Chapter 39 - CONFESSIONS

The sound of gulls stirred Cyr awake sometime after daybreak, such as it was in Bunker Hole. He hunched himself up on his elbows and looked over at Walker sprawled on the other berth in BALI's main cabin. Walker was dead to the world.

"Just as well," Cyr thought. His classmate and co-conspirator had gone into a towering rage last night, after Caldwell hadn't come back with Lizzy-Brew. Between the telephone threats from Rizzo, the snootful of coke Walker had hoovered up.. well, they both had, to be honest.. and the pain of the nasty wound Liz had given him before she jumped overboard, Walker had been in an emotional frenzy. It had taken all of Cyr's theatrical cunning to keep the cowboy from attaching HIM, or doing himself a hurt. The actor had played kid brother, clever partner, avuncular elder, male nurse, and.. finally.. father confessor.

Sometime after that mysterious visit from the fishing boat.. and what was that all about? WAS that the boat he'd seen in the night offshore? They all looked alike to Cyr.. Walker had finished the last of the Glenlivet, and spilled his guts. How he'd always wanted to live up to his father's standards, and win the old man's approval, but the Senator had never admitted his paternity, or found time for Walker. How he'd struggled through Andover to win his father's respect, when he was utterly unsuited for that academic hothouse. How he'd been embarrassed to go to Yale, when he knew others were much more qualified, and how he'd found refuge, and self-respect, by being the prankster-in-chief of his select club. Of course Cyr knew all this. He'd been there, too. But Walker seemed to want to pull out all the drawers and hold up the dirty linen.

Walker had cried over Lucille, the deb he'd been engaged to. That their relationship wasn't just a political arrangement, a way to buy him certified membership in the club.. at least not to him. But Lucille had proven just a false to him as his father had been.

Walker said his mother had always loved him, but there were so many men in her life, that he never seemed to get his turn. He had found one true friend among her lovers: Uncle Etienne, a real Cajun Cowboy, as handsome and colorful as Walker's mother was sexy and outrageous. Walker thought Etienne was probably the love of her life, but he was much too fey and footloose to settle down with her, and she too proud to ask. Etienne had taken the young Walker into the bayous with his kinfolk, and taught him how to ride on a ranch outside Shreveport.. one owned by another ladyfriend.. and he'd sworn Walker to secrecy.

Yes, Walker's paternal uncles had given him jobs on their oil barges, but they'd kept the same distance from him as is father did. He always had to prove himself, and never seemed to come up to their measure. Walker had dared hope that this coke deal would stake him to the kind of really big action which would make him a player in their league. Now it was all going bust.

God, it had been awful. Here was Cyr's goodtime buddy, fellow prankster, and partner-in-crime, weeping like a babe. Cyr had enough doubts.. when he wasn't acting some role, or curing it with chemicals.. he didn't need to have the imperturbable Walker turn to mush on him.

Late in the wee hours the big cowboy had caught a glimpse of himself in a portlight, and gone deathly silent. Even in his drugged state he must have realized how much he'd given away, and the look he turned on Cyr sent shivers down the actor's spine. Then Cyr had played the drunken fool who can't even remember where he is, or with whom, for all it was worth. Maybe Walker had bought it. At least he'd fallen down on the berth and passed out before he could silence the witness. That last look had sobered Cyr considerably, and he sat watching his partner very carefully for a hour, before he too, fell asleep.

Now Cyr got to his feet, and quietly slipped out the companionway. Once on deck he dropped the scrub bucket overside, hanging onto the lanyard, lifted up a bucketful of the briny, and dumped it over his head.

"Eeeyigh! That's cold," he shuddered. But now he was fully awake.

Cyr was just lighting up one of his precious Dunhills, when he thought he heard the buzzing of a motor, somewhere off the bow. Yes. It was getting louder. Soon the reverberant echoes off the islands made it sound like a fleet of boats were approaching. Only they were changing pitch. One motor was slowing down and getting very close, while another was speeding up and fading in the distance.

Out of the fog ahead the rented whaler began to materialize. Soon he could make out two figures standing behind the console. Caldwell and Liz. They motored past at about 20 yards distance, then made a wide turn, and came up parallel to BALI, maybe ten yards out.

"So the Prodigal Son returns," Cyr called out. "And the Lady Fair," he pulled at an imaginary hatbrim.

"Where's Walker?" Caldwell called.

"In the arms of Morpheus, after a visit with the Lotus Eaters," Cyr replied.

"OK," Caldwell hailed over the idling motor. "We've made a deal."

"Come on aboard," Cyr gestured.

"No," Caldwell responded. "We've sent Liz's cousin in with the boy to make a trade for the dope." So there HAD been another boat.

"Whaddaya mean we, peckahead?" It was Walker, rising up out of the cabin. He looked like death warmed over, with the livid scar across his face, and his blond hair all ahoo.

"Good morning Mr. Gonzales," Liz called over. "We means Caldwell and I.. and our friends. And we're going to save your bacon."

"Ain't thaht raght nice, Miz Lizzy-Brew," Walker cooed, "but ah dint know mah bacon was boinin."

"Oh the fat is in the fire, all right, Walker," Liz went on. "And that pissant fisherman is going to have to pick up your pieces."

"So why ah y'all still heyah, Lizzie. To watch me wiggle?" Walker asked.

Caldwell had been edging the whaler closer to the Concordia so they didn't have to shout, and now the two boats were only 5 yards apart. "She's here because Sumner doesn't have the coke," Caldwell said, "and his partners wouldn't bring it if Liz was home safe. She's here to save our skins, Walker."

"Whah we have a lot to thank Miz Lizzie foah, then, doane we?" Walker said touching the scar on his face. "Whah doane y'all come raght on ovah heyah and lemme give ya a kiss?" Caldwell sheered off so the gap widened.

"No, Walker," Liz said. "I have no reason to trust you, but you're going to have to trust me. When Sum gets here with the drugs, you might even say thank you."

"I'm a trifle confused," Cyr said. "Why should your darling husband bring us anything, if you've already been rescued by Caldwell the Chivalrous?"

"This way Liz forces Sum's buddies to give up the goods, before Rizzo starts shooting up Smithport," Caldwell answered.

"Ahhhh," Cyr replied. "The Lady is still a hostage.. a hostage to circumstances."

"Aren't we all?" Liz said softly.

Caldwell throttled up slightly, and the whaler pulled ahead of BALI. He'd spotted the unmarked buoy as they came down the tide, and now he motored up to it, reached overside, grabbed it, and made the buoyline secure around the bow cleat. Caldwell shut off the motor, and the line went taut. The Concordia was just visible behind them in the blowing fog.

Caldwell turned to Liz. "So how did you end up in Smithport?" he asked.

She laughed. "We might have just enough time to tell you," she said.