§ § § -- May 6, 1995
Lorimer was waiting when Roarke and Leslie pulled to a stop in front of his bungalow. "Well?" he demanded.
Roarke smiled. "We are here to take you to Mr. McCall. You look refreshed, Mr. Lorimer; and even your injured eye looks much better."
"Yeah, that doctor's a pretty decent guy," Lorimer agreed a touch grudgingly, swinging himself into the passenger seat. "Let's quit wasting time and get on with it."
About halfway down the southern side of the island, perhaps a mile or so past the Enclave, Roarke pulled the car into a small turnaround at the side of the Ring Road and parked there. They got out, and Lorimer scowled again while Roarke led him and Leslie down a path that skirted the edge of a cliff, shaded by palms and yielding spectacular views of the South Pacific. Lorimer, his temper gearing up again, barely noticed the natural beauty that surrounded him and his hosts. "What the hell is going on here, Roarke?" he demanded. "If McCall isn't a drug lord, then what is he, Tarzan?"
"No, Mr. Lorimer," said Roarke, just as they came to a cleared space at the very lip of the cliff where they could look directly down into tidal pools some forty feet below them. Leslie came around to stand at his side, while Lorimer settled his stance and folded his arms across his chest, glaring at Roarke impatiently. When neither Roarke nor Leslie met his gaze but instead watched the restless ocean beneath them, he directed his own attention that way as well.
Perhaps a minute or two slid by; then two lithe, dark shapes came into view under the blue-green waves as the threesome watched. "Oh, cripes," moaned Lorimer. "He's gone and turned into a dolphin?"
"You're getting warmer," Leslie said lightly. "Keep trying. Better yet, let him show you for himself." No sooner had she spoken than two heads broke the surface and peered up at them curiously.
"Well, Roarke, this had better be good," Nyah greeted them in irritation. "The quindecaplets are napping and due to awaken any moment. What do you want?"
"The request isn't mine, actually, Nyah," Roarke said apologetically. "This gentleman here wishes to speak with your husband."
Lorimer had been squinting down at them. "Hey, mister, you're Duke McCall, right?" he shouted. McCall, treading water alongside Nyah, looked astonished.
"Yeah, so?" he yelled back.
"I'm a bounty hunter, and your ex hired me to find you and get you back so that she can haggle with you about a couple pieces of property that evidently got overlooked in your divorce back in 1982. Now that you're here…and incidentally, what're you doing here?"
"I'm a merman," McCall replied casually. "Tell Tracey she can have everything, no questions asked. I don't need it anymore."
Lorimer stared at him. "You're a which?"
"You idiotic mortal," Nyah snapped. "He's not a witch, he's a merman, didn't you hear him? Great Neptune, Roarke, your guests have become quite stupid since last I saw you."
McCall reached out and smoothed her long, seaweed-festooned hair. "Nyah, sweetheart, why don't you go back and check on the quindecaplets, huh? It looks like this is my problem, so there's no need for you to hang out around here."
Nyah huffed. "Perhaps not, but if you haven't returned within ten minutes, I'll come back for you, quindecaplets or not." She ducked under and was gone in a twinkling, her tail flicking above the surface once before she vanished. Lorimer saw it and blinked.
"Did you say a merman?" he asked weakly.
McCall nodded cheerfully. "Sure did! Want to see?" He flipped himself up so that he was floating, making himself plainly visible from blond head to glistening gray-green tail. Lorimer gaped, mouth hanging open, swollen eye as wide as it would go, while Roarke and Leslie watched with great amusement. McCall waved up at them, and they both returned his greeting before he popped back upright. "Mr. Roarke did it all. And Nyah's the most amazing woman…mermaid…creature of any kind that I've ever known. Can you believe it, pal? I'm married to the Princess of the Seven Seas. Jacques Cousteau must be rolling in his grave with jealousy."
"How have you been these past years, Mr. McCall?" Roarke inquired.
"Fantastic! Nyah and I have been all over the world, and I've revisited my favorite dive sites over and over again. I've seen some new ones, too. You wouldn't believe what's at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. And we have forty-five kids now—the quindecaplets were born just eight months ago and they'll start school in about three weeks."
"Quin…what?" blathered Lorimer.
"Fifteen at once," McCall boasted, beaming from ear to ear. "All of them girls and the spitting image of their mother. About time, too. The first thirty were all boys. The octuplets celebrated their seventh birthdays last month, and Nyah and I took them to the wreck of the Titanic as a present. We could barely get them away from it."
"Oh, I'm sure," Roarke agreed. "Congratulations on the new arrivals."
"Do you mind?" Lorimer roared all of a sudden, startling them all. "Look, Mr. McCall, Tracey's paid me to find you, so if you'd just come with me…"
McCall eyed him oddly. "Are you kidding, mister? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not equipped for land travel. And I refuse to have anything to do with Tracey, not after she ditched me right after that nearly-fatal diving accident I had when I was human. If all she cares about are the boats, then give them to her. I couldn't care less. Tell her, if she really wants to see me that bad, then she can meet me in Samoa. Nyah and the kids and I will be there next week to visit my father-in-law."
"Your father-in-law! And he's what, a killer whale?" Lorimer sneered.
"No, he's…" McCall began, then caught himself and scowled up at Lorimer. "You know, you're really getting on my nerves. Mr. Roarke, what's with this guy?"
"I apologize, but I'm afraid he insisted," Roarke said with a shrug. "He was very determined to locate you, and unfortunately, this was the only way we could convince him that you are beyond reach now."
"Uh-huh," McCall said, nodding and addressing Lorimer then. "Well, bud, you've seen for yourself that I have a whole different life, and I prefer it this way."
