The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection

by David F. Berens

  The banging started again, more insistently.

  “Come out, come out, wherevah ya are,” a voice yelled from behind the steel, roll-up style garage door.

  “Shit,” the big man said, and reached down to try and pull his pants up.

  Karah started screaming, but the duct tape muffled most of the sound. She had no idea who was at the door, but he couldn’t be as bad as this dude. She would realize only later how wrong she had been about that.

  Suddenly, the door flew up and painfully bright sunlight flooded into the storage compartment. Karah squinted her eyes to see, but the figure in the doorway was just a silhouette.

  “Bluddy fookin’ hell,” spat her massive captor, “what the fook are you doin’ ‘ere?”

  The man standing in the doorway walked ... or actually ... he limped into the room. He was wrapped in bandages and his face was swollen and pulpy. Blood oozed from several different places and he smelled like vinegar ... and almonds.

  Her first thought was that she’d been held captive long enough for the zombie outbreak to happen. Her second was that she was no longer the center of attention. She looked around the room for something to help her escape, the first order of business being to cut the zip-ties on her wrists and ankles.

  Nothing. There was absolutely nothing in this room except for the two men, the recliner, the broken cell phone and her. She looked down at the phone and wondered if she could slide it closer to her with her foot. The two men were still yelling at each other, so she slowly stretched out her legs. Her big toe touched the phone and she almost gasped with relief. She was able to drag it inch by inch closer to the recliner. She had no idea how she’d be able to use it, but at least she was doing something and not sitting around waiting to be raped and killed. As the phone edged closer to the recliner, she dragged one last time and something sharp bit into her heel. She couldn’t help but yelp in pain. Luckily, the duct tape muffled the sound so much, the two men never heard her.

  A trickle of blood dripped down onto her foot and she saw what had happened. The recliner’s leg was missing its rubber edge protector and the metal was exposed. It looked like a knife edge sticking out from under the chair. An idea jumped into her head. She carefully swung her legs so the sharp edge was between them. She lowered them until the zip-tie was touching the metal. She gently moved her legs up and down. After just a few scrapes, a notch began to form in the plastic binding. She looked back up at the two men as she worked.

  The zombie guy had a gun pointed at the big guy, and he spoke in crazy, slurred speech. The big guy had his hands up, but he didn’t look scared.

  “Who’s got the fookin’ uppa hand na’ow, mate?” the little guy cackled.

  “Ya ain’t got one full hand between the two of ‘em, ya shit.”

  “Yeah, keep talkin’,” the little guy said, “caught ya with ya fookin’ pants down.”

  “Ah’m gonna fookin’ murder ya if ya don’t put that silly little pop-gun down, Darren.”

  Darren laughed a low, rasping laugh. He wobbled a little and inhaled to steady himself.

  “Pop-gun or nah,” he said, and lowered it to point at the bigger man’s crotch, “it’ll blow a hole right through ya wanka, Man’ti.”

  Darren and Man’ti, Karah thought, the two guys who’d been running out of Drunken Jack’s the other night. The same two guys who’d been harassing Laura on that night. She had no idea why they wanted Troy, but she knew it was something worth killing her over. She worked her legs a little faster. These two weirdoes weren’t paying attention to her at all. She glanced down at the zip-tie around her ankles. It was a third of the way cut. She was beginning to sweat and it was making it hard to keep the plastic up against the sharp edge. Several times it slipped off and jabbed her in the heel. Her foot was starting to slick with blood, but she didn’t stop.

  “Keep ya fookin’ hands up,” the guy called Darren growled at the other man.

  He’d been trying to get his hands down to pull his pants up, but Darren wasn’t having any of that.

  “It’s time we settled this once and fa all,” Darren said, pulling the hammer back on his gun, “so say ya prayers, ya tattooed ass.”

  The big guy, Man’ti, lunged at Darren, but his pants were still around his ankles so he fell forward to his knees. He ended up eye-level with Darren’s feet. He reached out and grabbed Darren’s right leg with both hands. The disgustingly brown and gooey bandages on the man’s leg squished like there wasn’t a leg inside. Darren howled in pain and slammed the butt of his pistol down hard on Man’ti’s head, but the big guy held on tight.

