His dad sat back, too stunned to speak. His chest rose and fell. Finally, he scratched his chin and spoke slowly.
“Okay, then…I guess she’s gotta go too. Goddammit. This ain’t good, boy. Where the hell does this girl live?”
Barry smiled, and his dad, who most folks called Jamaica Jack Barron, even flinched a little at the evil in the grin.
“Currently, she lives in the hold down below.”
“Sheeiiit,” his dad shook his head. “As in…on this boat? My boat?”
Barry nodded his head.
“Sombitch,” Jack moaned. “Ain’t this just a shit show…”
Jamaica Jack Barron watched as the cloudy night sky began to go from light gray to charcoal to black and wondered what the hell he was going to do with his murderous son. First things first, he’d sink as much of the evidence against him that he could. Second, he’d knock some damn sense into the fool boy’s head. And before he did any of that, he needed a plan to deal with the young girl that was currently chained to the wall in the cargo hold of his boat. Apparently, she knew everything about Barry and his inclination toward…killing. Jack shivered again and wondered how the hell his son had wound up becoming a serial killer. But then, the poor boy had lived at home with his whore of a mother until she up and died, leaving the boy to fend for himself. But shit, he’d known plenty of kids that practically raised themselves and never turned to beheading for fun.
“A damn shit show,” Jack muttered as he tossed the smoldering butt of a cigarette over the boat’s rail into the black water below.
“Dad?” Barry’s voice was soft from behind him.
“What?” Jack snapped.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I been tryin’ like hell ta figure that out, boy. You done gone and got yerself into a real heap of trouble now, ain’t ya?”
Barry walked up beside him and looked out over the water. “I guess. Those last two bitches had it comin’. They laughed at me and called me names.”
Jack thought about smacking the kid again, but instead said, “Son, ya don’t go around cuttin’ people’s heads off for sticks and stones bullshit. Are you freakin’ kidding me?”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Ain’t no time for sorry now. We gotta clean up this mess. And then you’re comin’ out on the boat with me for a while. Let all this blow over before you come back. And while you’re out there with me, you’re gonna get enough of blood and guts and chum to last you for a lifetime.”
“So, what do you want me to do now?”
Jack ran his tongue over his back molar that had long been replaced with ceramic. A thought occurred to him and he thought maybe he’d had a bright shining moment of brilliance. Turns out, it wasn’t that at all. It was in fact, the beginnings of a stroke that manifested in bright sparkly lights flashing in his eyes. But, it was a mild one and didn’t affect him in any noticeable way…except that his grin was a little lopsided.
“Right now,” Jack widened his crooked grin and turned to the boy. “I want you to start cuttin’ bait.”
“What the frick—”
Jack’s backhand interrupted Barry’s question. “You don’t question my authority on my boat, boy. Is that clear?”
Barry fell back a step, clutching his cheek. Jack saw a dark red and purplish stain start leaking into the boy’s eye on that side. Broken capillaries. Shit happens, thought Jack.
“Yes, sir,” Barry said as he spit blood from his swollen lips.
“Good.” He turned around and opened a box on deck.
He pulled the blade out that he and Troy had found inside the shark a few days ago. It was still wrapped in an old sheet, but he watched the recognition flash in Barry’s eyes and nodded.
“I thought this might be yours.” Jack tossed it to him. “Only a freak like you would use a damn Japanese knife to cut bait.”
“It’s not a knife, it’s a—.”
He stopped short as Jack raised his hand, threatening to strike him again. He cowered back, even though he held the sword now. Sniveling bastard of a son, Jack thought.
“Well, tonight,” he said lowering his hand, “you’re gonna cut bait with it. Chum that girl up good and we’ll feed her to the sharks. Don’t leave nothin’ bigger’n a finger in once piece. You got me, boy?”
For the second time, Jack was taken aback at the pure evil he saw creep across his son’s face. The leering smile was wide and narrow and his son’s eyes seemed to sink back into the shadows of his eye sockets.
“I got you,” Barry said, but the inflection was different and Jack wondered what meaning the boy put into the words.
“Okay…okay then,” he felt himself stammer a little with a tinge of doubt inching into his mind. “Important thing is, ya gotta get that girl’s blood all over the blade, and don’t clean it when yer done. And wear some damn gloves, will ya?”
“Why?”
Jack let the boy’s insubordinate question go.
“Cause it still has that idiot Troy’s fingerprints and blood on it,” Jack said. “He thinks I took it to the cops, but I held onto it and cleaned up the places on the handle where I’d been holdin’ it when I recognized it was yours.”
Barry’s face still showed confusion, but anger started to flicker there too at hearing Troy’s name.
“I see yer still stumped, ya dumbshit.” Jack walked toward him and slapped a hand on his shoulder.
Barry flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“When we’re done dispatchin’ that girl in the hold,” he said as the left corner of his mouth curled up in a grin, “we’ll take the bloodstained blade to the cops, say we found it in the water near where Troy parks his boat. With his prints, his DNA, and this girl’s blood, he’ll find himself on the wrong end of the anchor.”
