“What?”
I said, “They won’t bother us. Just do what I say.”
Perry’s eyes were locked on the helicopter. “Those are cops. I can tell by the color. We’re already screwed! Goddamn you, King, this is all because of you!”
Now he was shouldering the rifle, only four long strides away from me. Instinct told me I could get to Perry before he swung the rifle in my direction, but that’s not what I wanted—not with the chopper crew soon close enough to make out details. In my mind, a chopper was no longer a rescue vehicle, it was a liability. The helicopter carried potential witnesses. With witnesses around, I would be denied my time alone with Perry and King.
Talking louder, I said to Perry, “Do what I tell you to do and they’ll leave us alone. Goddamn it, listen to me!”
Perry snapped out of his trance and turned, his face showing confusion.
I told him, “Hide that rifle. Slide it under the truck or toss it into the bushes.”
King, who had pocketed the pistol, called, “Don’t be a dope, Perry. Jock-a-mo’s setting us up.” He was talking over his shoulder, moving faster toward the trees. Leave Perry to confront police, that’s what he was thinking. King was out of here.
I picked up the BC and the spent air bottle and walked toward Perry, saying, “Take your shirt off and start walking this stuff toward the lake. Do it now.”
“Huh?”
“Take your shirt off.”
“You’re crazy, dude. Let them see me? You don’t know what they’re gonna charge us with, man. You got no idea of the kinda shit that’s about to go down. If you knew, you wouldn’t—”
“Convicts on the run don’t take time out to go scuba diving,” I told him. “Listen to what I’m saying! They won’t find out who you are unless you give them a reason to land.”
The chopper had spotted us. I watched the craft veer two degrees, drop its nose and accelerate directly at us. Perry looked at the rifle, then lowered it before looking at me. “Okay, okay. Like I’m a tourist or something,” he said. “Is that what you mean?”
“If you don’t run,” I said, “they’ve got no reason to be suspicious.”
He replied, “I get it. Yeah . . . maybe . . . Maybe that’s smart.”
Perry hid the rifle by holding it parallel to his right leg until he was close enough, then slid it under the truck. I left the BC with the bottle standing upright as Perry removed his shirt—maybe a mistake because of his prison-white skin, tattoos showing, but there was no going back now.
As Perry carried my tank and BC toward the lake, I removed another bottle from the back of the truck and the canvas bag I usually carry on my boat, the one loaded with emergency gear. King and Perry had already pawed through the stuff, but it looked like everything I had packed was still there.
When the chopper was high above us, the pilot hovered, taking his time descending just in case we were armed and dangerous. The craft was painted government green on white with a big golden sheriff’s star aft of the cabin. Inside, I could see the pilot plus two cops—maybe wearing tactical gear, maybe not—but one of them was using binoculars from beneath his flight helmet. I waved at the helicopter as I said to Perry, “Put on that vest. Pretend you’re adjusting it.”
The man’s tattoos were garish red and green on his mushroom skin, a dragon covering his back, a snake crawling across his shoulders.
Not looking at me, Perry called back, “I’m wearing pants, for chrissake. They’re not gonna believe I’m going for a swim wearing pants and shoes.”
The chopper was dipping lower, and I was smiling up at the cops as I said to him, “You want them to ID that ink on your back? Put on that damn vest before they see it.”
I was making sense—I could see the man’s brain working it through. He picked up the BC, saying, “Why the hell are you trying to help us? Dude, that’s what I don’t understand.”
I didn’t reply. By the time the chopper was close enough for us to feel the wind wake, Perry had the BC on and was fiddling with the straps.
“Look at them and wave,” I told Perry, suddenly not so sure this act was going to work, mostly because of King, who, I now noticed, was crouched down beneath trees, hiding near the truck. Behave as if you’re guilty, no matter what the crime, and cops will react as if they are dealing with killers.
In this case, they were.
Because of the thick palmettos, there wasn’t a clean LZ that would allow an easy landing, but if they saw King they would call for backup, then stand watch until help arrived.
I returned my attention to the gear bag I was holding as if getting ready for another dive, but I used peripheral vision to watch as the helicopter dropped low enough that cypress trees began thrashing. King was on his belly now, hands protecting his head from debris. Look straight down, the pilot might be able to see him.
Idiot.
The chopper looked like an executive Bell, two big windows on the port and starboard sides. I wasn’t surprised that it was equipped with a PA system. I watched one of the cops lift a microphone to his lips before his voice boomed, “Orange County Sheriff ’s Department. Are you men okay?”
I let the cop with the binoculars see me nod. I held a fist in the air, a big thumbs-up.
The voice asked, “Do you have permission to be on this property?”
I doubted if they cared. There was no way the cops could check without landing, and I knew they weren’t hunting for trespassers. It wasn’t a question, it was a test. The man was fishing for a reaction as one of his partners studied us with the binoculars.
I nodded an emphatic Yes and added another thumbs-up.
“We’re looking for two male suspects—two men traveling on bicycles. Or maybe on foot by now. They’re both about the same height and build. About six-three, a hundred and seventy-five pounds. Have you seen anyone in the area who matches that description?”
As if asking Perry a question, I said to him, “Act like you’re thinking about it, then shake your head no.”
I noted that Perry’s hands were shaking as he knelt over the air bottle and then reached for the regulator hose. He didn’t look up as he replied, “We’re fucked. I should’ve kept the goddamn rifle!”
I said in a pleasant voice, “Shut up and don’t panic. You’re okay,” then looked up at the chopper. I shrugged and shook my head, No, my expression telling the crew Sorry, we can’t help you.
“If you see two males who fit that description—if you see anyone suspicious—please call nine-one-one. Don’t try to confront them, don’t attempt to follow. Do you understand? These men are armed and extremely dangerous.”
I nodded another emphatic yes as I watched the cop with the microphone listen to something the man behind him was saying. Again, the voice echoed down through the chopper wash. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I nodded.
The two men conversed again before the PA boomed, “It’s late in the day to be diving. Is there some kind of trouble?”
As I shook my head no I touched my watch, then I pointed to the sun. Next, I pointed at the lake. I punctuated the response by flashing an OK with thumb and forefinger, then another thumbs-up.
They could interpret that any way they wanted. The cops were trained in air recovery, which meant they knew something about diving. Novice divers often do their first night dive in the safe confines of a quarry. Maybe they would make the connection.
They did.
The PA system boomed, “Have a good day, gentlemen, but stay on your toes. The guys we’re after could be somewhere in this area.”
I offered a final thumbs-up, feeling the binoculars fixed on us, seeing the pilot inspect our scuba gear strewn around the truck, as the chopper tilted, then lifted slowly. The noise of the rotor blade rumbled louder as the aircraft spun sharply to port, then accelerated away.