by Jason Frost
"Guess you weren't expecting such a natty dresser, eh?" The disfigured captain laughed, the damaged side of his face shifting into islands of wrinkled scars. He looked at Eric. "In the meantime, there's someone dying to meet you." He held out a hand like an emcee introducing a new act. "Heeere's Angel."
The slender Vietnamese woman walked into the room. She was short, barely clearing five feet, but her face was just as beautiful as when Eric has last seen it, magnified through the lens of his M-84 scope. The royal tilt of the head, the long black hair cascading around her face. The slits of olive skin encasing eyes gleaming like stainless steel ball bearings. The pouting lips hiding small delicate teeth. But the hate in her face as she stared at Eric was almost as disfiguring as her companion's deformity.
"So, Eric," she said, not smiling, her accent still heavy and halting, "once again you are my guest."
The captain smiled at Eric. "I understand you've already met my little Angel."
"Yes," Angel answered for Eric. "The last time Eric was my guest he made love to me all night. Then tried to kill me in the morning."
"How rude," the man said, clucking his tongue, half of his face crinkled with amusement, the other half a desolate moonscape. "Well, I suppose we will be forced to return the favor, eh, Angel?"
Angel reached behind her back. When her hand reappeared it was clutching a Philippine balisong knife. She flicked her wrist and the double handles unfolded to reveal a sharp blade. She stepped toward Eric.
7.
"Right here." She tapped the point of the blade against Eric's bandaged chest, then pulled the knife away, resting the tip against her pouting lip. Her tongue flicked against the blade absently as she studied his bare torso. When she decided on the right location, she pressed the tip of the blade just below the edge of the bandage. "And here, I think. Correct, Eric?"
Eric smelled the faint sweet scent of jasmine spiced with ginger. Her own creation, he remembered. After all that had happened since they'd last met-to themselves, to the world- she remained the same. It was as if the events in the world didn't affect her directly. She was beyond their touch, as she'd been beyond his bullets.
"Well, Eric?" Angel twisted the blade, adding pressure. A drop of blood spurted onto the shiny metal. "Am I correct? Would you not say those were the locations where you shot me?"
"Approximately," Eric said.
She laughed, the small white teeth glistening like buttered corn. "Then I should be dead, no? Instant kill, n'est-ce pas?"
"That's what I thought."
The steel ball bearings shifted in their sockets. "You mean, you hoped." She twisted the knife harder, gouging the flesh. Eric didn't flinch. "Poor, Eric. Forced to make love to me the whole night, just so he could get past my guards and close enough to kill me."
"It was a dirty job," Eric shrugged.
The captain roared with laughter. "Quite a tongue on that boy, Angel my love."
"That will be the first to go," she smiled. "But not the last." She glanced at his crotch, showed more teeth. "When I am through, poor Eric will be minus many things. Including his little friend here."
"Now, now, Angel," the man cautioned. "I promised you Ravensmith, but not the girl. That's business. Look at that figure, that face. I'd wager whoever buys her will keep her tied on her back with her legs spread apart for a week at least."
Angel glanced at Tracy for the first time since entering the room. She didn't like what she saw. "I don't care what you do with her."
"Hmmm. Perhaps a few sessions with the crew will break her in properly." He smiled at Tracy. "Though I warn you, young lady, the women will be even rougher with you than the men. Depraved lot, eh, Griffin?"
Griffin nodded. "We try, Captain."
Angel ignored the patter, her eyes locked on Eric's. "You still haven't guessed it, have you? How I survived."
"You used a double, I suppose. A sister, a cousin. Somebody you hired for just such possibilities." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
"It doesn't matter?" She pulled the knife away from his oozing wound. With her free hand she reached up and unzipped the sailing jacket she wore over her jeans. She was naked underneath.
"My, my," the captain grinned with mock surprise.
Her breasts were large for an oriental's, but firm and perfectly round. Her long dark nipples budded straight out like thorns. Between her breasts, slightly to the left and over the heart, was a small round scar no larger than a mole. Another was located a few inches lower. "No double," she hissed. "Me! You shot me."
