Still, she had to admit that, so far, it had been the most invigorating experience of her life. She had enjoyed chasing the ambulance in the Bahamas more than she dared admit. She had relived it in her mind countless times, all the way up to the moment she pulled up alongside and yanked the wheel, spinning the van sideways and then slamming it into the speeding ambulance. There was something very freeing about the loss of control, like letting fresh air into a stuffy room. She knew the pictures she was supposed to take now would be critical later, and she was looking forward to her confrontation in two days with Joe Rina. It would be a chance to finally score a few points on that elegant piece of shit. As these thoughts were going through her mind, a black Lincoln limousine pulled into the parking lot. In a few minutes, Tommy and two men, roughly the same size as Texaco Phillips, got out. They dwarfed the five-foot eight-inch Tommy… The three of them moved over to the railing and looked down at the marina. She took a few pictures, being sure that the newspaper lay open on the dash in front of her and was included in the shot. Then she watched as they walked down the gangplank to the wooden dock below. She crouched low inside the motor home, the lens of the camera pointing out of the window just under the shade. Again, she could feel the excitement bubbling. Beano had been right so far. He had gotten Tommy to do exactly what he had planned. They had controlled his movements. She wondered if Dakota was in the black Lincoln thirty yards away, as Beano had predicted.
The back seat of the Lincoln was stuffy, and Dakota felt awful. She had begun to suspect she had some bad internal bleeding. One of Tommy's body blows must have ruptured something. The pain in her abdomen and stomach had become intense. It was hard for her to concentrate as the big enforcer in the front seat kept talking.
"I got lotsa stamina, I can stay hard for hours," Keith Summerland was bragging. He had turned around and was looking at Dakota in the back seat, a big wide leer on his flat, uninteresting features. "Soon as Tommy gets through with you, I'll take you someplace and give you a demonstration. Some guys don't like going down, but my tongue can do magic tricks. You're gonna beg me for more. Then you get to sit on Mr. Buffy. You're gonna get a ride you won't forget."
Dakota couldn't believe this piece of shit. The minute Tommy got out of the car, he'd started up with this. Dakota could barely talk because of the pain and he was up there bragging about his Johnson, which he'd named Mr. Buffy. She tried to get more comfortable.
"Right now, you're probably thinkin' you're gonna find a way to get out of it, but Tommy's nuts. He's not like other guys. I ask him if he's through with ya, he'll give ya to me." He grinned at her; he was twisted around in the front seat and eyed her hungrily like she had just been served to him, fully garnished, at a steak-house. "You're gonna see a lot of me for a while."
Changing conversational topics, but not anatomical subjects, "Look, I didn't get a chance t'take a leak back at the airport," he said. "'Gonna go over t'that stand a'trees over there, and tap a kidney. I should tell you when I played football I did a four-six in full pads, in the forty, so don't try an' take off on me. You ain't gonna make it," he bragged.
"I'll be right here," she said softly.
He got out of the car and moved away from the limousine. As soon as he was gone, Dakota struggled up, grimacing in pain. She reached over the front seat, grabbed the cellphone, and dialed a number.
In the motor home, Victoria was startled to hear a phone ringing somewhere. She had to go searching for it. It was on a table in the bedroom.
"Hello?" she answered.
"It's Dakota…" But Victoria thought she sounded funny. Her voice was deeper and without the "fuck you" lilt it had before.
"Where are you?" Victoria asked.
"Parked in the marina parking lot… probably about twenty yards from you. Look, I don't have much time. Tell Beano I can't control this guy. I've lost him."
"Are you okay?"
"Tell him I need to get out of here. I'm trashed. I think I'm hurt real bad. Something inside is leaking… The pain's getting worse. I don't have much left…"
"He's in the houseboat. They're in there with him." And then Victoria could see the big bodyguard coming back from the trees, zipping his fly. "Listen, Dakota, your guard's coming back. I'll find a way to get you out of there. I promise. Hang tough," Victoria said, not at all sure how she was going to accomplish that feat, and then, just as the bodyguard approached the car, she heard two shots ring out. They actually sounded like dry limbs snapping off some distant tree. It took her several seconds to identify them as gunfire.
"You hear that?" Dakota asked. "Shots. This guy Tommy is nuts."
"I'll get you outta there but the other guy is right outside your car. Hang up!" Victoria said.
The line cut out as Keith Summerland turned to look down at the houseboat. He made no move to check out the shots. It was almost as if he expected them.
Then Victoria saw Roger-the-Dodger running awkwardly up the gangplank. He seemed to be limping. He moved past Keith Summerland, who turned to watch as the little terrier teetered across the pavement toward the Winnebago, barely staying upright. He got halfway there and fell over on his side. Then he pulled himself up and kept going, now almost dragging his hind end. Victoria could hear him whimpering as he got nearer. Then the heavyweight who had turned momentarily to watch the wounded dog refocused his attention on the houseboat. He started to walk down the ramp, then stopped. He was still in view of her with his back to the motor home. Roger-the-Dodger was moving very slowly now, and it didn't look like he would make it, so Victoria decided to risk going to him. With Keith's back still to her, she opened the door, ran outside, and scooped the terrier up. When she picked him up, his whole back end was wet and covered with blood. She ran back into the motor home, closed the door, and locked it. She laid Roger on the floor. He looked up at her with an expression she could describe only as gratitude.
"Rogie," she said, scrambling up to get a wet towel from the bathroom, "what happened, honey?" She returned and carefully washed his hind quarters, then examined the wound. She could see that there was a large, deep crease cut into his right flank. As she leaned down to clean it, he stopped whimpering, then unexpectedly licked her face.
They came out of the houseboat and moved along the rickety dock. Jimmy Freeze had his hand on Beano, Wade Summerland was holding Duffy, and Tommy Rina was bringing up the rear. He had found some first-aid supplies aboard and had bandaged up his neck. He was moving with a long stride to keep up with the two larger men. They approached the limousine and waited for Tommy, then got in.
When Beano saw Dakota, his stomach dropped. She had been brutally beaten; she sat in the back seat, her head back, her eyes barely open. He got in with Duffy; the last in was Tommy. Jimmy and Wade sat in the front with Keith.
"Little mutt came runnin' up here," Keith said, "piece of his ass missing."
"Good, maybe he'll bleed to death. Get rollin'," Tommy barked. Keith put the car in motion and they drove out of the parking lot.
"Are you okay?" Beano asked Dakota.
She nodded, but didn't say anything. She seemed completely drained of energy.
Tommy handed a slip of paper to Jimmy Freeze. "Jimmy, go to this address. It's a service company called… what?"