by Joe Nobody
In the meantime, his sister had plenty of food and a nicely stocked liquor shelf. The bathroom cabinet contained a ready supply of prescription painkillers as well. He didn’t see any cops patrolling the local streets, so he would just stay put until another prospect presented itself.
When Rod spied Charlie carrying a cardboard box with a pistol sticking out of the back of his pants, his interest was naturally sparked. He didn’t know Charlie, per se, only having observed the guy canvassing the neighborhood door-to-door a few days ago. Rod had naturally assumed Charlie was casing the street - seeing who was home and who wasn’t.
At first, Rod’s criminal mind was frustrated, the thought of having competition for the neighborhood’s plunder being unacceptable. He’d considered trying to scare the man off, but his nemeses carried a pistol, and Rod didn’t. His sister hated guns and wouldn’t allow one in the house. He’d double-checked anyway. After thinking about it for a little bit, he decided a partnership might in order. He was hanging out on the front porch watching for either the cops or Charlie, hoping the latter would show first.
Charlie replayed Rose’s little lecture, writing it off as too much drama and emotion, not enough common sense. He finished the fourth and last beer, but wasn’t overly concerned. Knowing there was plenty more just a few hundred yards away put him at ease. Hell, he thought, all of those guys with boats were lushes anyway. I’ll bet there are all kinds of goodies over there.
The alcohol running through his system was affecting his judgment. His bravery and sensation of invincibility was elevated while his fear of Rose’s wrath was minimalized. He would show Rose it wasn’t any big deal. He’d bring back a big load of food…and drink.
Charlie’s garage was hot and sticky, so he raised the overhead door to catch the sea breeze. He was a little concerned the noise might wake Rose, but she had crashed over an hour ago and was probably deep in dreamland after consuming a big meal. Using a flashlight, Charlie quietly dug out an old camping backpack and located his crowbar. At the last minute, a hammer and pistol were added to the arsenal - just in case.
The hour was late, and he figured all of the boaters would be asleep. He would just sneak over, pry open a few boats and fill the pack with food. I wonder where boaters keep their booze, he mused.
Rod saw Charlie’s garage door open, and figured the guy was up to something. The sweeping beam of a flashlight soon confirmed his suspicions. Rod had conducted surveillance on Charlie’s place for hours and was about to call off his stakeout. When he noticed Charlie hoisting a bulky bag down the street, he moved to the stoop for a better vantage. Charlie was right in front of Rod’s hiding spot when the unseen man cleared his throat.
Charlie jumped at the racket and fumbled for his flashlight. Before he could even get it out of his back pocket, a voice called out from the nearby porch. “Hey man, you going hunting for some treats?”
Charlie’s anxious tone proved him to be a novice and clearly unpracticed liar. “Who is that? Do I know you? I’m just going for a walk to get some fresh air.”
The shadow said, “No problem, man. I’m not a cop. I know you’re heading back over to that boat place. I thought you might want some help.”
The man’s approach confused Charlie’s already buzzing head. The voice seemed nice enough and having someone along would probably help. Two guys would be safer than one. One guy could keep a lookout while the other searched a boat. He decided to test the stranger, “I’m only going to get the kids some food. What are you looking for?”
Rod stepped down from the porch, edging closer to Charlie, “I’m just bored. I don’t need food right now, but I might soon. Really man, I’m just looking for something exciting to do. No TV sucks, dude.”
Charlie could relate to that. He’d been bored out of his skull since losing his job and becoming Mr. Mom. This guy didn’t seem so bad, and after all, he was a neighbor. Why not? Charlie decided he would clarify with the newcomer who was leading the expedition. “Sure, you can tag along, but let me warn you – this is my little treasure trove, and what I say goes. Okay?”
Rod smiled in the dark, “Sure, man – whatever you say.”