Eric was confused. The scars were right where he'd shot her all right, but they weren't large enough to be bullet wounds. Besides, if he'd actually shot her there, she'd be dead. Unless…
"Ahhh," she nodded, pleased at Eric's expression. "Sweet Eric sees now."
Eric sighed. "Fallows."
"Yes, Dirk was kind enough to come to my aid. Providing me with your description and a bulletproof vest to conceal under my coat. He was under orders to have me killed, but he had a plan. He always had a plan. Of course he could do no less, considering he was my business partner of several years." She zipped her jacket closed. "However, I wish he would have warned me how much it would hurt, even with the special apparel."
"Fallows likes surprises," Eric said.
"It was hard to understand what he liked. He made me swear not to kill you, though that was my first desire. But one discovers quickly that it is best never to go against Dirk's wishes. He could be most ruthless." She smirked lewdly. "Especially in bed. Much more selfish than you in that area, Eric. Tu te souviens de moi?" Do you remember?
"Seulement dans mes cauchemars." Only in my nightmares.
She raised the knife in a stabbing stance, but the captain grabbed her wrist with surprising agility for someone of his considerable bulk.
"Not yet, Angel. We still haven't discussed the map with your friend."
She tried to twist free, but his grip was iron. The blood drained from her hand. "He knows nothing about the map. I know him. He would have nothing to do with Alabaster or his map."
"Perhaps. But we can't be certain that this isn't just a stall while Alabaster makes a deal with someone else." He released her wrist, his finger imprints still glowing on her skin. "After all, Mr. Ravensmith has a reputation, even out here on the wide open sea. You know what they call you, Mr. Ravensmith?"
Eric shook his head.
"The Warlord. Quaint, eh?"
"Surprising."
"Not at all. You were the Warlord of a group a few months ago. And of course what you and your friends did to Savvytown is the stuff legends are made of. And the primitive souls still alive in California need legends, my friend. They need heroes and villains."
"I guess we know which role you've chosen?" Tracy said.
"Indeed," the captain nodded. "The one that pays better."
"But not without cost." She stared at his twisted features.
"This little ol' thing?" he asked, pointing at his face. "A misunderstanding. Told my barber a little around the edges. His hand slipped." He roared with laughter. Griffin chuckled next to him.
"The Long Beach Halo," Angel explained.
The captain looked up, no longer smiling. His moist black eye glared from under the cliff of gnarled flesh. "A slight miscalculation. Back when it all started, after the quakes, some business associates and I stole a ship and tried to go through that damned Halo, get back to civilization. Most aboard were killed by the Halo, others were killed by the navy gunboats waiting outside, warning us to turn back. We made a run for it, but they forced us back with gunfire. Three of us survived, myself, the captain, and his son. Until the water and food ran low. I waited until they were asleep, then…" He made a slashing gesture across his neck. "And then there was one."
"A new captain."
"The wheel keeps spinning, my friend. Besides, they looked even worse than I did." Suddenly he became animated, excited. "My crew even has a nickname for me. This is great, you'll love it. Gues
s what they call me? Guess."
No one spoke.
"Rhino." He beamed with pride. "Classic, right? Captain Rhino. Like something Robert Louis Stevenson would write. Christ, I love it."
"Children," Angel muttered disgustedly.
The thunder of running feet sounded outside the stateroom. A woman's gaunt face leaned through the doorway. She had a ring through one nostril and a ring through one ear lobe. A thin silver chain connected them. Teeth dangled from the chain, some of them human. "Captain!"
"Yes, Crow?"
"Spotted another ship ahead."
Rhino's interest perked up. "What kind?"
"Looks like a Valiant 47."
"Come on, woman. Give me the stats."
"Well, she can't hold a candle to The Centurion here, but she's a beauty. One-piece fiberglass hull with high-density foam floors and stringers. Got a stainless steel tie-rod which anchors the cabin roof to the external lead keel. Teak and ash woodwork."
"Status?"
"Dead in the water. Half a dozen men and a couple women on deck waving at us for help. Looks like the mast split or something."
