Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Box Set 2

by David Berens

  And then Troy saw him. Down at the end of the bar, leaning over a mug of beer, red hair and scowling face. Barry. He’d been there that night. The night the girls had been murdered.

  “Dangit, how could I have missed him?” Troy shook his head as he murmured the thought aloud.

  And almost as soon as he’d thought it, he remembered the sheer volume of alcohol he’d been pouring into his belly all night. It was enough to cloud any man’s judgment, and he was all too familiar with the tunnel vision a few too many drinks brought on.

  A few more rough shakes from the boat’s engine brought him out of his thoughts, but the pieces began to click into place so clearly, that he didn’t need the memory to help him now.

  Barry had been there that night. He’d seen the girls having a good time with Troy, and maybe he’d gotten jealous, or angry, or whatever. He’d probably seen them leaving alone and followed them out to the parking lot. Hell, they’d know who he was from the restaurant and maybe even gotten a ride from him. And somewhere along the way, Barry had snapped and killed them.

  But why bring them out here? Troy wondered as he glanced around his boat at the water sloshing back and forth on the deck. Why put their…heads…in my…

  “Oh,” Troy finished his thought as the boat gave a final bang and went silent. “He was jealous. That pretty much sums it up, doesn’t it?”

  His course had put him just above the northern edge of the storm. The waves were smaller here and the boat rocked back and forth in silence. He looked down at the dash and saw the fuel gauge hanging well below empty.

  “Really?” He tapped the dial. “Out of dang gas? At a time like this?”

  He slumped back in his seat and stared out at the rolling black clouds. The squall was coming fast and soon he’d be back in the deluge. Nothing to do now but call shore. He was dead in the water and the waves might be enough to sink him. He picked up the radio and clicked over to channel sixteen.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday,” he spoke into the receiver. “This is the Rogue Wave in trouble.”

  He waited a second and said, “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Troy Bodean on the Rogue Wave. Anybody listening?”

  The radio crackled, but no one answered. Dangit, he thought, I’m gonna die out here and nobody’s gonna know what happened. He clicked the button and repeated his distress call, but the static continued uninterrupted. He hung the CB radio receiver in its cradle and inhaled deeply.

  “Probably shoulda had that sail repaired before now,” he muttered to himself.

  The last serious storm he’d been in had torn his mainsail clean off the mast and ripped it to shreds. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was sitting on the edge of gale force winds in a sailboat with no sail…and, as it seemed, no gas either.

  His drifting thoughts seemed to mirror the boat’s drift on the waves. He smiled at the thought of his time back at the Peppermint Hippo. He wondered what had ever become of Debby. And he couldn’t help but think of Karah, so young and full of promise. There had been some love there, but nothing serious…at least that’s what he kept telling himself. He’d left that romance behind when he left Pawleys Island.

  And then there had been Meghan. He’d serendipitously found her business card at Captain Tony’s and dragged her into his treasure hunt out in the gulf. He thought of Meghan as the one that got away. Maybe if he got out of this, he’d head back down to the Keys and see what was going on at the museum.

  But then again, Mindy had been something special too. She was strong and sure. Without her resilience, he might have died in that lighthouse back in Key Biscayne. Dang if she wasn’t young too, Troy thought. I must like ‘em young.

  He tipped his cowboy hat back, and the strange and dark memories of his time in Savannah tried hard to settle in. But he pushed them away. He hated that time in his life and did his best to forget it ever happened.

  And then Meira’s face came to him. Beautiful, strong, confident. His equal in a lot of ways. His better in so many more. And she was of an acceptable age, too.

  As he recalled all of the women in his life and the unfortunate events that seemed to surround each of them…he came to the conclusion that Meira was the best of them. And Troy Clint Bodean promised himself that he’d tell her so, if he ever saw her again.

  Lightning flashed out and struck the water nearby. It was close enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  “Geezus!” he exclaimed and jerked the radio to his lips again. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. Hell, is anybody listening? I’m gonna get sunk out here!”

