Crustaceans

by Meikle, William

  Today is most definitely a drinking day. And it’s all that bastard Newman’s fault.

  It was nearly ten days now since Porter delivered the crab, and still Newman refused to pay out.

  “We can’t be sure it’s not just a big crab,” he said, that very morning, when Porter went to the aquarium for the third time in as many days.

  “Can’t be sure?” Porter said, pointing at where the crab bashed against the glass of its aquarium. “Look at the fucker. It’s more than three feet across!”

  “Big, yes,” Newman said in that prissy voice that was starting to get on Porter’s nerves. “But still not outside the parameters of normality for a crab of this type.”

  “Of this type? What type is that then?” Porter said. “Go on, you’re the fucking Doctor. Educate me.”

  Newman sighed, and once more he looked like a schoolteacher, disappointed in an unruly pupil. Porter had seen more than enough of that look in his own schooling, thank you very much.

  “You must understand…” Newman started.

  “Oh, I understand. I understand you’re trying to screw me over.”

  Newman put a hand on his arm and led him away from the tank. Porter noticed that the crab watched him intently, following his every move.

  The little snapping fucker knows me.

  “It will just be a few days longer Mr Porter,” the man said. “Then you’ll have your money, and I will have my exhibit.”

  Porter shrugged Newman’s arm off his shoulder.

  “You have three days more Doctor Newman, he said. “And if you don’t have twenty thousand dollars for me, I’ll be taking my exhibit elsewhere.”

  Newman merely smiled, a thin, humourless thing that Porter felt like spreading across his face. He could feel the anger rising up inside him.

  Softly, softly.

  He didn’t feel like going softly, but he forced the rage down, for a while at least, and turned away.

  As he left the crab raised a claw and bashed, hard, on the glass, as if summoning him to return. Porter looked back. It hit the glass again.

  A large crack ran from floor to ceiling.

  “I think we may need a larger tank,” Newman said, smiling.

  The bastard is jerking my chain.

  Porter struggled to contain himself. He had learned from past fuck-ups that punching out the money before you got paid was never a good idea.

  He had taken his rage and headed for the nearest bar.

  He’d almost turned and walked out again when he saw the pole dancer on a tiny stage down the far end. She looked too much like Sarah, and that was a thought he’d been trying hard to dismiss. He was okay in daylight hours, but nights were taking way too much rum to get through. Every time he closed his eyes he saw it.

  “Help me Joe,” she screamed. “Help me.”

  And then the sound, the one he’d been hearing, the one that even a pint of rum wouldn’t drown.

  Snick.

  He tried to tell himself he didn’t care.

  Hell, I’ve been trying that all my goddamn life.

  But Sarah’s face kept coming back to mind. He missed her. It had taken a while for him to accept it, but there it was. He watched the dancer for long seconds.

  Sarah was better.

  He’d met her in a bar much like this, on another day that was made for drinking. At that time he’d been holding down a construction job over in Queens, but the foreman had a smart mouth and Porter had never been one to listen to smart mouths for too long.

  One punch later and he was out of a job and into the nearest bar.

  And there she was. More legs than she would ever need, and breasts that just begged to be fondled. He’d got drunk and given her just enough money to get her interested.

  Then he’d spent a year treating her like shit. But still she stayed.

  Then I had to go and catch that little fucker.

  He’d been wondering a lot about that. It was surely too much of a coincidence that the bigger crab had turned up when he had the smaller one.

  It was searching for it. And found Sarah.

  He closed his eyes to hide sudden tears, but the images were there, waiting, just behind his eyelids.

  A claw raises high over her head and comes down fast.

  Snick.

  Her head comes cleanly off. Red froth bubbles as the torso aspirates water. The crab lifts the body above its head while the other claw clacks eagerly.

  Snickety-snick.

  His eyes snapped open. He remembered, all too well, what came next. He doubted he’d ever forget it.

  I miss her.

  The thought hit him, hard. And suddenly Porter was angry again… with himself this time.

  The dancer smiled at him.

  She looks nothing like Sarah. When Sarah smiled, she meant it.

  He had walked to the bar and sat with his back to the dancer.

  The self-pity and rage drained out of him as the rum did its job, but the hate for Newman came back, and the thought of the money was almost too big to contain in his head. Since then five straight rums hadn’t improved his mood any, and he needed to slow down, otherwise he’d be too drunk to move in an hour.

  That might not be a bad idea.

  He hadn’t been back to the cabin. He’d been living out of a room round the corner from where he sat, a fleapit that had a bed, a head and a television that was either too quiet or too loud and gave everyone a bright-red face. Going back there didn’t appeal.

  Not when there was plenty of liquor to be had here.

  He raised the rum to his lips, then thought better of it and turned his attention to the large television above the bar.

