| |
As they stood waving off their new best buds, Flick muttered, "Who'd've thought he could shoot like that? I mean, we knew she's a vet, but him? He's like..." He wafted his hand and set his posture in some half-drunk imitation of British society. Or maybe gay? Who knew.
"Monty." Gator jerked his head, and Monty drew closer as the reception line dispersed. "What'd you figure? What branch?"
Monty blew out a breath. "She's gotta be some kind of spec ops, or maybe intelligence. I would've sworn Marine, from some of the stuff she's said. She knows some of the same people I do, the brass, the instructors at Annapolis, but the corps doesn't do that kind of work."
"Yeah, you're all above board and shit," Tyrone said. "She's been to Afghanistan, for sure. They have any lady snipers in the corps?"
"No way. Few enough women as it is, they give 'em mostly staff and PR gigs, anything to look good for the media." Monty picked up a stick and prodded at the embers, like he could conjure his lady back from the darkness. Gator couldn't figure if Monty was really falling for her, or just bummed out he hadn't gotten as far as he'd like.
"Shooter like that beside him, it's gonna be more trouble to work the list," Smitty pointed out. So apparently two nights of harmonizing with his target didn't phase Smitty at all. Given what he'd been accused of back in the service, Gator wasn't surprised. But he had more troubles than one.
Gator glanced around. "Where's Joe?"
Monty pointed with the flaming tip of the stick. A lone figure stood once again near the spine of rocks. Gator made a circle-up gesture, and started in that direction, nothing particular in mind, just walking the beach, what was left of it now the tide was in.
"Hey, Joe."
"Have you guys looked up?" Joe tipped his head way back, looking at the stars. "Wow. Like. Wow. I can see why he wants some pictures."
"He's like your new bestie, huh?" Gator asked.
"I mean, I like him. Not like in a homo way, just...he's cool. All that stuff he knows, how he talks to people." Joe shrugged.
"Yeah, he's cool. We're your crew, though, right?" Gator gestured to himself and the others, most of whom had come along, maybe sensing what Gator had in mind.
Joe cocked his head, swaying a little. He'd had a few bottles, too, and taken a swig of whatever Ty carried in his flask. "Yeah, Gator, of course you are." He grinned then, a wild expression, eyes kindling with the glow of the distant flame. "And when we find that wreck, we'll be like royalty."
"I like the sound of that," Tyrone said.
"Couple of times today, Joe, I got a little worried." Gator slipped an arm over the kid's shoulders. "Worried you'd maybe spill something to Rowe, something that should be kept between us."
"You mean like about the list?" Joe shook his head, his grin turning to a giggle. "I wouldn't, Gator, you can trust me. Besides, that was just talk. The wreck's a much bigger payout. We don't even need the list." He swished his hand as if he were throwing something away.
"Oh, we're definitely going for the bigger payout." Gator jostled the kid against his side, then let him go. "Meantime, this party's not over yet, right, boys!"
They chorused a howl, and Joe howled right along with them, then they stumbled a little apart, swaying and laughing at nothing, at themselves, their own wildness. Gator caught himself on the stone ridge. "Hey, who's up for football—American style!"
"Woo hoo!" Smitty danced around. "That's my game." He clapped his hands and wagged his butt.
Tyrone kept laughing, like he couldn't stop. "You even got a ball, Gator?"
"Oh, Gator's got balls all right," Flick said.
Joe hiccupped, sniggering to himself. Maybe not noticing the half-circle formed by the rest.
Gator's hand found a good-sized rock, heavy and rough, about the right shape for a football. He hefted it, striking a quarterback pose. "Joe! Go long!"
Tyrone staggered with his laughter.
Joe put his hands up. "I got ya, Gator!" he started running into the surf, twisting back in the ready position.
"Shoot, Gator, bet you can't even throw that ten feet," Smitty slurred.
Gator's back arched, his arm ready. Messing around together, the way they always did. "Here he goes! He's the GOAT!"
With a muffled cheering and waving, Tyrone put on an announcer's voice. "The crowd goes wild! Will you look at those cheerleaders!"
Joe nearly doubled over, laughing, but he straightened up again, breathless and happy.
Gator threw, hard, fast, straight.
The stone smashed Joe's face with a crack of bone, pitching him back into the water. His limbs jerked, trying to coordinate, and he gave a strangled gasp. He floundered in the water, one arm reaching toward his injured head as blood streamed into the tide around him.
One by one, the others dropped their guises, the fun was over. Gator picked up another stone and handed it to Smitty. "Better make sure we finish the job."
Together, his crew waded into the water.