"But you have to appear in person…" Lorimer began.
McCall grew annoyed. "Look, what do I have to do to get you off my back once and for all? And you better hurry up and let me know, because you have about three minutes before my wife comes back. She doesn't suffer fools, and you're looking like a bigger one every second."
"Well, would you be willing to sign an affidavit?" Lorimer queried with resignation. "Just so the interested parties know you're alive and well and you relinquish all property you held in real life?" He caught McCall's glare and amended, "Or rather, on land?"
"If you can get down here and into the water, then I'll do it, but I'm not going back," said McCall flatly. "This is my life, no matter how unreal it seems to you, and I don't intend to take any breaks from it, any more than you'd probably stop bounty-hunting."
Lorimer threw his hands into the air. "Okay, okay. Mr. Roarke, is there some way for me to get down there?"
"Uh…not from here, I'm afraid," Roarke said, clearing his throat.
"Unless you jump," McCall shouted tauntingly from below them.
Lorimer goggled. "Are you nuts? You tryin' to turn me into fish food? What'd I ever do to you anyway?"
"You know, you could always fold the affidavit into a paper airplane and send it down to him that way," Leslie remarked. Roarke gave her a dirty look, and she grinned.
"How would I ever get it back up here?" Lorimer snapped.
"Aw, c'mon, it's only forty feet," McCall yelled, grinning wickedly. "I used to dive off Mexican cliffs more than twice that height when I was a fraternity pledge. You can do it feet first if it makes you feel any better." He noticed Roarke's long-suffering, why me? expression and relented. "Oh, all right. Hey, Leslie, here's a trick I learned from Nyah the day I became a merman." He whistled piercingly, the melody to the first two lines of the chorus of the John Denver song "Calypso", and presently a seagull flapped into view and settled comfortably onto his shoulder.
"Oh, that's terrific!" Leslie exclaimed, laughing. "I love it!"
"Now for the good part," said McCall and proceeded to squeal at the bird in creditable imitation of its own cries. The gull responded with a screech and launched itself off McCall's shoulder, winging its way up in Lorimer's direction.
Lorimer grew alarmed and tried to duck aside. "Hey, what is this, The Birds now!"
"Stand still, pal," McCall bellowed up at him, all patience now gone. "Give the affidavit to the seagull, and it'll bring it down here so I can sign it. Fold it a couple times and clip a pen to it. Then I'll send it back up the same way."
"Oh," mumbled Lorimer and rolled his eyes, resettling himself. The gull landed on his shoulder; he extracted a sheet of paper and a pen from his backpack, folded the page twice and attached the pen by its cap, and stuck the whole kit into the gull's beak. The bird took off and dropped most of the forty feet to McCall before employing its wings to stop its headlong fall and perching on the merman's shoulder once again.
Within a minute Lorimer had his signed affidavit, and none too soon: Nyah's head popped out of the water beside McCall and she glared up at the bounty hunter. "Have you quite finished with my husband yet?" she demanded.
"Yeah, I guess. Geez, you're touchy, lady," Lorimer remarked.
Nyah narrowed her eyes and turned to the gull that now sat atop McCall's head, preening its feathers. She squealed at it, and the gull promptly took off, circling Lorimer before relieving itself on his balding head. This happened in the space of five seconds, and only Roarke realized what Nyah had in mind; but it was too late to stop her. "There," said Nyah in satisfaction, while Lorimer bellowed in rage and stripped the leaves off the nearest palm frond in a mostly vain attempt to clean himself up.
"Nyah…" Roarke sighed, shaking his head.
McCall, though he was grinning, said, "Shame on you, sweetheart. He was all done here too. We're free to go anytime."
"Oh?" said Nyah. "Well, my love, if you had merely told me as soon as I arrived, I would simply have bid him goodbye. Now, Roarke, is that all, or do you have other business with us?"
"No, that's all," Roarke assured her. "Thank you for coming, and I hope you enjoy your vacation in Samoa."
McCall waved at them, and he and Nyah dove under the waves in twin splashes, tails flashing bright in the spring sunlight. In seconds they had vanished from sight; Roarke let his relief show till he realized Leslie had seen his expression and was trying unsuccessfully to stifle her amusement at it. He frowned at her and cleared his throat again, addressing Lorimer. "Well, then, Mr. Lorimer, shall we take you back to your bungalow?"
"Yeah, right," Lorimer muttered, still trying to mop his head with a glossy green leaf. "Man, this whole thing has been about as unreal as I could ever imagine. I hate to ask what happened to Greta Gail O'Donahue. Tell me, Roarke, that she hasn't decided to become a wood nymph, or gone off to live in fourth-century Rome, or taken on the identity of Sheba, Queen of the Jungle."
"No, none of that," said Roarke, "but I should warn you that she has in fact gone back in time." Lorimer's horrified look prompted him to add, "Oh, not to England or Rome, no. But why don't you freshen up and have some lunch before tackling that particular part of your fantasy? You've accomplished a great deal of work this morning, and surely you would welcome a short break."
"Yeah, I suppose I would," Lorimer said with a heavy sigh. "You know, Roarke, so far my fantasy's been a total bust. I really oughta ask for my money back, especially since I haven't gotten any of the others to come back with me, which probably means my clients aren't gonna pay me." He gave Roarke and Leslie a plaintive look. "How come people hate bounty hunters so much? We're just makin' a living, same as anybody."
"Well," said Leslie delicately, "maybe it's in your approach to people…"
"My what?" Lorimer asked blankly.
"Why don't we go," Roarke broke in and gestured Lorimer out ahead of him before giving Leslie one quick, reproachful glance and striding off in their guest's wake. Leslie shrugged, grinned when her father wasn't watching, and followed them.