by Matthew Rief
I turned my attention to the section of deck that had been cleared for the band’s stage. The Wayward Suns were a Florida band that toured primarily up and down the coasts, from Savannah to Key West. I hadn’t heard them in a while and wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity. I listened and bobbed my head as they sang of secret faraway beaches, old beach chairs, and crashing waves. The islander’s idea of the land of milk and honey.
When they finished their song to impressive applause and cheers, the lead singer took a swig of his drink, then grabbed the mic. His name was Cole Daniels. I’d met him a few times and considered him a friend. He had long dreads, wore an orange bandana, and had a lanky physique. Placing his right hand over his eyes to shield them from the overhead lights, he scanned the crowd, then made eye contact with me.
He nodded to me, and I nodded back and bowed the neck of my beer slightly.
They cranked up a song I’d never heard before. It had a pretty good beat, their usual reggae and country music flair. I smiled once the lyrics started. It was about a bunch of rough biker types starting trouble at one of their performances. After a little too much cursing and tossing of cans, someone had given them what was coming to them.
I smiled.
That was the first night I’d heard the Wayward Suns back at Salty Pete’s in Key West. It had been a good night, and aside from the bloody knuckles and the lucky punch to my shoulder, it had been a good fight too.
I smiled as they went into the chorus, then smiled bigger as I looked around the table. I hadn’t been living in the islands as long as Jack or some of our other friends, but it felt more like home than anywhere I’d ever lived.
Jack and Lauren steered the conversation to their charter operations while we finished off the nachos and drank to the music. With the two of them eagerly engaged, Ange and I reminisced about our honeymoon.
“We should go back to Tahiti,” she said with a wink. “I think we’re due for a trip.”
“Getting a little antsy?”
“Maybe. But don’t get me wrong”—she nestled her head against my shoulder and directed her gaze to the band—“this isn’t so bad either.”
I nursed my way through two beers and, as the band took a break, slid out from the table and migrated toward the head. It was half past ten and the place was starting to heat up. When I managed to slide through the tables, chairs, patrons, and staff, I reached the restroom along the backside of the restaurant. To my surprise, there was a line. Apparently the place only had a single unisex bathroom.
I shook my head.
Gonna have to harp on the owner that this won’t fly, I thought.
I made an about-face, pushed out a squeaky door, then headed downstairs. There were a few people mingling in the parking lot and a couple holding hands out on the dock. With the sun good and gone, the waning crescent moon cast a small silvery glow over the beach and calm waters of Sugarloaf Sound.
I caught a whiff of tobacco smoke, then slapped the top of my left forearm. With the relative cool of the evening came the island chain’s most unwelcome residents: mosquitoes. The ocean breeze usually helped keep them at bay, but tonight the weather was calmer than an opium den.
My bladder reminded me of my mission. I made my way up the beach, heading north toward a cluster of trees. When I was out of sight, I unzipped and let out a deep breath as I relieved myself. Once done, I zipped my shorts back up and tightened the belt.
Looking out over the water, I closed my eyes and took in an enjoyable breath of fresh sea air. Just as I began to turn back around, something caught my eye. A small flash of light. It came from farther up the beach, near the abandoned structures and docks.
I stared in the direction where I thought I’d seen the light for a few seconds.
How much did I drink?
Just the two beers, but I’d had the rum runner on the boat. For a former Navy sailor, that’s just getting your feet wet.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I’m just seeing things.
I was just about to turn back once more when I saw it again. This time it was clear. No mistaking. No blaming it on mind games. Inside the middle structure along the water, there was a small flash that shone through what remained of a row of broken dirty windows. And it was followed moments after by another flash.
I moved down the beach instinctively while keeping my eyes on the structure. There was nobody around, and it was a decent walk from the restaurant or the nearest road.
Most likely? I figured it was a hot and heavy couple about to cross off a fantasy from their list. An old, dirty, smelly, rundown building wasn’t near the top of mine, but to each their own.
Regardless, I wanted to make sure.
Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
I moved closer. Seeing the light appear near the ocean-facing end of the structure, where it opened up to the old wharf, I leaned against a thick support beam. From their angle, I’d be in the moon’s shadow and nearly impossible to see.
I stood still and waited.
I’d been in the Keys for over a year without fighting anyone. Not that I’d gone looking for a fight since my days as a mercenary, but trouble tended to find me more often than not. It was likely I was making more of it than it was. Maybe I was just throwing rocks in the pond then and wondering where the waves had come from.
But I had a feeling, a good old-fashioned hunch. And over the years I’d learned to trust my instincts. They’d saved me more times than I could count.
I watched with a narrowed gaze as the light suddenly vanished. Seconds later, a dark figure appeared on the wharf. Two more followed, then a couple more. I counted five in all. Hard to tell in the dark and so far away, but it looked like two men and three women.
Strange.
They weren’t talking. Weren’t joking and laughing like you would expect friends to do while venturing off late at night.
