Moondogs - Alexander Yates [141]
THE MORNING SMOG begins to lift. Birds circle in the haze above. A shoreline becomes distinct ahead. It’s a long swim, but Howard’s an optimist. Anyhow, he’s better in the water than on land.
Ignacio savors his cigarette and Howard prays he takes his time, keeping one eye on the slowly emptying container. Everybody notices the smell and Ignacio peeks back at the engine with a worried look. He says something to his brother in Tagalog—something calming. The cherry burns down, almost to the filter. Ignacio makes to chuck it overboard but Howard grabs his wrist. He pinches the cigarette, fingers burning a little, and drops it into the bottom of the boat. Then he tosses himself overboard.
It’s not quite an explosion, but the boat lights up without an argument. Howard’s bound wrists make dogpaddling impossible, so he turns on his back and kicks away, like he used to do after surfacing from a dive with Benny, his BCD inflated, his son waving at the hired Costa Rican boatmen and the boatmen waving back cordially. Backpedaling like this, he can see the burning boat. Kelog screams and flames lick up Ignacio and Littleboy’s legs, but they seem hesitant to get into the water. Finally they hold hands and jump, kicking wildly to grab hold of the bamboo outriggers. Kelog stays onboard, flapping madly about the hull. His feathers catch, and sizzle, and his owners splash water up at him, trying to douse him. It’s no use. Finally he takes off, wings smoking as Ignacio and Littleboy beg him to get into the water. The flames on him grow and trail behind like luxurious feathers. Kelog is a bright lick of green and yellow, flying straight up. By the time the flames burn out there’s nothing left of him to fall.
The saltwater has loosened Howard’s binding by now, and he’s able to get his wrists free. He turns to the island and swims. All his injuries—his bandaged ear, his sliced forearms, his stabbed shoulder—sting in the water, but it has a wonderful, invigorating, antiseptic feel. The island looms large ahead. A rocky beach with palms. The broken hulls of concrete buildings peeking out from a mosaic of lush vegetation. Green cannons pointing straight up at the sky. Jagged coral cuts into Howard’s palm and that, too, is a wonderful feeling. His bare feet find rocks, and hedges, and soon he’s wading.
And there are people on the beach. Five men stand in a row at the point where the jungle meets the sand. They wear badges around their necks that shine brightly in the morning sunlight. The police have come. Never mind that they’re fuckups. Never mind that they’re late. They’re here, and Howard is happy.
Chapter 27
SAVING HOWARD BRIDGEWATER
Efrem Khalid Bakkar hopes the fire kills them so he won’t have to. He stands with Ka-Pow on the rocky Corregidor beach, watching Ignacio’s little bangka burn. It bobs in the chop, flames licking out the rudder shaft, glowing from stem to stern. The kidnappers jump overboard and retreat to the outriggers, trying to douse their boat with backward bailing. A single fireball shoots skyward and fizzles. Efrem watches Howard Bridgewater backpedal away from the smoldering bangka. Ignacio makes to follow, but turns back after a few strokes, coughing out seawater and smoke. Reynato points from their boat to his throat, finger a blade. It wouldn’t have been different if they’d landed and submitted placidly to handcuffs. Efrem levels his custom Tingin. With two shots he snaps the blackening outrigger struts. Hugging bamboo, the kidnappers float safely away. Efrem mimics Reynato’s pantomime, fingerslicing his own throat. From this distance, with this fog, Ignacio and Littleboy look as dead as he says they are.
Ka-Pow recovers Howard, dazed and sputtering, from the shallows. Reynato doesn’t look all that thrilled, but says they’ll get some food at the Corregidor Island Hotel to celebrate anyway—his