The Boat Man: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 1)

by Dustin Stevens

  The echo of Reed’s shoes on the hardwood echoed off the walls as he moved forward, focusing on the far end of the space. There Billie too had stopped her search, looking from Reed to the edifice before her, not sure how to act.

  Resting against the wall was a single table, low-slung, rising no more than a foot off the ground. Five times that in length, atop it rested two oversized framed photos, both of a striking woman in her early-thirties.

  Bearing all the signs of a woman of mixed ancestry, there was no doubt on sight as to who it was.

  “Half-Japanese, half-Greek,” Reed whispered, recalling Galanos’s word. “Janice Rigas.”

  Placed in front of them was a single wooden tray, a piece eighteen inches in length with twin grips rising from either end. Below it on the floor was a black vinyl case, the zipper pulled all the way open.

  “The sword and the rifle,” Reed said, looking over the shrine once more before shifting his attention to the adjoining wall beside him.

  On it, stretched out in a misshapen circle almost eight feet in diameter, was a collection of research months in the making. Formed in a swirling pattern, it contained newspaper clippings and internet articles, interspersed heavily with sheets of handwritten notes and personal photographs.

  Every last one was time and date stamped, beginning around the first of the year and continuing until just a week before.

  “What the hell?” Iaconelli asked, the sound of his and Bishop’s feet crossing the floor audible, though not enough to pull Reed’s attention away from the wall.

  Instead he remained focused in on the series of photographs posted in painstaking order in the middle of it, all close facial shots of the Kings, all stretched to six inches or more in height.

  Split into two equal groups, the top half had been X’d out by Rigas’s own hand, thick red marker slashes distorting the images.

  Below them were three more, none with a mark of any kind yet on them. Two of them Reed recognized as Pryor and Knighton, both now dispatched, just as their comrades had been.

  The last he had met for the first time just a few hours before.

  “Pierce Brandt,” Reed whispered, turning to look at the others with him. “The last one is Pierce Brandt.”

  Chapter Sixty

  The rifle was gone, having been left behind in the car. It was an able weapon, worth the trouble to procure. It had done its job well, but the time had come to cast it aside.

  There was only one target left, and he deserved the sword. He deserved the signature of his wife’s familial lineage, the up-close-and-personal nature of seeing the Boat Man before he met his end.

  Two years before, the Boat Man had been forced to endure the most horrific night in his life. He had had to watch as hoodlums descended from the night, penalizing him and his wife for making a wrong turn, for being hungry in the wrong part of town. He had been restrained as they did things to his beloved, horrible, unspeakable things that he was unable to stop.

  He had been rendered unconscious before it was all over, stripped of the ability to say goodbye before Janice passed from this world.

  The first image he had seen in his mind upon awakening from the coma was not those men doing as they pleased with her, it was the sight of the brass knuckles coming towards his head. It was the face behind them, bearing its own self-pity, knocking him out not from some sort of deep-rooted chivalry but in an effort to spare his own weak soul.

  That face, that man’s weakness, was what the Boat Man fed on for two long years. It was what fueled him through every physical therapy session, forced him to sit motionless for hours on his scouting missions.

  The knowledge that one day he would see it again, would finally have his retribution for what was done to him, what it had allowed to be done to his wife, was more than enough to propel him forward day after day.

  Upon leaving his hide atop the schoolhouse, the Boat Man had heard the sirens in the distance. He had seen the glow of lights flashing above the buildings as he drove away, making his escape just minutes before the police arrived.

  The delay with his sword had cost him. It had allowed them to put together what had happened, giving them time to circle close. If ever he were going to finish things it had to be tonight, before his final target disappeared, potentially taking with him the chance at justice forever.

  Reaching behind him, the Boat Man tapped the end of the handle extended down by his kidneys, the scabbard inverted to be hidden beneath his jacket. Getting it fixed had cost him precious time, but it was now worth it, having the weapon he’d come to rely so much on by his side in the final hour.

  A far cry from The Bottoms he’d spent much of the previous months in, the Boat Man found himself in a neighborhood resembling the one he lived in. Gone were the shattered facades and dilapidated dwellings, replaced by plush lawns and newer model houses. Automobiles produced in the new millennium were parked out front, the occasional dog barking in the distance.

  Of all six targets, this was the one he had scouted the least. Unlike his cohorts he had relocated himself from the tangle of The Bottoms, attempting a social climb, from all appearances severing his past relationships.

  The sudden change did little to soften the Boat Man’s stance though, the promise he had made total and absolute. Even if the new location made performing reconnaissance more difficult, he would do what he set out to, finishing a task two years in the making.

  Ahead in the distance his final destination came into view, a two-story home with rows of windows lining both floors, just a single light burning in the bottom level. He felt his nerves stand on end as he moved closer, feigning to be nothing more than a neighborhood resident out for a stroll.

  Ten more minutes, and it would all be over.

