“What do you think of that, Ms. Rafa Blue,
Citizen
columnist? Your parents did a super job of hushing up your passion for me. Even your grandmother helped try to quash the Blue family scandal. But your long ago love for me—it’s still there in your innermost memories, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t believe a word you’re saying. You’re out of your mind.”
“Mike Wilson, sexy dancer. Mike Wilson, even sexier bed partner.”
“You’re making this up, Brick Vexton! You have no way of knowing such horrible things.”
“Although many years have passed since that fun-and-games time we shared, I’m guessing you still lie in your cold bed in your posh hotel suite and dream of Mike Wilson. How cool is that? I’ve asked myself that question many times during the past years. What do you feel when you dream of Mike Wilson? Does your body tingle in places you’d almost forgotten?”
The cuff around my wrist cut into my flesh sending pain up my arm. I didn’t try to pull free. I let Brick rattle on and on until I could bear his words no longer.
“How did you know about Mike Wilson?”
“Oh! So you do remember me? We had some great times, didn’t we? You were so young. It was my good fortune to be able to introduce a virgin to one of life’s greatest pleasures. And you responded in such a mature way for a child your age. No, not a child. You were a child when I picked you up drinking a margarita at the hotel bar. But you were a woman when I finished bedding you. You should thank me for sharing my expertise with you.”
I could only stare at him. I’d never seen this man when I was a child. How could he know about the secrets I’d revealed to no one? Not even my parents or my grandmother knew the details of the moments I’d spent with Mike Wilson. And certainly not the doctor who placed my feet in cold steel stirrups, spread my knees and asked a million questions as he prodded and probed at my private parts. I’d kept the intimate details of my moments with Mike Wilson a secret. My secret.
“I’d never seen you before in all my life, Brick Vexton. I met you casually at a friend of my parents just before I left home to go abroad to college.” Maybe the blow on his head had addled him. But here was something he wanted to talk about—a subject that inflated his ego. I’d keep him talking as long as I could, no matter how painful the subject.
“But you do remember Mike Wilson, don’t you, Rafa? I won’t release you into sweet death until you tell me you do remember Mike Wilson. Remember those brown eyes? Remember his sable-colored hair? Back then, many women told me my hair felt more like a silky pelt than real hair. Did you feel that way about it?”
“Why do you think you can convince me you’re someone named Mike Wilson? Okay. So I’ll admit I once knew a guy named Mike Wilson.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He jerked on his arm, making the cuff on my wrist cut into flesh, bringing tears to my eyes. “Of course you knew Mike Wilson.”
“But you look nothing like the Mike Wilson I knew. Nothing at all. And your name? You’re trying to tell me that the guy I knew as Mike Wilson of Miami is now Brick Vexton of Key West? You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s simple for anyone to change his name. A person can do it upon request. Sometimes divorcees prefer to delete their married name from their lives and their memories and return to using their maiden names. No problem. Sometimes people hate their given names—and for good reason. What if Scarlet O’Hara had been named Pansy? Names make a difference.”
“Scarlet and Pansy were potential characters in a novel. Easy enough for the author to click a few computer keys and change their names. But how did you go about changing your name?” I hoped that question would keep him talking a few more minutes. Bisque coloring now crept into the eastern sky. Maybe I could keep Brick talking until sunrise.
“Changing my name took a little money for fees here and there. But I had lots of money—the Mariel Boatlift, you know. The name change took some trips to a lawyer’s office, then more trips to the courthouse and to a judge’s chambers. But at last my birth certificate read Brick Vexton.”
“You went to all that trouble to keep me from finding you again. You thought I’d come searching for you?”
“I thought it a strong possibility, not that I wanted to hide from you. You were very good in bed. That’s a good thing in a woman—any woman.”
“So you could and did change your name, but what about your looks? The blue eyes, for instance? Mike Wilson’s eyes were brown.”
“Contacts. I dislike wearing them, but someday I may remove them and tell anyone inquiring that I’m wearing blue contacts. Don’t know why that might not work. Should have tried it long ago. What do you think?”
“The sable pelt? Tell me about that.”
“At first I shaved my head and grew the moustache and beard. Then age took care of the hair problem. I’m probably the first male in the world who welcomed baldness. The beard, however, is natural. I think it lends me a lot of dignity.”
Now and then I heard a car passing on the street below the marina. I willed some driver to come to the chandlery. Clouds began to cover the sliver of sun peeking above the horizon, but they would soon burn off. Now I remembered that yesterday’s weather forecast mentioned sunshine and temperatures in the eighties.
“Brick Vexton.” I tried to ease away from him, but he jerked me back to his side. “How did you choose a new name? Did you have to find a name the courts and the judge approved, or could you pick any name you wanted.”
“I could choose and I chose Brick Vexton.”
“Why?”
“Several reasons, Rafa. Brick has a strong sound. Don’t you agree? The word Brick leaves a strong picture in a person’s mind.”
“And you wanted to appear strong. Right?”
“Right.”
“Vexton? Where did that name come from? Ancestors?”
Brick laughed. “People are strange, Rafa. Certain words call up taboo subjects. Any name with an x in it, calls up the word sex. Vex, sex. You get the connection. I consider Vexton an attractive name, sexy, steamy.” I felt myself running out of questions, but I grabbed a deep breath and kept talking. “So returning to Key West disguised as Brick Vexton made you a new person. But why was that change so important to you? Did you think I’d fall for you again in your new disguise? Guess you’ve learned by now you failed.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I grew up in Key West and I wanted to live here again.”
“So you are living here. I see no problem with that.”
