by Perrin Briar
“What’s wrong with the one you have?”
“We need something a little more… spacious.”
“More spacious? I thought there were just the two of you?”
“We want a fishing ship. Sails.”
“You planning on going somewhere?”
“We want to fish for ourselves. Anything we catch extra, we’ll deal only with you.”
“I already have plenty of fishing ships.”
“But do you have expert fishermen?” Jordan gestured to the old man sat beside him. “Stan here can catch anything with scales.”
Terry’s stomach growled.
“If it’s in the sea,” the old man said – his first words, “it can be on your plate.”
Terry took a moment to think. “The problem with fish, I’ve found, is that it always tastes the same. My chef has one hell of a tough job with seasoning, let me tell you. But if you were able to catch say, a hammerhead shark or a small whale…”
“We’re your men,” Jordan said.
Terry pursed his lips. “A ship the likes of which you mentioned would cost a pretty penny, I should imagine.”
“You can have our new boat, Big Daddy.”
“One boat is not equal to another.”
“That’s why we brought a little extra.” Jordan and Stan shifted their backpacks onto the floor and reached inside. The guards stiffened. They moved slowly, taking out items and piling them up on the table. There were dirty magazines, literary fiction, Bibles, Shakespeare collections, Old World calendars, children’s toys, electronic devices, gold teeth, and on and on.
Terry drummed his fingers on the armrest and yawned. “Yes, yes, but it still isn’t enough for the boat you want. Let me propose an idea. You give me everything you offered, and I’ll lease you your boat. You’ll pay me back with the fish you catch. Say, eighty per cent of the total catch. It’s the best offer I can give you.”
“We do have one more thing.” Jordan took off the bag that hung over his shoulder. It was relatively small and unassuming. He spilled the contents out onto the table.
Terry’s eyes widened. He gripped the armrest with white-knuckles. “My, my. You have been busy.”
There was money – lots of it – made up of many denominations from around the world. There were also bank books and credit cards.
Terry couldn’t take his eyes off the money. “I already have plenty of money.”
“ ‘Plenty’ is not enough. You never know what the future holds. When all the Lurchers are gone this will be worth, well, a fortune.”
Terry smiled. “We might be able to come to an agreement.”
61.
Terry’s hair was black, flecked with grey, and combed back close to the scalp. He wore a silk smock and slippers. He probably couldn’t find anything else that fit him, the fat bastard.
As Terry’s empire grew, so did his fortress. It consisted of – according to Terry – eighteen boats that had been bolted and welded together into one huge floating mass. One minute you were walking down the corridor of a thirty-foot yacht, the next, on what was the former deck of a tramp steamer. Terry gave them the guided tour back to their boat personally, directing their attention to the fine art and antiques that hung on the walls. They were now somewhere deep in the fortress’s bowels.
Whenever Jordan slowed, he felt a jab in the back from a guard’s gun. There were two of them. One had a Freddy Mercury-esque handlebar moustache. The other was squat and bald. Jordan referred to them in his mind as Bushy and Baldy. The one called Barry, who besides Terry seemed to be in charge, had left to take care of some other business. The wall texture turned from oak to steel.
“I heard it said you’ve got a good network of eyes and ears, Terry.”
“Good? I’ve got the cream of eyes and ears, mate. I know things about people before they do themselves.”
“Then you might be able to help us out. You see, we’ve got these friends who’re thinking of leaving these waters and going out to Asia-”
Terry smirked. “Oh yeah?”
“They think it might be safer out there.”
Terry chuckled. “They’re idiots. There’s no place safer than these waters. You know why? Because Terry’s taking care of you – and your friends. Nobody takes care of anybody better than Terry.” He leaned in close. “Did they mention any place in particular?”
“No. Just away.”
Terry laughed – an unpleasant throaty cough that made his chins wobble. “Everywhere is a death trap, my friend. You’d have to sail around the French and Spanish coast – dodging and avoiding any pirates that you came into contact with out there. After that you’d have to sail all the way round Africa – the longest and most perilous journey by all accounts.”