Rhino smiled, half of his mouth curling up, the other half frozen in a swamp of scar tissue. "Well, then, let's get on with what we do best, eh."
"And the passengers?" Crow asked, nodding her head. It made the teeth on her chain clack like dice.
He waved a bored hand. "The usual. Save the women. Kill the men on sight." He started out of the cabin, shoving Crow ahead of him. "Battle stations, everyone."
"What about them?" Angel asked, pointing at Eric and Tracy.
Rhino hesitated, considering. He plucked at the rubber band around his wrist, stretched it out, and let it snap against his skin. "I tend to think you're right. They don't know anything about Alabaster or any fucking map. And we didn't find anything in the canoe. Still, first things first. We take care of the little darling waiting up ahead, then you can kill your old chum. But the girl we sell with the others we're about to pick up. Griffin, post someone outside the cabin. Anything pokes out of the door, kill it." He marched off, cheerfully alive with the demands of command.
Angel slammed the door shut behind them. The lock clicked into place.
Tracy ran to the porthole, pressing her face against the glass as they raced toward the disabled ship. She could see the people aboard waving for help, looking happy now that someone was coming.
"Christ, Eric, they'll slaughter them."
"Probably."
"What can we do?"
Eric shook his head. "Watch."
They stared out the porthole. The people on the ship waved and cheered as they sped closer.
8.
Rhino smiled, showing large dark teeth behind his scarred lips. "Everyone armed?"
"Armed and stationed, Cap," Griffin said.
"Then let's party." He rubbed his hands together energetically. "And keep the more gaudy members of the crew toward the stern. We don't want to scare our new friends. Just yet."
"Already done. Devon and Rilke are stashed behind the dinghies. And after seeing what that Ravensmith guy and his chick did to their cousins last night, the Peterson brothers have scrubbed that makeup shit off their faces. Fresh as choirboys, Cap, 'cept for their natural ugly, which they can't much help."
Rhino nodded, looked around the deck. "Where's Crow?"
"Guarding the prisoners. She's pissed about it though. Wants in on the real action."
"She what?" Rhino asked, stretching his rubber band.
Griffin instantly realized he'd said something wrong. His voice went quiet. "Said she wanted in on the action."
"The action, huh? Well, shit, tell her maybe later we'll vote her fucking Prom Queen."
Griffin didn't say anything.
Rhino spun angrily, his lumpy face glowering six inches above Griffin's. "Tell her she'll do what the fuck she's told, just like everybody else on this pissbucket." He stopped, panting the minty scent of toothpaste into Griffin's face. Suddenly he snapped the rubber band on his wrist. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, though it practically vibrated with pressure. He exaggerated each whispered syllable. "Are the weapons out of sight?"
"Y-Yes, Captain." Griffin's foot nudged the crossbow he'd commandeered from Eric's salvaged canoe. One of the perks of his rank. The bow lay in the shadows at his feet, already cocked and loaded with the same bolt they'd yanked out of Johnny Peterson's chest. Extra bolts stuck out of the top of Griffin's suede boots like a feather bouquet.
The other crew members standing around the deck also had their weapons hidden, but within easy reach. Out of the corners of their eyes they watched Rhino, waiting for his signal to use them.
Angel stood next to Rhino, her arms crossed, not bothering to hold on to anything despite the bumpy ride. The sea breeze fluffed and tossed her glossy black hair, but she didn't notice. Her eyes were fixed on their nearing target.
"Any orders, Cap?" Griffin asked.
Rhino clamped his hand on Griffin's shoulder. Despite his huge bulk, he had small delicate hands, so smooth and slender they might have once been used on hand cream commercials. Though the fingers were fragile looking, they commanded all the enormous strength of his two hundred sixty-eight pounds. He squeezed Griffin's shoulder until the shorter man winced with pain, feeling the bones shift slightly, grinding like twigs. It was a childish display of power, Rhino realized, but just the kind that most impressed these oafs. No matter how brilliant his strategies had proven over the past few months, no matter how much profit he had brought them, they still reacted with more awe to a silly demonstration of brute strength and physical cruelty. They suspected anyone with more brains than brawn was basically weak. Only Angel knew better.
