by Tripp Ellis
There was nothing here.
This was a waste of time.
I continued down the passageway and pushed through the hatch into the engine room. I moved down the steps that were lined with yellow caution tape. There were two massive diesel engines, painted in yellow—or what used to be yellow. Now it was flaking, pale, and covered with grime. I inched past the electrical distribution box, the weak beam of my flashlight illuminating the dusty air.
Movement rattled in the compartment, and I heard a gasp of fear.
I rounded the massive diesel engine, and my spotlight landed on Sarah's terrified face. Her retinas reflected the light, and she backed even farther into the corner. One hand was cuffed to a pipe. There was a slop bucket not far away that served as her restroom.
I was appalled at the conditions. She was chained up like a dog.
"Sarah, it's me, Tyson," I said, trying to reassure her.
Her eyes were wide with terror.
I sprinted to the end of the compartment and knelt down beside her. My hands pulled the gag from her lips, then I fumbled for my keys. I snatched them from my pocket and used my handcuff key to unlock her wrist. She pulled it free and rubbed the deep grooves in her skin.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Define okay?" she stammered.
"Come on, let's get out of here," I said, taking her hand.
I pulled her to her feet, and we scampered back toward the hatch.
The sound of voices and footsteps on the main deck filtered down below.
We hovered at the bulkhead by the hatch—it was the only way out.
Holding Sarah's hand, I pulled her up the steps and we advanced down the corridor in the darkness, then I pulled her into a storage compartment on the port side. We hid there in the blackness. My heart pounded so loud I could almost hear it echoing off the bulkheads. My fingers gripped my pistol tight, ready for anything.
The staircase clinked as two goons descended below deck. Their muffled voices echoed through the passageway. "How long does the boss want to keep her?"
"I think until I can get someone on the inside to take out Chuck. But they put him in the program, that's going to be difficult."
Their flashlight beams bounced off the bulkheads as they advanced toward the engine room.
We held still while they pushed into the compartment and descended the steps. I knew all hell would break loose once they discovered Sarah was missing.
We could hide in this compartment and hope they didn't search it. But now seemed like our only chance to get off this boat. I pushed Sarah into the companionway and whispered for her to go. I followed behind, moving as quietly as we could.
"Fucking son-of-a-bitch!" a thug shouted.
Our footsteps clinked against the deck as we raced toward freedom. I could hear the goons chasing after us, their heavy steps echoing throughout the ship.
We spiraled up the steps and raced past the crew quarters, into the galley.
Two more of Fernando’s goons were there waiting.
I recognized them as his bodyguards. They greeted us with angry pistols. It wasn't long before the other two goons flanked us from behind.
"Drop it, scumbag!" one of them shouted.
A grimace twisted my face, and I reluctantly set my pistol on the counter in the galley. I raised my hands in the air slowly. The short goon in front of me reared his fist back and smacked me with the grip of his pistol. Pain shot through my temple, and the blow twisted my head to the side. Warm blood trickled down my chin, and the pain throbbed. I thought long and hard about my options, but none of them were good.
For the time being, I would have to play their game.
"Call Fernando," a thug said. "See what he wants to do with him."
The goons marched us down below deck, back to the engine room. Handcuffs smacked against my wrist and ratcheted tight. A goon secured me to a pipe, and they returned Sarah to her original location. Shorty dug into my pockets.
"Enjoying yourself there, buddy?" I snarked.
If anyone was going to jam their hands into my pockets, I preferred it to be a petite redhead, 5’2”, 105 pounds, and big… eyes.
Shorty McGoonface had none of those qualities.
He didn’t appreciate my sense of humor either. Another hard fist careened toward my face. His knuckles smacked my cheek, sending a jolt of pain down my spine.
Maybe one of these days I would learn to keep my mouth shut?
No.
I would never learn to keep my mouth shut. "Is that your idea of foreplay, big guy."
Smack!
Another fist against my cheek.