The two men headed toward the marina in almost complete darkness. The moon was a small, yellow sliver, and a haze dampened the field of stars. They could barely make out the masts of the sailboats in the distance. Reaching the edge of the parking lot, they both squatted down and listened. The only noise coming from the piers was the constant “…Ting, ting, ting…” of rigging ropes, lightly thumping against the masts in the breeze. They couldn’t hear any voices or music or see a single light.
Charlie looked at Rod triumphantly, “I figured everyone would be asleep by now. Let’s move over to the far side - the bigger boats are over there.”
“Sure nuff, man.”
The two men worked their way slowly across the lot, moving between parked cars and trash bins until they were at the head of pier three. Charlie motioned, holding his hands far apart as if to say, “These are some big boats.” Rod nodded, sneaking down the ramp onto the pier, Charlie right behind him.
Hank Weathers had just switched off his reading light a few minutes before. He was lying on the master berth, visualizing the meeting scheduled for the following morning. He didn’t feel any strong regrets about the encounter with the stranger today. These are good people, he thought, but they have no idea how bad things can get. He wanted to get his point across in the morning. It was important that the people in the marina organize to protect themselves. They had been lucky so far, but it wouldn’t last.
Hank had served in Bosnia as part of the United Nations force manned partially by US troops. He had seen firsthand the results of desperation and brutality. For the most part, the people of Bosnia weren’t hungry. They were motivated by prejudice and religious hatred. To Hank’s way of thinking, it really didn’t matter what motivated extreme behavior.
In Eastern Europe, the people had been whipped into a frenzy by a perceived threat to their way of life. That conflict didn’t involve desperate hunger. The people there felt threatened by someone who believed just a little differently than the mainstream philosophy. Yet, the temporary madness here mimicked the Bosnian furor. Here, now, starvation would be the catalyst.
Hank shuddered at the memory of the mass graves and the thousands of orphans he had seen in Europe. He had spent six months in that living hell, every day thinking he had seen the worst mankind had to offer. The worst was often outdone days later by an even greater discovery of barbarian acts or atrocious behavior.
Why did his neighbors think everyone was going to light a bonfire and sit around holding hands while they sang “Kumbaya”? He needed to make them understand that when things got really bad, a door opened inside of man. Opening that door liberated a beast – a demon of dark behavior that would release ultimate violence on its own kind.
Hank had witnessed this monster. He’d seen it firsthand, in person – up close and personal. He had to figure out how to convince his neighbors of its existence before it was too late. How do you make them understand that the boogieman truly exists? he wondered.
Rod approached the second craft on the pier. He shot Charlie an inquiring expression of “Why not start here?” and stepped aboard. He hopped over the transom gate and tried the large, sliding glass door leading to the salon. It was locked. Charlie set his backpack on the deck, digging around until he pulled out the crowbar. He handed Rod the long, steel tool, expecting his partner to pry open the door. Rod glared at the implement, hefted it in his hand, and swung it hard at the glass.
Hank heard an unusual “thump,” or at least he thought he did. He was in that in-between state, partially asleep, but still vaguely aware. He thought for a moment that perhaps he’d been dreaming. Despite the mental fog, his senses focused quickly, inventorying the assorted noises from the marina. More from his military training than consciousness, his hand reached into the bedside drawer, feeling for the 9mm Glock stored there.
> Rod’s first strike only created a spider web in the thick glass. So stunned by Rod’s overt, imprudent act, Charlie couldn’t will himself to speak. Before he could stop the idiot, Rod swung the crowbar a second time. The impact shattered the glass inward, the crashing shards creating more of a racket than the first blow. Charlie finally found words, spitting them at Rod in an angry whisper. “What are you doing? Are you trying to announce to everyone in the marina that we’re here?”
Rod shrugged his shoulders and handed Charlie the pry bar. His whispered sneer seemed ironic to Charlie, “There can’t be that many people here. And what are they going to do anyway? Call the cops?”
Hank was wide awake now, alert, and sure of trouble after the second strike echoed across the marina. The sound of shattering glass was clear, the volume disqualifying the possibility of a dropped bottle or other such clumsy act. He rolled off the berth, fumbling for his shorts. He racked the slide on the pistol and chambered a round.