  Janice, and perhaps even himself, could finally be at peace.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Both the front and back doors were left gaping at Michael Rigas’s home, property damage the sort of thing that no longer applied once someone was confirmed as the lead suspect in five murders and counting. Tragic back story or not, the justice system was predicated on handing such matters off to the authorities, not engaging in vigilante justice.

  Not once did the thought of closing them up or securing the home occur to Reed as he sprinted from the front hall towards his sedan parked outside, Billie beating him there by three full strides. Bringing up the rear he could hear Bishop slapping the pavement with heavy footsteps, Iaconelli wheezing as he tried to keep pace.

  Reed could still hear the words from the captain in his head as he loaded his partner inside and swung behind the wheel, turning the engine over with a single twist of the key.

  Pierce Brandt had been released on hour before, told not to leave town.

  A string of hateful, spiteful obscenities spewed from Reed’s mouth as he set the flashers moving, for the first time ever invoking the siren as well. Loud and piercing, it squalled out over the thin evening traffic, cars peeling to the side, letting him pass.

  Somewhere behind him he knew Iaconelli and Bishop were coming, though he still couldn’t see them in the mirror.

  The story that Pierce told was basically a confession, a full account of everything that had happened two years before. The fact that the victim was now murdering the other members of his party was irrelevant, the amount of time that had passed a pittance compared to the statute of limitations laws in place for such crimes.

  There was no doubt in Reed’s mind as he drove on, going back to the home Pierce shared with his mother for the second time in the day, that the only reason he had been released was his aunt.

  The thought caused Reed’s mouth to twist up in an angry snarl as he headed south, needing just three exits to get from Rigas’s stop to Brandt’s. Other motorists continued to stream to the side as he kept the gas pedal depressed, retracing his prior route from memory.

  Once he was free from the clutches of suburban strip mall traffic he killed the siren and the flashing lights, not wanting to
give away his position should Rigas be in the area.

  Lifting an article of clothing taken from the upstairs bedroom Reed passed it over his shoulder, dropping it at Billie’s feet. On cue she lowered her head and sniffed deeply at it, picking up the scent as he made the last turn, Pierce Brandt’s street coming into view.

  The first pass by Brandt’s house would be to determine if Rigas had been there yet. If he was or had been, Reed would pull directly into the drive, he and Billie both going straight in. If not, he would circle the block and park down at the end, letting Billie go to work, flushing him out if he were hiding anywhere nearby.

  Slowing his car just a bit, Reed crossed over the adjoining intersection and made his way onto Brandt’s street, the homes looking much the same as the neighborhood he had just left. In many of the windows he could see individuals and families moving about, their lights on, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

  Again feeling his pulse rise Reed rolled past Brandt’s home, careful not to slow his pace or tap the brakes as he peered in through the front windows, a single light on, no cars in the driveway.

  “I don’t think he’s home yet,” Reed said aloud, allowing the car to move past the house, not once looking back over his shoulder.

  Snatching up the receiver from the radio beneath the dash, Reed raised it to his face. “Bishop, you there?”

  A long moment of fuzz passed before Bishop replied, “We’re here, ETA two minutes and closing. Got a little turned around coming off the freeway.”

  The last line was added as a bit of an apology, though Reed had no need or interest in hearing it, launching forward with directions.

  “It appears Brandt is not yet home,” Reed said, watching in his rearview mirror, a pair of headlights appearing behind him he assumed to be his backup. “The captain’s trying to contact him and his aunt, so hopefully he’ll get to them before they arrive.

  “I’m going to pull up to the next cross section and let Billie out, see if she can pick up a scent. You guys stay back a block and close the gate.”

  “Roger that,” Bishop said, both sides signing off without another sound, Reed dropping the mic without bothering to hang it back on the radio.

  At the next corner he made a left and inched forward until out of sight from Brandt’s street, easing his car to a stop and climbing out, Billie not bothering to wait for him before launching herself through the front seat and out onto the road.

  Reed watched her for a moment, quivering with anticipation, before setting her loose.

  “Search.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Seated on the back porch, the Boat Man had a vantage past the corner of the house to the street out front and through the rear window into the kitchen. The single bulb in the downstairs still burning was located above a breakfast nook in the corner of the space, an open floor plan allowing him to see into the living room and out the front windows as well.

  Hunkered down in a chair, partially obscured by some low hanging branches creeping in from the yard, the Boat Man waited in silence. His black ensemble made him little more than a shadow on the darkened porch, the wood stained deep red absorbing any overhead light, concealing him from sight.

  On his very first scouting run the Boat Man had found that his final target still lived at home with his mother, a cruel irony in that he too had the opportunity to strip away the woman most important to his attacker. For weeks he had grappled with the best way to handle the situation before realizing it didn’t matter, the mother was rarely if ever home.

  Instead it appeared the final man on his list was little more than a glorified house sitter, a target made even easier because of the false sense of security a parent’s home provided.