I spit out a mouthful of blood on the deck. The tinny metallic taste saturated my tastebuds. The edge of my molars had carved into my cheek, turning it into shredded crabmeat. I wasn't particularly fond of the sensation.
"Keep cracking wise, pal," Shorty said.
He took my keys, my wallet, my phone, and my tactical flashlight.
"Which one of you scumbags ran my sister off the road?" I asked.
Shorty McGoonface grinned. He leaned over me. "That would be me. You were given ample warning to back off. I don't think you have any idea who you’re fucking with."
I took the opportunity to kick the bastard in the balls.
He doubled over, and groans filled the engine room. His eyes looked like they were about to pop. Shorty grimaced as the pain washed through his body—that delayed pain that moves up into your stomach and makes you grow pale.
Shorty righted himself. Rage twisted on his face. He cocked his foot back and kicked me like an extra point attempt. His foot smacked my chest and bounced, connecting with my lower jaw, crunching my teeth together, knocking my head back. My skull cracked against a pipe behind me.
Everything faded to black.
36
I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke, I regretted my smart mouth. The back of my head had a welt the size of a softball, and my jaw ached. Crusted blood lined my lips. I tongued my teeth, feeling for chips. Everything seemed intact, by some miracle.
The engine room was pitch black. The goons had gone.
For now.
"Are you okay?" Sarah asked.
“Define okay?" I said, echoing her previous response.
"I thought you were dead for a moment."
"It will take a lot more than that," I said, mustering my bravado.
I felt dead. Or at least, one step away from it. My head throbbed. The impact had split my scalp which bled and matted the back of my hair with crusty blood.
“You were out for a pretty long time," Sarah said.
"How long?"
"Maybe half an hour? I lose track of time here. I don't even know what day it is."
After a blow like that, I'm not sure I knew what day it was myself. I tugged on the handcuffs that secured me to the pipe. They were tight around my wrist, and there was no slipping my fist through. Shorty had taken my keys. Unless I could pry the pipe loose from the bulkhead, it didn't look like I was going anywhere anytime soon.
I had seen inmates who could leverage handcuffs and snap the linkage. The ones that could do it made it look easy. It was a question of bunching the linkage and using the right amount of force with the correct angle. You’d leave them alone in a cell for a minute, and they’d be out of them. It was easier to do when the cuffs were in front of you, but I’d seen people who could do it with the cuffs behind them.
I tried to do it for 15 minutes, but ended up just making a bunch of noise and rubbing my wrist raw.
I couldn't see a damn thing.
The space was a black, damp dungeon. An endless void. At least I had another voice to keep me company. I could only imagine how terrifying it had been for Sarah alone in the dank space with only the groans of the ship, and the occasional rodent scampering across the floor, to keep her company.
“Thanks for trying to rescue me," Sarah said.
"Don't worry. This is all part of my master plan. I'm luring the
m into a false sense of superiority. Right now, they think they've got us beat.”
A faint chuckle escaped her lips. "At least you have a sense of humor."
"I'm dead serious,” I said, half joking.
"You're an interesting man, Deputy Wild."
We sat in the darkness for a long moment. Deprived of sight, the other senses were heightened. After a while, I began to visualize the space by the sound of our voices echoing off the bulkheads. I could hear the waves lapping against the hull, and the rumble of engines from other boats across the harbor.
"If you could have any superpower, what would it be?" I asked.
"Seriously?"
“Yeah. Just play along.”
“What constitutes a superpower?”
“Anything. But you can only pick one."
She thought for a moment. "I want to be able to shoot lasers out of my eyes. That way I could burn through the handcuffs and incinerate these dickheads."
"Good call."
"What about you?" she asked.
"Super-strength. I'd snap the handcuffs and beat these guys to death with my bare fists."
"I can get on board with that," Sarah said.