Griffin's knees sagged slightly under Rhino's punishing grip. Pound for pound, Griffin was easily the more muscular of the two, a ruthless fighter who had killed men twice his size. A crewman who had once insulted his ponytail disappeared from the ship that very night. A woman crew member had refused his sexual advances; the next morning her corpse was found dragging behind the ship, only the torso and head hadn't yet been eaten by sharks. No one aboard messed with Griffin again.
Except Rhino. Stuffed inside that ageless, shapeless lump of a body was a power and energy that frightened them all.
"Good job, my friend," Rhino said, releasing Griffin's shoulder and slapping him happily on the back. "Nothing to do now but wave and smile. Wave and smile." He grinned, slipping one thick arm around Angel's shoulder and lifting his other in a friendly wave to the ship's passengers.
Griffin tried to raise his left hand, but the shoulder was too numb from Rhino's grip. He lifted his right instead and waved. The rest of the crew also waved.
Angel stood impassive, frowning, wearing Rhino's heavy arm like a Siberian shawl. She did not smile; she did not wave. She watched.
The passengers from the disabled ship waved back, cheered, hugged each other with relief.
Rhino's grin broadened on the good half of his face. He waved animatedly now, like someone's rube uncle in a home movie. "Come on in." He chuckled, straightening his jacket over the bulging.38 S amp;W tucked into his waistband. "The water's just fine."
They sailed closer. The orange sky reflecting off Rhino's dead scars made his face look on fire. He stepped behind the searchlight, letting the cool shadow quench his face. And hide it from the strangers.
When they were close enough to hear, Rhino cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted to the stranded passengers. "Ahoy there. Someone call for a tow truck."
"Thank God," a woman shouted back, tears streaming from her eyes. "Thank God."
"Well, get your AAA cards ready, folks. We'll be there in a few minutes. Mastercard and Visa welcomed."
The passengers laughed happily.
So did Rhino.
***
"God, look at them. They think he's their savior." Tracy backed away from the porthole and turned away. "I don't want to see what happens next."
E
ric was gathering up the girlie magazines from the bunks. "You want to give me a hand."
"Christ, Eric. This is no time for sex magazines."
He was on his knees, dragging his arm under one of the bunks. His hand swept out some dirty underwear, a rolled up sweat sock, a copy of Penthouse that had been torn in half.
"Maybe you're right," she sighed, collapsing on one of the bunks. She lazily picked at a magazine next to her called Blue Boy. All naked men. "We could screw during the whole attack," she said bitterly. "Then we won't notice what's happening."
Eric moved quickly around the cabin, stacking the magazines.
Tracy watched him a minute. "Did you notice?"
"Notice what?"
"Your friend, uh, Angel."
"Her real name is Phan. Suzette Phan. Her father was a high official in the Diem government, her mother the wife of a French diplomat."
"Whatever. Did you notice what she was wearing?
"Not much."
"I mean her jeans. The brand."
Eric tossed Blue Boy on the pile and looked at Tracy. "The brand of her jeans?"
"Yeah, they were Lee's. Same as mine."
"So?"
Tracy shrugged. "So nothing. Just an observation, that's all. Even in hopeless situations like this you notice the dumbest things. Suddenly I'm fashion conscious. First Goldie Hawn, now Gloria Vanderbilt." She pounded her fist into the wall with frustration. She wouldn't let him see any tears, never again. "Shit!"
Eric glanced out the porthole, watched the helpless ship get closer and closer. Above them they heard Rhino bellow out a greeting, joking with the passengers as they hugged each other and thanked him. Within minutes they would be there. Then the carnage.
He looked past the ship now, trying to get a fix on their location. There wasn't much to see out there anymore. The ocean water was splashed with an orange sheen from the Long Beach Halo. A quarter of a mile to the left a dozen tops of buildings stuck out of the water like half-submerged milk cartons. Some of them had as much as five or six stories showing, others just barely one. "We're in downtown Los Angeles, near Third and Grand."