  “In Breaking News tonight. Twelve mature sperm whales have washed ashore in Bellport Bay. Authorities are on the scene but details are sketchy as to the cause of this beaching. An Exclusion Zone has been thrown up around the area and sightseers have been asked to stay away until any possible threat to public safety has been identified. We understand that marine biologists are currently studying the animals to determine cause of death.”

  The picture was blurred and out of focus, taken from high above. It showed little more than a dozen long black blobs lying just off a beach. What caught Porter’s attention was the chopper on the beach. Long, low and black, it didn’t look like anything a marine biologist would use.

  That’s military, or I’m a fucking Dutchman.

  The report continued.

  “In a related story, another cabin has been found demolished on the Bellport shore, bringing the total to three in the past two weeks. Police continue to be baffled as to the cause. They are treating it, and the others, as an extreme act of vandalism, and possibly a series of revenge attacks by a gang with a grudge. But a police spokesman today admitted that they have no idea what, or who, might be behind it.”

  I do.

  Something was going down out in the Bay, and Porter had a good idea what the cause might be. He drained his glass.

  “More rum,” he called, and banged the glass on the bar. This time the barman did not dare to even look at him the wrong way.

  I need to get that cash. If I don’t get it soon Newman will be able to just walk down to Bellport Bay and pick up one of the fuckers for himself.

  9

  They set up a field unit on the shore of Bellport Bay near the carcasses of the whales. Stark asked Shona to stay inside while they cleaned up the beach.

  “Sergeant Matthews deserves some respect,” he had said. “I mean to make sure he gets it.”

  Shona busied herself getting trestles up, then setting up the equipment that was coming in from the previous site. The routine of it started to calm her, taking the edge off the horror she’d witnessed in the chopper.

  But I’ll never forget the eyes of the children.

  Outside she could hear soldiers working but she didn’t look out, afraid of what gruesome horror might lie there.

  She’d looked out once, just in time to see them load some too-sma
ll bundles into a military ambulance. Then she was kept busy as they brought her what was left of the crabs that had died in the earlier melee. Soon she had several trestles full of shell, legs and claws and although the tent was well aired the smell started to tickle at her nostrils and at the back of her throat.

  She was on edge, expecting at any moment to hear the dreaded clackety-clack. But there had been no more sign of the crabs all day. They had vanished as quickly as they had come. Stark had several units out on patrol boats, and seismic survey teams trawling the length of the Bay, but so far with no results.

  Shona looked up from the samples as Stark entered the tent.

  The man was frustrated, and it showed as he walked briskly towards her. He had death in his eyes, and was spoiling for a fight.

  “Matthews was a good man. I mean to avenge him.”

  “They’re just dumb beasts,” Shona said. “There was no malice in what they did. It’s just their nature.”

  He rounded on her, eyes full of rage, and pain.

  “It doesn’t make him any less dead. I mean to lay waste to these beasts of yours.”

  She backed away from him, and he must have noticed that he had frightened her, as his voice softened, but his eyes held no less intensity.

  “We’ve got enough firepower now to take out a small country,” he said. “Let’s see how the fuckers like that.”

  She put a hand on his arm.

  “I’m sorry about the Sergeant,” she said softly.

  Stark touched her hand, stroking it, as if it was a well-behaved pet.

  “Me too,” he said, then moved away, suddenly embarrassed.

  “What have you got for me?” he said. The officer in him was back.

  She tried to keep it light.

  “Bits of crab,” she said. “Fancy some supper?”

  She got a glimpse of a smile, but no more than that. He sat beside her and ran a hand through his hair.

  There was a long silence. She found that she wanted to touch him again, to comfort him. But he was so wound up that she feared he might just explode. She went back to her microscope and pretended to study what was on the slide. After a while he started to speak, keeping his voice low as if afraid to be overheard.

  “Matthews has been with me for five years. Had been with me. He was on my squad for every firefight I’ve been in. We saved each other’s lives several times over, and got drunk as skunks afterwards. I was there when he won a hundred grand in Vegas and lost it all in an hour. I stood at his side at his wedding, and I was to be godfather to the first child. He was my friend.”

  Shona didn’t trust herself to look up from the microscope. It was a full minute before Stark continued, and when he did there was a sob in his voice.

  “The only bit of him I recognised was his hand… and that was only because his watch was still on the wrist. The crabs did a real number on him. We found one of his legs two hundred yards away down the shore. And we still haven’t found the head…. I’m not sure I want to.”

  He went quiet again. Shona wanted desperately to go to him, but sensed now was not the time. Stark needed to grieve.

  “That night in Vegas was the best night of his life. You should have seen him Shona…”

  Shona smiled. That was the first time he’d called her that… and he hadn’t even noticed. He was far away, in a casino on the other side of the country.

  She let him talk and busied herself with routine; washing, packing and logging the samples. The story he told was a good one, full of bawdy humour and good cheer. When it ended he had tears running down his cheeks.

  She pretended not to notice.