With the hatch to the engine room shut we could scream to our hearts’ content, no one on the dock would hear us. I fumbled around in the inky blackness, looking for something to bang on the bulkheads. I figured I might be able to tap out an SOS in Morse code. Maybe someone would hear it? Would anybody be listening?
Probably not.
Within the hour, the goon squad returned—this time with Fernando Gallo.
The hatch squealed as it opened, and flashlight beams slashed the darkness. The goons descended the steps and rounded the massive engine. My eyes squinted from the light as they shined it in my face. I couldn't really see anything. Just the hazy silhouette of figures illuminated only by the reflected light.
Gallo's voice was unmistakable as he lorded over me. "You've become quite the pain in my ass, Deputy Wild. First you screw my girlfriend. Then you screw with my business."
"You screwed his girlfriend?” Sarah muttered.
I shrugged innocently, then said to Gallo, "I didn't know she was your girlfriend, if it's any consolation."
He scowled at me. “I don't like killing cops, Deputy Wild. But for you, I'm willing to make an exception."
"How kind of you," I said.
I found myself on the business end of a .45. The cold steel hovered inches from my face. Shorty McGoonface eagerly took aim. "You want me to do him right now?"
“No. Not just yet,” Gallo said. “A gunshot in the harbor might draw attention. Then we have to deal with his body. Who knows how long we’ll be keeping Sarah as a guest, and I'd rather not smell a decomposing body every time I come here. It's bad enough smelling her excrement. Do you think you boys could keep that a little cleaner, for my sake?"
"Yes, boss,” Shorty grunted.
"After I leave, get him out of here before daylight. Take him out to one of those islands, dig a grave, shoot him, and cover him up."
"We could take him up to the glades and feed him to the alligators?"
"I don't care how you do it, I just don't want his body turning up in any identifiable way,” Gallo said. "Do you think you boys can handle that?"
“We can handle it,“ Shorty said.
“You had one simple task. Kill Olivia Carson and make it look like a robbery. You sure screwed that up.”
There was a tone of frustration in his voice. Things hadn’t been going according to plan for Gallo recently.
If I had anything to say about it, things would keep going awry.
37
The marina was deserted this time of night. Buck had long since gone back to bed. He was nowhere around to see the goons transfer me from the tugboat to the white speedboat with red accents. Shorty stuffed me in the compartment below deck. The space was cramped.
The engine rumbled to life, and we idled out of the harbor. A moment later, the speedboat throttled up. I bounced around with my hands cuffed behind my back, not knowing where we were going.
The thugs brought the boat on plane, and the hull skimmed across the swells. The jarring sensation didn't exactly feel great in my current condition. My head throbbed, my jaw ached, and my neck was stiff. I never really got seasick, but bouncing around the tiny compartment below deck, feeling like I did, made me want to hurl.
I took a deep breath, slowed my breathing, and tried to calm down. I had to admit, I was a little unsettled. We were speeding toward my imminent demise. Nobody knew where I was. I had been foolish. I should have called the sheriff, or JD at least.
I fumbled around, looking for something to pick the lock with. A bobby pin would work wonders. There were just a few life preservers, a rope, and some empty beer cans.
A little over half an hour later, the engines throttled down.
I heard the goons converse with each other, then the splash of an anchor. The boat maneuvered to set it. A moment later, the hatch opened and Shorty waved the barrel of his pistol at me. "Get out!”
I staggered out of the tiny compartment and fell onto the deck.
Shorty backed away. "Get up!"
He wasn't about to help me.
I staggered to my feet and scanned the area. They had anchored the boat in the shallows a few feet away from the beach of a small island.
It didn't take long for me to recognize the landscape. We were at Angelfish Key Island. It seemed almost ironic that this could be the location of my ultimate demise. We had so many interesting times on the island.
Shorty motioned for me to jump into the water. He followed after and marched me ashore.
The tall goon grabbed a shovel and jumped into the surf behind us. We crossed the sandy beach and pushed into the underbrush. I had been on the island enough to know my way around fairly well. We pushed through the high grass, stepping over branches.
