Sailor's Delight

by Charles Dougherty

  She knelt beside the unconscious woman and gently touched the damp cloth to her battered face. Conscious of movement behind her, she looked over her shoulder to see June dipping another cloth in the sink. She squeezed out the excess water and brought it to Connie, taking away the bloody one without a word. When they had done what they could for the injured woman, Connie climbed into the upper bunk.

  "You know how many other women they have?" Connie asked.

  "No, but Helga was stayin' wit' one ver' young girl. Say she gon' be for some rich man. They got some more, I t'ink, 'cause I hear Helga open the doors an' talk when they bring food."

  "Good night, ladies," Connie said. "Guess we may as well sleep while it's quiet."

  "G'night," June said.

  "Ver' brave," Hermione offered. "Merci."

  "Hermione and Martha, they frien's, mebbe cousins," June said.

  Connie fell asleep wondering if she'd ever see Paul again.

  24

  "What's the latest one like?" Derek Simmons asked as he sipped his coffee. Aurelius was idling along, barely making steerage way. He and Helga sat on his balcony gazing out at the stars that sparkled in the black, moonless sky.

  "You will like her, I think," Helga responded. "A little older than the others, but the most beautiful one yet. You wish me to bring her up before we get under way?"

  "Not just yet. We're going to delay another day, I think, so there's no rush. I can wait an hour or two."

  Helga nodded, a puzzled look on her face. "What changes our plans?"

  "We may have another 'guest' joining us."

  "From the two who brought the young girl?"

  "Haven't heard from them since then. I guess they're off spending all that money. Just as well. They were starting to make me nervous."

  "They brought good stock," Helga said.

  "Yeah, but they were moving too fast in too small a territory; they were bound to get caught soon."

  "So from the new one? Who sent us this dark-haired beauty?"

  "Yes. He may have another one. He won't know until late afternoon, maybe tonight, even."

  "Who is this man? We haven't dealt with him before, no?"

  "No, but he's pretty well connected in Martinique. He controls most of the prostitution around Fort-de-France. He checks out clean, no worries."

  "This one he sent, she is no prostitute."

  "He never said she was; just that he needed to make her disappear to teach someone a lesson."

  "Hmm. And the one we wait for? She is one of his?"

  "No. She's a blond French girl. Early twenties. She and this latest one were apparently close to some people who have pissed him off, somehow. Girlfriend, wife, daughter — he wasn't clear on the why. Just that he was using them to send a message, and they were clean and fresh."

  "They'd better be, with what he's charging. I can't believe you're paying him twice as much as you paid the others."

  "This guy's a pro, Helga. The others were small time; they were going to get caught, for sure. We don't need that. This guy's charging more because he's in the business. He knows the risks, and he's paying off the right people to keep us all out of trouble."

  "I don't like this, Derek. It may be that someone comes looking for these women. Besides, we have a full shipment. I had to put this last one in with those three local bitches we got from Martinique."

  "The hookers?"

  "Yes, them."

  "So? They're all just livestock. They don't need private staterooms, Helga. They're all going to end up the same anyway."

  "It is best that they are kept separated for now. The three from Martinique, they are easy to manage, but these new ones, they are smarter, and so, maybe a little bit dangerous."

  "Dangerous how?"

  "This last one, she is from a boat."

  "How do you know this?"

  "Her shirt. It is a crew shirt, like ours, but from Diamantista, a sailing boat. And she moves like she is familiar with boats; I did not like the way she behaved."

  "How did she behave, then?"

  "She is very sure, not scared like all the others. She looked around as I took her below, checking out things. And I could hear her talking with the others. She was cleaning up the one called Martha."

  "Martha?"

  "The one you gave to the boys earlier this evening."

  "So, she was playing nursemaid. So what?"

  "I heard the others tell her that Martha was not to be touched. They were warned that if they helped her, they would be given to the crew as well. They told her this, and still, she helped Martha."

  "So what, Helga? Who gives a shit?"

  "She should have been scared; something is wrong."

  "Maybe she's stupid."

  "She is not stupid."

  Derek took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "Bring her to me, then. I'll break her in. Will that make you happy?"

  "Yes, I think that is good."

  Connie was awakened by the sound of raucous laughter. She lay in her upper berth, trying to get her bearings. She heard the rattle of a key ring, and then the cabin door burst open with a loud bang and the overhead light came on. Helga stormed into the small space, followed by three rough-looking men. From their uncertain steps and loud catcalls, it was clear that they'd been drinking for a while.

  "On your feet, all of you," Helga barked as the men leered.

  Connie rolled to a sitting position and slipped out of the berth, landing on her feet. She was glad she hadn't undressed. She'd even kept her deck shoes on, anticipating something like this. Helga shoved her roughly against the bulkhead.

  "Next to her," the woman screamed, pushing the others into place beside Connie.

  "You were warned not to touch that worthless bitch," Helga hissed, pointing at Martha, still unconscious in her berth. "Now you pay."

  "We didn't do nothin'," June squeaked, looking daggers at Connie. "She done it."

  "You should have stopped her," Helga said. She grabbed Connie by the arm, dragging her forward. "You will come with me. You can walk, or I will break your legs and carry you. You may choose."

