by Alan Spencer
Pierce dumped the rest of the screwdriver down his throat.
"Listen, I'm staying at the hotel across the street. Room 17. You're upset. Why don't you calm down, get your thoughts in order, and come talk to me then? Think about what you really want to ask me."
Susan nodded her head.
She still couldn't calm herself.
"Room 17," Pierce repeated.
Susan wiped the tears from her eyes. "Okay. Room 17. Thank you."
Pierce got up, left The Dive, walked across the street, and waited in his hotel room for the troubled woman to knock on his door.
The Rundown
Pierce sat at the table next to his hotel room's window. He looked out beyond that pane of glass, and watched for Susan to leave The Dive. So far, she hadn't made her exit. Whatever she had banging around in her head, she wasn't ready to let it out just yet. That gave Pierce time to try and understand Angel's appearance back at the bar.
How many times had he begged Angel to show herself? No matter how hard he tried, he'd only get the male mercenaries. Pierce would squeeze his hands into fists, press them against his forehead, and hold his breath to try and force her out of his head, and still, Angel wouldn't materialize.
A GQ pretty boy materialized with a buzz cut. He was wearing a tropical print shirt with the buttons open down half his stomach to show off his well-chiseled body. Hard Case was going to chime in, and give Pierce his two cents on the situation.
"Funny thing about women, Pierce. Even from the afterlife, women still make you do things you don't want to do. Go figure."
"Why did Susan show herself just now?"
"Well, why am I showing myself? It's your brain, dude. You tell me. You're the one who can't move on. I don't control your thoughts."
Skeeter and Shark were both sprawled out on the king size bed. They were testing the firmness of the mattress.
Shark laughed, "Hey, the springs don't squeak. You could do some real pounding on this thing. I busted my girlfriend's bed once. The bitch made me buy her a new one. Beds aren't cheap. No joke. I even had to spring for new pillows. Unbelievable."
"You ever do it on a waterbed?" Skeeter asked everybody. "Don't. I had back problems for weeks. It's like fucking on quicksand. The wrong parts of your body sink in, if you catch my drift."
Shark disagreed. "It's about how you contort your body. You can screw on a water bed without needing to see a chiropractor afterwards."
"If there's a pair of legs spread out for me," Hard Case argued, "I'll make it work on any bed, even if it's a bed of nails."
"Oh, tough guy," Shark said. "I bet your dick shoots bullets too. A real machine gun you've got dangling between your legs. A semi-automatic sausage!"
Pierce couldn't stand hearing their tough guy banter a second longer.
"GO AWAY, I NEED TO THINK!"
Skeeter, Shark, and Hard Case disappeared.
Pierce rushed into the bathroom. He splashed cold water into his face. Hell looked back at him in the mirror. He had seen island castaways who looked better than him.
Pierce picked up the half empty bottle of vodka on the floor. He twisted off the cap and was about to douse his mouth with liquor when Angel stepped out of the shower. She still had her long blonde hair. The strands were wet, and dripping down her naked skin. This was how he imagined her as his wife, always beautiful and smiling for him.
"No more drinking, baby. You have things to take care of now."
Pierce heard knocking on his door.
Susan.
Pierce put down the vodka, dried off his face, cleared his throat, and advanced to the door. The sun was going down; it would be nighttime soon.
When he opened the door, Susan wore a subdued expression. Whatever was in her head was close to bursting out of her mouth.
"Come in. You want to sit at the table? Let's talk."
Susan closed the door behind her, and double locked it. Then she moved to the window, and closed the shades. Pierce noticed her stiff movements; she was very nervous. What happened next, Pierce didn't see coming.
He stood there without a reaction for almost a full minute. Susan began stripping out of her clothes until she was naked from top to bottom. She stood rigid in place, showing off her body as if being held at gunpoint to do so. Tears sprang into her eyes. Her chest was heaving with labored breath. Pierce processed what had happened, and finally reacted.
"No, sweetie, let's get your clothes back on."
