“Let’s walk a spell,” Ryan said. “Quick talk about what you’ve done for us. I don’t reckon there’s much more that you can do for us now.”
Huston didn’t speak, his body slumping, legs faltering, as though he knew how far the walk was going to be and how it was likely to end.
Ryan stopped when they were right at the stern, the spray from the throbbing paddle wheel hanging in the air, rainbowing in the golden light of the setting sun. Nobody was around.
“Here’ll do,” he said.
Huston came to life then. “Couldn’t help it. They threatened me.”
“And paid you,” J.B. said.
“Sure. You wouldn’t have turned down all the jack they offered me.”
“Wrong,” Ryan argued. “As wrong as you can be.”
He had drawn the SIG-Sauer, letting it hang out of sight at his side.
Huston was twitching, face white as parchment. The cool air was suddenly filled with the hot smell of urine, and a damp patch appeared at the front of his pants, dribbling through onto the scrubbed planking.
“You can have all the jack,” he whispered.
Ryan shook his head. “Sorry, Captain. I just don’t have the time.”
He lifted the blaster, pressing the barrel against the side of the trembling man’s skull, just above his right ear, and squeezed the trigger once.
The silencer was still working well, and the only sound was a faint coughing noise, no louder than a dowager clearing her throat before making a speech to the ladies’ auxiliary.
The muffled sound was completely drowned by the thundering of the stern-wheel.
A spray of blood and brains splattered on the deck and railing, dappled with tiny shards of white bone. Huston staggered and would have gone down if J.B. hadn’t supported him below the arm. The man’s mouth opened, and blood trickled out, darkened by the sunset’s ominous light. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he gave a rattling sigh.
“Gone,” J.B. said. “Want him over the back? Good as any, I reckon.”
Ryan holstered the SIG-Sauer, making a mental note to reload the spent round when he had a chance. “Yeah. Quick as we can, before anyone comes by.”
Avoiding the leaking flood of crimson from the shattered head, they lifted the dead man and dropped the corpse over the damp railing, where it landed on the revolving wheel and was carried down and under.
“Shit!” Ryan said as the draggled, sodden body appeared again, hooked between the white slats of the massive paddle wheel. The eyes looked to be staring at them as the body rolled over, one arm seeming to beckon as it vanished once more.
“What are we going to do?” J.B. leaned over. “Someone’s bound to see it.”
Ryan didn’t hesitate. He climbed over the rail, reaching out his left hand for J.B. to hang on to, waiting until the corpse reappeared, straining over the murderous wheel and heaving at the limp hand. He nearly lost his grip on the cold, wet flesh, but tightened his fingers and pulled, feeling his own shoulder almost jerked from its socket, gritting his teeth and pulling as hard as he could.
“Got it!” the Armorer yelled, seeing the body flop loose from the grip of the paddles and slip under the stern into the whirling thunder of white spray.
They both heard a dull thunking sound, watching as the wheel revolved once more, coming around empty. One section was stained scarlet. Then, thirty or forty yards out in the frothing wake, they saw the black shape of the body of the captain drift away to the south, taking his last journey down the Sippi.
“Close,” Ryan said, clambering back over the rail onto the solid safety of the deck.
“Wheel’s slowing,” J.B. said. “Must be coming toward our landing place.”
“Best get back to meet them.” Ryan wiped spray from his face, leading the way to their cabin.
THE SEC MEN ESCORTED THEM along the deck. The Golden Eagle had come to a full stop on the eastern bank, the first officer holding her in position against the current, while a gangplank was thrown out onto the muddy shore. The fog had cleared, but darkness was galloping across the big river.