Call Down Thunder (7 page)

And suddenly everyone was running and yelling and scattering back towards the shore, trying to get away from the pier as the chopper howled just overhead, its guns sending out a stream of red
dots that stitched lines across the darkness, hissing into the water, rippling and spitting off the stone. Reve grabbed LoJo and spun him hard across into the shelter of the wall that ran like a
lip along the seaward side of the pier. He dived after him, scuffing his hands and knees but feeling nothing. There was only noise and fear. He pressed himself into the stone, wishing he could push
himself right inside it, wishing he had listened to Mi and stayed at home.

Almost in front of them was the truck. Reve could see two men struggling to pull something heavy from the back, big and awkward – some kind of gun or rocket launcher, he thought. The
señor was there beside them, his cigar still glowing, snapping instructions but standing straight, not bothering to scuttle and stoop like everyone else. Calde and two of the
señor’s men were over on the far side of the pier, crouched down by a bollard, following the helicopter, turning as it turned, guns up and ready to take another shot.

‘It comin again!’ someone shouted. Two or three people burst from the shelter of a stack of empty fish boxes and pelted up the pier. It was Hevez and Ramon and two others Reve
couldn’t see so clearly. They ran straight to the side the boats were on and hurled themselves into the water.

There was the whine of the helicopter, the stutter of guns and the brilliant white stalks of light, cutting one way and another, and catching a small figure running as hard as he could. It was
Ramon’s little brother. What was he doing down here! He was too small to do any of the lifting and carrying so all he could do was get in the way, get shouted at and now, Reve realized, get
killed.

The boy’s face was suddenly visible in a flashing sweep of the helicopter’s spotlight. He looked as if he had a race to win, but he was too late to follow his brother into the water.
He ran past the truck and Reve saw the señor glance at him and then turn back to what he was doing.

The chopper wheeled again, the spotlight slipped off Ramon’s little brother and before Reve even knew what he was doing, he sprang away from the slight safety of the wall and grabbed the
boy, who was running so fast he spun round Reve and made the two of them fall hard. Ramon’s brother cried out as he struck the ground, and his fist caught Reve under the eye, but Reve held
him tight to stop him scrabbling up and start running again; then, just before the spatter of bullets hissed and whipped across the stone, Reve hauled him back to where LoJo, his eyes white and
staring, reached out to grab the boy and pull him into their little bit of shelter.

There was more noise, more gunfire, a sudden loud crump so close Reve felt the air bang his face and his eyes jerked open. A great ball of flame burst up into the darkness from one of the boats.
They would all be burned, all those boats and then the houses in the village, they would burn too.

There were rapid pinpricks of light stippling the dark, a blustering crackle of gunfire from the armed men that seemed nothing against the frightening wheeling and banking monster of the air.
Then there was a shout from the truck, whatever gun it was the señor had assembled was ready. There was an angry barking cough, once, twice, three times in rapid succession:
Thok! Thok!
Thok!

Then, as abruptly and as terrifyingly as it had all begun, it was over: the stabbing lights were gone and the helicopter itself was scudding along the shoreline, jinking left and right like a
big dirt fly, skimming low over the sand, rearing up and over Mi’s car. Maybe Mi cast a spell on it, scare it right away. A plume of flame poured out from the chopper’s tail, trailing
fire like a comet across the sky. It flew straight for a few heartbeats then lurched wildly to the right. A moment later there was a loud
whoomph
and it jerked straight up into the air, hung
for a second and then piled down into the ground, erupting in a sheet of dazzling orange and white flame, so bright that Reve had to shield his eyes against the burst of light, even though it must
have been at least half a mile away.

There was silence apart from the sea slopping against the pier, the hiss of fire and water. Then Reve heard someone moaning, someone else calling and the pattering of running feet, engines
starting up. Some of the motorboats must have cast off and headed into the dark rather than sit there, easy targets, and now they were nosing back to the pier.

He touched LoJo’s shoulder. ‘You OK?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

Ramon’s brother was hunched against the wall, his arms wrapped over his head, his body quivering still. ‘You want to go look for your brother?’ Reve said. ‘I think
he’s all right, you know. Maybe a little wet.’

The boy clambered to his feet. Looked down at his torn-up knee raw from the fall. He poked it with his finger and winced. ‘You nearly broke my leg,’ he said.