Susan was a sobbing mess as Pierce handed her back her clothing. She retreated to the bathroom, and slammed the door closed. He could hear her weep through the door.
The poor girl, Pierce thought. He thought again to her father, Lee Branch, and The Green Project. Something dangerous had entered this woman's life, and she was helpless to fight back against it. She was willing to do anything for help, and in her emotional state, that included taking her clothes off.
Susan wouldn't be on her own, Pierce thought. He would give her the help she needed. It was the right thing to do. If Angel, figment of his imagination or not, said to help this woman, maybe it was for the best. The brain had a funny way of handling the past, and Pierce's visions of the mercenaries could've been an entire doctorate study in unusual post-traumatic stress.
After five minutes, Pierce wasn't sure if he should knock on the door and check on her. The moment he moved to do so, the door opened. Susan walked to the table fully dressed with the bottle of vodka in her hands. She was throwing back heavy swigs. The drink eventually did its job, and she calmed down enough to have a sensible conversation.
"I'm so sorry I did that," Susan said. "I've been out of my mind. I can't think straight anymore. Everywhere I go, I'm afraid someone's going to kidnap me, shoot me, or worse, chain me up somewhere, and torture me. This is the kind of people I'm dealing with, you must realize. They don't mess around. What it comes down to is I need help, and I can't get it. I don't have any money. All of my bank accounts are frozen. So are my father's accounts. I thought if I threw myself at you, you'd pay me back by helping me.
"I'm sorry I took my clothes off. You're a respectable man, and I should've kept that in mind. I'm not thinking straight. Listen, I really need help. Everybody in our organization is in hiding. They fear for their lives, and I don't blame them. I've got a handful of associates helping me, but they're not good at this kind of thing. They're normal people; I need someone who can defend themselves and others. We're all going into this without a real idea of how to stay safe.
"Sure, I've done things out of my comfort zone for The Green Project. I've chained myself to construction equipment and bulldozers. I've thrown paint at ladies wearing animal furs. I've protested, picketed, demonstrated, and defiled property in the name of the environment, but I haven't shot a gun at someone before. I haven't had to kill someone in self-defense."
Pierce did his best to take this all in.
"What are you frightened of, Susan? Who is bothering you?"
"It's complicated. A week ago, I received a small package in the mail. It contained a disc with a short video recording on it. My dad was tied up in a chair. People wearing masks over their faces were holding machetes up to my father's neck; they said they would cut his head off and mail it to me if I didn't come to the island my father was investigating. Then my bank accounts were frozen. Fires were set at our base of operations. Volunteers and workers for The Green Project have been receiving death threats in the mail. Everybody's scared.
"In the package was a set of GPS coordinates. My father was investigating a secret island where the illegal dumping of chemicals was allegedly occurring. They're going to kill him if I don't get to that island. In the video, my father said not to contact the police or the government. If I did, they'd cut Lee's head off.
"Without my father, the organization is falling apart. I can't hold it together by myself. I've got a few volunteers from our group to accompany me to the island, but like I said, we're not soldiers. We're nothing more than paper pushers
and grant writers. We need some muscle. I don't care about The Green Project. We'll shut it down. I just want my dad safe and alive.
"We're going to the island tomorrow morning. I was so lucky to happen upon you, Pierce. Talk about a chance meeting! I remember how you handled those guys who kidnapped me three years ago. You kicked their asses. You held your own; without you, I'd be dead. You saved me, and I was hoping you could save me again.
"If we can rescue my dad, I can pay you then. I'm sure we can come to some agreement."
Pierce tried to sound reassuring up against the mountain of obstacles Susan was facing. "I'm sure we can come to an understanding, yes. You're all kinds of mixed up, Susan. I'll help you. I'll go ahead and put it out there. I need something to do, or I'll kill myself."
Susan gave him a startled expression.
"Yes, I know. Don't let that scare you. Let it reassure you. I've got nothing to lose here. I'll put my life on the line. But I need to know everything about what's going on with your father and this island. How long has your father been held captive?"
