Deep Down Dead

by Steph Broadribb

  Boyd took a step forward. ‘We had a few problems I had to—’

  Emerson held up his hand. ‘Don’t need details, bring them here.’

  Boyd pointed the Glock at me. ‘You heard Mr Emerson. Move.’

  We walked forward, slow and steady. I kept one hand on Dakota, my other arm still wrapped around JT. As we moved, I scanned the layout. Noticed the short wooden jetty to the right of the shack and the white speedboat moored there. Guessed it was Emerson’s ride.

  Four yards short of Emerson, Boyd stopped us. ‘That’s far enough.’

  Emerson looked at JT, then me. He had a hard, unblinking stare that made my skin crawl. ‘You and your friend Scott have caused a hell of a lot of trouble. You’ve messed with my business. Lost me money.’

  I said nothing. Felt JT’s body tense beneath my grip and knew he was doing all he could to contain his rage. In my peripheral vision I noted the steep slope into the water to our left, checked the routes between us, the water, the jetty and the boat. Calculated the distances.

  Emerson took off his glasses and inspected the lenses. He took a tissue from his pocket and polished them in a smooth, circular motion. ‘I don’t like to lose money.’

  ‘You’re fucking sick,’ JT said.

  Emerson shook his head. ‘Who’s to say what is sick and what isn’t?’

  JT hobbled forward. ‘That’s a bullshit question and you—’

  ‘Don’t.’ Boyd raised his gun.

  Emerson laughed. ‘He’s right. It is bullshit.’ The smile vanished, his expression got real serious. ‘You know how long I’ve owned DreamWorld Inc.? Thirty-two years. I built it from nothing save the land my daddy’s crop farm stood on. It was a joyful time, the day I concreted right over the soil that old bastard had loved so much.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘You know, he told me I’d never amount to anything. I proved him wrong.’

  I stayed silent, kept my own expression neutral. Wondered if I could take him down before Boyd got a shot off. Figured I couldn’t, not yet. So I held Emerson’s gaze and said, ‘Doesn’t make what you do anything close to right.’

  He put his glasses back on. ‘Maybe not, but it makes me powerful friends and a lot of money.’

  The implication of his words hit me. He really didn’t give a damn about those he hurt. ‘It’s disgusting. How can you—?’

  ‘Because he’s one of them,’ JT said, his voice raspy with anger. ‘He’s been careful, real careful, but if you dig deep enough there’s stuff to be found. He likes teenagers. Sweet sixteens, and younger. He regularly uses aliases to bid in the online virginity auctions.’

  Emerson put his hands up. ‘Very good, Mr Tate, you got me. But really all I’m doing here is meeting a need, providing a product. My clients come to me because I have a reputation for being discreet; they trust me, and I offer them a unique service in a unique location, with unmatchable choice. Demand is high. But trust is a fragile thing; the slightest hint that my security’s been compromised, and it’s over. I can’t let that happen.’ He looked almost sad. ‘That’s why I had Boyd bring you here. I have to eliminate the risk. You understand.’

  Sure, I understood just fine. We were too great a threat; he’d got no choice but to end us. And what better place to disappear a few bodies than a gator feeding station.

  That’s when he turned his attention to Dakota. He smiled at her. ‘Well, hello sweetheart, what’s your name?’

  She shrunk closer to me. ‘Momma says I can’t talk to strangers.’

  ‘Why, I’m no stranger, I’m a friend of your momma’s.’ Emerson beckoned her to him. ‘You come over here, let me get a proper look at you.’

  I felt my adrenaline spike. I couldn’t let that vile man touch my baby. I gripped her shoulder tighter. ‘No, sweetie, he can’t tell you—’

  Boyd swung his gun towards me, but not fast enough. I dodged sideways, out of reach, shielding Dakota with my body. JT tried to follow, stumbled.

  I reached out. ‘JT…’

  Boyd lunged for him. JT tried to duck away, too slow. Boyd slammed the gun into the side of his skull, metal on bone. JT’s knees buckled. He was out cold before he hit the floor.

  I stared at him: slumped on the ground, blood oozing from a wound above his temple, dripping down his jaw and on to the dirt.

  Dakota hadn’t moved. She was crying. ‘Is he…’

  I shook my head. ‘No, sweetie, really, the cut’s not so bad.’ Told myself he was still breathing at least.

