by C A Devine
30
This Wasn’t Good
Max lifted the binoculars to her eyes. We had sat in silence for the last hour. My dad hadn’t called back. Neither had hers. Even the radio had stopped chirping. Neither of us had said anything. I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say.
We were approaching the DSC coordinates. She adjusted the focus. ‘I can see them,’ she said. ‘You have to be kidding me.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a motorboat,’ she frowned.
She went down below and returned with a rocket flare. She pulled off the cap and fired it into the night. It lit up the sky in a scarlet glow, illuminating a hulking luxury speedboat. A beautiful piece of slick engineering, meant for speeds four times that of the Two At A Time and most definitely not fit for the heavy weather of the Atlantic. ‘What the …?’
‘I don’t know,’ Max said frowning.
Max handed me the binoculars and I focused on the empty deck. ‘No-one’s there.’
‘I can’t see the life raft either,’ Max said. ‘Maybe it’s around the other side. Please, don’t tell me they got back in and cast off. We’ll never find them. We’re too low in the water to see anything.’
‘What do you think?’ I said. ‘Stolen?’
‘I don’t know, but no sane person with the slightest knowledge of the ocean would bring that thing out here. So they’re definitely suicidal.’ Neither of us commented on that. She called them on the radio. There was no answer. ‘Let’s get the sails in and go take a look.’
I pulled up along their starboard side. The oceanic silence made me long for the buzz of New York.
‘Anyone aboard?’ Max’s voice echoed. There wasn’t a sound. No sign of life. ‘Is anybody there?’ Max shouted again. She stepped over the lifelines and jumped down onto the low stern platform. She climbed the ladder up onto the deck, shouting once more. I threw her a line and she tied us off.
I heard a creak. My head snapped up. A door swung open and a pair of Gucci shoes stepped out onto the deck. I strained my neck upwards. A flare gun swung in his right hand; a Sig Sauer P238 in his left, perched at arm’s length. I bounced up onto the coach roof for a better view. He was a huge bald man; his well-muscled body strained out of a tiny white t-shirt. He smiled a big toothy grin, ‘Hello, it’s good to see you again, Lucky’.
Max spun and stood in one fluid movement, ‘You? What are you …?’
‘Hands where I can see them, now, Lucky,’ he gestured with the gun.
She lifted her arms out in front of her. ‘What’s going on, Bulldog?’ She knew his name. This wasn’t good.
‘Uncle Malak misses you terribly. He sent me to get you. I feel sorry for the stupid bastard,’ he shook his head, tutting. ‘Do you still have the massive rock he gave you?’ He barked out a laugh, ‘Worth a pretty penny, I’d say.
‘Uncle who?’ Was I missing some in-joke?
Bulldog snorted, shifting his eyes in my direction. ‘She didn’t tell you Mr Van Hughs. It is Mr Van Hughs, isn’t it?’ His voice was clear, polite. He flashed me that same nasty smile. ‘She’s The Baron’s niece.’
‘What?’Ariana? I wasn’t sure what was going on here, but I knew the fact this man had a gun was a bad thing. ‘What’s with the gun? We’re here to help you.’
‘Help?’ he laughed again. ‘Oh that. Just my little joke. I came to pick up Uncle Malak’s lucky charm.’
I looked over at Max, ‘What’s going on?’
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. My chest tightened, ‘Ariana? The Baron? Your uncle? You screwed your uncle? Wh … what the fuck?’ She looked straight at me, straight into me, but all I saw was a stranger.
‘He’s not a blood relative. It wasn’t like that. I was trying to tell you, but …’ Her tone was shrill, anxious, but she wasn’t denying it. She was the niece of the man who had killed Siouxsie and Lainey and Lily and Lisa. Max, the woman I loved was … was what? Ice shot through my veins.
‘Now, Mr Van Hughs, why don’t you come on over here so I can keep an eye on you? And keep your hands where I can see them.’ I didn’t move. Bulldog shifted his pistol in my direction, ‘Now, Mr Van Hughs.’
I climbed the rails and jumped down onto the swimming platform, landing on wobbly legs. I was waiting for it to sink in, waiting to feel something, anything, but all I felt was the ice.
