The end of the fishing pole plunged downward, bending almost completely in half.
“It’s a big one!” Stanley shouted as he gripped the pole. He reeled hard and fast as the fish turned beneath the boat, making the taut line go slack.
“Not another,” Frank said, groaning as he held his pole on the other side of the boat. Frank hadn’t caught a fish all day.
Billy grabbed a large net and then motioned with his head at the smaller fishing boat skimming along the waves toward Stanley’s forty-foot fishing yacht.
“Better help him aboard,” Stanley said without releasing his grip on the rod and reel.
Billy hurried to the back as the smaller boat came alongside. The driver cut the engine and tossed a rope for Billy, then dropped bumpers down the side of his boat, which sat a good few feet below the yacht.
When Stanley saw his nephew Marcus with the orange life vest secured around his neck, he had to stop himself from the string of humiliating jokes that lined up in his head. His nephew had been afraid of the water since he was a timid, nerdy boy, but he looked ridiculous in his crisply pressed slacks with the white straps secured tightly around his waist and groin.
Stanley kept reeling in the line as he watched Marcus grasp the boat seats with his briefcase sliding from under his armpit. Despite hunting and fishing trips, hikes and dirt bikes Stanley had provided over the boy’s adolescence, Marcus had never become comfortable in the outdoors. During the few summers when his daughter had visited, Gwen easily outshot, outhiked, and outmanned her older cousin. Stanley couldn’t have been prouder. His daughter had fight.
Marcus waved at him, nearly losing his balance as he reached out to climb aboard the taller boat. Stanley had come to accept his nephew’s weaknesses only because of his strengths. Marcus had a head for business, and though fearful of some of the darker sides of their activities, he never turned away from anything Stanley asked him to do. He might flinch some or throw up, but the kid wouldn’t run from anything. Stanley had to admire such grit, not to mention that the boy had brought the company into profits three times what Stanley had done. That earned Marcus respect, even with a too-small orange life vest tight around his neck.
“Get over here, my boy,” Stanley shouted, cinching the reel up another inch as the fish fought far below the surface.
Marcus duck-walked across the boat, holding the railing as he moved while the yacht rocked on the waves.
“Take this a moment. This is what a real fighter feels like,” Stanley said.
“I don’t want to lose your fish.” Marcus set his briefcase onto a cushioned seat. When Stanley shoved the pole in his direction, Marcus took it like a trouper even as he pitched forward from the strength of the fish.
“Hang on with all you’ve got. You can do this,” Stanley said, shouting over the sound of the smaller boat racing away from the yacht.
Marcus struggled, sweat gathering on his upper lip and brow. He tried turning the reel.
“What news do you have for me?” Stanley asked as Marcus strained to keep hold of the fishing pole.
“Want me to take over?”
“Please,” Marcus said, nearly tossing the pole to him.
“Watch this. We’ll get you out here next time. Billy, she’s coming in,” Stanley shouted, and the old man set his pipe down and grabbed up the net again.
Billy leaned over the side of the boat and scooped up the fish that looked to be at least five feet long.
“Will you look at that?” Stanley whooped.
“Is it a shark, or . . . what is that?” Marcus asked, stepping back.
“Bar-ra-cu-da,” Stanley said, enunciating each syllable with triumph.
He lifted the fish as it struggled, with Billy holding the other half out of the net. Stanley grabbed a wooden mallet and popped the writhing fish in the head. It stilled immediately. Stanley squeezed its long jaw to show the line of intimidating teeth, then he kissed it smack on its cold, scaly cheek.
“It’s good luck to always kiss your kill,” he told Marcus.
“O-kay,” Marcus said.
Stanley chuckled at the green tint in his nephew’s pale face. He’d be over the side any minute. He handed the barracuda to Billy to pop into the fish well with the rest of the catch.
“What have you got for me?” Stanley knew it was time to get down to business before his nephew spent the rest of the fishing trip seasick and worthless to him.
They moved toward the large cabin of the yacht as the boat pitched on the waves. Stanley jumped into the captain’s chair, and Marcus pulled an electronic device from his leather briefcase. Stanley loathed all the high-tech gadgets they had these days. He wasn’t fully comfortable with a computer, and now they had all these different phones and i-things. But he couldn’t ignore their effectiveness as long as someone was around to operate them.
“I put someone on both of them—the former agent and the daughter. She just completed a big case in Boston.”
“Yes, the Radcliffe trial.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Marcus said with a surprised expression.
“You aren’t my only source of information,” Stanley said with a condescending look.
“Agent Waldren contacted her in Boston, and now she’s flown to Dallas.”
“Interesting.” He stared through the captain windows toward the unending line of blue sea. “When was the last time the father and daughter had contact?”
“Before last week, it seems to have been years.”
“And none of these people trailing the Waldrens and digging for information can be traced back to us, correct?”
“Absolutely not. I used our affiliate corporation and covered the contact.”
“You better be sure of that,” Stanley said.
“I am, yes, completely. But should I be watching for something in particular?”
“Just be on the lookout for any connection to me, the family, the company, anything like that. Watch their moves, the people they meet with, and where they go. That’s all you need to do or know for the time being.”
“All right,” Marcus said, biting back an obvious desire to ask more questions and know exactly why Stanley had earmarked a federal prosecutor, a retired FBI agent, and a death row inmate for any activity in the first place.