  Man’ti’s grip tightened more, and with a grunt, he jerked his hands downward like a chef breaking spaghetti to fit better in a boiling pot. Falling to the ground, Darren screamed again and shot Man’ti straight in the mouth. The back of the man’s neck exploded in a bloody mess, but he didn’t seem to want to die. The shot pinged against the back of the room and whizzed back at Darren ... a ricochet. He heard a bang and sizzle behind him, as the bullet found a new target out the door of the storage unit.

  Man’ti was in full panic now, his eyes bulging out of his head. He released Darren’s ruined right leg and clutched his throat. Ragged breaths wheezed in and out of him. He worked his mouth like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was the sound of a broken kazoo.

  “Look what ya did to mah fookin’ leg!!” Darren shouted in a rage, with spittle flying from his lips.

  His right foot dangled at an awkward angle. It looked like a hanging sock with a potato in it.

  Karah gagged at the sight of all the gore as suddenly the plastic zip-tie broke, freeing her legs. She shot up out of the recliner, but slipped on the puddle of her own blood beneath her feet, and she fell down, right next to Darren.

  He grabbed her hair in a fist. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweet tits.”

  Man’ti lurched up onto his knees, but he was still grasping at his neck and trying to fix the damage done to his head. Blood streamed down all around his shoulders.

  Without a word, Darren raised the pistol. He put a bullet right in between Man’ti’s eyes. The back of his head exploded out and he slumped forward.

  Darren spit on the bloody mess of the hulking man. “Fook you!”

  He pulled Karah’s head up and tapped her forehead with the gun. “Gimme a sec ta catch mah breath. You’re gonna tell me wheyah Troy is, or you’re next.”

  35

  Trade Route

  That was odd. The guy on the other end of the phone just hung up after he had said, “Speakin’.”

  Had to have been the guy who’d kidnapped Karah. Troy swung the Rover into the parking lot of the Balls beach store. The car sputtered and died just as he pulled in ... out of gas. Dangit, he thought, no turnin’ back now.

  He coasted in next to a brand new, fire engine red, jacked up, decked out Jeep Wrangler Unlimited idling in the lot. The back windows were so dark that he never noticed the girl sitting in the back seat nursing the baby. As he got out of the Land Rover, he reached behind his back under his shirt to discover that his gun was gone. Dangit. Heading into enemy territory ... unarmed. Not good.

  Remembering his time in Afghanistan, patrolling sketchy neighborhoods, came in handy sometimes. Just like back on the dusty roads of Kabul, he eased around the side of the building until he could see the storage units. Clear. Most of the units were closed and quiet. As he walked back along the rows of rooms, he would peek around the edge, crouching down to lower his profile. Row after row, there was nothing. Clear. Finally, on the last row, he edged around the corner to see a gold Toyota spewing steam from under its hood. It was parked facing a unit with its door rolled up. Listening closely, Troy could hear the faint sound of a male voice coming from inside. He put his back against the row of doors and inched his way toward the open unit.

  As he got closer, he crouched again. That’s when he finally heard the girl’s voice.

  “I promise, mister,” she said, “I don’t know
where he is and I don’t know anything about a check or whatever.”

  Karah. Had to be her. Troy heard the sound of a smack and then a squeal from Karah. He flinched, wanting to run in to help, but he knew the guy was probably armed and extremely dangerous. Had to play this right. He took the Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat off his head and started to pull the check out. Gone. He was momentarily in shock, but then remembered he’d stuck it in his shirt pocket. He replaced his hat and pulled the check out. Unfolding it, he edged around the corner. He raised his hands high, holding the check in his left hand.

