“They kidnapped us. I could’ve done a lot worse.”
“Yes,” he said, leaning forward, “I believe you could have. I received some reports from the men there and they said you were like a demon. Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Military.”
“Ah. I was in the military too. If you are born in a certain low caste, to be successful you can join a gang or the army. Besides the church, there is no other way out if you are born poor in my country.”
“Have you charged any of them for trying to kidnap us?”
“No.”
“So you’re just charging the foreigner, huh?”
“You are an American who shot two Chileans. The public will not be very happy if I were to let you go.” He smirked and stood up to leave. “But I’ve never cared what the public has thought anyway. You are free to leave.”
“What about those men? Will they try and come after us?”
“I wouldn’t worry about those men. I had most of them shot in the jungle. The rest will not be a problem.” Ignacio began to walk away and then stopped and turned around. “One more thing: the man in the wheelchair has contacted the regional governor and will have his proper permits to set sail soon. I suggest my young friend, you not be on that ship when it sails. Go back to America and your soft life. This is no place for you.”
* * *
34
Hector sat in the waiting room of the mayor’s office. It was plush with leather furniture, a large oak desk for the secretary and deep brown wood paneling. Floor-to-ceiling windows took up the wall in front of him and it looked out onto a rose and tulip garden. A slight breeze was making the flowers gently rock back and forth and he watched it a long time.
“Hector,” the secretary said, “when are you getting married?”
“Whenever you are ready.”
She smiled. “You are too much man for me. But my sister . . . ”
“I tried Rosa, I truly did. But all she wanted to talk about was the bible.”
“She was going to be a nun once. Then she fell in love with a boy and by the time he broke her heart she was too old and did not want to do it.”
“She would make a good nun.”
The door to the mayor’s office opened and Ignacio stepped through. He collapsed on the chair next to Hector and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Where were you?” Hector asked.
“The jail. What is it you want, Hector? I have a meeting with su santidad el gobernador.”
“You have not seen the news?”
“No, why?”
“I think we should watch the news.”
They stood and walked into his office. A large plasma screen was mounted on one wall and they sat down as Ignacio flicked it on with the remote.
Across the bottom of the screen in Spanish were bolded the words, “Giant Squid: Monster of the deep claims the life of a tourist.”
The video was played again and then they had an expert from the University of Santiago speaking about the biology of the creatures and how little is actually known about them.
“They have been playing this all day,” Hector said. “It is on a repeat on every station. I did not think it would get this much attention.”
“There is nothing more entertaining for people than death, Hector.”
The report then showed a photo of a man that Hector recognized. It was Taylor Hamilton, the man in the wheelchair. The report stated that he had issued a reward of one hundred thousand American dollars for anyone that captures the creature.
They watched the rest of the report which lasted about half an hour and then the station returned to a soap opera.
“What are we going to do?” Hector asked.
“We need more men. Those fool fisherman are going to get themselves killed on the sea.”
“How many more?”
“As many as you can get. I have a feeling, Hector, that we are in for a long day.”
* * *
35
John Kerrington had come to Chile in search of his big break. He had hated America for the twenty-eight years he had lived there except for one year when he lived on the beach in Santa Monica.
He had met a young man that also lived on the beach and when the police eventually caught on and would do routine checks of the local spots where they liked to sleep, they rented a shack that they shared with over twenty other people.
Most of the days were filled with smoking pot and drinking and surfing. A lot of the day was spent fucking as everyone shared everything, but tempers and jealousies flared and that caused too much drama. Eventually, they decided, the shack would have to be a place for just men as the women were fought over constantly.
But he grew sick of his life and the people around him and decided to take his meager savings and move to the South America.
There was Brazil at first, but it was similar to America in a lot of ways so he tried Peru next, but it was far too different. And then he found Chile.
It was perfect. It had just the right mix of savagery and civilization that he needed. He began work on the boats; the fishermen hiring him on a per diem basis. He would wait at the docks and sip his coffee and eventually some old fisherman that didn’t feel like working that day would hire him for enough to pay for his hostel and food for that day or couple days.
He became such a fixture on the dock that he eventually landed a job on a commercial fishing boat that had lost a crewman at sea. The captain was a stern man of about fifty and had lost a son early in life. He had told John much later that he reminded him of his boy.
John scrimped and saved every peso he earned, choosing to live in a tent on the beach rather than waste money on a hostel any longer. For two years he lived out of his tent eating little more than fish and rice and a few delicacies he caught himself here and there.
But eventually, he had enough money.
He bought a boat and began fishing on his own. The catches were small at first but he knew the trick. The Chileans had two flaws: they used any excuse not to work, and they were superstitious.