"About two weeks."
"Who gave him the coordinates to the island?"
"I don't know," Susan said. "I mean, I've searched his office, his e-mails, and all of his correspondences, and everything's been erased. Somebody saw to that. They're probably the same people involved with that island. My guess, whoever's in charge of that island might've served up the fake lead so they could kidnap him, and shut The Green Project down."
"What else do you know about this island?"
"Other than it's out in the middle of the Atlantic ocean somewhere, well beyond the Virgin Islands, nothing much. My dad believed it to be an illegal dumping site. He wanted to take pictures, gather samples, and build his case."
"And you haven't called the police or anybody?"
"I've followed their instructions. I haven't contacted the authorities."
"It sounds like somebody seriously wants The Green Project terminated."
"I just want my father back," Susan insisted. "It's a very dangerous thing we're doing by going out to the island. They could kill you and me, and call it a day."
"Very true, but what choice did they give you? They're forcing you into a corner. Chances are, they want to kill you. You're right. Your dad could already be dead too."
The change in Susan's face made him regret saying that.
"Maybe not, Susan. Who can say for certain? I don't know these people, and neither do you. There's only one thing we can do, and that's investigate. If we can't save your father, we can at least take down the assholes."
"But how?"
"You let me worry about that."
Susan eyed him curiously. "I randomly pop out of nowhere, and beg you for help. Why are you doing this?"
Angel was standing in the doorway. She was dressed in her black military garb. She saluted him, then put a finger to her mouth to indicate ssssssssssh.
Of course, he couldn't tell Susan about the dead mercenaries who told him to take the job. He had to make up something that would stick.
"If we get your father out of hot water, I'm sure he'd be willing to pay my retainer fee and then some."
"Absolutely," Susan said, appreciating his line of thinking. "Name your price, Mr. Range."
"Call me Pierce."
"Okay, Pierce. We were planning on setting out tomorrow morning at first light. Will you meet us down at the dock? You know the one, about a walk's distance from this hotel?"
"I'll be there, Susan. You should get some rest; tomorrow's going to be a big day."
"I haven't slept in days. I'm constantly thinking about what my dad is going through right now, or if he's still alive. I keep imagining the machetes those awful people were carrying in that damn video."
"You staying with anybody?"
"I have three people who volunteered to go to the island with me. We're in the same hotel room."
"Any of you armed?"
"Yes."
"Then keep your wits about you. I'll meet you down at the dock at first light. Hang in there, kiddo. There's one thing those bastards didn't take into account."
"What's that, Pierce?"
"Me."
First Light
Pierce wasn't visited by the mercenaries that night. He slept a few hours before getting up at five in the morning. Pierce showered, shaved, and slipped into a new change of clothes. After that, he walked to his Impala parked in front of his room, and popped open the trunk. He threw back the tarp covering his guns. He kept the arms stored in the back ever since Angel died. Angel enjoyed going to the target range, and blasting off rounds into paper targets. It was a classic date they enjoyed at least once a week. Better than any dinner and a movie date.
"She had the biggest balls," Skeeter said, standing beside Pierce. "Not that our group had small balls. Angel's were just so...big. She probably made your balls bigger by proxy. Balls the size of classroom globes. Big ass balls, man."
"Skeeter, you're a Goddamn idiot."
"I'm your idiot, pal. You're the one who keeps dialing me up in your head. You can only blame yourself."
Pierce eyed the weapons in the trunk. He wasn't stepping foot on any boat, or island, without being armed. He considered the people who kidnapped Lee Branch to be no different than terrorists. There was only one way to handle terrorists, and that was to dispatch them with extreme prejudice.
"Getting ready for action, huh?" Shark posed, studying the trunk of guns. "Now that's much better than that walk in the ocean you were talking about yesterday. I didn't want to see you go out like that. You deserve to go out like a bad ass. Drowning in the ocean is a bit too melodramatic, don't you think?"