‘He saved your life,’ said LoJo.

‘Yeah?’ He shrugged. But he peered at Reve and after half a second said, ‘I know you. Hevez don’t like you much.’ Then he grinned. ‘Don’t like me much
either.’ Then he ran off, or tried to – his hurt knee made him hobble.

At that moment the truck’s headlights flicked on, and in the sudden glare Reve saw men hurrying down towards where the boats had been moored. There was fuel burning on the water and the
boats that had cast off as soon as the helicopter attacked were now drifting a few lengths away from the pier, outside the ring of fire. Like hungry dogs, Reve thought, ready to come in again but
not too sure if it was safe.

The señor had Calde and his men gathered round him. A moment later bulky Calde was running back to the edge of the pier, gesturing for the boats to come in.

‘How many we lost?’ shouted the señor.

‘One only,’ Calde called back.

‘One only,’ mimicked the señor to his men. ‘How that country pig Calde like to walk round with only one
cojon
, hey?’ His men laughed and then peeled away as
he gave more orders, to dismantle the gun, strap down the load.

The señor took a couple of steps from the truck towards where Reve and LoJo were watching from the deep shadow of the wall. He flipped open his cellphone.

‘It’s me, Moro . . .’ His voice was low and ugly. ‘I want to know who gave a call to these dirt-fly coastguards . . . Yes. You’re the lawyer. You find out.’
The señor was silent, listening for a moment and then said, ‘Fix it.’ He snapped the cell shut.

The señor was now standing so close that Reve could smell him: something sweet and musky, not the village smell of salt, fish and sweat. He noticed now that, though the señor wore
a suit like his men, there was something shabby about him too. He wore a stringy vest under his dark jacket, an old pair of trainers on his feet. The señor scratched the back of his neck,
looked at the phone in his hand and then made another call. ‘Captain,’ he said, his voice low, polite this time, ‘I have a problem here . . .’ and then he turned his back
and Reve couldn’t hear what else he said. The señor ended the call, took one last draw on the butt of his cigar and tossed it away towards where Reve and LoJo were standing and then
walked swiftly back to where the boats were docking.

LoJo let out his breath. ‘You think he saw us?’

Reve shook his head, but he reckoned if the señor knew he’d been overheard he would not be happy. ‘You heard nothing, hey.’

LoJo shook his head. ‘I heard him say—’

‘No.’ Reve was firm. ‘You heard nothing.’

‘OK. OK. I gotta go, Reve. My family goin to come lookin for me, ’spect me to be dead cos all that shooting . . .’

‘And the money you earn?’

‘You collect it for me – you know how much I done. OK?’

Reve smiled. ‘You don’t think I just put your money in my pocket?’

‘Why you put my money in your pocket? Your pocket nothing but holes!’ With a wave he was gone, running down the pier.

The work had started in earnest again. Reve took his place in the line and sweated another load, and then another, to and fro between the truck and the boats, till his legs felt like jelly, and
he stopped to catch his breath.

‘So how long we got?’ someone shouted.

‘No time!’ snapped the señor. ‘You got no time, so you work double quick. You want to still be here in the morning when the policeman come? You want that? Take your
breakfast in the Castle? Then move yourself!’

The señor took another cigar from the inside of his jacket, bowed his head as he circled the match round the tip and then sucked so the flame pulled into the cigar. ‘I want those
boats gone before they send another helicopter. You think the coastguards got another helicopter, Secondo?’

The man beside him shrugged. ‘Maybe they borrow one from the army.’

Moro nodded. ‘Just one boat sunk?’

‘Yes, señor.’

‘Get the engine off it.’ He called Calde over. ‘Is it deep off this pier?’

‘Not so deep.’

‘Fix it then. Those engines cost more than a man’s life.’

Calde strode over to where the men were gathered, and after some discussion a couple of them stripped off and dived in.

Moro took the cigar from his mouth. ‘We lost any of the skippers?’ he said to his second in command.

‘One. Another got hit, his boat’s maybe OK, but he won’t be driving it. ‘

‘Calde!’ shouted Moro.

Calde came running back; Reve had never seen the heavy man run before. He had a cluster of his men on his heels, and Hevez and Ramon too.

‘I want another skipper. Who you got?’

