[Lothithil]

Mac in Martinique, ch 9
Game Face


Mac’s Voice-over:
Jones had actually been rather gentle with his oar-handle; I came-to only a few minutes after he thumped me. It didn’t do anything to improve my headache.

However, lying on the floor playing ‘possum did put me in an excellent position to eavesdrop on a very interesting conversation:

“Good work, Jones. It looked as if he was about to run when you nailed him.”

“I was trying to find out what he did with your gold, Mr. DuGaul, but I couldn’t get him to talk. I searched all over this place, but there’s no trace of it.”

“Maybe he’s hidden it,” Chink muttered. He prodded Mac’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Lemme wake him up and ask him.”

“He may have hidden the gold,” DuGaul said thoughtfully, “or he might have had accomplices who carried it away. Did you see any evidence of other people before you tossed this place?”

Mac held his breath until he heard Jones respond “No, sir. There was no luggage or clothes… he was getting ready to cut and run.”

“I’ll find out where it is!” Chink announced. He grabbed Mac by the lapels of his too-small Hawaiian shirt. Mac could not control his reflex; he flinched as the burly Chink drew back his fist.

“Wait!” The word burst from Jones before he could stop himself.

“Why?” asked Chink, fist still cocked. Mac’s face was growing flushed as he hung from Chink’s other hand; the shirt was making a colorful noose around his throat.

“Yes… why?” DuGaul looked at Jones curiously. “You’ve had your chance at payback. Chink here owes this guy for a swimming lesson.”

“Because... he won’t tell us anything if he’s got a broken jaw, Mr. DuGaul. I’m just as mad about this,” Jones indicated his crab-induced wounds, “but I’m more interested in recovering your property.”

DuGaul smiled, and Jones held his breath until DuGaul nodded and said, “Good point.” He sat down on the corner of the bed and nodded at Chink to release Mac.

Chink frowned but he let go. Mac fell back to the floor and enjoyed a few deep, unhindered breaths. When the fuzziness faded from the edges of his vision, he sat up and leaned against a wall, massaging his neck gingerly.

DuGaul watched Mac closely, waiting for the moment when the man would begin to sweat and beg. Mac merely returned his stare and said nothing. “You know what I want. Why don’t you just tell me where my gold is, before I let Chink ask you… his way.”

“Because I don’t talk to peons,” Mac stated in a cold voice, rubbing the knot at the base of his neck while shooting Jones a dark look.

DuGaul merely returned his stare, stunned to be spoken to in such a fashion. Chink growled and knotted up one of his fists so that it looked like a small ham.

“What did he call us? Nobody pees on me!”

“Chink! Down!” DuGaul ordered sharply, like the master of a disobedient dog. He gave Jones an indefinable look, and then said to MacGyver, “What are you talking about? These men take orders from me… I am in charge.”

“Yeah… whatever,” Mac said in a sarcastic voice. “If you were in charge of this operation, you wouldn’t be anywhere near me or these punks. You’d have yourself a slick middleman to take all the chances for you—and the heat, should anything… you know… happen.” And Mac smiled slowly and coldly at DuGaul.

‘My God’, thought DuGaul, ‘he knows about St. Just!’

“Just who the hell are you?” he demanded.

Mac climbed to his feet, trying to look more confident that he felt. If this bluff didn’t work, he doubted he’d have another chance to escape. He pushed his fears aside and worked his angle, trying to remember everything he learned from watching old westerns with his dad.

“Do you honestly think that I would steal anything from him?” Mac didn’t have a real clue to the bosses name—or gender, for that matter, but he guessed that these weren’t the type of men to take orders from a woman—besides Jones’s hurried mention of a man who gave orders to these crooks; he was going on guess-work, desperate. “I didn’t take the payoff, DuGaul… I was hired to find who did. Seems that somebody,” Mac allowed a long, meaningful pause to stretch out, “doesn’t trust you.”

“You’re lying,” DuGaul insisted. “You’re a tourist! He’s never mentioned you…”

A chill filled the room as DuGaul realized that he had just mentioned—out loud and for the first time, his shadowy employer.

Mac tugged on his Hawaiian shirt and smiled ruefully, “Good disguise, huh? You never doubted it for a second, did you? Well, that’s the reason why I get paid the big bucks,” Mac gently prodded his bruised jaw, “among other things.”

Jones watched the entire exchange in a state of numb disbelief and growing exhilaration. If this lunatic manages to pull this off…he might actually find out who was behind the entire operation!

“What’s he talking about, Mr. DuGaul?” Chink asked. His Neanderthal brow was furrowed like a fresh-plowed field.

“Never mind,” DuGaul snapped. “We’ll settle this right now! If you’re so familiar with ‘the Man’, why don’t you say his name?”

“Why don’t you?” Mac countered. “I’ll tell you why you don’t… because he would cut up and use as bait anyone who so much as breathed his name aloud. Don’t be fooled by the tan-lines, bud—I’m no tourist.”

DuGaul ground his teeth. “If I bring you in front of him and you turn out to be a fraud, I will kill you myself.”

“And if you don’t take me in and I turn out to be a fraud…I imagine that they’ll be looking for a new boss around here.” Mac winked at Jones. “Got your résumé updated?”

MacGyver kept on his game face, cool as a cucumber, while inside his mind he was racing. He was sending out silent “thank you’s” to his grandpa Harry’s old friend, that artful dodger Bill Cody, who had taught him the fine art of playing poker, as well as waves of gratitude toward his old high school drama coach. While he was communing, he took the time to nurse a hope that Jack and Mike might get wind of his predicament and lend a hand. He could use some of Jack’s outrageous luck right about now.

⌂

“Damn the luck!” Jack cursed, tearing at yet another tough vine that refused to let them pass through the tangle of jungle where he’d managed to lose Mike and himself. “Where’s that boyscout Mac when you need him?”

“Weren’t you a Scout, too, Jack?” Mike asked as she struggled along. The trees seemed to close behind them as they passed along the path that Jack was carving. Mike was torn between feelings of safety and claustrophobia, but she swallowed her anxiety and put her trust in Jack.

“Well… yeah! But I was, er… concentrating on other things… you know, like leadership skills and, ah… social consciousness and, um…”

“So what you’re saying is that you were busy playing dice while Mac was earning his badges.”

“Um…pretty much, yeah.”


~~~tbc

[MacNymph]

The old psychological switch-a-roo!

Get your poker face straigh Mac!

Good stuff.