“Oh, dangit,” Troy murmured.
He’d forgotten that for some reason, the trailer had no water. It wasn’t going to flush. Times like these back in the war, he’d had to make snap decisions. It was either fight…or flight. He wasn’t going to stay and fight this out with Trixie, so he decided on the latter. Popping the screen out of the sliding window, he elbowed himself through and landed softly in the gravel below. He tiptoed around the front end of her wildly painted trailer.
Inside, he heard her banging on what he guessed was the bathroom door.
“What the hell is goin’ on in there?” he heard her shout. “Just come on out and we’ll-oh…my…God!”
The gig was up. Troy began to jog away and rounded the front end of the trailer when the side door slammed open. Catching sight of him, her face twisted in rage.
“There ain’t no water in here, you sonofabitch!”
Committed to his plan of flight, he took off running as fast as his bad knee would let him. He didn’t turn back, but he could hear her shouts echoing through the Decharmarnel RV Park. As he passed the first trailer in the row, he stumbled over the lazy golden retriever he’d seen licking the grill earlier. His knees hit the gravel and he rolled to keep from falling directly on the dog. It ambled over to him and licked his cheek.
“Sorry ‘bout that, boy.” Troy patted the dog on the neck. “Peace and blessings to you, buddy, but I gotta be goin’.”
The dog seemed to shrug its shoulders and lay back down.
8
The Thrill Is Gone
Barry Olsen Barron was just about as bored as he’d ever been playing his game. He slammed the VR goggles down and shut the game off. The mayhem and rampaging and violence in the exquisitely rendered world of Bladehammer just didn’t…do it for him anymore. No matter how hard he tried, he kept picturing her face…the girl from the gaming store. He wondered if regular people would imagine dating her. He was imagining something much darker. He opened his mom’s piece of crap laptop and logged onto the neighbor’s Wi-Fi. Idiot never changed his password and Barry was able to connect for his VR game and any surfing the net he needed to do.
He clicked over to Supersharp.com, a website he’d used before and scrolled through the pictures of various knives and swords listed for sale. He’d found that a Dadao or a Chinese saber worked best for his work down at the pier gutting and slicing the massive fish brought in from the deep ocean. Anything smaller was done as easily with a smaller blade. And he found that a really sharp Dadao would cut through a neck in one swipe…but it had to be really sharp. He’d worked his last one so much that it went through Dana and Kim’s neck without hesitation. He grinned at the thought.
A few pages later, he clicked on a beautiful blade made of heat treated high carbon steel and a red and black leather wrapped grip. It was hand forged, so it was a custom piece. He scrolled to the bottom.
“Sheeee-ittt,” he said as he saw the price button. “Two-hundred and thirty-nine damn dollars? It ain’t made of damn gold.”
He almost slammed the screen down when he saw the consignment button at the top. That’s the ticket, he thought. Maybe get a used one and tune it up.
With a few more clicks, he found it. The blade looked good enough, no serious gouges, nothing too bad. The leather grip was shredded and dangled off the hilt in several places. No biggie there. He figured with a couple good days work, he could have it looking new and sharp as a mother. The price button said sixty bucks, but on consignment deals, you could enter a bid. He tapped a few keys and entered a bid of forty-five. He smiled as he pushed the send button and the whoosh sound indicated his bid was in. Nothing to do now but wait to see if he won the auction.
“And now I’m bored again,” he muttered to the empty trailer.
He jumped when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and didn’t recognize it.
“Damn sales calls.”
He didn’t answer, letting the call go to his voicemail. After a minute, the phone chirped to let him know he had a message. He tapped a few buttons and the message played back.
“Good evening, Mista Barron,” a deep, resonating voice boomed. “This is Sam DeFur. I’m the Chief of Police here in Nags Head and I’m lookin’ into the disappearance of the two girls you worked with at the Fish Company.”
Barry’s pulse quickened and he wondered how the hell the cops had traced the killings back to him. Shit, he thought as he began to plan a mad dash out of town.
