A strange time for personal revelation, but there it was: My travels created suspicion. The mysterious biologist, Shay often called me, as if kidding. But she’d meant it. I was expert at evasion, so she’d turned to outsiders to discuss it, a natural reaction. So why did I feel surprised- and betrayed?
Whatever she’d told the guy about me, though, had scared him. I could see it in his face, the way he moved. This was the cocktail party brawler? Yell “boo,” he’d make a puddle on the floor. But he was also crazy enough to break into my house, trash the place, then wait with a gun because he couldn’t find the video.
The video-there could be no other reason he was here.
And he was right. I had not called the police.
“What’s the problem… Vance?”
“Drop that fucking club for starters.”
“No, not until we talk.”
“How ’bout I shoot you in the knee? Maybe then you’ll take me serious.” He extended the derringer, aiming.
I held my hand out, stop, and turned sideways-not the brave image I wanted to maintain, but the response is involuntary when someone points a gun near your nuts.
I said, “You don’t want to shoot me, Vance. I don’t want you to shoot me. That’s serious jail time, and you’ve got a wife to think about. So let’s discuss-”
“Don’t mention that bitch! She’s done nothing but lie since she got back from that goddamn island. It’s her fault I have to do this.” He stepped closer. “And you’re helping them, motherfucker! Corey and those whores she calls her friends. You screwed with the wrong dude, man! Shay says you’ve been into some shit? Well, I’ve been into real shit, so you’d better listen!”
Now he was pointing the gun at my chest, leaning toward me, his expression crazed-but crazy as portrayed by TV mobsters: eyes wide, not glazed, screaming his lines not because he’d snapped, but because he was scared.
I knew it then-he wouldn’t shoot. Not if I gave him a way out. The phony berserker is a bullying technique. It’s used to dodge fights, and intimidate those naive enough to fall for the act. Vance had the act down. He was a coward, and he wanted out. But who told him that I’d helped Shay? How much did he know?
“Give me the video, or I’ll splatter you all over the wall. I mean it! I want to see who my wife was fucking.”
I said, “Video? I don’t even own a TV, pal.”
“Don’t play dumb. I know it’s here. Shay-shay didn’t tell you?” He had a nervous, staccato laugh. “The girls got another e-mail tonight. Their island boyfriend kept a copy, and now he wants the rest of his money. If I’ve got to pay the puke, I should at least be able to see if Corey got her money’s worth.”
I stared at Varigono for long seconds, the smell of kerosene strong around me, aware of the stove’s pilot light, concerned about what this jerk had destroyed next door. Finally, I turned my back to him, saying, “The only thing I’ll give you is five minutes to get out. Your wife is Shay’s friend-that’s the only reason.”
As Varigono hollered for me to stop, I tossed the axe handle aside, walking toward the door, hoping I was right about him, but tense, now hearing real craziness in his voice at the mention of Corey, thinking maybe, just maybe, he could do it.
“Why are you covering for them, man? You’re a guy, you can’t understand? She’s my wife! It’s my right! Hey… hey! I’m talking to you, motherfucker!”
I was walking out the screen door, ignoring him until I heard the ignition pop of the propane stove. That made me stop. I turned.
Oh no…
Along with the derringer, Varigono was now holding a torch made from papers he’d twisted into a cone. I watched it blaze when he held it to the burner, the expression on his face changing from crazed to triumphant.
“Yeah… that’s better. So finally, I got your attention. Shay told me that about you, too-how much you like this old shack and your little pet fishes. That you’re a fucking weirdo with your microscopes and books.”
Shay, I was learning, did not always speak in glowing terms about her godfather.
Vance said, “You know the difference between arson and an accident? Don’t worry, ’cause I do.” He used the gun to indicate the mess he’d created. “You and me got into a fight, and this place is a fire trap. That’s what the investigators will decide.”
I said, “Your word against mine? They canned you for a reason. You don’t think they’ll check the files?”
“I’ll risk it.” He extended the torch, threatening to light towels next to the stove. “I’d rather burn the place down than let you and your weirdo buddies sit around and watch Corey naked, fucking some stranger. I know it’s here someplace. So, last chance. Where!”
Enough. I walked toward him, an unconscious reaction. “Vance, the only person your wife fucked was herself when she married you.” The adrenal chill was pumping. Why the hell had I dropped the axe handle?
He held torch flames to the towels. “I’ll do it.”
“Then do it.”
“I’ll shoot you, motherfucker!” He leveled the tiny pistol at my chest.
“Go ahead.”
He tried. Got the hammer back as I locked my hands on his wrist, lifting and twisting. The derringer made a concise firecracker whap near my ear, putting a round through the roof. I pivoted with good leverage, and stripped the gun from his fingers, then dislocated his elbow with a come-along that dropped him to his knees as he made a sharp, thin whistling scream.
He dropped the torch, too. I watched blue flames sprint across the wooden floor-pine resin instantly aromatic because of the heat. Panic. Kerosene isn’t explosive, but yellow pine is. My brain projected an image: flames colored by lab chemicals; firemen hosing charred ruins. Vance deserved to burn with the house-justice. My first instinct was to get to my floor safe and rescue my valuables.
It took three long steps to get to the bedroom. In that brief span, the panic passed. I reassessed. The fire was spreading, but it hadn’t yet bitten into wood. There was still time.
Seconds later, I was back with blankets from my closet and a fire extinguisher. The blankets worked. Snuffed out the flames before they got to the wood. Lucky-lucky because I’d stopped the fire, and also because I didn’t have to use the fire extinguishers. They leave a powdery mess, and I already had enough chaos to deal with.
Now my phone was ringing, too. Not yet 5 a.m. and someone was calling? Not Tomlinson. If he was coherent, he was aboard No Mas, watching for me to signal him with the flashlight. I ignored the phone as Vance Varigono sat on the floor, sobbing non sequiturs that begged for understanding but not the police. Now he was a victim of circumstances filled with remorse-another act.
I knelt, pocketed the derringer, and did a quick pat down. Wallet, cell phone, keys. I pocketed the cell phone, too, before I put my lips near his ear and began to whisper. It surprised him, and his eyes widened. I mentioned his wife. I referred to Shay. The last thing I said was, “Vance, I want the subject to disappear. If it doesn’t? You will.”
It jolted him. He nodded, not risking eye contact. The man was getting to his feet as I hurried next door to the lab.
It wasn’t too bad. Varigono had riffled my desk, emptied a file case, but the aquariums were untouched, and the sea life within looked healthy. The power hadn’t been off long enough to do damage. Aquarium aerators create ozone, and I took several big breaths, letting good air dilute the adrenal burn. Then I swung the office chair around and dumped my body into it, exhausted.
I had a pounding headache. With eyes closed, a schematic of the back of my brain strobed with each beat of my heart. I sat, taking slow, deep breaths. The pain eased as tension faded.
It didn’t last.
The VHF radio was still on, and a familiar voice came over, hailing me. It was Jeth Nicholes, Dinkin’s Bay fishing guide and a close friend. He’d tried telephoning me, he said. So had my cousin, Ransom. Using the illegal base station in his garage was a last resort before driving to the marina.