  She looked at me. ‘Will he be okay?’

  I nodded. Sure hoped so.

  With his gun trained on the centre of my chest, Boyd grabbed Dakota and pushed her towards Emerson. As I watched her step across the baked earth I felt my heartbeat pounding harder in my chest. I swallowed hard, trying to rid my mouth of the taste of bile.

  Emerson smiled as he knelt beside Dakota. ‘Nice to meet you, sweetheart. What’s your name?’

  She looked up at him, frowning uncertainly. ‘Dakota. I’m nine.’

  ‘Nine. Is that so?’ He took hold of her arm, coaxing her closer.

  Dakota writhed against him, trying to pull away. ‘I want to go home.’

  Boyd kept the Glock pointed right at me.

  I imagined my fist slamming into the side of Emerson’s face, knocking those round glasses from his nose and feeling his cheekbone crack beneath my hand. ‘Get the hell off her. She’s nothing to do with this. It’s me and JT you wanted. Not her.’

  Emerson didn’t look at me. Kept his attention on Dakota. ‘Sweetheart, you must be mighty hot in that jacket?’

  She eyed him warily. Nodded.

  ‘It’s all right.’ He let go of her arm. ‘You go ahead and take it off.’

  ‘Okay.’ Dakota wriggled out of the life preserver and gave it to Emerson. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ He turned, gestured to Boyd. ‘We have business to attend to; it’s not right for the child to bear witness.’

  Maybe I should have felt relief, but I didn’t. I wanted Dakota to stay right where I could see her.

  Boyd nodded. ‘Where do you want her?’

  ‘Put her on the boat.’

  The boat was small, but it looked fast. If Emerson took Dakota away in that, I’d have no way to give chase. I’d have failed her, again.

  I stepped towards Boyd. ‘Don’t, please.’

  But he walked away, pulling Dakota to the jetty.

  Emerson reached behind his back and pulled a silver Sig Sauer 1911 from his waistband. Light from the fading sun glinted off the barrel. He aimed it at me.

  I could hear Dakota crying, pleading with Boyd to let her stay with me. It felt like my heart might snap clear in two. I took a pace towards Emerson. ‘Let her go.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Ms Anderson. She’s coming with me.’

  Glancing across to the jetty, I saw that Boyd had lifted Dakota on to the boat. She was crying, struggling to get free.

  Emerson called to Boyd. ‘Put her in the front. Use the padlock.’

  Boyd nodded. Dakota turned one last time to look at me. I held her gaze, blinking as my vision blurred with tears. A moment later Boyd pushed her below deck and she disappeared.

  Boyd climbed off the boat alone.

  I glanced back at JT. He was still out cold. I thought about what he’d said before about how my emotional attachments affected my ability. He was right, all I could think about was Dakota, her fear and her courage. But as I stood there, waiting for whatever fresh hell Emerson had planned, I felt another emotion surging through my body: rage.

  I assessed the distances: thirteen strides would take me to Emerson, eight more and I’d reach Dakota. Emerson didn’t look physically strong. I was pretty sure I could disarm him: a fast jab to the kidneys, one to the stomach, then hook a leg and he’d be down. Problem was, Boyd would shoot me before I got the chance.

  I needed a better plan.

  Boyd was loitering over by the jetty, checking his watch. He’d gotten that twitchy look abo
ut him again. He shouted to Emerson, ‘So we done? You wanted them, I got them. But if you want me to end Tate here, there’s some negotiating to be done.’

  Emerson shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Boyd walked back towards us. His expression was smug, his tone real cocksure. ‘I’ve got a better offer for him, a seriously higher offer, so I figured we could have a chat, work out a better deal. You raise your—’

  ‘You’ve worked for me a while, haven’t you?’ Emerson’s voice was calm, his tone soft. But his body language didn’t match.

  Boyd spotted it too. He stopped, frowned. ‘Near on four years. I know everything about your business.’

  ‘True.’ Emerson’s expression was neutral, impossible to read. He kept the Sig Sauer pointed at me, but it was Boyd he was watching. ‘And haven’t I done good by you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Their attention was on each other, not me. On the ground behind Emerson, I saw JT open his eyes, conscious again. I held his gaze a moment, and started to inch towards the jetty, real slow.