Finally, Barry seemed to understand. Geezus Christ, Jack thought. Kid’s as dumb as a sack of hammers.
“I don’t think I need ta tell ya ta wear gloves when yer…doin’ the deed, do I?”
Barry laughed long and low. “Nah, I got this. You ain’t gotta worry no more, Dad.”
Jamaica Jack was absolutely sure that he did need to worry some more. He had a sneaking suspicion that his son’s desire for blood was not going to be quenched tonight. And he had no idea what to do about it. What he did know was that he damn sure needed a beer.
“Now you get down there and get started and be quick about it.” Jack waved toward the back of the boat. “I’m gonna take the Jon boat into the pier and grab a beer.”
“Sweet.” Barry sniffed. “Get me some Bud Light.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you actually drink that swill, son?”
Barry propped the blade of the sword on his shoulder and said, “Only when I’m workin’.”
Meira Carr coasted Troy’s borrowed truck into the parking lot at Jennette’s Pier. She hadn’t noticed, but all of the running around town had drained the gas tank dry. She pulled into the handicap parking spot not giving a flying hoot if anyone said anything about it. Running up the stairs two at a time to the pier, she slipped on the last one and banged her knee hard on the rough stair. The six-inch-long scrape on her shin began to ooze blood immediately. But pain was nothing she cared to spend time thinking about right now.
She jogged down the pier to the small bait, beer, and gas shop at the end, flung the door open and sent a rack full of postcards fluttering in all directions. The clerk behind the counter jumped.
“Geezus Christ, lady. What the hell?”
“I need gas.” Meira slammed both hands down on the counter, sending him stumbling back a step.
“Lady, I don’t know what kinda shit you’re on, but we don’t serve junkies here.”
Meira took a deep breath and slowed her speech. “I’m not a junkie and I’m not high on anything, but I don’t have time to chit chat and have a lovely conversation with you about the weather. My daughter has been kidnapped and is in a shitload of trouble and I need gas in my truck, now.”
&n
bsp; “Your truck?” the clerk looked confused. “We got gas out on the dock for the boats, but I ain’t never filled up a truck before.”
“Well, Sparky, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”
The kid stared blankly at her for a second and Meira wondered if every cashier in this town was this stupid.
He scratched his head and then shrugged. “Unless you can get your truck up the stairs or out there in the water, I don’t think the hose’ll reach it.”
“Shit!” Meira’s hands flew from the counter to her hair and she grabbed handfuls of it.
She began to sob and felt herself losing it. And then an idea came to her.
“Can? You got a gas can?”
“Nope.”
“What the ever-lovin’ hell? You have gas, but no gas cans?”
“Lady, most folks bring their own cans and they take up too much space for us to keep them in stock out here.”
“Well, ain’t that just flippin’ grand. Son of a b—”
“I gotta can ya can use, darlin’,” a scratchy voice interrupted her.
She whirled around to see a deeply tanned fisherman standing there with a wide smile on his face. He looked a bit like Willie Nelson, if the singer had been made of leather and was a hundred years old…which Willie might be, she couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, God, thank you.”
The man turned to the cashier, slapped a hundred dollar bill on the counter. He nodded toward the twelve pack of beer under his arm and the one in his hand.
“This should cover the gas and this beer, yeah? If there’s any left over, you keep it.”
“Yes, sir!” The kid smiled so that Meira guessed there would be quite a big tip left out of the large bill.
The man put his arm around Meira’s shoulder and led her out the door.
“Come along, little lady. The can is on my boat. We’ll grab it and fill it up and get you on your way.”
Meira was shaking with relief. She wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I can’t thank you enough. I just don’t know what to do. I need to find my daughter.”
“I heard you talkin’ ‘bout that in there. No offense. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on yer private conversation.”
“It’s okay.” Meira would’ve laughed any other time. “I’m not trying to keep it a secret. My daughter is in real trouble. I think someone’s kidnapped her and I just can’t help but think it might be the same kid that murdered those two girls. And I see my baby and I…I…”
She couldn’t continue as the sobs began to wrack her body again.
“There, there.” The man squeezed her shoulders and she felt comfort in his arm. “I’m sure everythin’s gonna be alright. Did you by any chance call the police yet?”
Meira blinked. “Um…uh…no, I…I guess I haven’t called them yet.”
She pulled her phone out and started to dial 9-1-1. The man clasped his hand over hers with the phone.
“S’not worth tryin’ from here, darlin’,” he said. Meira saw a hint of something flash across his face, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Signal’s shit out here. Ya can’t get through.”
For a second, Meira considered breaking away from the man and running, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Let’s get this gas in yer truck and then you can get the cops on the job.”
She nodded, numb from the experience. “You’re right.”
“Here,” he pointed down to a small metal boat. In the back of the boat, she could see the familiar red of a large gas can. “Hop in and hand me that can.”
Meira stepped down into the boat and waddled to the back. She lifted the can and handed it to the man. He smiled and shuffled the twelve packs to her awkwardly.
“Just put the beer somewhere in the back, will ya? I’ll get this filled up right away.”