  Thoughts of where he was, what had brought him to such a state, danced through the Boat Man’s head as a pair of lights appeared at the end of the street. He raised his body just an inch in his chair as he watched them roll by, not once slowing or seeming to glance his way.

  Lowering himself back into place, the faint glow of a second pair of headlights emerged, growing larger, coming into view at a much slower pace. Feeling his pulse climb, the Boat Man watched as the car crept to just barely moving, the sound of brakes squealing calling out as the car turned into the driveway, a sliver of bright light shooting past him into the backyard.

  The Boat Man’s breath caught in his chest as he rose from his seat and crossed over to the rear of the house, pressing his back flat against it.

  A moment later the headlights blinked out, flushing the world into a state of darkness as a car door opened no more than fifteen feet away. The sound of crinkling paper, the smell of fried food found their way to him soon thereafter, followed by keys jangling as the target made his way for the door.

  The Boat Man gave him three steps to make sure he was out in the open, waiting to emerge from the darkness, when a sound hit his ears he wasn’t expecting, something that stopped him for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest.

  A woman’s voice.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Billie picked the scent up just off the corner, finding it in less than three minutes, the smell so fresh in her nose from the shirt Reed had given her she practically snatched it off the breeze. The moment it hit her nostrils her pace increased from a meander to a trot, head down, body poised, moving in a direct line down the sidewalk.

  Falling in behind her Reed had to jog to keep up, drawing his flashlight with one hand, his weapon with the other. Keeping the light by his side he clicked on the end plunger twice in a quick sequence, a fast and discrete signal to Iaconelli and Bishop down the street that Rigas was nearby.

  A single flash of a light inside the cab of the car showed they had seen and understood, easing away from the curb as they pulled closer.

  Bringing his hands together in front of him, Reed bent his knees into a shooter’s crouch, jogging forward. Beside him houses continued to tick by as his breaths grew short, moisture forming on his skin.

  Before him Billie kept up a steady pace, her head down, pulling him in a straight line down the sidewalk.

  In a place such as The Bottoms, a man like Rigas was forced into the shadows. Anybody giving him a second glance would know he didn’t belong there, his skin tone, his demeanor, everything about him wrong for the neighborhood.

  That wasn’t the case somewhere like Worthington, the street a near copy of his own, just a few miles in distance from it as the crow flew. Because of that he was able to move about unnoticed and unseen, just another resident out for an evening stroll.

  Reed cursed under his breath as he kept going, Pierce’s house approaching on the right. Two feet in front of him Billie kept up her steady gait, her destination clear.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The Boat Man’s first assumption was the voice belonged to the mother, back from another service deployment, home from wherever they had sent her this time. The symmetry of the situation with what had befallen him was almost too much to ignore, he himself having had the most important woman in his life ripped away, now having the opportunity to do the same to the final person that had wronged him.

  As perfect as it might have seemed though, as delicious as the moment would be for him, that was never his intention. His goal was not to become the monster they had been, waging wrath upon the innocent. The only point of what he had done, what he was doing, was for Janice.

  Harming the man’s mother would be a disservice to his wife’s memory, and he couldn’t have that on his conscience.

  Still, even if he refused to harm the woman, he could not let her presence stop him from what he needed to do. Inching forward to the corner of the house, he listened as the two conversed. Both sounded annoyed as they spoke, the man close beside him, going for the door. Lingering behind was the woman, lecturing him the way only a parent could, her voice a bit more distant.

  Pulling a deep lungful of air through his nose, the Boat Man tapped the sword against his thigh, the sheath it was in
solid, firm against his calf. In that instant he knew what he must do, how he would approach the situation, how it all would end.

  Without warning of any kind, without a yell or a scream or even a grunt from exertion, the Boat Man spun out from around the edge of the house, on them before either one even knew he was there.

  Bypassing the man by the door he charged hard for the woman, slashing the covered sword at her in a baseball swing, the improvised barrel of it connecting just above her temple, lifting her small body from the ground and depositing it on the ground in a heap. Only in the distance between contact and her hitting the ground did he realize it wasn’t his mother, the woman wearing a uniform of a different kind.

  A police uniform.

  She landed with a sickening smack of skin against asphalt, her form crumpled into a twisted mess.

  The Boat Man looked at her only a moment before turning to face the man before him. Gone were any pangs of concern about having assaulted a cop, his list of transgressions already much too long to bother with such concerns.

  In that moment there was only his mission. Once that was complete, nothing else would matter.

  With a flick of his sword he cast the scabbard aside, the hollow material echoing against the driveway as it skittered away. Stray bits of light from the neighborhood caught the blade as he twisted it an inch in either direction, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

  “Remember me?”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Reed saw it long before Billie did, her head aimed down at the ground, still tracking the scent. She kept her attention aimed forward, moving past the front drive of Pierce’s house, following the route Rigas had taken.