Dave picked up one of the bundles, slit the edge of the polythene with his knife and thumbed through a corner of used notes.
'Hard to say exactly. It's mixed bills. Hundreds, fifties and twenties. Nothing smaller. I don't know. Maybe a couple of million?'
'There're five staterooms on this boat,' breathed Al. 'Do you know how much that is?'
'Five times two? I'm sure you can work it out if you try, Al.'
But the sight of so much cash had made Al impervious to Dave's sarcasm, and instead of cursing him he said, 'That deal we made? Forget it.' The last thing Al wanted now was to have Dave mad at him. Being mad at him might make Dave a little harder to kill when the time came. 'You keep your share. You've earned it.'
'Didn't I tell you?' Dave repeated. Now there was a note of triumph in his voice.
Al said, 'I'll get the bags. You find the rest of the money.'
A few minutes later, Al came back carrying a flat-packed bulk-purchase of Nike sports bags bent across each shoulder. Dave had already ripped apart the four other divans as well as the three-piece leather suite in the Baby Doc's lounge.
Laughing like a crazy man, Al stuffed one of the heavy-duty nylon bags with parcels of cash. Then another. 'Will you look at all this dough?'
Dave zipped up two bags full, hooked a strap over each shoulder and stood up. Being rich couldn't have looked or felt more unwieldy. He was glad of the gloves and the flak-jacket, for the bags weighed close to fifty pounds apiece.
Al was already staggering upstairs, puffing under the weight of the two bags he was carrying. He said, 'Jesus, this is like going to the airport with Madonna and the kids.'
'Now you know what people mean when they talk about the burden of wealth.'
'I sure hope I live to spend it. All this exertion, my heart's beating like Thumper's foot.'
'Make up your mind to be an unfit rich motherfucker, instead of one of those healthy-looking kids always asking for change.'
'I can deal with that.'
Breathing hard, both men came up on deck and dumped the bags gratefully.
Al said, 'Oh man, this is hard work.'
'Got a problem with that?'
'Shit, yeah. I got my modus vivendi down man. I didn't ever figure to be no fuckin' hotel porter.'
'Kinda tired myself,' admitted Dave.
'Time is it?'
'There's two more boatloads of money to think about. You've got a lot more bags to carry upstairs before your ass can sit down in the front lobby.'
'I know that. I was just askin' the time. I thought you might be pleased to help me out, you being the proud owner of the Rolls fucking Royce of watches.'
'Be dawn soon.'
'Do I look like a fuckin' vampire? If I want that kind of shit I'll wait for a cock to crow. Numbers. That's what I like to hear. Tick fucking tock. On account of my citified ass and urbane fucking ways.'
'What are you, Stephen Hawking or something? It's nearly 3 a.m. What difference does it make? I'll tell you if we're behind schedule. First thing I do when I get back to Miami, I'm going to buy you a watch, Al. That way you'll know when it's time to shut your mouth. Now let's move before some of these supernumos on their boats start to get curious about what's happening. I've killed enough people for one evening.'
'That shit still bothering you?'
'Oddly enough, yes, it is.'
'Chill out. Like I said before, it was you or them. An accident.'
'That doesn't sound like an accident.'
'Sure it does. An unforeseen contingency. That's all that happened. You want to find your cloudy ass a silver lining damn quick, pal. I don't want you goin' Leonard Cohen on me. Lift your eyes to the good news with which your situation is replete. First, that you are now one rich motherfucker. And second, it could have been them Feds you greased. The real ones. Think how lower than snake-shit you'd be feeling now if it was that Fed bitch you'd terminated instead of the other one.'
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
At Quantico Kate had learned that the secret of escaping from handcuffs, as perfected by the likes of Houdini, was a simple one. You had the keys.