Hank’s racing heart caused his fingers to tingle as the cocktail of blood and adrenaline surged through his veins. He slipped on his deck shoes and moved to the door with purpose, all the while his senses were probing the night – intently seeking input about what was going on.
Charlie realized he was holding the crowbar with a dumbfounded look on his face. The beam of Rod’s flashlight moving around inside the cabin caught his eye, bringing him back to this grim reality. He fought the urge to turn and run. There was no way the people on the boats didn’t hear that noise. He looked around anxiously, half expecting to see lights switching on inside of all the surrounding windows and to hear the voices of angry men. When there was only darkness and the murmur of leaves displaced by a light breeze, he calmed down for a moment. He was moving to the entrance of the salon, curious as to what his crazy partner was doing inside, when Hank’s menacing tone made him jump. “Freeze! Don’t move, or I will shoot you.”
Charlie instinctively raised his hands, desperately seeking to convey a message of “Please, don’t shoot,” to the voice behind him. He fought the urge to turn around and face the threat. The overwhelming fear iced the very marrow in his spine.
The voice sounded again, “Put the pry bar down…very slowly.” Charlie couldn’t help himself. As he bent to place the tool on the deck, he pivoted his feet and stood facing Hank. In the dark, neither man had any clue they had met just a few hours before at the picnic. Hank’s blood rush began to ease. He had his man, but wasn’t sure what to do with him. Charlie simply stood in front of the salon door with his hands in the air, unsure of where this was going.
Charlie sensed movement behind him. Seconds later, Rod reached up and pulled the .38 caliber revolver from Charlie’s belt. In one motion, Rod aimed the pistol around Charlie’s body and began pulling the trigger as fast as his finger could respond to his brain’s command.
Several things all seemed to happen at once. Hank was completely shocked by the gunshots, as the man he was watching had his arms up in the air. It never occurred to him that there was more than one intruder on the boat. His mind froze for just a moment as his eyes adjusted to the bright, muzzle flashes exploding not 15 feet away.
After a few hundredths of a second, he managed to send the command to his finger to pull the trigger. The Glock pistol in Hank’s grip held 17 rounds of 9mm ammunition, but not for long. Hank’s brain was sending repeated impulses: PULL THAT TRIGGER and KEEP PULLING.
Rod’s neurons were imitating Hank’s. Rod didn’t intend to use Charlie’s body as a shield. As he attempted to move from behind and get a clear shot at Hank, his feet got tangled up, and he began a downward descent. He reached out and grabbed for something to balance himself, pulling Charlie down with him.
Hank saw both men collapse on the deck and was unsure if he had shot them both or if they were diving for cover. He took two quick steps forward and started firing into the transom. Both Rod and Charlie were struck multiple times. Even if they hadn’t been entangled, there was no avenue of escape. Hank fired 17 shots into the two men, but only five found human flesh. Five was enough, and when the empty pistol finally locked open at battery, both burglars were already dead.
Hank watched the two men lying on the deck for over a minute, waiting for any sign of movement. He felt very weak and realized he hadn’t taken a breath for a long time. He opened his mouth to inhale and a sudden, sharp pain racked his chest. His legs became weak, and he desperately needed to sit down.
The deck and surrounding boats began swimming around wildly, swirling in his vision as he tried to sit. Something warm against his skin compelled him to touch his sternum. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered with a warm, wet liquid. What is this?
Hank tried to hold his blood-drenched hand up closer to his face, curious about what was causing the sensation. His last sight was the wooden planks of the pier rushing toward his face, and then total blackness.
David sprang out of bed first, followed quickly by Wyatt, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Were those gunshots?” both men asked at the same time. David grabbed the AR15 and inserted a magazine, then handed his father the shotgun.
Morgan and Sage were up by then, the entire family curious what was going on. David held his finger up to his lips and made a “Shhhhhhhh” sound. Sage instinctively switched on one of the overhead lights, and David snapped at her, “No light!” His sister quickly shut it off.