“But they mentioned another way through the Mediterranean Sea.”
Terry stopped, causing Stan and the armed guards to almost run into them. Terry’s eyes grew dark. “If your friends go in there, believe me, they ain’t ever getting out. The Mafia control those waters. I’ve tried bartering and trading with them, but it’s no good. They don’t want to trade. They just want to take. Forget about your friends. If they leave, they’re as good as dead.”
Terry was interrupted by the sound of frantic grunting from the room running alongside their corridor. Terry smiled, a glimmer in his eye. He moved toward the door.
“We just had a new delivery. I think you’ll find the product quite wonderful. That is, if you don’t mind waiting while the current customer finishes up…”
The groans grew louder, distinct grunts of approval from a man’s throat.
Jordan felt physically sick. “We’d sooner be on our way, thanks Terry.”
Terry caught Stan’s expression of derision and stared him dead in the eye. “You’re very quiet, old timer. You got a problem with the way I do business?”
Jordan had never seen such an oblique expression of rage on someone’s face before. He looked like he was about ready to go on a rampage.
Jordan slapped Stan on the back and smiled. “He’s a bit shy, that’s all.”
Terry didn’t take his eyes from Stan. “Is that right, old timer? One of my girls can relieve you of that, if you’d like.”
Stan looked away, the muscles in his jaw tight.
The grunting stopped, and after a moment the door swung open. An unshaven man tucked his shirt in and brushed the greasy hair from his face. He blew out a puff of satisfaction. He lifted his fingers to his cheek, where two deep scratches leaked pearls of blood. He rubbed the blood between his fingertips and smiled. “Woo! She’s a wild one.”
Terry slapped the man on the back. “Well done. We’ll break her in yet. Satisfaction guaranteed. Another happy customer.”
The man whistled as he made his way down the corridor.
Terry turned to Jordan and Stan, holding the door open. “After you. No? Special offer: twenty per cent discount if you share. No? Twenty-five per cent?” Terry shrugged and shut the door. “Can’t please some people.”
Terry turned and led them down the corridor. “Women are the most sought-after commodity on the sea. Probably anywhere. While food is necessary to live, a woman is necessary to die. Men just want to have it away one last time before they bite the bullet. And who are we to deny them that? The girls are run ragged as you can well imagine.”
Natural daylight greeted them as they stepped out onto the jetty leading back to Big Daddy. Jordan was surprised to see the sun hanging so low on the horizon. Judging by the fading light, they didn’t have long left. They needed to hurry.
62.
Anne kept her eyes shut tight. It was easier to believe you were somewhere else when you didn’t have to look at your surroundings. But she could still hear the low groans and deep bangs of Big Daddy beside her as it lay tethered beside the jetty.
Anne opened her eyes a crack. The light danced round them in slow languid movements. Bubbles dribbled over Jessie’s lip and floated up to the surface. Her hair floated up round
her like Medusa’s snakes. Anne reached over and readjusted Jessie’s mask.
Anne turned and checked the meter again. A thin sliver of oxygen remained. She shut her eyes and tried to send a telepathic message. Hurry, Jordan. Please hurry.
63.
“Daniel, bring the boat around,” Terry said.
“Yes, sir,” Daniel said. He was off like a shot.
“Good kid, Daniel,” Terry said. “Two days ago he and his sister turned up in a patched-up rubber dingy. They stank and had nothing to offer. Daniel gave up his one and only sister in return for food and shelter. Me, being the softie I am, accepted. The girl resisted at first, of course. They always do. But after a little liquid leisure she became a little more receptive.”
Terry smiled, then nodded at the two armed soldiers. They boarded Big Daddy.
Jordan stepped forward. “Terry? What’s going on?”
“I should have thought it was obvious. We’re searching your boat.”
“What for?”