“So my next move is simply to keep my eyes out there?”
Stanley considered this for a moment. “Yes.”
“That’s all?” Marcus said.
Stanley knew this surprised his nephew. Marcus had mostly witnessed his uncle act, not wait. But Stanley knew to be wary about this one. After the end of this fishing trip, he’d most likely catch heat from local police. It would die down soon enough, but he needed to proceed with caution. The deaths of a former FBI agent and his federal prosecutor daughter would make an impact. Despite what Marcus believed, there were always risks and links to be wary of. Nothing was ironclad. Not even after decades.
He slapped Marcus on the back hard. “You’re doing well. It was a good move to use our affiliate. Keep up with that kind of initiative, it makes me proud.”
“Thank you.” Marcus pursed his lips and squared his shoulders as he did whenever Stanley doled out praise.
“You’re a good . . . man,” Stanley said, stopping himself from calling Marcus a kid.
“Did you get to see Gwen?”
“I did. She wouldn’t meet with me, but I stopped by her rally to make sure it looked safe enough. I hired her a bodyguard. I’ve known Lancaster a long time. She’ll be in good hands.”
“How’d she take that?”
“Doesn’t know about it,” Stanley said with a laugh.
“That’s probably for the best. And . . . the other business. The local news reported this morning on Augustus Arroyo’s disappearance.”
“That was fast. I guess we better get this wrapped up, and I’ll get us back to the marina. We’re having fish for dinner.” Stanley leaned out of the cabin and yelled to Frank and Billy.
They hurried to one of two long white coolers near the cabin. The two men grabbed the handles at either end and grunted as they slid the cooler down the fiberglass deck to the back of the boat.
Stanley jumped down the stairway to the deck with Marcus following.
“Open ’er up!” Stanley stood with hands on hips as Frank unlatched the cooler and swung the lid open.
Augustus Arroyo was in his pajamas, not the tailored suits and silk kerchiefs he was so proud of wearing. His tanned skin was beet red from the heat of the confined space. He’d vomited, and the stench might have toppled Stanley’s stomach if not for the pleasure it brought him. Arroyo squinted in the stark daylight, groaning as he pulled a hand up to cover his face.
“Do you remember what you told me the first time we spoke in person?” Stanley asked him.
Arroyo blinked and stared at him, turning onto his back and adjusting his legs that were surely numb from being compressed in the cooler for hours.
“You said that you would take me down,” Stanley said, studying the man for a reaction. “Would you like to say that to me again?”
Arroyo cursed at him, which only made Stanley laugh. They’d been business rivals in South Florida for nearly a decade. Arroyo was powerful, with strong ties in Mexico and South America. But he underestimated Stanley’s own ties, and his ruthlessness.
But from the look of him, Arroyo knew when he’d lost. He knew no amount of appeasing, pleading, bribing, or begging would change what was about to happen. It always irked Stanley when someone went down that path, thinking they might save their own life by humiliating themselves. But Arroyo retained his defiance. At least Stanley could respect the man for knowing the stakes, knowing he’d lost and accepting the outcome.
“Billy,” Stanley said, taking his eyes from Arroyo to reach for the gun Billy passed him.
Stanley loved the feel of a gun in his hands even more than a fishing rod. He steadied himself against the rocking of the boat. Marcus turned away.
“Kid, you need to watch this,” Stanley said firmly.
Arroyo didn’t take his eyes off him as Stanley leveled the gun at his forehead. No matter how tough they acted in regular life, most men fell apart in this moment. Stanley found it the ultimate test of courage, and he often made bets with himself over how a man would act when faced with death. He had guessed that Arroyo would break. But the man held himself together.
Stanley pulled the trigger and hit his mark. He shot several more times into the man’s chest, then lowered the gun.
“A worthy opponent,” Stanley said with satisfaction, blowing the dead man a kiss. Billy brought a camera and took several photographs before Frank closed the lid. They secured the cooler and tossed it into the water, where it bobbed for a few moments until it filled with water from the bullet holes and slowly sank. Then they lifted the other white cooler with Arroyo’s dead mistress inside and tossed it overboard as well.
Marcus was bent over the railing, retching his breakfast into the sea.
Stanley put the pistol into his belt and slid a rough arm around his shoulders. “Listen, you’ll have to do these things someday. Will you be able to?”
Marcus wiped the edge of his mouth and appeared ready to bend over the railing again. But he swallowed hard and nodded his head.
“I can do it,” he said.
Stanley stuck a cigar into his mouth from his shirt pocket.
“Lesson number one. A man always takes care of business. Some things you hire out, but some things you do yourself no matter how dirty your hands get. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Marcus said.
“We’ll need to be careful for the next month until this Arroyo business fades away. That’s a bit tricky with our other problem, but keep me posted, and if a smart idea comes along, don’t hesitate to share it.”
Marcus nodded, mumbled an apology, and vomited over the edge again. The boy would probably be there the rest of the day.
Stanley glanced back to the rolling waves as the last of the bubbles rose from the sea where Arroyo and his mistress were dropping far beneath the surface.
Wiping his hands on his pants, he headed toward the helm. He couldn’t wait to have a barracuda feast for supper.