A thick blanket of clouds loomed overhead. The rumblings of thunder echoed in the distance. On the horizon, flashes of lightning danced. The tropical depression was out there somewhere pushing bands of moisture our way. The meteorologists had said the storm would miss Coconut Key. But that didn’t mean we wouldn’t get wet.
We stopped in the center of the island at a small clearing. Shorty removed my cuffs.
"Start digging!" he barked.
I glanced around, looking for a piece of soft ground. Might as well make my job easier.
Shorty leaned against a tree.
The tall thug pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He drew one out with his lips, replaced the pack, then lit the cigarette. He took a long drag, and the cherry glowed red. He exhaled a cloud of smoke that hovered in the night air.
The sounds of crickets filled my ears. And the mosquitoes buzzed about. They made a banquet of me.
I dug the tip of the shovel into the earth and jammed it down with my heel. The ground gave way, and I tossed the dirt to the side, making a pile. I took my time about it. I wasn't in any rush to dig my own grave.
"Be quick about it!” Shorty grumbled.
At this point, what was he going to do? Shoot me? Then he’d have to dig the pit himself, and I knew the short little bastard didn't want to do that. I sped up for a moment, then slowed down again.
Shorty swatted at his neck as a mosquito took its fill.
"I think there's some Off in the boat," Shorty said to the tall goon. "Go see if you can find it."
The tall guy gave him a sour look. "The mosquitoes aren’t bothering me."
"Well, they’re bothering me. So go do something about it."
The tall guy didn't like being bossed around.
"Chain of command,” Shorty said. “This is how this works. Fernando tells me what to do. I tell you what to do. That’s how things get done."
"Fernando didn't tell you to tell me to get the Off out of the boat."
Shorty scowled at the man. "Do I have to tell Fernando that you're being an asshole?"
&nb
sp; The tall guy continued giving Shorty dirty looks, then finally said, “Fine. I'll get the bug spray. Think you can handle this man by yourself?"
Shorty's face twisted. "Don't worry about me."
The tall guy marched toward the beach. The glowing cherry of his cigarette disappeared into the darkness.
Shorty turned his scowl back to me. "Hey! Did I say you could take a break. Hurry this shit up!"
I kept digging, trying to think of a plan.
The tall guy returned 15 minutes later empty-handed. "Sorry. There was no bug spray on the boat."
Shorty growled at him. "Did you look below deck?"
"I looked everywhere."
Shorty shook his head in disgust.
I couldn't help but mess with them. "I think I saw a can of bug spray below deck when I was down there."
The tall guy growled, “Nobody asked you."
"Just trying to be helpful," I said.
"Be helpful and dig that fucking grave before it starts to rain," Shorty barked.
It didn't take long for my hands to become red and raw. I was no stranger to hard work, but shoveling dirt without gloves was making my skin angry. I was sure I would have full-on blisters by the time it was all said and done.
Hours later, and I was still only knee-deep. The front had moved in, and thunder rumbled overhead. A light rain sprinkled for a moment, then turned into a torrential downpour. The sky crackled, and thunder boomed so loud it vibrated my body. Water soaked my clothes and my hair. My shirt clung to my skin. The shovel handle grew slick, and the pit began to fill with rainwater.
"You know, I don't think it's a good idea to be out here with a shovel during this lightning. Could attract a strike." I just said it to be annoying.
"It will be fun to watch you fry," Shorty said.
"Are you sure you don't want to give this a shot for a while?" I asked, dryly.
"Nah. You're doing such a good job."
Neither one of them looked happy about being in the middle of nowhere during a monsoon.
38
If you don't like the weather in Florida, just wait around a little while. It will change. The storm was fast and furious. It dumped a shit ton of rain (yes, that's actually a bona fide meteorological term), then passed through, leaving damp air and soggy ground.