When they moved onto one of the docks, I knew that something was very wrong. The three women weren’t walking with the two guys. They were being prodded by them. Their arms were bound at the wrists, and as a streak of the moon’s glow broke between the clouds, I saw that they each had sacks tied over their heads.
THREE
I narrowed my gaze, watching intently as the two men forced the women down the dock. My mind went to work instantly, running over scenarios and likely outcomes.
I had no way of knowing who any of them were. Out-of-towners, no doubt. But one thing was clear: the three women weren’t there of their own free will.
I’d witnessed sex traffickers in action before, but this was my first time seeing it stateside. It didn’t take a genius to surmise what these guys would do to them. Drugs, abuse, more drugs. Then a lifetime of forced sex and beatings until they either died or killed themselves. Makes me sick to my stomach. Few things boil my blood faster and with such intensity as this.
Just as the group was about to reach the end of the dock, I made my move. Quietly, I crept out from along the support beam and moved for the cover of a small shed up on the wharf. The old planks groaned and creaked, so I kept my steps as light and smooth as possible. Reaching the other side of the shed, I peeked around the corner.
The group had made it to the end of the dock. One of the guys had a cellphone pressed to his ear, its faint glow flashing like a distant lighthouse with his movements. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I didn’t need to. He was calling in to one of his lowlife buddies for a pickup.
A few seconds later, he pressed a button on the phone and dropped it into his front pocket. He said something to the other guy that I couldn’t hear, then lit up a cigarette. There was still about a hundred yards of beach and dock between us. I needed to get closer, but there wasn’t much in the way of cover, and the soft waves would do little to muffle my movements.
Suddenly, the quiet, eerie scene woke to life as one of the girls cried out. It was a high-pitched cry of panic and desperation.
The sound was silenced as abrupt
ly as it had started, with one of the guys knocking the woman across the face with a strong backhand. I watched as she stumbled and fell hard to the old planks, her brave cries transitioning to groans of pain.
“Shut the hell up!” one of the guys hissed.
I used the distraction to move in. Keeping low, I strode across an open section of beach and dropped down at the base of the dock. From there, I could see the group clearly.
A guy bent down, grabbed the prone woman, and jerked her violently to her feet.
“You make another sound and I’ll blow your head off,” the guy said, pulling her close and causing her to gasp for air as he squeezed a hand around her neck.
The guy holding her was big. He looked a little taller than my six foot two and probably had thirty pounds on me. The other guy was shorter and leaner. He had styled hair and was dressed much better than the big guy. Both were hard and rough. This clearly wasn’t their first time transporting kidnapped women.
The thought of going for help or staying out of it altogether never entered my mind. These were innocent young girls. They were somebody’s daughters. Somebody somewhere was worried sick and searching frantically for them. Besides, it was two against one. I’d never had a problem with those kinds of odds.
I sized up my adversaries once more. Even up closer, I couldn’t see any visible weapons, but I had no doubt that they were both carrying.
I didn’t want to waste any more time. Whoever they’d just called was motoring their way, and I doubted they’d have to wait long.
I could pop up and just shoot the guys from there. I was only about fifty feet away. Closer than a pitcher to home plate. I trusted my aim. With my Sig I could knock a cap off a bottle from that distance nine times out of ten. I’d fired the special forces handgun thousands of times in my life. But with the three girls so close, I couldn’t risk any of them moving into a bullet’s path.
I looked down at the dock and thought over my options. If I wasn’t going to shoot them, I needed to get close to them without drawing too much suspicion.
My eyes settled on an object pinned against the bottom of the dock. I leaned in closer and realized what it was. Somebody had abandoned an old rod and reel. I picked it up. The bail was so rusted it couldn’t move. The rod was missing more guides than it had, and the line was tangled. But in the dark and the heat of the moment, I doubted either of the guys would notice. It was as good of a cover as I was going to get.
I listened for a few seconds. All I could hear was the soft lapping waves, the squawking of a few distant gulls, and the quiet whimpers of the shaking women. One of the guys stood at the end, taking intermittent drags of his cigarette. The other leaned against an old brace.
Holding the fishing pole, I rose to my feet.
Showtime.
I played the part of the slightly intoxicated late-night fisherman as best I could. I walked with heavy steps on the dock, swaying every now and then, and hummed “what do you do with a drunken sailor” just loud enough for them to hear me.
The two guys were startled and strode in front of the three girls.
“What the hell are you doing here, asshole?” the big guy said.
He had a Spanish accent. It was hard and stern. He was trying to scare me off.
I froze in place and stared stupidly into the darkness, shifting my head from side to side as if that would help me get a better look.
“Just going after the midnight bite,” I said nonchalantly. I started walking again and directed my gaze out over the water. “Snapper run right through here to feed off the—”
“Shut the hell up and take a hike, buddy,” the pretty boy said with a laugh. “The dock’s closed.”
He was laughing. That was good. It meant that he had no idea that he was about to feel some serious pain.
I ignored him and kept moving, stopping along the left side and fidgeting with the reel. I was within ten feet of the two guys and was hoping they’d take the bait and close in. They did.