  ‘So why play me?’ said Emerson. ‘Why get into bed with those boys from Miami, making deals that aren’t yours to make?’

  Boyd backed away. ‘The price on Tate’s head, it’s—’

  ‘I value loyalty, you know that.’ Emerson shook his head, disappointed.

  Boyd raised his gun. Too slow. Emerson swung his from me to Boyd. Fired two shots to the heart, one to the head. Boyd’s finger snatched at the Glock’s trigger, but his shots went wide and low, ripping holes along the jetty and taking huge chunks out of the hull of Emerson’s boat. Boyd was dead before his body hit the dirt.

  I heard Dakota scream. The boat was taking on water fast.

  Emerson was staring at Boyd’s body. Distracted, just for a moment. It was the only chance I might get.

  I sprinted towards the boat.

  ‘Lori!’ JT shouted.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the Sig Sauer aimed at me, and JT lunging for Emerson. The gun fired. I heard the zip of the suppressed gunshot. I hit the ground face down; tasted dirt, grainy on my tongue. Looked back. Saw Emerson kick JT hard in the belly – once, twice, again.

  I crawled forward, scrabbling to get to the jetty. Twelve paces and I’d have gotten to the boat. I didn’t make one.

  A weight in the centre of my back pinned me down. Square and hard, like the heel of a boot. Wasn’t no point in moving, Emerson still had the Sig Sauer; at that range he could blow a hole right through me before I took another breath.

  I glanced at the boat. The nearside of the craft had sunk a foot or so lower in the water. Dakota was banging, yelling for me. If I didn’t get there soon my baby would drown.

  The pressure lifted from my back. ‘Roll over. Slowly.’

  I did as Emerson said. Kept my eyes low, saw his dark-tan cowboy boots: hand-tooled scrollwork, blue stitching and silver toecaps. Far too clean to be a real man’s boots.

  ‘Give me the device.’

  I ignored him. I needed him to lose the gun and get a whole lot closer if I was going to have any chance of getting us out of this.

  He leant down. Flicked up my singlet with the barrel of the gun then traced it along my belly and between my breasts. The metal was hot against my skin. I forced myself not to flinch away. Stared up into his eyes, unblinking.

  Emerson looked me up and down like a filly in a sale. ‘If you don’t give it up, I’m going to take it. Trust me, you won’t like it if I do.’

  I said nothing. Needed him just a little closer. Tensed my right leg, ready to knee him.

  But I’d revealed my hand too soon.

  He shook his head. Slid the gun an inch to the right and jabbed it hard between my third and fourth rib. ‘Too slow, darlin’.’

  I felt pain, real intense. Twisting on to my side I retched, spitting up on to the dirt. I aimed for his boots, got the gleaming toecap of the left.

  ‘Bitch.’ He launched himself on to me.

  As his weight hit me I rolled, taking him with me towards the water. Four more yards and we’d be at the edge. Briefly on top of him, I managed a soft punch, knocking his glasses sideways.

  That was all I got.

  I’d underestimated him. Wiry frame or no, he had some skills. He jabbed me in the ribs, right in the spot where the gun barrel had done its damage. Winding me. As I gasped for air, we rolled again, over a bunch of rocks, closer to the water.

  We stopped, Emerson on top.

  He grabbed my wrists, yanking them high above my head with one hand. ‘I told you not to make me take it.’

  I tried to twist away. Over to my left something in the water, something gnarled and long. There was more than one, a lot more.

  We were two feet from the water. I spied rocks all around. Across the jetty, Dakota was still banging on the side of the boat. Time was running out.

  ‘Inner jacket pocket, left side,’ I spat.

  Emerson shoved the Sig Sauer into its holster and thrust his hand into my pocket, ripping at the lining to yank the device free. I let him. Lay there, passive. Waiting. He didn’t seem to notice. All his attention was on getting the hard drive.

  He looked at the silver device and grinned. ‘Is this it? Did you make copies?’

  I shook my head.

  He relaxed his grip around my wrists. ‘You sure, I—’

  Wrenching my right hand free, I grabbed a large rock and swung it at his head. He shied away. Not fast enough. I smashed the rock into the bridge of his nose. He pitched sideways, snorting blood.