  The scene was shocking. There was a dude lying on the ground with most of his head blown off, and a giant, dark, gelatinous puddle of blood oozing outward in the center of the room. A man was kneeling in the blood with a handful of Karah’s hair held tight in his fist. She was covered in blood and Troy couldn’t be sure if any of it was hers or not. Her hands were bound behind her back and she was whimpering. Crazy dude had a small pistol pointed at her forehead and she was crying. Troy couldn’t see the man’s face, but he immediately recognized his voice and his ... injuries. He was the guy from the hospital. This was the guy who’d kidnapped Karah, attacked Laura, shot Victor, and from the looks of it, his partner, all for the check in Troy’s hand. He had to play this just right, or this guy was just going to shoot them both.

  He grasped the edges of the check, one side in each hand, and coughed.

  The guy jerked his head around and raised his pistol at Troy.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, there pardner,” Troy said, calmly but quickly, “I know who you are and I know what you want. I got it right here.” He nodded his head up toward the check. Tears started to form in the guy’s eyes.

  “Is that ... ” he croaked, “is that what ah think it is?”

  “Yup.”

  The guy raised the pistol like he was going to shoot Troy.

  Troy pulled his hands apart slightly and a small rip started in the middle of the check.

  “Hold on just a second now,” he said quickly. “If ya shoot me, I’m gonna tear it up.”

  The guy froze. “No, please, no.”

  “It’s alright, now.” Troy eased the check down so that it was in front of his chest. “I’m gonna give it to you, but it’s gotta be a fair trade.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” the man shook his head, “anything ya want.”

  “The girl,” —Troy motioned toward Karah— “let her go. When she’s out the door and gone, I’ll hand you the check. Then you can shoot me if you feel it’s necessary.”

  “Please, Darren,” Karah whimpered.

  He looked down at her. “Shut tha fook up, ya wenc—”

  “Darren, look at me,” Troy interrupted him.

  He made another small movement and the rip in the middle of the check got a tiny bit longer.

  “Don’t be stupid.” Troy shrugged his shoulders. “You give me the girl, I give you seven ... million ... dollars.” He paused in between each word for emphasis.

  Darren clearly struggled with his choice. Troy had seen this before; the man had been on a mission to kill them all, but now there was no way to accomplish that and still get the check. He finally grunted in agreement. His hand loosened on Karah’s hair. She scooted toward Troy, blood pooling up and around her legs.

  Darren raised the pistol and pointed it at her as she inched away from him. “No funny business or I’ll put a bullet in her head.”

  “Ain’t no funny business goin’ on here,” Troy reassured him.

  He looked into Karah’s eyes and mouthed, RUN. She squirmed up to her knees, leaning against Troy, and was finally able to get to her feet. She stared into his eyes, and he winked at her. She backed out of the storage unit and Troy could hear her feet padding quickly away. He hoped she’d call the police ... or at least an ambulance, because he was sure this Darren guy was going to shoot him.

  “Help me up, mate,” —Darren wagged the gun at Troy, motioning him closer— “got a slight problem with me foot.”

  Troy looked at the guy’s leg. The urge to vomit was strong as he realized his foot was almost completely separated from his leg, apparently just hanging by the skin and the disgusting bandages wrapped around it. He had a thought. He wondered if he could just run from the guy. No way he could catch him on that foot. As if he could read his mind, Darren shook his head.

  “Nah, mate.” He held up a splintered cell phone. “Ya leave me here, ah’ll get this phone fixed. Ah got addresses and numbahs. Ah’ll find ‘em, and ah’ll kill ‘em all.”

  Dangit. Troy put the check in his mouth, pressing lightly with his lips to hold it firmly, and leaned down to hook his hands under the man’s arms. God, the dude smelled rancid, like a trash can full of rotten meat. He propped the guy up and he hopped to the side wall of the storage unit. Darren seemed to see the hissing engine of the Toyota for the first time.

  “Shit,” he said as his shoulders dropped, “me fookin’ car’s toast.”

  He looked at Troy and pointed the gun at him. “Wheyah’s your car?”

  Troy wagged his head back and forth.

  “S’in the lot,” he said between his pursed lips, “outta gas.”

  “Fook me.”

  “But there was a Jeep in the parking lot of that store up there.” Troy took the check from his lips, careful to hold it in between his hands. “She’s empty and running.”

