"Red?" he called from the pier.
Duvalier popped out from the cabin like a jack in the box. One of the girls screamed. "The hell?" she said, gaping.
Duvalier had blood caked in her hair, under one eye, on her hand.
No time. Valentine brought his hand down, hard, on Rooster's wrist. He grabbed the butt of the club with the other hand, found the trigger, and released his grip on the wrist as he stuck the metal-tipped end against Rooster's breastbone.
A buzzing sound and the smell of ozone filled the riverbank air.
Rooster dropped, twitching, and he turned on Duvalier, expecting her to lunge, not knowing what he'd do to her. . ..
"Back off, Ali," he warned.
"Val, are you nuts? What's going on?" She sounded coherent, though her eyes blazed brightly.
"We're getting out of here."
"I was just going to suggest that."
"You want out of Memphis?" he asked the girls. Rooster moaned, and Valentine zapped him again.
"Yes," one said. The others nodded dumbly.
"Get in the boat."
He opened up the pocketknife and cut the bands between their legs, stuffed the hood in Rooster's mouth, and tied it down with the leather lead. He searched him, found a key to the girls' shackles, and transferred the restraints from the chicks to the cock.
"Who's the blood from?" Valentine asked Duvalier as they cut the lines from the little cabin cruiser to the wharf. Valentine made sure to leave a long lead at the front of the boat.
"Our Dallas neighbor," Duvalier said, pushing the girls into the cabin. "He insisted he knew me. I think he just wanted in my pants."
"Where is he?"
"Dead."
Valentine glared at her.
"Don't worry, I did him in his shower. Gave a blow job he never had time to forget. All the blood flowed into the boat drain."
"Except for what got on you."
"What's the plan now ?"
"Thank God the river flows in the direction of Tunica."
Valentine hopped into the water and pushed the boat away from the wharf. The water was only four feet deep along the bank.
"Try and find something to use as a paddle," he suggested.
"Whaddya think you're doing, buddy?" someone called from another boat as they headed toward the river.
"Fishing!" Valentine yelled back. "Have a great weekend!"
The boat began to drift, and Valentine went around to the front and took up the line. He waded along the river, Mississippi mud, the real kind, treacherous beneath his feet. More than once his feet slipped on the bottom.
All Duvalier could find to use as paddles were dinner plates.
So he waded on, keeping close to the Memphis bank, until he passed Mud Island and got into the current. He fell into the boat as it slowly spun down the semi-intact bridge to the Arkansas side.