‘Why don’t we all go inside?’ he gestured with the flare gun. I climbed up the ladder, crossed the deck and stepped into the main cabin.
If the Two At A Time had old world charm, then this was future-tech. Black fabric clinging tightly to overstuffed seats, prised in between highly polished teak, rounded off in sleek curves. Subdued lights glowed from floors, silhouetting bulkheads. And the pièce de résistance: a bridge lit up like a space ship. It was a veritable shag pad. My fifteen-year-old self wanted to devour every little detail.
An altogether different man stood inside. He was short and skinny, pockmarked skin peered out from under inflamed stubble rash. He was trying to conceal a rapidly balding scalp by spiking the patches of dark hair he had left. It wasn’t working. A point of a nose finished the unfortunate man. Beauty hadn’t been kind to this guy. A bulky black leather coat, circa 1990, hung from hunched shoulders. He shuffled his feet when I looked at him. A clatter behind me drew his gaze.
I turned around. Max had followed me in, tripping on the door saddle. She looked at me as she steadied herself, eyes pleading. ‘What?’ I snapped. What did she expect?
I shifted my eyes to Bulldog on her tail, ‘Weasel, start the engines.’ I turned back to the small man. He was staring at Max, totally focused on her. ‘Hey, snap out of it, Weasel. The boss is waiting for his delivery.’ Weasel stepped up to the controls, turned the key and hundreds of horses roared to life. He eased the throttle forward. My legs scrabbled for balance as we churned through the water.
‘Hey, you can’t do that,’ Max said. ‘You need to untie the yacht.’
Bulldog flashed a quick nasty smile, before turning and stepping back out the door. The air exploded with the sound of a flare gun. I heard a crack. I spun to the window. The sky didn’t light up. There was another bang. I stepped over to the glass for a better look. I peered out, ‘Oh fuck, no.’ It slipped from my mouth just as I heard the second crack.
‘What?’ Max said, stepping over beside me.
Bulldog was untying the Two At A Time. We were floating away from her smoking coach roof. As she moved further out, I could see sparks sizzle from the hull. He sent another flare, then another, then another. What was I going to say to Marcus? Flames finally caught on the top of the coach roof. I ran my hands through my hair. What was I doing? Bulldog wasn’t in the cabin with us. Weasel didn’t look like too much trouble. I glanced around for some kind of weapon. I didn’t see anything that I could grab. I took a step towards him. He pulled back his leather coat to show me his own Sig tucked in his waistband. I stepped back. The door swung open and Bulldog stepped in tossing the empty flare gun on the table.
‘I need to pee,’ Max said.
Everyone ignored her.
‘I need to pee.’
‘Do I care?’ Bulldog said.
‘What? Do you want me to just piss myself here and we can all breathe in the lovely odour.’ Eugh, that was a nice image.
‘Okay go,’ Bulldog said, gesturing with his Sig, ‘but leave the door open.’
‘Are you really going to stand and watch me?’ I wasn’t sure where the ballsy talk was coming from. The old Max was suddenly back. But was this the time and place?
Bulldog didn’t answer her, instead pointing down the corridor until Max made a move in that direction. Then he turned to his sidekick, ‘Punch up the speed.’
Bulldog followed Max as Weasel gave the boat more power. We slid down the first wave then started to lift at the front, pulling up on top. He pushed down on the throttle again and the engine roared. We shot forward, slapping off the crest of a wave. A shudder wracked through the boat. Bli
nds shook in the portholes, glass clinked in some nearby closet, tremors ran up my legs, before finally we settled in a planing position on top of the water. We felt every bit of movement on this flat bottomed boat.
Thumping erupted down the corridor. ‘Hurry up sweetheart, or I’m coming in to get you,’ Bulldog called. I heard a door thud then Max appeared, followed by the muscled master of ceremonies. He pushed her down into a leather couch. ‘Why don’t you join her there, Mr Van Hughs?’ he said, waving his gun at me. I slid into the seat; I could feel Max’s eyes on me, but I kept mine on Bulldog.
Everyone jumped at smashing glass. Splinters scattered across the teak floor. Max was out of her seat, lunging for Bulldog, a large shard glinting in her hand. She charged into him, making contact with his neck. He staggered back, but Max held on, pushing the shard further in.