While motioning his family to stay back, David peeked out between the curtains. The darkness prohibited him from seeing much of anything, but one thing was obvious – there wasn’t anyone close to Boxer, and the back deck was clear.
Using hand signs, David motioned to his family that he was going to the back deck. He made it clear he didn’t want company. Wyatt was upset, but couldn’t stop his son in time. As Wyatt watched his oldest child reach for the door, a terrible angst flashed though his mind. “David has his whole life ahead of him. Mine is almost over. I should go first.”
Wyatt lurched, grabbing his son by the shoulder and stopping him. David was stunned by the act, throwing his father a questioning look. Wyatt pointed at his chest and made it clear, “Me, first.”
As Wyatt ventured out onto Boxer’s back deck, he felt silly scanning around with the shotgun pointing wherever he looked. His feelings of inadequacy were highlighted by the realization he hadn’t chambered a round. Wyatt grunted at his mistake. In its current state, it wouldn’t have mattered if a herd of stampeding zombies was boarding the boat - he couldn’t have fired the weapon. He was relieved at hearing the deck creak, a signal that David was right behind him. After checking all around Boxer and discovering no threat, Wyatt whispered back to Morgan that it was clear.
There wasn’t any way to tell where the gunshots had come from. For a few minutes, Wyatt and David began to question whether they had actually heard anything at all. David mounted Boxer’s bridge to scour the marina. He reported seeing lights coming on in several boats. Evidently, others had heard the same sounds. It wasn’t long before flashlight beams were sweeping all around the slips.
Rose awoke with a start, automatically reaching for the other side of the bed. The sheets were cool and empty, no Charlie. She stretched and rubbed her eyes, calmly believing him to be asleep on the couch. She had to use the ladies’ room anyway, deciding she would weather his ire at being rousted and coax him back to bed. It was the lesser of two evils, as he would complain all day tomorrow about his sore back if she allowed him to spend the night on the sofa.
After relieving herself, she padded into the living room to find an empty couch. Still not overly concerned, she began to search the house for her husband. The kids were fine, sleeping deeply in the odd positions that little ones always seem to work themselves into. She picked up a stuffed bear from the floor, tucking it back under the small arm that would be seeking it later.
A chill that originated on top of her head traveled down her back, resolving in her toes. Rose had discovered the open garage door. That was very unusual
and she wondered where Charlie would have gone. Her mind, still fighting to clear the cobwebs, took a few moments to recall the stolen food and the pistol. No, Charlie, she thought, I hope you didn’t decide to do it again.
The rest of the night, most of the boaters were denied sleep. The residents of Marinaville checked their respective piers and didn’t identify anything unusual or threatening. It was the following morning before someone noticed Hank’s body, lying in a pool of dark red. Moments after the first grim discovery, the two dead prowlers were discovered.
Everyone seemed to need to congregate at the scene of the crime. Despite the men warning several of the women not to look, they all did, and many turned away in pale shock. There was a natural desire to try and figure out what had happened, but no one was a homicide detective. Amateur sleuths abounded, spouting suggestions born of wisdom garnered from reruns of NCIS and Monk.
It was impossible for anyone to know for sure exactly what happened. Clearly, the two dead strangers were breaking into a boat. The pry bar, broken glass, and physical position of the bodies made that clear. But how had Hank managed to get shot? Who had surprised whom?
After all the rampant speculation engendered by the throng of would-be crime scene investigators, the crowd slowly started breaking up and going about the daily routine. It was David who recognized one of the dead thieves from the pool party. He reached underneath the body and removed a wallet and located a Lone Star state driver’s license, complete with name and address.
There was another discussion about what to do with the bodies. The GPS in Wyatt’s car verified that one of the strangers lived close by. It was decided that several of the men would wrap the two burglars in an old sail and return them to the address. They would bury Hank at sea, the same way as the dead girl. As they were gathering bags of landscaping stones, Wyatt couldn’t help but look around and say, “I sure hope we don’t run out of rocks before this is all over.”