“A number of reasons. I don’t much fancy purchasing a rust bucket that’ll sink the second you ride off into the sunset. You wouldn’t believe how unscrupulous some people are. Look you dead in the eye and lie to your face, they will.”
The soldiers banged about inside the boat.
“What’s the matter, Jordon?” Terry said with a smirk on his face. “You look anxious.”
“Not at all.”
“Hello, hello,” Baldy said, leaning over the stern with a triumphant smile on his face, a flimsy piece of cloth dangling from his index finger. “What’s this, may I ask?”
“It’s a bra,” Jordan said. “You never seen one before?”
Baldy’s eyes narrowed. “I can see it’s a bra. But what’s it doing on your boat?”
“It came with the boat,” Jordan said. “Check the wardrobes. You’ll see plenty of women’s stuff.”
Baldy sniffed the bra and tossed it to Terry. “Smells like it’s been worn recent to me. You know what I think? I think you’ve got a lady hidden around here somewhere.”
“Chance’d be a fine thing.”
There was an awkward pause. Terry extended the bra to Jordan. “Where did this come from, Jordan?”
“I told you, it came with the boat.”
“It’s been worn recently. I can smell the scent. Lavender and… what is that…? Lilac?”
Stan stepped forward, hands up like he’d been caught. “All right. You got me. It’s mine.”
Terry frowned. “What?”
“I like to dress up sometimes. At my age, it can be hard to get hard. You do what you can when you’re in the middle of the bloody ocean.” Stan snatched the bra back. “I’d’ve hated to have left it behind. It’s my favourite.” He stuffed it into his pocket.
Terry considered Stan for a long moment. He shook his head. “It’s always the quiet ones. I suppose we’ve all got our little secrets.” He winked at Stan.
There was the confident chug of a powerful engine coming around the corner.
The twin white bow of a catamaran appeared from the corner.
“Ah,” Terry said. “Here comes your boat now.”
64.
Anne put a hand to Big Daddy’s underside and gently pushed herself and Jessie a little deeper. Oxygen came in wheezing gasps, like the last few drops of a drink through a straw. Her lungs were hungry for more, but there was none forthcoming. The oxygen tank needle hovered over ‘Empty’.
There was a low rumbling that seemed to shake the whole ocean. The underside of another boat – presumably their new one – glided toward them. Just as Anne grew afraid the boat was going to smack into them, it slowed and pulled up beside the jetty.
The sputtering canister ceased altogether. Jessie’s eyes flashed open, shocked at the sudden lack of oxygen. Anne grabbed Jessie’s arm and tugged her toward the new boat. Jessie was kicking and punching, fighting to get to the surface. Anne lost her grip. Jessie floated up.
65.
The catamaran was seventy feet if she was an inch, with an elegant mast reaching up to the sky. Lines were drawn tight from the very tip of her twin hulls like a May pole, scything through the water with an ease and grace Jordan had rarely seen. Daniel waved to them from the wheel mounted on the back, exposed to the elements.
“She has no name,” Terry said. “You can call her whatever you want. So, where are you going after this?”
“Probably head further up into the North Sea,” Jordan said. “Time was, there was plenty of action that way.”
Terry slapped a hand on Jordan’s back. “You let me know when I can expect the first shipment of hammerhead shark.”
The first of the two armed guards climbed down onto the quay. “It’s clean, boss,” he said.
Terry extended a hand. “Happy trails.”
There was the sound of splashing on the far side of the boat. Terry’s stomach leapt with joy.
“Well, well,” the remaining guard on board Big Daddy said. “What have we got here?”
The bald guard dragged a dripping pair of ladies roughly across the deck and dumped them on the jetty. An air tank followed, the indicator reading empty. The ladies coughed and gulped for oxygen.
“Stand up,” Baldy said.
“I’m sorry, Jordan,” Anne said.
“It’s my fault,” Jordan replied.
“Daniel,” Terry said, “take the boat away. These fellows won’t be needing it.”
“Terry, please…” Jordan said.