  “Right,” Darren said, waving the gun, “me and you, let’s go.”

  “Hey, I’m done with my part of the trade.”

  “Don’t look like ya in much of a position ta do any quittin’ now, mate. Now gimme my fookin’ check, and let’s go.”

  Troy inhaled deeply. He handed the check to Darren and shouldered up under the man’s arm. Talk about flashbacks to Afghanistan. He’d carried what was left of Harry Nedman back to the chopper in a very similar way. Yeah, I’m gettin’ outta Pawleys if I make it outta this alive, he thought to himself again.

  It was a long, slow walk, with Darren wincing all along the way. They had to stop a few times to let the man catch his wheezing breath, and Troy wondered what the hell was taking the cops so long to get there. Surely Karah had called them by now.

  As they turned the corner from behind the Balls store, the sirens finally started to blare in the distance.

  “Ha ha!” Darren cackled upon seeing that the huge red Jeep was still sitting there with its engine running. He untangled himself from Troy’s grasp and swung the pistol hard at his head. It didn’t have much force behind it, but it caught him by surprise. He lost his balance momentarily, and fell to the curb.

  “Dangit, man!” He looked up to see Darren jumping on his one good foot toward the Jeep.

  He got to the driver’s side and pulled the door open, then lurched into the seat slammed the car into reverse. Troy watched as he held up his hand in an upside-down fist. He realized the man was trying to flip him off ... but his middle finger wasn’t there. The words fook you were on Darren’s lips as the Jeep squealed to the edge of the parking lot toward Ocean Drive. Troy stood up and looked around. No sign of Karah. He jogged to the front entrance of the store and jerked the door open.

  The cool rush of air conditioning was the second thing to hit his face. The first was Ellie Mae Gallup.

  36

  Kid Napping

  The Jeep’s engine roared in a satisfying low growl as Darren figured out how to work the gas pedal with his left foot. His right foot still ached, but the sharp pain of the initial break was dulling with shock. As the giant, knobby tires rumbled to the edge of the parking lot, Darren caught a glimpse of something moving in the back seat.

  He craned his neck around to see a girl breastfeeding a baby.

  “Howdy, Darren,” Daisy Mae Gallup said quietly.

  Darren looked forward again at the cashier’s check sitting in the passenger seat. That wench was still trying to steal his money. He slammed on the brake and turned around, pointing his pistol at the blonde girl.

  “Get the fo
ok outta mah car,” he said and wagged the gun toward the door.

  “It ain’t a car, it’s a Jeep,” she said, “and if you wake my nappin’ kid, I’m gon’ bust yer face.”

  Darren saw red. His breath grew ragged.

  “Ah’ll say it one more time.” He pulled the hammer back, cocking the gun. “Get ... out.”

  Daisy Mae sniffed. “Jus’ like a man ta run out on me and the baby.”

  Darren said nothing, and just wagged the gun again.

  Daisy Mae pulled the baby off her breast and buttoned up her shirt. The angry newborn started to wail. She hopped down out of the Jeep and slammed the door. Tears formed in her eyes as she stood by his window.

  Well, fook. She was actually kind of pretty. And he had always wanted a baby. Hell, he had plenty of money now, and in his condition, he might like to have someone to take care of him.

  He reached down for the window control ... shit ... manual. Of all the bells and whistles on this Jeep, it had a damn handle to roll the window down. He switched the gun to his right hand and started to roll it down with his left. With the missing fingers and the messy ooze coming from the bandages, it was slow going. He cursed and swore he’d run it off a cliff and buy a new one. When the window was finally down, he spoke, the red haze lifting from his eyes for a second.

  “Ya don’t have ta leave,” he said, “if ya don’t wanna.”

  Her lip was quivering, but he didn’t see sadness in her eyes. The baby screamed in her arms. No, she didn’t look sad ... it was something completely different. Anger. Shit, he thought.

  “I wouldn’t wanna be with a no-good, no ‘count, finger-missin’, leg-broken criminal like you,” she scowled, “and ah’m gon’ call the damn po-leese and tell ‘em zactly what you done to us.”