All the fishermen took three hour lunches and this was John’s busiest time. He didn’t stop to eat or even use the bathroom unless he hopped into the ocean to relieve himself quickly before climbing back in. In those three hours, with no other competition nearby, he captured more fish than many of the other boats did for the entire day combined.
The superstition of omens based on the clouds and ominous bird or fish movements meant that many fishermen left the water for long periods of time; occasionally even days at a time. Feeling no such need to adhere to myths and folklore, he worked even harder during these periods.
Eventually, he hired a deckhand. And then another boat, and another after that. Soon, he was the premiere fishing captain at the docks. With twelve vessels and over thirty employees, no one could compete with him, and eventually many of the fishermen sold their ships to him and found other employment.
John sat at the café, a café he had longed for intensely when he lived in a tent not a mile from here, and enjoyed a lunch of crab and grilled pig intestine with a honey glaze. A television was playing up in the corner and he saw a newsflash interrupt the soccer match. Some of the patrons groaned but he took another bite of crab and watched.
He nearly choked on his food.
Many of the locals had talked to him for years about the ghost in the ocean. Some had told him that it was only one animal that would come back to feed every fifty years and that was possessed by the devil.
Their superstition never ceased to amaze him. He knew exactly what it was and why it was here.
A local manufacturing plant had greased the palms of all the politicians and were dumping their byproducts into the ocean. It was far cheaper to do so than store it or dispose of it at approved dumping sites. This enabled them to offer their products cheaper and put their competitors out of business. What they told the politicians they bought was that after the competitors were gone they would stop the dump
ing. Most of their competitors were now gone, and there was no inkling that the dumping would stop.
The chemicals killed much of the smaller fish that could process them. The larger fish ran out of smaller fish to eat. The larger predators ran out of large fish and so on. Something like this was unpredictable, but he had figured something would happen. Nature had a way of balancing itself; one way or another.
The news story said that a wealthy American investor was paying $100,000 cash for the body of the animal, dead or alive.
John paid for his meal and left the café.
* * *
36
“Mr. Kerrington?” Alonzo said.
“Yes.”
“Your boat is here.”
John stood on the beach and looked to the vessel he had just bought from the Chilean government less than a year ago. It was large, at least sixty feet with three decks, and could hold up to twenty crewman, though he wouldn’t be taking anywhere near that.
He took his duffle back and went down the pier and climbed aboard. The crewmen followed; all trusted employees he had worked with for years. They started the engines and pulled out into open water.
They began slowly at first, dumping blood and guts and half-dead fish into the sea behind them. Then they picked up the pace and at one point threw half a goat into the ocean. It was a waste, but one he was willing to make.
Alonzo came to the upper deck and stood next to him, watching the men below. “What will we do if we capture it?”
“We’ll sell it. But more than that, we’ll sell our story. Can you think of any Chilean newspaper or television station that wouldn’t want to interview us?”
Alonzo thought a moment and then said, “No. It will be big news. I think even my mother will see it in Peru.”
“I didn’t know you were from Peru?”
“Yes.”
“Hm. Hey, get my rifle from below deck would you, Alzono?”
“Yes.”
John leaned against the railing of the upper deck, the wind whipping his hair, and watched the ocean. He loved the sea, more than any woman he had ever known he loved the sea. It wouldn’t betray him; it was always honest. Even when it was trying to kill him.
Alonzo came back up with the rifle and John chambered it and placed it across his shoulders, stretching from side-to-side. He took aim down the sight and scanned the water in front and then in the rear of the boat.
“Do you think we will find it?”
“I don’t know,” John said. “I think it’s attracted to blood and guts but we don’t even know that about it for certain. It’s all just a guess. No one’s dealt with one of these things before.”
There was shouting below deck and the men had gathered on the side of the ship. The net they had laid out snared something. Just underneath the surface, next to the boat, John saw a single red tentacle glide by.
“Get out the dynamite!”
The men brought out a box of dynamite and John ran down to help. They pulled up on the net, but the creature was fighting them and was strong as a semi. It heaved one time and nearly pulled all of them in.
“Get another net.”
Another net was cast into the ocean over the one they already had and he saw several flashing red squid legs next to the boat. He took one stick of dynamite and lit it and threw it out about ten feet.
The shockwave tilted the boat up but did no damage. He took two more sticks and did the same. The blast should be enough. He looked over the edge to see if he had killed it when a tentacle rose from the ocean and slapped around his thigh.
He screamed and the men grabbed him. Alonzo took a machete that was hanging on a nail and ran to his boss. He chopped down on the tentacle with all his strength at it sliced through the flesh of the beast.
Before John was back on his feet Alonzo lighted and threw a stick of dynamite.
“No!” John shouted. “That’s too close.”