Bulldog swung out with his right arm, throwing Max back up against the bulkhead. She sank to the floor. We slapped hard into a wave and for a moment four bodies floated in the air. Shakira crashed to the ocean. I slammed into Weasel and catapulted him at Max. She hit the floor. The boat let out a sickening groan. Bulldog, blood dribbling down his neck, saw his advantage and took it. He raised his gun to Max’s head. ‘Ariana might want you alive, sweetheart, but there is only so much of this shit I’m willing to put up with.’
Max cowered back in anticipation, eyes wide with fear. He clicked off the safety. I spun on my left foot, my right striding out in their direction. I caught a flash of metal.
‘Don’t touch her,’ Weasel screamed, jumping on top of Bulldog. Bulldog stumbled back; Weasel grabbed at his gun laden hand. Bang! Part of the instrument panel lit up. Sparks flew into the air then fell and fizzled out. The Sig spun across the shiny cabin floor. I turned on my second step, dived, slid across the teak and grasped it in my hand.
Bulldog let out a roar and threw Weasel, one-armed, across the cabin. The scrawny body slammed off the bulkhead melting to the floor.
I scrambled to my feet and turned the familiar comforting weight on Bulldog.
He stepped towards me, clutching his bleeding neck. ‘Don’t even think about it? I’m well versed in using one of these.’ He hesitated only a moment then raised his free hand. ‘Good choice. Now, keep them where I can see them.’
I crouched in front of Weasel and grabbed the gun from his belt in one swift move. I stood and backed up over to the pilot seat at the other end of the cabin. The view was good and it put distance between me and all the other occupants. I shoved one Sig in my waistband, sat down and lay the other in my lap.
Max crouched down beside Weasel, studying him, ‘Do I know you?’
‘Don’t you recognise me, Max?’ he dragged himself up against the bulkhead, shaking his head from side to side before laying it back and closing his eyes. He drew in a couple of dramatic breaths, ‘You never fooled anyone with your I’m a boy routine.’ He smirked, ‘No-one made a fuss because we were all scared of Mal.’
‘Darren? You were…’ Max frowned in recognition.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, ‘What? Gawky? Ugly? I know what you all used to say about me.’ I hated to dash his illusion, but he was no picture of beauty now. ‘I couldn’t let him kill you, Max. You and I were like … you know.’
‘Mates,’ Max nodded.
‘You were always nice to me,’ he smiled up at her.
‘What the hell are you doing, Darren?’ Max suddenly snapped.
‘What do you mean?’ he pushed himself up further against the polished wood, wrapping his arms around his body.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she stared down into his pockmarked face.
‘Malak said to bring you back to him. I don’t know what Bulldog was doing trying to kill you. Malak would have murdered him.’
‘Not this,’ she threw her arm around, ‘I mean, working for Malak full stop.’
‘’Ave you tried getting a job round Bradford lately?’ he whined. ‘He pays well. I got a kid to keep and I’m not a dole-bludger.’
A groan emanated from Bulldog. I looked over at him. He had pulled the glass from his neck. ‘Max, find the first aid kit and throw him some bandages – he can sort himself out.’ She pulled open hatches till she found it. She grabbed some dressings and tape and threw them at him. He groaned once more as he reached out and grabbed them.
Max shook her head. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said, ‘you know what Malak’s up to, don’t you?’
He shrugged, ‘A bit of smuggling, fags, booze, into the troops.’
‘Smuggling fags and booze? Darren, Malak’s a major league drug smuggler. You could get banged up for ten years!’
‘I don’t … didn’t know.’
‘You expect me to believe that? And what’s the deal with the body parts?’
‘What?’
‘Stop treating me like a fucking idjit, Darren.’
Weasel swallowed, ‘He just got a bit fucked up after that fing that happened to his family. It only started out with the smuggling.’
31
Weasel On Board
‘Malak got real crazy that time years ago when he knew he couldn’t ’ave you because you were his niece and all. And he knew that if you’d still been in Afghanistan, he could ’ave. So he started going to the mosque and got them to arrange a marriage for him and he moved out there.’
‘There was a war going on,’ Max said.