“I had a deep fear that one day you might recognize me, perhaps by my voice. But that proved to be no real problem. Maybe voices change over the years, too. But I had no real problem with my disguise until you and Threnody started poking around at Marathon, looking up and questioning Snipe Gross.”
We were talking in circles. We’d been over this before, but I had everything to gain by talking and nothing to lose—except my life.
“What could Snipe Gross have told us that would send so much fear into you? That would make you so uneasy you had to murder Threnody?”
Brick hesitated so long before answering that I thought he might refuse to talk any longer. I prodded him with another question. “What did you think Snipe Gross might reveal to us?”
Brick remained silent.
“Did you think Capt. Gross might reveal that you murdered Diego?”
Brick’s laugh sounded more hollow than before. “No, Snipe had no way of knowing that.”
“So what did he know that threatened you?”
“He knew my real name.”
“Mike Wilson? That knowledge could endanger you?”
“He knew my original name.”
I heard a siren wailing somewhere in the distance. How I wished I had a way of signaling that cop car to drive by the marina.
“Wishing you could call that cop up here, aren’t you?” Brick asked, reading my mind.
“I won’t lie to you. Yes. I wish the police would come, would find you here, would find Threnody’s body, would find you threatening me.”
“Well that’s unlikely to happen. In a few short moments you will join Threnody and Diego in eternity.”
“Eternity. Nothing I can do to hurt you from there. So what will it matter now if you tell me your birth certificate name? You’re a clever person, Brick Vexton, Mike Wilson, or whoever or whatever else your original birth certificate says.”
Again, he hesitated. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jumpsuit and when he looked at me his eyes glazed. He sat down on the catwalk pulling me down with him. I squelched a scream as the handcuff cut more deeply into my wrist.
Chapter 42
“Brick, you’d feel more comfortable if you’d unlock the cuff. There’s no reason to keep us bound together in this painful way.”
“You mean
you’d
feel more comfortable without the cuff. Forget that. I’m not about to release it and let you make a bolt for freedom. Not that I couldn’t bring you down with one shot. Think die, Rafa Blue. Your time is up.”
“Be real. Please unlock the handcuff. How could I run away with you holding me at gunpoint?” I squirmed in my cramped position. With my leg hurting and bleeding, I doubted I could muster the strength to rise and run. Pain shot through my arm when I pulled on the handcuff, but pain must be coursing through Brick’s arm, too. I gritted my teeth.
“Your birth certificate name, Brick. Who are you? Are you sure you really know who you are?”
“It’s a secret I’ve kept for over two decades.”
“So tell me now your real name so I’ll know how smart you’ve been—how brilliant. I can understand why you’re so proud of yourself. Not many people could have kept a secret that long.”
“Reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the key to the cuffs. You may be right about our being more comfortable without them.”
Hope soared. I found the key and held it where he could see it.
“So unlock the cuffs.” He held the gun aimed at my heart. He lifted his wrist, and mine so I could find the lock, insert the key, turn it. He pulled his wrist free first and I let my hand fall to my side before I struggled to free myself from the steely grip.
Pain stabbed my arm from my fingertips and wrist to my shoulder when the cuffs came loose and clanked to the catwalk. We both heaved sighs of relief. I wanted to shove the cuffs into the sea so he would have no chance to use them again, but that might arouse his anger. I left them where they fell. I struggled to stand, hoping he might rise, too, and help me to my feet. He remained seated and prodded me with the gun.
“Stay where you are and I’ll let you live a few more minutes. How cool will that be!”
I remained seated beside him.
“Bucky Varnum.”
At first I didn’t realize he meant Bucky Varnum was his real name. But then I remembered Kane telling me about Bucky Varnum—the Mariel water taxi captain.
“Bucky Varnum.” I repeated the name, giving myself a few moments to think, to plan what to do next.
“Clever, don’t you think? Bucky Varnum. B.V. I kept my original initials. Thought I might need them some day when I returned to Key West.”
“If you liked this rock so much, why did you leave?” I tried to ease away from him. He didn’t prod me with the gun, but he lifted its barrel as if to take a better aim. I sat still.
“Didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to leave at all.”
“So why’d you go? You were rich, rich, rich. Kane told me you made millions running a water taxi between Key West and Cuba.”
In dawn’s growing light, I saw Brick smile. “Right. Few shrimpers controlled as much money as I did. I deposited my take in many banks throughout the Keys. Wanted nobody to know the extent of my wealth.”
“Okay, so you had it made. You were set for life. Smart guy. So what happened to all that money?”
“Wealth’s a hard thing to keep secret. Truth leaked out. Gossip and rumor made my wealth expand with each telling.”
“So that made you Mr. Important. At least Mr. Important to those who knew you on the shrimp docks.”
Brick gave a short derisive laugh. “Not just the shrimp docks. Throughout the island, people called me a big shot. Called me that behind my back. Called me that to my face.”
“And how cool was that!” I repeated his favorite phrase, hoping he heard my touch of sarcasm.
Not many shrimpers could afford to live high on the hog. Or should I say high on the shrimp shell. Most of them worked hard to eke out a living.”
“So you were king. What happened?”
“Jealousy. Jealousy rides the tail of gossip. Island folk began to resent not only my wealth, but the way that I’d made it—no, not made it, earned it. Island loudmouths said I’d earned my wealth on the backs of helpless Cubans—refugees.”
“Refugees like Diego?”
“There were thousands of them—all wanting to escape from under Castro’s thumb.”
“And you gave up your successful shrimping business to help those poor people to a better life.”
“Right. I did those people a big favor. And they did me a favor, too. A big, big favor.”
“What favor did those poor people do for you?”
Keep him talking.
“One day when we were waiting for the tide to change, they took me to Daiquiri.”