  “Tr— is that —? What the — are you — out here?”

  The voice that crackled and sputtered over the static on the radio was oddly familiar. He couldn’t place it, but he didn’t give two squats about that right now.

  “I’m getting’ drenched is what I’m doin’,” he yelled into the receiver. “I need help! Who is this? Where are you?”

  The man on the radio amazingly reported his coordinates clearly enough for Troy to check on his GPS. Hot dang! Whoever it is, is pretty close by, he thought.

  As the rain returned in torrents, Troy gave the man his location and waited with his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. He wasn’t sure why he was hanging on, but at this point, it was all he had left to do. Ten minutes later, he saw the vague outline of a large tugboat peek through the sheets of rain. He’d never seen a rustier and more beaten down tug in his life, but he’d never been happier to see one like it.

  A man in a yellow raincoat stumbled out onto the tug’s deck and flung a line over to Troy. He missed the rope once, but caught it the second time. Strapping one of his moldy old life preservers around his neck, he wrapped the rope around his waist, put his legs up on the rail of his boat…and jumped.

  He woke with his lungs feeling like they were exploding. He coughed and spat and suddenly a rush of water spewed forth from his throat.

  “Really?” a voice that was clearly not the one from the radio said. “I rescue you from the storm of the century and the thanks I get is that you vomit on me?”

  Troy looked up. For a second, he couldn’t make his mind work. He couldn’t pull up the familiar face from his memory banks. It was an odd feeling to see someone you were sure you knew, but couldn’t pin it down. That frustrating moment when you can’t remember your favorite book, or your favorite song…or maybe who wrote it or who sang it. He wretched again, careful not to get it on his rescuer, and looked up at the face again.

  Female, good-looking, youngish, hair up in a tight bun. Suddenly, the image snapped together with his stubborn memory.

  “Clarice?” he asked and coughed again. “What in God’s name are you doin’ out here?”

  “Saving your sorry ass it looks like.” She smiled and handed him a towel.

  “Much obliged,” he said putting the towel on his head to dry his hair.

  A shockwave ran through him as he realized something was missing from his head. The hat. He’d had the Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat with the peacock plume since all the way back in Pawleys Island. God, how long ago had that been? He wasn’t sure, but it had to be going on six or seven years now. A feeling of sadness struck him harder than he’d expected, and Clarice must’ve seen it in his eyes.

  “Troy,” she said softly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Ah, nothin’.” He sniffed and took a deep breath. “Just lost an old friend is all.”

  Her face reflected his tone and she put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.”

  “S’ok. I’ll be okay eventually.”

  She took a deep breath in.

  “Well, I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”

  “Thanks, Clarice.”

  A silence fell between them. Then Troy snapped his head up.

  “My boat! Dangit! We’ve got to get to the sharkin’ grounds!”

  “I’m sorry…what? Troy, your boat is at the bottom of the ocean right now. And sharking grounds? What is that
?”

  “My boat is…”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It got washed over right after you jumped in. Went down fast.”

  He was stunned. It wasn’t just a boat. It was his home. Gone. All gone. The ocean had won again. And now he was on a slow-moving tugboat going to the middle of nowhere with a nudist protestor — albeit an attractive nudist protestor. He jumped up and tossed the towel back on the bed he’d been lying on.

  “Wait…how fast is this tug?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “No clue. I’m just riding along with Mel.”

  “Mel? As in old Mel?”

  She smiled. “Yup. That’s the one. We’re heading out to get his boat back in.”

  “Then there might be a chance to save them. Where is he? Is he up top? I need to—”

  “Whoa there, cowboy.” She interrupted him and put a hand on his chest to stop him. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. I found a few things packed away that must belong to the owner of the boat. They look like they should fit okay.”

