Lights Out

Packer ran a furtive glance down Eddie’s body, almost as though he couldn’t help himself, then said: “You don’t tell me anything, boy.” He took a swing at Eddie, powerful, but long and slow. Eddie had been in a few fistfights: where he came from that was part of growing up. He leaned back. Packer’s knuckles grazed his shoulder.

“Don’t do that again,” Eddie said.

“Who’s going to stop me?” said Packer, getting ready to throw another one. But the way Eddie had moved made him pause. His eyes darted around the room, perhaps searching for a weapon. There was nothing obvious. That left his yelling voice.

“You’re dead.” Packer stormed out, banging the screen door shut behind him.

Mandy was up, tugging a T-shirt over her head. “You’ve got to get out of here,” she said.

“Why?”

“Why? He’s coming back with his gun, that’s why.”

“Over something like this?”

“What else?” She was looking at him in a way he didn’t like, as though seeing him from a new angle.

“What about you?” he asked.

Mandy didn’t answer. She went out the door; Eddie followed. Jack came hurrying out of the other cabin, zipping up his shorts. He saw them, glanced down the beach where Packer was running as fast as he could, ungainly, almost stumbling, toward the cottages; and understood at once.

Jack strode up to Eddie. Jack was looking at him in a new way too.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he said. He said it again, louder. Then he hit Eddie across the face with the back of his hand. Eddie fell, partly because of the force of the blow, partly because it was Jack.

His brother stood over him. “You’re a fuckup, you know that? You couldn’t even cut your goddamn hair.”

“Leave him alone,” Mandy said.

Jack turned on her, raised his hand again, maybe to strike her, maybe just to threaten. At that moment the Trimbles walked out of the bush. They wore bermuda shorts and polo shirts, carried binoculars and butterfly nets.

“Oh, my goodness,” said Mrs. Trimble, taking in the scene: Jack and Mandy, half dressed, Eddie, naked and bleeding on the ground.

Trimble stepped in front of his wife, raising his butterfly net like a symbol of office. “What’s the trouble?”

Jack wiped his hands on the sides of his shorts, managed a smile. “No trouble, Mr. Trimble. Just a little roughhousing, that’s all.”

Trimble frowned. “Looks like trouble to me.” He offered his hand to Eddie, helped him to his feet. “Get dressed.”

Eddie went inside his cabin, threw on clothes. When he came out, Jack was saying, “Lepidoptery, isn’t that the word?”

Trimble ignored him. He was looking at Mandy. “I’ve seen you before.”

“Have you?”

“At the Pelican Club. You were waiting in the car for Packer after lunch. He said you worked for him, I don’t recall in what capacity.”

Mandy started to reply, but Jack interrupted. “She’s no longer with the company.”

“Then what’s she doing here?”

Jack was still forming his answer when the sound of a revving engine came from the beach. Everyone turned, saw the jeep racing toward them, spewing rooster tails of sand. Packer was at the wheel, brandishing his rifle like a dervish.

“Run,” Mandy said.

“What about you?”

“He won’t hurt me,” Mandy said, but her eyes weren’t so sure.

Eddie grabbed her hand. “Where?”

“I don’t know. Cotton Town.”

“The commissioner lives there,” Jack said. “That’s all we need.”

“Then what do you suggest?” asked Mandy, her voice rising.

“Anything else.” The jeep fishtailed over the sand. Packer was shouting something at the top of his lungs.

Mandy glanced around wildly. Her eyes fastened on Fearless. “Who’s got the boat keys?”

Eddie answered: “I do.”

“Let’s go.”

“In the boat?” Jack said.

“Why not?” said Mandy.

“What do you mean, why not?”

Mandy looked at Jack. “Relax.” She tugged at Eddie’s hand.

Jack opened his mouth to reply, closed it.

“What the hell is going on?” said Trimble.

Eddie and Mandy started for the path.

“Wait,” Jack said.

At that moment, the jeep came bouncing over a dune and into the fish camp. Packer saw Eddie, swerved in his direction. He roared right by Trimble, recognized him too late, glanced back to be sure, hit the brakes, and lost control of the jeep. It plowed into Mandy’s cabin, flattening it like a doll-house, and came to a stop at the edge of the bush.

Packer staggered out, bloody and dazed, but still holding the gun. He swung it in Eddie’s direction.

“There’s not going to be any violence,” Trimble said, pointing at Packer with the butterfly net.

Mandy took off. It was all happening quickly, and Eddie was only eighteen. He ran too. There was a cracking sound behind him. He ran faster.

The sea was calm, the charts clear, Fearless’s tank filled to the top. They sighted Bimini before noon. By that time, Eddie had the answers to his questions.