Reve didn’t wait to hear who Calde was going to name; instead he ran back to the water’s edge for another load. He wanted to be there right to the end, hauling the sacks, sweating
hard so they could see how he worked, so they would pay him their dollar.

Down along the pier, a gang of men was hand-hauling a rope that must have been attached to the sunken motor boat. They were sweating it up towards the sand. Reve hefted the last plastic sack up
on to his shoulder and trotted back to the truck. As he passed by, the señor saw him and jerked his head, beckoning him over.

Panting, Reve stood, the sack awkward on his shoulder.

‘What do you think, Calde?’ The señor took out his cigar and studied its glowing tip. ‘You think the coastguards got lucky or you reckon some pig squealed?’
Reve’s heart pinched inside his chest. They couldn’t think it was him. He knew nothing! Unless Mi had been saying more things . . .

Calde looked at Reve. ‘If we got a squeal-pig,’ he said to the señor, ‘it get its tongue cut out. You thinkin this one?’ Calde’s hand went to the long blade
he had hanging from his belt.

Moro grunted what might have been a laugh. ‘No. Maybe. I don’t know, Calde. Finding the squeal-pig’s your business.’ To Reve he said, ‘Put that sack down.’
Reve slid it from his aching shoulder and let it drop at his feet. ‘You know how much dollar you carrying there?’

Reve shook his head. He reckoned that whatever this man told him, the sack weighed too heavy to be packed with paper money.

‘A lot of dollar. Steal a bag like this from me and a man don’t have to work for a long time. What you think about that, hey?’

Reve kept his face blank. If this was a test or something, it was stupid. Nobody was fool enough to steal from these men.

The señor nodded. ‘Do I know you? Who’re your people?’

Reve shook his head. ‘I got a sister is all.’

‘Well,’ the señor said, ‘I seen what you did, hey. With that boy. Pulled him from the bullets. You got
cojones
. A little bull.’ He said this over his
shoulder to one of his men, who laughed and nodded. ‘Maybe little
cojones
.’ He studied Reve, half closing his eyes, as if to get his full measure. Reve kept still. He
didn’t know what this man wanted, whether he was pleased with him or just toying with him, ready to make fun of him. He didn’t care, so long as the man paid him his money. ‘You
look for work some time, you ask for me, señor Moro. I can always do with someone who got muscle, quick mind, and a bit of courage.’ He turned away, the meeting over.

‘We get dollar from you?’ blurted Reve.

The señor turned back.‘You askin me for money?’

‘Yes.’

The señor looked at Secondo and pulled a face. ‘Who got money here? You got money, Secondo.’

Secondo patted his jacket and pulled a face too. ‘Me, no. I carry no money, señor.’

The señor laughed. A crowd of villagers had gathered around behind them; they too were waiting for money. They stood silent though, watching this pantomime. If these men wanted to make a
fool of a boy for speaking out of turn, that was nothing to do with them.

‘Calde, pay him.’ Calde looked startled. ‘Pay him, now. How much we pay these people, Secondo.’

‘Ten dollars.’

‘So much! OK. Give him twenty, Calde.’

At the sight of money being pulled, the crowd started calling out for their wages too. The señor’s men hustled them back, forcing them into a line.

Calde peeled a note from a roll he had in his pocket and held it out to Reve.

Reve kept still. ‘Forty,’ he said.

Calde growled at him: ‘Take this or you get nothing, stupid boy.’

The señor’s eyes narrowed, letting the smoke stream up from his mouth.

‘Forty. I collect for LoJo. He work alongside me.’

Calde hesitated, then the señor nodded and he peeled another note and handed it over. Reve took the two bills and folded them tight into his hand. Mi would be proud of him.

Reve slipped past the scrummage of men at the back of the truck holding out their hands for money, and then jogged to the edge of the pier just above the tideline, where he
could jump down on to the sand. Reve wanted to go show Mi the money he had in his fist. If LoJo would lend him his money, with what he already had saved up it was maybe enough. He needed to ask
Uncle Theon about that. Fifty dollars. You could live for half a year in Rinconda on that, if you didn’t spend it all on rum.

He was just about to jump when he heard more raised voices. Two bundles of men were surging and swaying like they were struggling to hold down one, maybe two, wild dogs. As they came into the
light of the headlights, he saw what was going on.