  "I'll walk," Connie said. "Just tell me where."

  "We go to the bridge. The captain will deal with you personally." She jerked Connie into the corridor, leaning through the door to bark at the men, who were already pawing the two women. "Have fun, boys, but don't kill them. I take it out of your pay if you do."

  She gave Connie a malicious grin and shoved her again. "I would feed you to those animals, but the captain, he always likes to sample the new stock. Breaking them in, he calls it. Maybe later you get to meet my troops, eh?"

  They came to a ladder, and Helga gestured for Connie to climb. "To the top," she barked. "The bridge."

  After two flights, Connie emerged on the bridge. She caught a glimpse of a man in typical crew uniform standing at the helm. He glanced over his shoulder and leered at her. Helga slapped him, hard. He shook his head, looking contrite. "Sorry, ma'am," he said to the angry-looking first mate.

  "You are on watch," she said. "This one is for the captain. If there is anything left of the other two after your friends finish, maybe you get some. You do your job until you are relieved, or I will punish you."

  "Yes, ma'am," the man said, returning his hands to their former position on the helm.

  Helga muscled Connie into place in front of a door in the aft bulkhead of the wheelhouse and pushed a button beside the door. There was a solid, loud clunk, followed by a chime. Helga reached past Connie and turned the knob, pushing the door open. She shoved Connie through, following her in to an opulently appointed small cabin. She walked Connie through the space to another door and repeated the drill. They emerged into a carpeted, walnut-paneled corridor. Helga jerked Connie to a stop in front of the first door on the right and pressed yet another button. There was a clunk and another chime, and this time, they entered a large, luxurious cabin finished in blond wood, furnished in a spare but elegant modern style.

  A sm
all, moderately handsome man sat at a table sipping coffee. He stood as the two women entered the room, and Connie saw that he moved with a wiry grace. He might be small, but she wouldn't underestimate his strength.

  "Who are you?" he asked, in a pleasant enough tone of voice.

  "Connie Barrera."

  "And you are from Diamantista?" He was looking at her shirt.

  "Yes."

  "What was your position there?"

  "I'm the owner and captain."

  "Well, Captain Barrera, let me welcome you aboard Aurelius. I am Derek Simmons, and I'm the captain of this vessel."

  He paused a moment, waiting to see if Connie would speak, but she held her peace. "Do you know what else I am?"

  "No, sir, I'm afraid I don't."

  "Ah, you're polite. That is good, because, you see, as of a few hours ago, I became your owner."

  "My owner?"

  "Yes. You now belong to me, until I decide to dispose of you in a way that suits me. You live because I permit it; you will do exactly as I say, or you will be made to regret it, I assure you. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

  "Yes, sir." Connie nodded and kept her eyes down, avoiding looking at him.

  "That's very good. You and I will become much better acquainted in the next few minutes. Your beauty certainly speaks for itself, but I need to assess your other talents and attributes, so that I can determine how best to market you." He paused, running his eyes over her body. "Do you have any questions?"

  "Not just now, sir, thank you."

  "Amazing. You're going to do very well, I think. Helga?"

  "Yes. You wish me to — "

  "I wish you to leave."

  "But she might — "

  "Helga!"

  "Yes, all right." The woman turned on her heel and stormed from the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

  Simmons moved to a cabinet on one of the bulkheads and opened the door. "Come, Connie. I will show you some things that we're going to be using soon, so that you'll know where they are when I ask you to fetch them."

  Connie moved to stand beside him and peered into the cabinet; she was immediately reminded of the time she'd inadvertently wandered into a sex shop in a run-down section of L. A. years ago. The cabinet held a well-organized collection of instruments of fantasy and perversion, arrayed on hooks for easy selection. She wasn't sure what all of them were, but a number appeared to be designed for inflicting pain on various parts of the anatomy. She gave an involuntary shudder as she noticed that the hooks were labeled with women's names.

  "We will start with simple things, so don't worry, but we'll progress through these, and maybe some others," Simmons said, in a tone of voice that lacked inflection as he gestured at the contents of the cabinet. His matter-of-fact manner was more frightening to Connie than the prospect of what he had in mind doing to her.

  "The second tracker jus' go off," Sharktooth announced.

  Phillip and Paul crowded in behind him to see the computer screen.

  "It's right on top of the other one," Phillip said. "In Chateaubelair."

  "Let's go," Paul said.

  "Yes, we have to, but ... "

  "But what?" Paul asked.

  "It doesn't feel right. We need to be extra careful, here. If that boat's in the harbor at Chateaubelair, they could get ashore before we secure the boat."

  Conversation became impossible as Sharktooth pushed the throttles to the firewall and opened the exhaust cutouts. The three men hung on in grim silence. Lightning Bolt became airborne as she skipped from wave to wave, occasionally smashing into a larger than average one and sending up clouds of spray, which soon drenched the three of them. About two miles out, Sharktooth silenced the exhaust and slowed down enough so that they could check the latest position of the trackers.

  "No movement on either one," Phillip said. "Kill the running lights and ease on in, Sharktooth. Let's see what's there."