She walked to the back of the boat and shoved the twelve packs under one of the bench seats. When she turned around, she saw the man standing over the can with the pump, leaning one elbow on a wooden oar.
“Just a few seconds more, dear,” the man said calmly. “Then we’ll be off.”
“Thank you so much, mister… um…”
“Barron. Most folks call me Jack. Jamaica Jack if you like.”
“Oh, uh, thank you, Jack.”
He winked at her as the gas rushed into the can. For a few seconds, he said nothing. When he finished pumping, he tapped the nozzle a few times to shake off the extra gas.
“There she is,” he grinned.
Meira felt the faint anxiety return as he heaved the gas can toward the boat.
“Here,” he said swinging it out to her. “Just stow it in the back with the beer.”
“But, um, don’t we need to carry this out to the truck?”
“Oh, but darlin’,” he stepped into the boat beside her steadying himself with the oar gripped in his hand. “We’re not going out to the truck.”
“I don’t understand,” Meira said as the alarm bells screamed out in her head. “I need to get this gas in my truck to get to my daughter.”
“Never fear, young lady,” he said lifting the oar up above his head. “I’ll get ya to yer daughter all right.”
Meira screamed as the oar came down and slammed into the side of her head. As darkness enveloped her, she felt the small boat fire up and slosh out to sea.
19
Face To Face
Riley Carr’s eyes closed involuntarily as the sudden light poured in from the hatch above her head. She couldn’t see who was up there but they were hurling something big down into the hold beside her. A body, she thought, it’s a body. He’s killed someone else…probably another girl. And then the light was gone again. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light that had been there before, but now she was flash-blind like a thousand paparazzi cameras had gone off at once. Spots floated in and out of her vision as she tried desperately to make out the shape of the new victim in the room.
She sloshed near the spot where she thought she’d seen the body hit. Her hands patted the surface of the water around her ankles until she made contact with something. She flinched and drew back, but after a few seconds realized that was foolish. A dead person couldn’t hurt her. And there might be something on them that she could use as a weapon. She inched forward again until her feet nudged against the poor soul. She kicked it softly, just to be sure. No response.
“Hello?” she said quietly into the inky black room.
Again, she got no response. She reached down and touched the body on what felt like a leg. A smooth leg. No hair. She was right; it was another female victim…or maybe a skinny male Olympic swimmer. She traced her fingers up the person’s leg until she found the shorts. The dead girl moaned suddenly.
Riley fell backward, splashing in near hysteria at the sudden noise. It’s one thing to watch television shows or movies about zombies, but it’s an entirely different thing to encounter one in real life. Okay, wait, Riley thought, breathe. Take it easy and just breathe.
Though she was thinking this, she found herself holding her breath and trying to remain absolutely still and quiet. Another groan came from the dead—er, well maybe not completely dead—girl.
“Hello?” Riley nearly whispered toward the sound.
This time the girl’s grunting formed a word. “Riiiiley?”
“Mom?” Riley ran toward the voice, suddenly recognizing Meira’s voice. “Mom, is that you? Are you okay? I thought you were dead.”
Her feet found her mother’s body again and Meira grunted with the kick to her side.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Mom,” Riley said as she knelt beside her mother.
She eased her hands under Meira’s arms and lifted her up to a sitting position. She couldn’t see her in the darkness, but in her mind’s eye she pictured her mother as she always had—ponytail, running shorts, sports bra, earbuds, and the sheen of sweat all over her body.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“The old gu
y?” Meira asked, sounding like she had a mouth full of marbles. “He knocked the shit out of me with an oar. I think I may have a concussion.”
“Old guy?” Riley reached out and touched her mother’s head softly.
She wasn’t sure if there was blood mixed with the grimy water from the hold, but a gigantic lump had formed on her mother’s temple.
“Ouch, Riley, gentle,” Meira pulled away from the probe. “Yeah, gray hair, pot belly, leather skin.”
“No, no, you’ve got it wrong,” Riley protested. “The bump to your head must’ve made you forget. He’s a kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. His name is Barry. He has red hair and—”
“I’m pretty sure I know who whacked me, dear,” Meira interrupted her. “This guy wasn’t young or red-headed by any stretch of…”
Meira’s voice trailed off.
“Mom?” Riley asked afraid maybe her mother had passed out.
“Red…,” her mother muttered. “As in Red Orc?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s his screen name. But his real name is Barry.”
“Riley, when we get out of here, we’re going to have a serious talk about this gaming crap.”
“But, Mom, I didn’t—”
“And, on top of that, you are grounded for life. How did you get mixed up with this person? Your judgment is clearly not as good as I had hoped if you were willing to sneak out and meet a boy who is four years older than you.”
“I met him online…in the game, Bladehammer. And I never meant to—”
“I think we can safely say that you will never be playing this game again. I’m not saying you’re fully to blame. Hell, since your father left, I haven’t been able to spend much time with you.”
“Mom, it’s not like that.” Riley felt tears forming in her eyes and her voice wavered.
“Sweetie,” Meira’s arms wrapped around Riley in the darkness, “It’s okay. When we get out of this—and I promise we will get out of this—we need to get back to where we were before the…”
“The divorce?”
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 104