  She motioned to a stack of clothing sitting on the foot of the bed. Troy turned to see what looked like a neon pink shirt on top of a pair of white shorts, but he nearly fainted when he saw what was sitting on top of them. There she was…his hat. Damp and a little rumpled, but intact. The plume was gone, but that wasn’t so bad. He figured he’d replace that with something or other when he got time. He picked it up and worked his hand inside to help restore its proper shape.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. He rested the hat on his head and breathed in deep and slow. Welcome back, old friend, he thought.

  He unfolded the pink tank top to find an airbrushed sunset image on the front with the words – MYRTLE BEACH MURFF CLUB. He had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t care. It was dry and pretty close to his size. He pulled his hat off and laid it on the bed. His linen shirt was soggy and stuck to his skin. He peeled it off and dropped it on the floor. He used the towel to dry his back and chest and was surprised when Clarice whistled. He turned around and saw her still standing in the doorway leaning against the jamb.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll uh…I’ll meet you up on deck, I suppose.”

  She grinned at him. “Troy, it’s okay. I’m a nudist. Remember?

  He felt his cheeks flush and scratched his beard. “I know that, but I ain’t. So, if you don’t mind?”

  “Shucks,” she tsked. “I’ve been wondering what was under all those clothes.”

  Troy opened his mouth, but found he had no reply for that. She didn’t say anything, but she held his gaze for a moment longer.

  “Maybe next time,” she said as she turned and walked away, closing the door behind her.

  Troy shook his head and felt his eyebrows rise. Interestin’, he thought. He pulled the pink tank top on and changed into the white shorts. A different look for him, for sure, but somehow, the clothes seemed to fit just right.

  He opened the door and wobbled down the hall and up the tiny stairs to climb up to the deck of the chugging tugboat. It was a dark gray and rust colored heap of tank-like boat slamming heavily through the waves. Troy held tight to the rail as he walked to the cabin. He jerked the door open and slammed it behind him.

  “Well, well, well,” a craggy old voice said to him. “Look what the nets have brought in. The sea spits out what it don’t like, ya know that?”

  Troy couldn’t help but grin at the old man, but his grin was quickly erased as he took in the full picture of the salty sea dog sitting in the chair. He looked like he always did—gray headed, gray skinned, wrinkled, and ruddy from years on the open water. But as he swiveled in his chair to face him, Troy realized that the man was naked.

  Troy quickly averted his eyes, holding up a hand to block his view.

  “Geezus, Mel,” he blurted. “What gives? Why ain’t ya wearin’ no clothes?”

  He heard Mel laugh behind him, a gravely hoarse sound like an old radiator coming to life.

  “Ha! What’s the matter, boy? Ain’t never seen a real man before?”

  “I’ve seen plenty,” Troy replied, still holding his hand up. “But usually they have clothes on for cryin’ out loud.”

  “Well, Clarice here is showin’ me the joys of livin’ life in the buff. Repressed people like you have made us believe that wearin’ clothes is the natural way of things. It ain’t! We’re the only race on the planet that actually covers our bodies.”

  “I think there’s a good reason for that, Mel. Would ya just cover up for my tender sensibilities?”

  “Here hun,” he heard Clarice’s voice say to him. “Here’s a robe. He’ll learn eventually.”

  Behind him, he could hear Mel wrapping the robe around himself and plopping back into the captain’s chair.

  “All right, it’s safe ya lily livered fraidy cat.”

  Troy peeked with one eye and was happy to find that Mel had indeed covered himself up.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Mel just grunted.

  “And thanks for comin’ to get me,” he added.

  “Lucky for you we heard that distress call. If it weren’t for that, you’d be a hangin’ out with Davy Jones.”

  “That’s true.”

  “What in the gods’ names brought ya out here in this squall anyway?”

  “I’m tryin’ to find two women.”

  “Now yer talkin’, brother.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “It’s not like that. This is serious, Mel. My friend, Meira, and her daughter, Riley, have been kidnapped. Jack’s got them, and his son…who apparently is the guy who’s been choppin’ the heads off of people around here.”

  “What the…Jack? As in Jamaica Jack?”