As the nameless boat moved away, Terry circled the women, leering at them with an appraising eye. “Fine specimens you have here, Jordan. A welcome addition to my collection.” He brushed Anne’s hair aside and kissed her at the nape of the neck, his eyes never leaving Jordan’s. “Mmm. Lavender and lilac.” He reached around and grabbed her left breast. “Firm. The boys’ll have fun milking her, I’m sure.”
Jordan stepped forward. “Leave them out of this.”
Baldy stepped forward and slammed the rifle butt into Jordan’s stomach. He grunted and fell to his knees.
“Your negotiating rights are over,” Terry said. “You should have told me you had ladies on board. Our negotiations could have been so much more fruitful.” He turned to Jessie. “What’s your name, darling? How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?”
“Stay away from her!” Stan shouted.
Bushy turned his gun on Stan.
“Now, now,” Terry said, “there’s no need for violence.” He gently pushed the gun barrel so it faced Jessie. The message was clear. He returned to Jessie. “I asked you your age, darling.”
She stared into space with no expression. Her feet jittered, and her fingers wrapped around her bracelet in nervous motions.
“What’s wrong with her? She got a screw loose or something?”
“She can’t talk,” Anne said.
Terry lifted the Jessie’s face. “Pity. The men like them more when they’re noisy.”
Jordan got to his feet and watched Terry with disdain.
“The fate of humanity depends on these women,” Terry said. “I take care of their bastards who issue forth. The girls will perform their duty when they come of age – twelve seems sufficient. You know what they say, ‘old enough to bleed, old enough to breed’. And the boys will become soldiers. The future is glittering and golden. My legacy – my gift to the world – will be the future of the human race. They’ll name new cities after me.”
“Terry,” Jordan said. “Don’t do this.” There was an edge to his voice that the guards picked up on. Their guns moved ever so slightly in his direction.
“It’s nothing personal. It’s just business.”
“It’s personal to me.”
Quick as a flash, Jordan wrapped his arm around Terry’s neck and, using him as a shield, pushed him into Bushy. Jordan dashed forward, grabbed the knife in Bushy’s combat trousers, unsheathed it, rose, and sliced a gash an inch deep in the guard’s neck. As the guard fell, Jordan caught his gun, brought the butt ar
ound, and smashed Terry in the mouth. By now, Baldy was turning with his gun, but Jordan had already thrown the knife. It buried itself in the guard’s chest below the ribcage. Jordan grabbed his gun and as Baldy fell backward into the sea – clutching the knife in his body with a look of bewilderment on his face – the strap slid off him.
Terry, bleeding from the mouth, spat out the teeth Jordan had knocked loose. “You broke my teef! You broke my teef, you baftard!” He drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at Jordan. “Do you realife what you’ve done? Don’t you know who I am?”
All the loathing Jordan felt for Terry surged out of him in a single movement: a crack across the jaw with the butt of his gun. Terry went down as gracefully as a stubborn tree trunk.
66.
Jordan’s chest heaved from the exertion, his breaths the only sound. He looked up to find they were all staring at him.
“What the hell was that, Jordan?” Anne asked, her tone both awed and afraid.
“Beats me. Turns out I’m pretty badass,” Jordan said with a smile. “If we get through today, we can add it to the list of things we need to talk about.”
“Let’s just go,” Stan said. “Take Big Daddy and get the hell out of here.”
Jordan slung the automatic gun over his shoulder, picked up the other gun from Bushy’s fingers and tossed it to Stan. “No. We’ve got to get that other boat. It could take us weeks or months to find another one like it.”
“That’s better than us getting killed!”
“If we run now, we’ll always be running. Do you think Terry will let us get away with what we just did to him? They’ll chase us down and kill us. Unless we go somewhere they can’t – or won’t – follow us.” He relieved Bushy of his long overcoat and put it on.
“The Indian Ocean,” Stan said.
“Yes,” Jordan said, sheathing a knife into the back of his boot. “Or somewhere else far away.”