Hard Case nudged his way between the others to get a better view of the trunk. "Hmmmm. I'd take the sawed off Winchester 1887, and the Mossberg 12 gauge. I like the spreader guns. If your aim fails you, then you need as wide a blast range as possible. You're not exactly a trained mercenary, Pierce. Being a private investigator doesn't make you Rambo. You're more like a mercenary with training wheels. A mini-mercenary."
Pierce chose the sawed off Winchester and the Mossberg.
Hard Case was right about one thing.
Pierce enjoyed the spreader guns too.
He was going to pack the two guns and extra ammo into a heavy duffel bag, when Skeeter stopped Pierce.
"Whoa, hold up. You're forgetting the best weapon, man."
Shark gave Skeeter a puzzled expression. "Like, what?"
Hard Case smiled mischievously. "Yeah, he's forgetting the best weapon of all. Angel got them for your birthday, remember? Two of them, actually."
Pierce couldn't believe he almost forgot them.
Two hand grenades.
"Fuckin' sweet ass," Skeeter hooted. "That'll do some damage. That'll grow some hair on your balls. Instead of killing yourself, you'll be killing some bad guys. That's the way it should be, man. You're one of the good ones, Pierce. You're your own worst enemy. Idle hands, bad memories, and booze, it's all driven you to the brink of suicide. Susan is the best thing to happen to you in a long time."
"The idiot's right," Hard Case said. "You need to get out of your head for a while. Stop thinking about dying. Exercise, fresh air, and some machine gun fire will make you feel as good as new. Killing bad guys is like yoga for mercenaries."
Pierce collected the shotguns and the grenades, and carried the duffel bag with him down three blocks to the docking port. A long line of ships lined the water's edge. He walked in front of the boats and tried to locate Susan. Pierce thought he was too early, when he heard Susan call out to him from the very end of the pier.
Pierce was greeted by Susan on a sizeable pontoon boat. Three other people were with her. The others were unloading items, and preparing for travel. Staff was an older gentlemen who was messing with the boat's GPS system mounted on the control panel. Lords was a woman Susan's age, fresh spirited in other circumstances, but terrified of what was to come in the present. Berkley was a male co
llege professor, dressed down in jeans and a life jacket vest. He had been talking to Susan about the island right when Pierce approached them.
"What a bunch of pussy wipes," Skeeter said to Pierce. "Staff should be wearing Depends. Lords has a nice ass, but she's as scared as Susan. Staff's the kind of person who accidentally shoots themselves in the theatre of combat. And Berkley looks like a goddamn nerd who should be playing chess, or writing long equations on a chalkboard somewhere. You sure you want to carry these assholes on your back?"
Angel appeared long enough to say, "Shut the fuck up, Skeeter. Pierce can handle himself."
"I was afraid you weren't going to show up," Susan said to Pierce. "Last night was pretty weird."
Pierce said to forget about it. He wanted to talk business. "Your group armed?"
Staff paused from the GPS system mounted on the main console, and showed her hip holster with a 9mm. Lords also had a Desert Eagle pistol strapped to her hip. Berkley picked up a Rangefinder rifle with scope. Susan had a knife on her hip, and a Beretta pistol in a holster.
"Very good," Pierce said. "Then let's get on with this. Daylight's burning."
The pontoon boat's motor revved up. Staff took the reigns, guiding the boat into the ocean. Pierce watched everybody in the group, and he could sense their concern and fear. Pierce had to get the group talking. Silence increased one's fear to the point it could fester into a crippling force. This team could be done for before they traveled a single nautical mile.
Pierce asked, "Is everybody scared?"
Staff answered for everybody. "Of course we're scared. They're holding Lee hostage. He stumbled upon something big on that island, and whatever it is, they don't want anybody finding out about it. We're marching right into the lion's den. If we don't come to them, they'll come for us. We're dead here, we're dead on the island, we're dead anywhere. So yeah, buddy, we're scared. Nobody wants to die, do they?"
"I need more information," Pierce said. "Do you have any idea the extent of what's going on at the island? How big of an operation it could be?"