  “That’s the one. And his son. I think they’re headed out to his favorite sharkin’ grounds to…well, to get rid of ‘em.”

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. I always hated that bastard. Braggin’ ‘bout how great he is at sea. He’s just a hack, that guy. Did I ever tell ya ‘bout the time he—”

  “Mel, please,” Troy interrupted. “You can tell me all about it once we get out there and…hopefully, stop them from feeding these two women to the sharks.”

  Mel raised one eyebrow. “I suppose we can grab my boat on the way back in, yeah?”

  Troy nodded his head and took a deep breath. Clarice laid a hand on Mel’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, hun. We’ll get you a new boat,” she said softly to the robed seaman.

  For the first time, Troy realized she’d been naked the whole time standing there. He looked away quickly. He heard a smile creep into her voice.

  “It’s okay, Troy. I’ve got another robe,” she said. “Now, let’s go get these two girls. They must be something special to have caught your heart.”

  Troy swallowed and realized how true that was. He could only hope it wasn’t too late. He put his hand in his pocket to check his phone and realized it wasn’t there. It was probably at the bottom of the ocean with his boat. He wondered if Meira had gotten any more messages through. Probably not. He’d been too late to save Harry Nedman back in Afghanistan and it was looking like the same thing was going to happen here.

  “Which way, boy?” Mel snapped him out of his thoughts.

  Troy pointed out the window to the northeast, out into the dark ocean.

  “That way.”

  Riley saw Barry’s red hair silhouetted against the gray light coming from outside the hatch. She hunched back away from the opening and tried to conceal the two-foot piece of jagged pipe she’d torn from the floor with her mother’s help and the fact that the cool water had helped her slip out of the chains holding her to the wall. Her heart pounded in her chest as the boy’s figure grew larger coming toward her.

  “Get your ass up here,” he said through a grin that was bordering on maniacal.

  “Screw you!” she yelled trying as hard as she could to sound brave.

  She glanced back at Meira and
her mother nodded.

  “She’s not coming up,” Meira said. “I’m coming up. You can do whatever you want to me, but you will not hurt my child.”

  “Beeyotch,” Barry laughed. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You’re both gonna get a change of scenery today.”

  Riley squeezed the pipe tighter and leaned forward. Her mother grabbed her arm and mouthed the words not yet to her. Riley’s grip relaxed a little and she took one step toward the hatch.

  “If I come up and let you…do whatever it is you want to do to me…will you let my mom go?”

  “Riley, no!”

  Barry considered this for a second. He licked his lips and inhaled slowly.

  “Anything?”

  Riley shuddered. She was old enough to know what this likely meant, but still young enough to be completely and utterly terrified at the unknown debauchery Barry might actually want to do. She knew him for what he was now—a murderer. She suspected he was repressed sexually and was taking it out on whatever girls were unlucky enough to cross his path.

  “Yes,” she said clearing the anxiety from her throat. “But you have to promise you’ll let her go.”

  “Oh, I’ll let her go all right. Now get yer ass up here.”

  Riley shot one glance back at her mom. She had tears in her eyes, but she clenched her jaw and turned back to Barry.

  “Back up and let me climb out.”

  Barry moved a couple of steps backward and held out his hand with a mock flourish the way a prince might do to invite a princess into his carriage. What an asshole, Riley thought. As she took the first steps up out of the dark hold, she pretended to slip to give her eyes a few extra seconds to adjust to the light.

  “God your such an idiot,” Barry said as he lunged down at her.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her upward. She skinned her knee on the last step and saw blood begin to ooze from it. Swallowing the yelp that wanted to come from her throat, she tried desperately to calm her breathing and focus on where she was going to hit him.

  His head. The gross matted orange hair was going to be her target. She felt her nostrils flair as she found her balance on the deck. A quick glance around told her they were far out to sea under gray, rumbling, storm clouds. That part was depressing, but she was momentarily excited to see that no one else was around…just her and Barry. No sign of the guy he’d called his dad.