was joking or playing for time or trying to get his job back. Then Guzman went back to have a look.
They evacuated the yacht just in time. The last of the kitchen crew was crossing the gangplank when the bomb went off. A loud pop and billow of drifting smoke. What the hell, Rush thought. It looked like a something out of a magic act. Something to, what was the phrase, divert the eye? At that moment, someone stepped on deck from below. Two someones. One close behind the other, holding an arm around his neck. As the smoke cleared, Rush could just make out his fish-like features. In the mad rush to evacuate the boat, one man had been forgotten: Walter Trask, the always neglected younger brother. Wouldnât you know it?
There was a huge hunting knife held tight to hisneck, and the man behind him kept leading him forward until they were clear of the smoke and in full view. Then the man stopped, cleared his throat, and positioned Walter Trask a little to the side, so that he could take the stage.
âI want television cameras here!â the man declared. âI want to make a statement. I have Stanley Trask, and Iâm prepared to kill him.â
âFuck you!â Stanley Trask roared from beside Rush on the dock. He had a bathrobe on now, but it was hanging open in front, and Trask didnât mind one bit. âYou donât have me, you fat fag!â
The man looked troubled. Then he took a good look at his hostage. Despite being identical twins, Walter and Stanley werenât hard to tell apart. For one thing, Walter didnât shave his headâhe kept a monkish ring of gray hair around the crown of his skull. For another, Walter didnât live the life of a rock star as much as his brother did, and consequentially, his face had a more relaxed, healthier glow about it. It also sagged a bit more, since it hadnât been artificially lifted and Botoxed. In short, Walter looked like a sixty-three-year-old man, whereas Stanley looked like a sixty-three-year-old man who was desperately trying to look forty.
Bob Steinkellner knew in a glance that he had the wrong Trask.
He cursed under his breath, and then he tried to put a good face on it.
âAll right,â he said, using his best stage projection tomake sure he was heard. âIt doesnât matter. I have your brother. Do you want to see him die?â
Stanley didnât answer the question. Instead, he asked one of his own: âWhat do you want, asshole?â
âI want a television crew. I want to tell them what you did to me.â
Walter was whimpering now. Heâd been left out of the conversation, as he had been left out of so many others, and he was making himself heard. âDo it, Stanley. Give him what he wants,â he blurted out.
âYou stay out of this,â Stanley said. âThis is between me and the fag.â
âMy name is Bob Steinkellner! Do you remember that name?â
Rush watched the exchange between the two men with cool interest. It was clear who was getting the better of it. He also watched Stegner as he took cover behind a pylon next to Rush, with his Steyr Scout sniper rifle at the ready, watching for a clean shot through the sight. Stegner had waited years to play Navy Seal sniper with that thing. Now it looked like he was going to have his chance.
âNo,â Stanley Trask said. âWhy would I remember that name?â
âYou called me,â Steinkellner said, sounding like a jilted lover. âYou made me buy more phones. You channel stuffed me!â
Stanley Trask laughed. âIs this to do with Feniro? That fiasco?â
A bee was buzzing around Steinkellner and Walter now, and that only added to Steinkellnerâs fury. âYes, that fiasco! That fiasco ruined my life.â
âWell, you got the right Trask for that. That was all Walterâs idea. Tell him, Walt.â
Walterâs eyes bulged with fear. âStan!â he cried.
âGo ahead, Walt.
Learning to Kill: Stories