“Now, we know it’s been hard on all you kids, but we don’t have a whole bunch of information and we’re tracking down everybody who knew these two fine young ladies.”
Barry’s heart slowed a little. It didn’t sound like the chief considered him a suspect…yet.
“It would be a big help if you could talk to us about the last time you saw both of them. We know you were working the night they were killed, but there might be something they said to you, or you overheard that would lead us in the right direction. Anyway, give me a call down at the station and we’ll talk.”
The line went quiet, but didn’t disconnect. The chief inhaled on the line.
“Barry, we know that you’re probably still shook up about this, but we need your help. We got nothin’.”
Then the call was ended.
Barry wondered if the chief was playing him. Did he know something? Was he a suspect? Was he being played here? He didn’t think so. He wondered if not calling the man back would make him look guilty though.
He resolved to call the chief tomorrow and by then, he would have a complete story worked out about leaving work that night, coming home, and playing video games all night. Maybe he could even get Riley to say she’d been online with him. Thinking of her, he looked down at his phone. The time read: 10:01PM She’d said not to call after ten…but it was barely after. He texted her.
-Ok to call you?
He waited for a minute. Nothing. He figured she was probably not going to text him back when his phone dinged.
-Yeah, but just for a minute. I’m about to go to bed and I think my mom’s on the way home now.
He felt his pulse quicken again.
-Can you get online?
-No, I’m grounded. She won’t give me the Wi-Fi password.
-Shit. I can prob figure it out. What’s her birthday?
-Already tried that.
-Anniversary?
-That too.
Barry thought for a second.
-Your birthday?
There was a pause and then.
-Crap. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I’m on.
-I’ll be on in a sec.
-Cool. I’ll wait for you at the tavern.
A new message pinged on his phone and he saw he had an email. He grinned as he read the note that his bid had won the auction. The blade was his! Hot damn, he thought, this day is getting better and better.
Barry grabbed his headset and logged into his Bladehammer game. His excitement grew, as did the bulge in his pants. He was getting aroused just thinking about having his way with Riley…and he wasn’t thinking about sex. He was thinking about his new blade and her lily-white neck. The thought of cutting her thrilled him. He might even spring for overnight shipping.
If he got it tomorrow, he could have her by Sunday night. He started thinking about how he’d lure her over to his place. As the magical world of Bladehammer came into view and he took on the form of the orc warlord, Tryon the Tyrannical, he felt better than he had in days…better than he had since the night with Dana and Kim anyway. He stomped his way down the dirt path toward the tavern to meet Riley.
9
Now That’s A Knife
Troy finally felt good when the sun came up after his bowels had completely emptied themselves. He swore off Thai food and doused the flames in his gut with a couple of fresh ice-cold Coronas he’d grabbed from the 7-11 last night. The gentle rocking of his boat wasn’t as comforting as usual, but it wasn’t quite enough to upset his tender belly. T
he warmth of the day on his skin made him feel so good, he decided he might just hang out on the deck doin’ nothin’ all day. But a distant rumble and a dark mass on the horizon told him that the fishin’ had to get done before the storm came.
He tugged on the ropes attached to his lobster traps, but then hesitated. The last time he pulled them up, they’d had two severed heads in them. Slowly, he dragged the cages out of the water and thankfully, they didn’t have any body parts in them, but they didn’t have any lobsters either.
“Dangit,” he muttered.
Another rumbled sounded and a cool breeze hit him. He figured the storm might bring a few schools of red drums from down south. If he was lucky, he could grab a few big ones before the squall came.
He ambled down below, grabbed a couple of his reels, dragged a bait bucket out and tossed a few minnows in. As he took the steps up, a horn blared startling him. He almost fell back down, but managed to save himself. His bucket of minnows toppled over and the squirming fish flopped around on the hardwood floor. The horn blared again as he grabbed the bait and tossed them back into his bucket.
“Alright, alright,” he called out and hopped up the ladder. “Hold yer horses, I’m comin’ as fast as I can.”