  After a while Stark looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed, but clear.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she replied.

  He smiled.

  “Yes. You did.”

  He stood, straightened up, and the Colonel was back again.

  “So have you finished pretending to look in the microscope yet?”

  She laughed.

  “Not quite. These samples are the only evidence we’ve got. I’m hoping they’ll tell us something… like where they came from. Or where they’re going.”

  “Where the hell did they go?” he said softly. “Things that big surely can’t hide for long.”

  “It’s a big sea,” she replied. “And they’re cunning bastards.”

  “Is that the technical term?” Stark said, and smiled. “But surely they’ve got hardly any brain to speak of? How cunning can they be?”

  Once more she heard her father’s words.

  Don’t underestimate them.

  “Obviously more than smart enough to figure out how to hitch a ride on a whale, then keep themselves hidden from view at the end of the journey. Any joy at the demolished cabins?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “There’s three missing. Two crab fishermen, and an exotic dancer. We found bits of her. And other bits that look like they’ve been eaten.”

  His voice was hushed.

  “Are these things man-eaters?”

  Shona nodded, remembering more of the tales her father told if you gave him enough to drink.

  “They developed a taste for it years ago.”

  “And you still think they’re on a hunt?”

  “Yes. I’m getting more and more convinced. The way they systematically went over those cabins was a sure sign. They’re after something.”

  He looked up sharply.

  “Surely they’re not smart enough to be searching the whole stretch of the North Eastern seaboard?”

  I hadn’t thought so. Until now.

  “I think they’re smarter than we give them credit for,” she said.

  “But not all as big as others,” a voice said from the tent entrance.

  Lieutenant Wilkes stood there, carrying a solid plastic box, holding it away from his body as if scared of the contents.

  “We found these,” he said. “In the stomach of one of the whales.”

  Shona took the container from him and went to open it.

  “Careful,” Wilkes said. He held up a hand to show three bandaged fingers, fresh blood already seeping through. “They’re vicious little bastards.”

  Shona looked through the side panel.

  Three young crabs immediately rushed towards her, banging against the side of the container with claws that already looked like fearsome weapons.

  “These were inside the whales?”

  “There were many more,” Wilkes said. “Most got away in the water before we could catch them, and just as many again are lying dead and chopped to bits in the stomach lining.”

  Shona put the container down and watched the crabs closely.

  As if they had got bored with her, the three crabs stopped, standing still, claws raised in the air.

  Are they tasting something? Or listening for something?

  As one, the crabs started to clack their claws together in rhythm.

  Click, click, clickety-click.

  Then, still as one, they started to assault the left-hand side of the container.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Shona said softly, almost to herself. “They’re following orders. There’s something in that direction they need to get to.”

  10

  Porter spent the best part of the next three days drunk as a skunk. Most of the time he sat in the same place in the same bar. When that lost its charms he bought a quart of rye and retired to the squalor of his room, watching re-runs of cop shows on cable and eating junk food.

  The thought of the money he might get from the zoo rarely left him. He spun fantasies in his mind as to how he’d spend it, how it was going to change his life.

  He arrived at the aquarium on the morning of the fourth day with a stinking hangover and high hopes.

  He was to be disappointed, again.

  It started as soon as he arrived at the main gates. The jumped-up guard wouldn’t let him in, even after Porter gave him
Newman’s name. He was made to kick his heels in the road for the length of two smokes while the smirking gorilla made a series of increasingly lengthy phone calls.

  After he was grudgingly granted admission he still couldn’t find Newman. At the front gate, they’d told him to meet Newman in the aquarium. But when he got there the man was nowhere to be found.

  And there’s no way I’m going back to the gate. That gorilla has had all the satisfaction out of me he’s gonna get.

  He went in search of the money, not the man. He started by heading for the crab tank where he’d previously met Newman. The crack in the glass had widened and smaller cracks ran all over the surface. But the tank was empty. Neither the man nor the beast was anywhere to be seen.

  Porter hailed a janitor who was mopping up further along the hall.

  “Where’s the crab gone?” he said.

  The janitor made a motion with his mop, pointing to a corridor beyond.

  “They done moved it. Damned good thing too. That thing was giving me the heebee-jeebees… kept watching me, as if I was going to be dinner, and banging on the glass like a drunk chimpanzee. They put up a bigger tank through the back. They’re taking it through now.”

  Porter went along the corridor fast and went through a door at the far end. He arrived on the floor of a large hall he’d never been in before, a huge arena of metal girders and concrete.

  It had obviously been set up as an exhibition area for one prize exhibit. Pictures of huge crabs lined the walls, the photographs all taken to show them off at their most menacing and vicious. A lot of time and money had been spent setting up the area.

  We can’t be sure.

  That’s what Newman had said. And all the time he’d been preparing the exhibition space, getting ready to fleece the punters with a modern-day freak show,