  Let go of the device.

  It flew towards the water. Dropped beneath the glassy surface with a splash.

  Across the water, just visible a fraction above the surface, the gnarled old shapes began to move.

  49

  I didn’t pause, didn’t weigh up the pros and cons, didn’t think on the consequences. Every piece of me ached, but there wasn’t time to worry about that. Dakota had stopped banging inside the boat. That could not be good.

  Mustering the energy I had left, I scrambled to my feet. Feeling wobbly and lightheaded I lurched towards the boat.

  ‘Where you going?’ Emerson’s voice sounded thicker, more nasal.

  I turned. He was facing me, blood still pouring from his nose. Gun in hand.

  A yard away lay Boyd’s body. Tucked in his belt was my Wesson Commander Classic Bobtail. I knew what I had to do.

  As Emerson fired the Sig Sauer I threw myself down beside Boyd. Bullets zipped into the dirt wide of me.

  I grabbed my gun. Slid my hand around the familiar wooden grip. Told myself this time was different; I’d be shooting to save a life.

  Swinging back around, I pulled the trigger. The kick of the gun felt just as I remembered. The bullets hit him in the shoulder. Emerson fell backwards, disappearing into the water.

  Moments later he spluttered to the surface, arms flailing, drenched in swamp water and green algae.

  He coughed, fighting the water and the weight of his own clothing. A little ways past him, maybe six shapes – four-footers and bigger – were all heading for him.

  Panicked, he clawed wildly towards the bank, those bony fingers of his scraping at the sludgy earth, failing to get a firm grip. He dipped below the surface, bobbed back up, spitting water. ‘Pull me out. Please.’

  I heard, but I didn’t answer. Instead I turned and sprinted towards the boat.

  Emerson screamed as that first gator bit down on him. When I glanced back he was gone, pulled beneath the surface, thrashing against the gator. But fighting wouldn’t do no good, once a gator has you in its jaws the chance of you breaking away from the death roll are slim to zero. I caught sight of an arm, a tail, then both creatures disappeared. The water lay still; an uneasy calm.

  Seconds later, the water coloured crimson. I didn’t feel sorry.

  I raced up the jetty. The nearside of Emerson’s boat had sunk further into the water and the back end seemed to be rising higher every second. It was going down
, nose first.

  Legs weak, uncoordinated, I stumbled twice as I sprinted the last few yards and leapt on board. Holding tight to the handrail, I waded through the water flooding the cockpit. Up front, there was no cabin to speak of, just a cupboard to the left of the controls. The door was padlocked.

  The boat was tipping at a crazy angle. Muddy water swirled around my calves. I grabbed the lock, tugged hard. No luck.

  I scanned the cockpit, looking for a key. Banged on the door. ‘Dakota?’

  Nothing.

  The water kept rising. Among the algae that surrounded the boat, pairs of yellow eyes were watching. If the boat listed another foot lower to the right, the water would rise over the side and the gators could crawl on board.

  My foot slipped, I fell back, grabbed the wheel, just stayed upright. ‘Dakota, can you hear me?’

  I heard a bang against the other side of the door. Dakota’s voice: ‘Momma?’

  ‘Baby. I’m gonna get you out. Get as far to the left as you can.’

  I aimed the Wesson at the padlock, hands shaking. Couldn’t keep the gun steady. Felt the panic. What if I shot wide, hit Dakota? Remembered my mentor’s words: Breathe in, fire as you breathe out.

  Pulled the trigger.

  Direct hit. The padlock was gone, the wood of the door splintered open. I dropped the gun. Yanked the door open.

  At first, all I could see was water. The cupboard was dark, just a foot of breathing space above the waterline. A splash to my left. ‘Dakota?’

  ‘Momma?’ She was huddled against the far side of the hull, fingers curled tight around a rope hanging from the ceiling. Her face inches above the water.

  I reached into the small space, pulled her to me. ‘I’m here, you’re safe.’

  She clung tight, arms and legs wrapped around me like a limpet, sobbing. I waded back through the cockpit.

  But as I made to haul us out of the boat, I halted. Two massive gators had crawled out of the water on to the jetty, blocking our path. Beneath us, the boat creaked and groaned, tipping further to the right. Another inch and the water would pour in over the side.