As his head poked out, he saw a smaller fishing boat sidled up against his. A man in a tie-dyed bandana was holding on to the other boat’s rail smiling broadly across the closing gap between them. Jamaica Jack’s yellowed teeth opened in a laugh.
“Brother, you look like a hammered sack o’ shit,” he bellowed.
“Thanks,” Troy shrugged. “Had some bad Thai food last night.”
“All Thai food is bad,” Jack, shirtless and leathery, laughed as he said it. “You look a little green in the gills, my friend. I hope you ain’t too sick to get a little fishin’ in.”
Troy held up the bucket and his rods.
“Perfect.” He waved Troy over. “Drop yer anchor and let’s head out. Got a guy who’ll pay a ton of money for a swordy.”
“Swordy?”
“Swordfish. Wants it for his mantle. Offering big bucks. I’ll split it with ya if we get one big enough. We can toss out your lines too.”
Troy shrugged. He handed Jack his rods and his bait bucket. He tugged his anchor to make sure it was secure and glanced out at the horizon.
Jack saw him look and said, “Not to worry. We’ll be back long before that storm gets here. C’mon, time’s a waistin’.”
“You got any beer over there?”
Jamaica Jack nodded his head. “Yup. Bought some of those sissy beers you like to drink.”
Troy smiled and took the man’s hand as he hopped over. As he landed, Jack was already handing him an open Corona. He took a long sip. Much better, he thought.
“Hold tight,” Jack strode back toward the wheel as he said it.
In seconds, they were planed up and flying out toward deeper water.
Half an hour later they had a line down and were cruising. Jack was behind the wheel with a beer in his hand and humming along with some sort of island music Troy didn’t recognize. He had his shirt off and his hard, round belly looked like a dark brown basketball sitting in his lap. After a time, he took one hand off the wheel and swiped away the copious amounts of sweat forming on his chest.
Without preamble or so much as small talk, Jack grinned at him. “So? What did they look like? Perky? Petite? Softballs?”
“What in dang hell are you talkin’ about, Jack?”
“Aw, don’t gimme that.” He formed his hands into two cups and mimed a squeezing motion. “You know. The boobies. The PI. Didja get a look at them boobies?”
“Jack, you are a dadgum hoot. No, I did not get a look at her…her chest.”
“Well, shit, man. What the hell you waitin’ on?” Jack slapped his hands back on the wheel and shook his head. “I mean, you gotta strike while the irons are hot, bro.”
Troy didn’t say anything; he just smiled and took a sip of his beer.
“Wait.” Jack jerked his head around and squinted his eyes at him. “You don’t like other dudes…do you? I mean, it’s all good if you do. I just didn’t figure you for that. Hell, I don’t mind tellin’ you straight up, that fella Matthew McConaughey’s a right good lookin’ fella. But I don’t swing that way…just sayin’.”
Troy couldn’t help but laugh. An image of the drag queens in Savannah popped into his head and he realized just how long ago that had been. He stood up and walked up behind Jack’s captain’s chair and slapped him on the back.
“Brother, if I was into guys, I’d be all over you.”
Jack’s face froze in shock.
“But lucky for the female population of the world,” Troy continued, “I’m a straight shooter.”
“Well, then what the hell? Why didn’t you get at least a little peek?”
“Thai food kinda spoiled the evenin’.”
“Ohhhh, gotcha.”
Jack considered this for a second and then added, “You’re gonna see her again…right?”
Troy winked at him.
“Oh, hell yeah.” Jack snorted it out. “Then you’ll tell me all about it, yeah? Or, wait, better yet, take me a picture when she ain’t lookin’.”
“Dang, Jack. You know I’m not goin’ to take a picture of Meira’s breasts for you.”
“Not even a little side-boob?”
“Nope.”
“Damn, bro. You sure know how to hurt a guy.”
Troy opened his mouth to say something, but the line next to him jerked hard and the electric reel kicked in. Slowly, the braided rope began to reel in. The rod bent down in an arc that threatened to break it.