  Paul passed out night vision goggles as they crept inside the harbor mouth, but they could readily see that there were only two large motor yachts present. Both were at anchor, brightly lit on deck, and both were on the opposite side of the harbor from the trackers' positions.

  "Just drift, Sharktooth. I'll go in for a look," Phillip said, already donning a black dive-skin for camouflage. He blackened his face with grease paint, strapped on a belt that held a commando knife, and slid into the water. He moved with practiced skill, barely leaving a ripple as he closed on the small-boat mooring field where the trackers were. Paul lost sight of him, even with the night vision goggles, in a few seconds.

  "He's incredible," Paul murmured.

  "Done this before," Sharktooth said. "Sometime wit' people shoot at he, too."

  Time passed at the speed of cold molasses; Paul was fighting the urge to look at his watch. When he finally gave in, he saw that four minutes had elapsed. He was about to comment when there was an almost imperceptible shift in Lightning Bolt's trim followed by two light clicks, and Phillip vaulted smoothly over the side. He bent and picked up two small shadows from the deck where he had dropped them and handed them to Sharktooth. "I believe these are your trackers, sir," he said.

  "But where ... " Paul asked.

  "In one of the boats. Probably the one that you met when you did the handoff, Sharktooth."

  "How can that be?" Paul asked.

  Phillip pulled a torn strip of white cloth from the neck of his dive-skin. "This looks like it came from the tail of a white polo shirt, like Connie was wearing. It was caught on a splinter on the gunwale of the boat where I found the trackers. Her shirt probably got snagged and ripped. The trackers were in the bilge right under it."

  "But what triggered the second one?" Paul asked

  "There were a couple of bottles rolling around in the bilge. One of them probably hit it just right."

  "Shit," Paul said, his face pale in the dim lights from the instrument panel. "What the hell do we do now?"

  "You get on the sat phone to your buddies on the DEA task force and see if they've got any recent satellite images that might show motor yachts in the area. I'm going to call Clarence and see if he can put a stealth chopper up to search the area centered on the spot where we think the handoff took place. Keep the faith, Paul. We're going to find them both, even if we have to board every damn boat within a hundred miles of that spot. We'll narrow the field pretty quickly."

  "Hang on tight. I take us back out there," Sharktooth said, easing the throttles open as he steered for the harbor entrance.

  25

  "Do you have any questions now, Connie?"

  "Yes, um, well ... "

  "Go ahead, ask."

  "Actually, it's more of a silly worry than a question."

  "That's okay. Tell me."

  She sensed from his change of tone that the bastard was getting excited. With a shy smile, she gestured at the cabinet full of sex toys and said, "It looks like we might do a little screaming before we're through; I think I'll have more fun if I'm sure we have privacy. I — "

  He interrupted her with a belly laugh. "By God, I think I like you, Connie. I may keep you for a while instead of selling you on. Don't worry about screaming, or making me scream, if that's the way we go. This cabin is totally soundproof."

  "And the doors?" she asked, grinning lasciviously now.

  "Are electronically locked and can only be opened from inside this cabin, or by a code from outside."

  "Excellent," she said, reaching back to unhook her bra. She slipped it and her torn shirt over her head and shook out her hair, smiling as she watched his eyes feasting on her breasts. She undid the waistband of her shorts and slipped them and her panties over her hips, letting them drop to the floor. Stepping out of them, she moved closer to him, putting a hand on each of his shoulders. As she felt his hands grasp her hips, she let him pull her violently toward him. At the last split-second, she ducked her head slightly and lurched forward and up on her toes, smashing her forehead into his nose with a satisfying c
runch.

  He gagged on his own blood as she dropped back half a step and drove her knee into his groin with as much force as she could muster. He choked and bent double; she stepped back and let him fall. She watched him for a moment, and as he shifted his hands to a pushup position and tried to lift himself, she delivered a snap-kick that planted her right heel on the left side of his head. He dropped to the deck unconscious. She reached down, keeping an eye on him, and picked up her shorts, stepping into them and her panties. She fastened the waistband and pulled her web belt from its loops. She jerked his hands behind his back and used the belt to bind his wrists together. Untangling her bra from her shirt, she put them both on, still watching him for any signs of returning consciousness.

  Now that she was dressed, she rolled him onto his side with her foot. Bending down, she unfastened his own belt and whipped it from around his waist, catching a large folding knife in a ballistic nylon sheath that fell from the belt. She put that in her pocket and used his belt to bind his ankles together. She pulled the loose end of the belt up behind his back, toward his waist, bending his knees, and passed the end of the belt between his wrists. She grasped the end with both hands and gave a mighty heave, drawing his wrists and ankles together. Tying off the belts, she stepped back for a moment to assess her surroundings.

  She found a small refrigerator under a wet bar in the opposite corner. Opening the door, she took out a frigid bottle of water. She set it on the counter and took the knife from her pocket. Opening the sheath, she slipped the knife out and flicked the blade open, nodding with satisfaction as it locked into place with a snapping sound. The blade was around five inches long, razor-sharp on one edge and equally so along half of the other — a perfect fighting knife.