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Just back off, Odd Job!
The guard who had spoken stood his ground, but his companion backed
away looking lost without his Uzi.
What s the matter, no submachine gun? You chickenshits so busy
crawling up my back that you forgot your toys? Tuck poked the guard in
the chest to punctuate his point.
The guard grabbed Tuck s finger and bent it back, then swept
Island of the Sequined Love Nun / 167
the pilot s feet out from under him and drew a Glock nine-millimeter pistol
from a holster at the small of his back and pressed the barrel to Tucker s
forehead hard enough to dent the skin. The other guard barked something
in Japanese, then stepped forward and kicked Tuck in the stomach. Tucker
rolled into a ball in the sand, instinctively throwing one arm over his face
and clenching the other at his side to protect his kidneys as he waited for
the next blow. It didn t come. When he looked up, the guards were walking
back to the compound.
Getting them to leave him alone had been the desired result, but the
process was a little rougher than he d expected. Tuck wiggled his finger
to make sure it wasn t broken and examined the boot toe print under his
rib cage. Then the anger unlocked his imagination and plans for revenge
began. The easiest thing to do would be to tell the doctor, but Tuck, like
all men, had been conditioned against two responses: You don t cry and
you don t rat. No, it would have to be something subtle, elegant, painful,
and most of all, humiliating.
Tuck almost skipped into the water, running on his newfound energy:
adrenalized vengeance. He paddled around at the inside edge of the reef,
watching anemones pulse in the current while small fish in improbable
neon colors darted in and out of the coral. The ocean was as warm as
bathwater, and after a few minutes with his face in the water, he felt de-
tached from his body and the color and movement below became as
meaningless as the patterns in a campfire. The only reminder that he was
human was the sound of his breath rushing through the snorkel and the
images of cold revenge in his mind.
He looked down the ragged curve of the reef and saw a large shadow
moving across the bottom, but before fight-or-flight panic could even set
in, he saw it was the shadow of a loggerhead turtle flying through the
water like a saurian angel. The turtle circled him and cruised by close
enough for Tuck to see the movement in the creature s silver-dollar-sized
eye as it studied him, and a message there: You don t belong here, it said.
And that part of Tuck that had recognized the saltwater as its mother re-
belled and he felt alien and vulnerable and cold, and a little rude, as if he
had been attending a black-tie dinner only to realize as dessert was served
that he was wearing pajamas. It was time to go.
He lifted his head, took a bearing on the chain-link fence that ran to the
edge of the beach, and started a slow crawl toward shore. As the water
went shallow, he banged his knee on a submerged rock,
168 / Christopher Moore
then stood and slogged through the lapping surf as his fins tried to drag
him back off the beach. Once clear of the water, he fell in the sand and tore
the fins off his feet. He threw them up the shore without looking and a half
a breath later a deafening explosion lifted him up and he landed ten feet
away, stunned and breathless, as damp sand and pieces of swim fin rained
down upon him.
Tucker stormed through the clinic door trailing sand and water across the
concrete floor. Mines! You have fucking land mines on the fucking beach?
Sebastian Curtis was seated at a computer terminal. He quickly clicked
off the screen and swiveled in his chair. I heard the explosion, but birds
and turtles have set them off before. Was anyone hurt?
Other than I m going to hear a high-pitched wail for the rest of my life
and my sphincter won t relax until I m dead a couple of years, no, no one
was hurt. What I want to know is why you have mines on the beach.
Calm down, Mr. Case. Please sit down. The doctor gestured to a folding
metal chair. Please. He looked sad, not at all confrontational, not like the
kind of man who would mine a tropical beach. I suppose there are some
things you need to know. First, I have something for you. He opened a
drawer under the keyboard, withdrew a check, and handed it to Tuck.
Tucker s rage dropped a level when he looked at the amount. Ten grand?
What s this for?
Call it a first-flight bonus. Beth said you did very well.
Tucker fingered the check, then brushed the sand off it and read it again.
If he had any self-respect, he d throw it in the doctor s face. He didn t, of
course. This is great, Doc. Ten grand for picking up a case of wine. I m
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