The explosion was deafening and frothy white water erupted over the crew as the boat was hoisted into the air. They heard shrieking, like a large cat being run over. It had come from the water. When the boat had settled back down, Alonzo looked in and saw a pool of bluish blood come to the surface as the nets went slack.
John stood and looked over at the blood. A smile parted his lips; they had killed it.
* * *
37
Jane picked Patrick up from the jail in Christopher’s jeep. She had cleaned up and showered and he realized he had forgotten how lovely she was. He looked down to himself and saw caked mud, blood, and dirt.
“Hey,” he said, climbing in to the passenger seat.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“What about your hand?”
“It’s fine. The jail’s not as bad as you think. They had a nurse come look at it.”
She pulled away and onto the main road. “So they just dropped the charges like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they like having tourists messed with out here.”
“What happened to the men that kidnapped us? I’ve been thinking about it and I want to follow through, Patrick. I want to press charges against those bastards.”
“I don’t think you can.”
“Why not?”
“I think the mayor had most of them killed.”
They drove out of town and onto the road leading to Valparaiso. They stopped briefly at the halfway point and used the bathroom at a restaurant and got some drinks. Sitting out on the curb in front of the restaurant, waiting for Jane to come out of the bathroom, Patrick saw a group of young boys across the street.
One of the boys was bragging about something he had found and he held it up. Patrick couldn’t see what it was but it was wrapped in a plastic bag and the other boys seemed impressed. They began to argue about who could hold it and a fight broke out.
One of the older boys stole the bag and ran off. Patrick looked over to the restaurant’s patio where people were lazily taking in an early lunch or late breakfast and saw two police officers watching the boys. They were laughing at what had occurred and then went back to their meals.
“Ready?” Jane said as she stepped outside.
“Yeah.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Patrick guzzling three bottles of water with his feet up on the dashboard. The surrounding jungles were filled with plants of all colors and it reminded him of a landscape painting from the French impressionists. The type of paintings his mother used to hang up around their house.
They came to his hostel and packed up all that he had there. Rodrigo had gone back to his boat and Christopher was already at the hotel.
Patrick came back to the jeep and they began driving back.
They reached Viña and the Hotel del Mar in less than an hour and pulled to a stop in front of the valet service. Jane jumped out of the driver’s seat and came around to help Patrick out before she threw the keys to the valet and they went inside.
The hotel was about as luxurious a place as Patrick could’ve imagined and he was taken back for a moment when they walked past the topless pool and saw children running around all the nudity and their parents not seeming to notice.
They went up to the top floor. There was another pool and it took up half the floor. The edges of the pool were the hotel’s glass windows and it looked out over the beach which wasn’t too far off.
They made their way down the corridor and to two white double-doors that were trimmed with gold flecks. Jane knocked and Christopher answered the door.
“Hey! There he is.” He went to hug Patrick and then changed his mind upon seeing the dirt and mud caked on him. He stuck out his fist instead and Patrick bumped it with his.
They went inside and Hamilton was sitting on the balcony speaking on the phone and sending an email on the ipad in front of him. His assistant Stewart sat on a leather couch in the front room reading a bodybuildi
ng magazine.
They walked out onto to the balcony and Hamilton held up a finger indicating one minute. He looked Patrick up and down and gave him a disapproving look.
He hung up the phone and said, “I have the permits. We’re ready to go. How’s your hand?”
“Fine.”
“I was shot once a long time ago. Hit me in the shoulder and I was too drunk and too busy getting laid from some Parisian hooker that I didn’t notice till the next morning. Good job on those sons a bitches.”
Christopher said, “I don’t think he knows.”
“Knows what?” Patrick said.
“It’s appeared, Mr. Russell,” Hamilton said. “The leviathan has surfaced and we’re going after him.”
* * *
38
Patrick stood on the beach next to Christopher, watching a dozen men load the ship with all the supplies. Mitch was out on the ocean surfing; the only one out there for recreation.
The shore was clogged with ships. Every fisherman on the coast had heard of Hamilton’s reward and many had come down in vessels no bigger than speed boats to catch the monster that killed a tourist. Some of the smarter fisherman joined up and formed groups, pooling their money and renting larger vessels; armed to the teeth with explosives and semi-automatic weapons and harpoons.
“I thought he wanted it captured?” Patrick said.
“He does. He just put out this reward so the city could have this mess to worry about. Takes the pressure off us. None of these morons are gonna find the thing anyway.”
Hordes of policeman were on the docks and beaches, stopping fishermen wherever they could from loading dynamite and high-powered rifles onto their boats. One of the fishermen set off a stick of dynamite not fifty feet from shore, the explosion causing an underwater shockwave and knocking the man into the water. A police boat had to go and pick him up.
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