Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller)

Read Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller) for Free Online

Book: Read Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller) for Free Online
Authors: Robert Gregory Browne
Tags: thriller, Suspense, Crime, Mystery
“Just be thankful that none of your brains leaked out along with it.”
    Vargas wasn’t sure he could be so thankful this time. Ainsworth had thumped him pretty good—twice—and he had no doubt that he’d need stitches to repair the damage.
    He lay there, fighting off the urge to panic, and tried to assess his predicament.
    There was no sound of conversation in the car. A song played on the radio—an old corrido that had always been one of his grandmother’s favorites. But other than that and the hum of the tires, there was silence.
    Which meant that either no one felt like talking or the driver was alone. And based on the conversation Vargas had overheard earlier, he figured the one called Sergio was behind the wheel.
    Where Ainsworth and son might be was anyone’s guess, but Vargas didn’t think they were here. Ainsworth liked to talk too much. Enjoyed listening to himself. And Vargas couldn’t imagine he’d leave the F-150 behind.
    So it was just Vargas and Sergio.
    Better odds, but still not good.
    Where you headed?
    Safe house in Juárez. He’s waiting for us.
    Vargas had no idea who they’d been talking about—that was a question for another time—but was pretty sure that if he didn’t do something, right now, he wouldn’t be getting out of this little rendezvous alive.
    And since Juárez was less than an hour’s drive from Dead Man’s Dunes, chances were good that he and Sergio would soon be arriving at their destination.
    Too soon.
    So Vargas had only one goal in mind: to get out of this trunk.
    As fast as humanly possible.

14
    Beth
     
    I T TOOK THEM three tries to find a bar they liked.
    The first was close to the bow of the ship—the Seafarer’s Lounge, a large, glow-in-the-dark cave that was packed to the gills with drunken karaoke lovers.
    Beth told him she’d rather eat ground glass than go inside.
    Taking the elevator to Deck Eleven, they were halfway to the next one, a place called the Vibe, when the sound of raucous laughter and a pounding bass beat assaulted them.
    Without a word, Rafael took her by the elbow and steered her away—winning points in the process—then led her through a long hallway to a set of wrought-iron steps that wound downward to a small, enclosed piano bar.
    This was more like it.
    The place was sparsely populated, a slightly elevated stage featuring a solo pianist playing a slow jazz tune, Bill Evans or Herbie Hancock or— Beth wasn’t sure who. Peter had been the jazz buff in the family.
    Rafael’s hand touched the small of her back, gently guiding her toward the bar itself, a wide semi-circle that dominated the place.
    She had to admit she liked the feel of that hand.
    “Shall we sit here?” he asked.
    “Wherever you want.”
    The bartender, a tall Norwegian whose name tag read edvard, nodded to them as they slid onto stools.
    Beth was carrying nothing but a small clutch purse that held her cell phone, a packet of gum, lipstick, a couple of Band-Aids, and her seafarer’s card. The cards were given to passengers as they checked in at port, and not only unlocked their stateroom doors but also were linked to their identification.
    And, more important, to their credit cards. The seafarer’s cards were used as cash aboard ship for paperbacks and trinkets and toiletry kits and drinks. Mostly drinks. Beth imagined that quite a few guests would be in for a shock when the final bill was tallied.
    As she laid her purse on the bar, Rafael brought out his own seafarer’s card and handed it to Edvard.
    “Tequila Tonic,” he said, then turned to Beth and waited.
    She smiled. “Long Island Iced Tea.”
    It was a strong drink—what her boss had once called, dollar for dollar, the best value in booze—but she knew her limits, and didn’t imagine she’d be flashing her boobs anytime soon.
    Edvard nodded, carried the card to the register, passed it under a scanner, then handed it back to Rafael and began mixing their drinks.
    “For the record,” Rafael said,

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