“Ease that, Troy. Slow down the reel!” Jack yelled as he pulled back on the throttle.
Troy pulled a lever on the electric winch that was trying its best to collect the line with what had to be a massive fish on the hook. He peered over the edge; harpoon in hand, ready to spear the huge swordfish when it surfaced.
“Back up, Troy,” Jack warned. “You don’t want that thing flyin’ up outta the water and spearin’ you in the face.”
Troy jerked his head back and waited. Inch by inch, the line spooled on the reel. Jack stopped the boat completely when he was sure the line was going to hold. He jerked on a pair of protective gloves and grabbed a large hook. With one hand on the line, he looked down into the water, waiting on the beast.
When it finally broke the surface, Troy fell backward as it gnashed up at them. A huge gaping jaw full of razor sharp teeth let them know immediately that they hadn’t caught the swordfish they were after. This was a shark. It was a sleek, gray, shark that thrashed hard against the line and slammed its body up against the boat. Its jaw worked open and shut, crashing together with furious force.
Troy regained his balance, got to his feet, and unsheathed his knife, preparing to cut the line.
“No, no, no!” Jack held up a hand to stop him. “We gotta bring this big guy in and tag him.”
“Are you freakin’ crazy, Jack? This guy’s gotta be ten feet long!”
“Exactly, he’s a potential danger to the beach. Help me get him up and get a tag on him.”
“I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat.”
Troy fumbled underneath the side rail of the boat and finally found the rope. He waited for the shark to slow for just a second and slipped it around his tail. Between the line in his mouth and the tightened rope on his back end, he was caught. Jack produced a short stick with some kind of needle on the end. He jabbed it into the shark and dropped it.
“Got him. Now, let’s get that hook out.”
He took a pair of long plier-looking things from his back pocket and leaned down toward the shark’s mouth.
“Hold him tight, Troy. I reckon we got about thirty seconds before he starts feeling bad about bein’ caught again.”
Troy pulled on the rope. Jack thrust his hand and the pliers dangerously close to the shark’s mouth and gave a quick jerk on the line. The hook came f
ree and blood sprayed out in a bright red fountain. The shark gave another thrash and then lay still.
“What happened?” Troy asked. “What’d you do?”
“I dunno,” Jack whacked the shark firmly on the snout.
It didn’t move. The round, black eyes, rolled back into its head and the shark went limp. It began to list over and go belly up.
“Ah, shit,” Jack cursed. “We must’ve held onto him too long. Poor bastard didn’t make it.”
“That don’t seem right,” Troy said. “He wasn’t ever out of the water.”
Jack sighed and laid a hand on the shark’s head.
“Shit, he’s losin’ blood like crazy. Hook must’ve hit an artery or something. When I pulled it out, he started bleedin’. Guess he bled out.”
“Have you ever heard of that happening before?”
“Nope.”
A crack of thunder surprised them both and Troy looked up to the horizon. The storm that had seemed so far away was now dangerously close.
“We better get back,” he said.
Jack nodded. “We’ll haul this guy in and check him out. He’s still a good catch if we can keep him in the water.”
They rode back slowly under darkening skies, neither man saying much. The pier was empty, except for a few die-hards with lines still in the water. Jack pulled them in and tied off his boat. A half hour later, they had the Mako hanging up for measurements and pictures. Neither of them smiled.
“Okay, then,” Jack said. “You wanna help me clean him?”
“Clean him?”
“Yup. He’s a fair catch. We can sell the meat to somebody…maybe the Fish House would want him?”
Troy shrugged. “I can call and check.”
“Cool.”
Jack pulled out a blade about the size of a machete and started a long slit down the shark’s belly. His knife clanged against something about halfway down.
“What the hell?”
He tapped it a few more times.
“This guy’s got something metal in his gullet. God knows what he’s swallowed. Here, Troy, I’ll pull him open, you see if you can reach in there and grab it.”
Skull Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 5) Page 6
