'Oh, we haven't been very sociable so far. Some chick came around earlier but we were all still in bed. Had a few drinks ourselves last night.' He grinned ruefully. 'More than a few.' The guy turned a little friendlier. 'Hey, you wanna drink?'
'Sure. Why not?'
'Then step aboard, my friend. Step aboard the Baby Doc.''
This was better than Dave could have hoped for. He leaped onto the rooftop alongside the tattooed guy and followed him down to the deck. He said, 'Baby Doc. What was this, the Duvalier family yacht or something?'
'Nope. Guy who owns her runs some kind of fertility clinic in Geneva. Makes a shitload of money out of women who can't have any babies. And other gynecological odds and ends. I don't think he'd ever heard of the Duvalier family or the Tonton Macoutes. Fact is I don't think he even knew that Haiti existed. Not until he started to sail it around the Caribbean.' The guy laughed and handed Dave a cold Bud. 'Found out soon enough then, of course. He's planning to refurbish her in Europe. Gonna rename her at the same time, I think. If he's got any sense. Dumb fucker.'
Dave grinned and looked around the shabby interior, wondering how much money might be concealed inside the worn leather furniture. Two big sofas and two matching easy chairs. The rest of the lounge looked suitably clinical. Like a rest room for the guys on E.R. They'd worked the story well enough and certainly picked the right boat. The guy, who told Dave his name was Keach, hadn't exaggerated. A complete refurbishment was what the Baby Doc needed. And ripping out the interior furnishings would cause no great expense.
Dave took his beer and dropped onto the sofa, hoping he might witness some discomfort under his ass or on Reach's face. The sofa felt firm enough. Maybe too firm at that. More like an office chair than a comfortable sofa. The stitching on the old leather looked a little too pristine. Like it was new. As if someone had stitched something up inside the leather. Money. Meanwhile Reach's face, with its puffy eyes
-- like he'd maybe taken a few punches in his time -- and lugubrious mouth stayed cool.
Dave recognized the look. It was the same long-range, armor-piercing, full-metaljacket stare you developed when you were in the joint. The don't-mess-with-my-shitor-I'll-fucking-kill-you kind of look. So Reach was an ex-con, just like himself. Dave wondered if the guy maybe got the same smell off him.
'C'mon,' Keach said coolly. 'Let's go outside. You can point out your own boat.'
Dave stayed on the Baby Doc for another fifteen minutes meeting one of the other crewmen, a heavy-set black guy wearing a buzz haircut in a Keith Haring design and the kind of granite face that looked like he'd had it custom-made on Easter Island. Catching sight of his own reflection in the two watchtower gun-barrels of the black's sunglasses, Dave thought that he himself looked like a fairly regular guy. Hardly the kind of guy who had a gun for all seasons underneath his bed. He looked like just the kind of guy that Kate might take on.
Taking on these guys aboard the Baby Doc looked like a rather more difficult proposition.
On his way back to the Juarista, Dave found his progress along the narrow gangway impeded by a solitary figure staring out to sea. As Dave excused himself, squeezing past the guy, he realized that he knew the face.
'Hey,' he said. 'Aren't you Calgary Stanford? The movie actor?'
'Yes, I am.' Stanford's tone was sad, almost as if being Calgary Stanford was a little too much to bear. Or maybe it was the role he was reported to be planning. Calgary Stanford was the same movie actor who had attended the execution of Benford Halls on the day that Dave had been released from Homestead. Dave was familiar with stories in Premiere about the methodical prep work some movie actors did to get into character. On the whole he thought it was right that they should have to do some work, maybe even endure some hardship in return for the money they got paid. But he drew the line at attending a guy's execution and wondered if, before the voyage was out, there might not be some way of getting even with the actor on the executed man's behalf.
Dave said, "The Cruel Sea, huh?' When Stanford looked blank, Dave explained it was a book.
'I think I saw the movie. British movie, right?'
Dave nodded, wondering if guys in prison were the only people who read books any more. 'As a matter of fact, I thought you must be watching out for the hurricane.'
'What hurricane?'
'You haven't heard? There's one coming up from the west.'
This was true. It had been on the radio just after midday. It was a long way behind them, but Dave wanted to spook the actor some.
'Jesus Christ.'