Weasel shrugged again, ‘From what I can tell, he was only there a couple of weeks when he bumped into an old mate from school. Johnny Foukes, did you ever meet him?’ Max raised her shoulders. ‘Well turns out, Johnny joined the army and is out there for six months. And he’s not doing that great, on account of the fact he’s an alky. He asks Mal if he can get him some booze and that he’d pay well for it. Mal managed to get him a bottle of whisky, charges him fifty quid. Then Johnny asks him if he can get some for the other lads. Turns out, all the lads were gagging for a drink, but there wasn’t much to be had in that hole. So he got this whole smuggling thing going. Offered me a job; no-one had ever done that before. He was bringing it into Pakistan by boat. Then driving it to the border and throwing the guards a couple of quid. The trucks and boats were going back empty so when a couple of local farmers offered him poppies … well there was no harm in earning another few quid. He brought it into the Stan at first, but then he reckoned the big dosh was in the US of A.’
‘The Stan?’ I asked.
‘Bradistan,’ Weasel said.
‘Bradford, in England – locals call it that because there’s a big Pakistani population,’ Max said.
‘He was spot on,’ Weasel continued, ‘the Yanks couldn’t get enough. He was at it for years, had a big distribution network going and everyfink. He became The Man on the scene around the Big Apple. Got a bit messy like when the Colombians tried to take him out a couple of times, but he was lovin’ it. But then it was all taken down by the old bill. His whole network. And he’s left with no choice, but to set up with the only distributor left – this Van Hughs guy. But it turns out he were old bill too.’ He chanced a glance at me.
I gave him a big smile and a finger wave.
He narrowed his eyes – his version of the death-stare, I presumed. He turned back to Max, ‘He just got out in time, thanks to some black dude on Wall Street, who handles his dosh. He has some bit of skirt in the NYPD give him the heads up.
‘Anyway Mal wasn’t too pushed, planned to lie low for a while. He had loads of cash, could have any kind of life he wanted. So he goes back to visit his old lady in The Stan,’ he looked at me.
‘I got it.’
‘He buys her presents and stuff, but when he walks into the house, old lady Foukes is there. Johnny’s been blown to smithereens in Afghanistan. And she only got bits of him back. Not bits she can fucking recognise either. She’s roaring and bawling about Johnny’s missing legs and what does Mal do? He takes out a wad of cash and gives it to her.
‘Mal’s old lady goes berserk, starts whacking him wit
h cushions off the sofa and everyfink, calls him an insensitive little cunt. In fairness to Mal, he was only trying to help. He was just never any good at that sort of fink.
‘Anyway, just after he hands over the cash, he gets a call on his mobile. They’ve bombed the fuck out of his place in Afghanistan. Killed the kids, now that ain’t right, like,’ he paused and frowned. No-one said anything. No-one was arguing.
‘He goes completely mental after that. Someone tells him it was this Van Hugh’s cop guy who did it. Mal starts obsessing over him. It didn’t make much sense to me. I know I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but I couldn’t figure how some New York old bill could kill kids in Afghanistan.
‘He starts up with the smuggling again, but only bigger this time, and to France of all places, frog land, throws all his dosh at it. Uses Bulldog over there,’ he nodded to the man in the corner; Bulldog didn’t wave, ‘who charges a fortune for transportation ’cause he has a one hundred per cent record. And Mal said that was very important. I keep working; keep my head down. Know what I mean? I’ve known him since I was a kid and I knew he ’ad gone mental, but what do you do?’ He stopped, his face grimacing in pain.
‘Are you okay?’ Max asked.
‘It’s just me back.’ He reached a hand round behind him. ‘It’s right painful like.’
‘Come on, get up onto the seat there,’ she gestured to the big padded couch around the table.
He started to stand. I pointed the gun at him. He stopped. ‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘just know, I will shoot you if you do anything but sit.’
He nodded, shuffled to the table and sat down on a moan. ‘Anyway, next thing I know,’ he continued like he had never stopped, ‘he starts talking to me about you again. He hadn’t mentioned you in years. I couldn’t believe it. He starts saying how his mum told him that his sister wasn’t really his sister. And that means he can ’ave you. And he said he was going to get you.’
Max pushed to her feet, shaking her head, ‘What was I ever thinking?’ She began to pace back and forth.