jetliner was roaring into a thin spray of clouds, lifting off, heading east out toward the Atlantic.

Lawton said, ‘So what is this thing, some kind of ray gun?’

Arnold looked at him for a second or two.

‘Yeah, I guess that’s what it is. Yeah, a ray gun.’

‘What’s the range on this baby?’

‘Now that’s the question, isn’t it? That’s the million-dollar question.’

Lawton glanced up at the rumbling sky, then back at his friend.

‘All right,’ Arnold said. ‘Come on, old buddy. I need to get you home.’

‘You said we were going fishing.’

‘Plans’ve changed,’ Arnold said. ‘You and I, we’re going to have to keep our heads down for a while, Lawton. Not have any contact.’

Lawton followed Arnold over to the Bertram. Printed in gold letters across the stern was the boat’s name: You Bet Your Ass.

Arnold climbed aboard and Lawton loosened the lines from the dock cleats and tossed them over the rail to Arnold. Arnold grabbed them and let them fall at his feet. He didn’t coil them like he usually did. He just let them lie there, in a mad tangle on the deck.

6 (#ulink_18a51fb3-786a-52cd-a548-c6f0d02bbee5)

Arnold slipped the box into the cockpit storage locker. He dug out the ignition keys and handed them to Lawton, then turned and lifted his eyes and watched the laughing gulls spinning over Neon Leon’s, a few of them diving down at the roof shrieking as though whatever had turned off the television had also driven them insane.

‘I got to use the head, get rid of this beer. I’ll be up top in a minute.’

‘It’s true, isn’t it, Arnold? I used to arrest you?’

‘Yes, it’s true.’

‘Why was that? You a dope peddler?’

‘No, it wasn’t dope, Lawton. I never dabbled in dope.’

He turned and gave Arnold a long look. ‘Don’t tell me you were a professional killer.’

Arnold patted him on the shoulder. ‘You get us a little downstream, I’ll be right up.’

‘We going fishing, catch some dolphin?’

‘Not today, Lawton. I need to get you back, safe and sound. I’ll stick around till Alexandra gets home, then I got a couple of things I gotta attend to. We’ll go fishing soon as this thing gets cleared up. I promise.’

‘Don’t worry about your boat. Go on, take a piss. You can trust me.’

‘I know I can.’

‘Hey, Arnold, is this guy Braswell trying to kill us?’

‘No, Lawton. Braswell went over to the Bahamas. He’s hanging out in Marsh Harbor, trying to locate a blue marlin. No, we’re fine. We’re just dandy.’