“Hey, asshole,” the big guy snarled as he strode toward me with heavy steps. “Are you deaf? The dock’s closed. Now get out of here before we make you.”
I nodded, acting as unaffected as possible.
“Yep, great night for fishin’,” I said, slurring my words a little and clicking the bail loose.
“Hey,” Big Guy said, striding toward me. “Move the fuck out!”
He grabbed my right wrist. It was a strong overhand grip. As he did, I caught a gleam of metal peeking out from the right side of his waistband. I only needed a quick glance to realize that it was the familiar shape of a handgun grip.
The second guy moved in right behind the big one. They were both close now, well within striking distance. My little charade had done its job.
“You’ve got three seconds,” Big Guy said, his temper boiling over like a forgotten teakettle. “One… two…”
Before he could say three, I dropped the reel and spun around. As fast as I could, I twisted my right hand free of his grasp and grabbed hold of his wrist. Bending my knees, I dropped down and pulled him over my body. His arm broke in more than one place, and he could only yell out as his body flew through the air and crashed so hard onto the old dock that his weight shattered a few planks. With my other hand grabbing my dive knife, I stabbed it straight through the big guy’s heart.
In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
I turned to engage the second guy. Just as we locked eyes, he reached for his weapon. But before he could pull it free, I struck him with a snapping side kick to the throat. I felt the heel of my right foot crunch his trachea, causing his head to snap forward and air to gasp from his lungs. He placed both hands around his neck, struggling hard to breathe as he fell hard to the dock.
I strode over and held him down while relieving him of his handgun and a Ka-Bar sheathed to his belt. Once his weapons splashed in the water, I grabbed his left shin and broke his leg like I was snapping a thick branch for firewood.
He yelled out as loud as he could given his throat damage and rolled back and forth. He tried to curse me out, but the words were barely audible. I knelt down, slid up his tee shirt, and tightened it forcefully around his mouth to keep him quiet.
With the big guy dead and the other guy down for the count, I turned my attention to the women. They cried and stepped away during the fight, nearly to the opposite edge of the dock. I took in a few breaths to calm myself while moving toward them.
“It’s alright,” I said, sounding as reassuring as possible. “Your two captors are down. There’s no need to be scared anymore.”
I grabbed the fabric sack tied over the closest one’s face. She jerked back, but I still managed to loosen it enough to pull it off. Then I untied the other two’s hoods as well. I grabbed one of the thug’s flashlights and quickly looked them over to make sure they were alright.
All three of them were pretty and thin young women. Two were blond with blue eyes, the third brunette with hazel eyes. The dark-haired girl looked younger than the other two, though it was hard to tell for sure since she was taller. Maybe sixteen if I had to guess while the two blond girls looked to be in their late teens or early twenties.
“Who… who are you?” one of the blond girls asked after I removed their gags.
“My name is Logan Dodge,” I said. “I was just down the beach and spotted you guys.”
I grabbed my cellphone and quickly punched in a speed dial number.
“Ange, it’s me,” I said.
I asked where she was and she replied that she was in the parking lot wondering where I’d disappeared to.
“It’s alright,” I said.
I told her what had happened and instructed her to call the police and meet me up the beach. Just as I hung up and slid the phone back into my front pocket, the dark-haired girl ran over and started kicking the injured pretty boy thug. She yelled at him in anger while he grunted and groaned in pain. I stepped over, grabbed hold of her and pulled her away.
“
He’ll get what’s coming to him, don’t worry,” I said.
“He deserves to die and rot in hell for what he does!” she fired back.
She was breathing heavily, her big eyes bulging out from her face. She looked like she hadn’t eaten or slept in a while, and her clothes were dirty.
I rounded the three of them up and pointed toward the beach.
“I’ll take care of them,” I said. “Don’t worry, this isn’t the first bad guy I’ve dealt with. My wife’s on her way and we’ll get you safely out of here.”
I could already see Ange’s silhouette. She was moving quickly along the shoreline and would reach the dock in less than a minute.
Turning around, I heard the unmistakable sound of an outboard far out over the dark water.
Shit.
I snatched my Sig from its holster.
“Get to the beach,” I said.
Just as the words left my lips, the night air was ripped to shreds by automatic gunfire.
The three girls dropped to the ground in an instant. Bullets splintered the dock planks around us. I kept the girls at my back and opened fire, sending a succession of bullets straight for the rapidly approaching boat. I heard a few rounds strike the white fiberglass-hulled craft, heard a guy yell out.
I couldn’t see Ange, but I heard her firing from the shoreline as well. The automatic gunfire stopped suddenly. The boat’s motor moaned, and the pilot performed a sharp 360-degree turn that nearly caused it to flip over. I fired off a few more rounds, aiming for the engine, then lowered my Sig.
“Who the hell was that?” Ange called out from the beach.
I kept my Sig raised, waiting a few more seconds to make sure the pilot didn’t change his mind and about-face back toward us. The engine groaned far out over the water, getting quieter and quieter before eventually silencing completely.
With the immediate threat gone, I holstered my Sig. Ange reached us and knelt down right away to check on the girls.
