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

by Dustin Stevens

  The glare from the light caused Reed to take another step back, raising his hand to his face as the door wrenched open, a rush of warm air escaping.

  “Can I help you?” an elderly woman asked, suspicion in her voice. Despite the hour, she was already in pajamas and a big, old pink bathrobe, her short grey hair in tight curls around her head.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Chamberlain,” Reed said, moving back a few inches out of the direct light. “Is Deek home?”

  The suspicion in her voice spread to her face as she looked at Reed, peering down her nose at him. “So you’ve been here before?”

  It was at least the 10th time Reed had stood on the front porch, though the first time he had ever been scrutinized so closely. On previous trips Riley had handled the interactions with Mrs. Chamberlain, the two falling into friendly banter before being welcomed inside.

  Apparently, those days were gone, Reed just another potentially nefarious character looking to corrupt her grandson.

  Reaching into his sweatshirt, Reed pulled out his badge, letting it slap against his chest. “Yes ma’am, I’m here on official police business. I need Deek to run some records for me.”

  All concern bled away as she looked from the badge to Reed, a faint smile crossing her lips. There seemed to be no notice of the duffel bag over his shoulder as she stepped aside.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Officer. One can never be too certain these days.”

  “Not a problem, Mrs. Chamberlain,” Reed said, stepping in and heading straight for the doorway on the opposite side of the foyer. “Thank you so much.”

  “That’s quite alright, you just go on down. Derrick is always happy to help!”

  Her voice carried through the door swinging closed behind Reed as he descended a set of wooden stairs, a two foot swath of carpet covering the middle portion, bare blonde pine on the outside. They creaked heavily as he trudged downward, the sound of video games growing louder with each step.

  Reed found the basement a contrast in every way to the upstairs. What had been a scene out of Country Living magazine, filled with light blue and cranberry red, had been replaced by an exaggerated dorm room, the entire basement turned into an enormous den of arrested development.

  One half was a living space with a king-size water bed and kitchenette, both illuminated by neon signs that had once hung on the walls of some nearby tavern. Across from it was a makeshift living area, the centerpiece an 80” television, towering speakers and subwoofers on either side.

  Parked in front of the TV was a single black leather recliner, its occupant extended back as far as the chair would allow. From where he stood, Reed could see only the top of his head, most of it covered with a headset, and a pair of feet silhouetted against a war video game.

  “Damn it, where is my sniper?” a male voice shouted. “Sniper! Where the hell are you?!”

  Reed arched an eyebrow as the main character took one bullet and then another, digital blood spatter shooting into various directions.

  “Get them off my ass!” the voice yelled, a note of fear and desperation present, before a final kill shot struck home, the top of the main character’s head exploding in vibrant color.

  The screen froze as the game was paused, the headphones pulled down over a shock of thick dark hair.

  “Grandma, how many times have I asked you to not come down uninvited while I’m working?”

  “I came down because I’m working,” Reed said, putting a bit of extra bass in his voice for effect.

  The reclined portion of the chair snapped down in response, the man springing to his feet. He turned with a look of pure shock on his face, his jaw hanging open, the chair rocking back and forth between them.

  Derrick Chamberlain was a friend of Riley’s from their time together at Ohio State, an odd-duck pairing of neighbors who somehow became friends, even now 10 years removed. One had gone on to the police academy while the other returned to his grandmother’s basement, content to do just enough cyber sleuthing to pay the bills.

  The rest of his time was spent in a fog of Red Bull and first-person video games, insisting that everyone call him Deek.

  At 6’ tall, he was about the same height as Reed, though the similarities stopped there. Waif thin from an existence of energy drinks and fruit rollups, his boxer shorts and t-shirt hung from his frame, a pair of wool gym socks pulled to mid-calf. His hair rested in a misshapen tangle on his head, and several days of growth dotted the underside of his chin.

  “Detective Mattox,” he said, the words almost a whisper. “Damn, I haven’t seen you in...”

  “A long time,” Reed finished for him. “Too long.”

  “Yeah,” Deek replied. “Didn’t even see you...”

  Reed nodded, breaking eye contact as he glanced at his toes. “I know. I was there, I just couldn’t...”

  An air of awkward silence fell between them a moment, both averting eye contact.

  It was no secret that the two had never been especially close, the connection always coming through Riley. Reed had gone along with it because Riley vouched for Deek, who in turn provided good work. Deek went along with it because Riley told him to.

  Never before had Reed come to him without his partner, hoping the arrangement still stood.

  “Look,” Reed said, shifting his focus back, praying the sincerity he felt was evident in his posture. “I know it’s been a while, and I know we haven’t had the greatest relationship in the past, but I could really use your help right now.”

  The approach seemed to throw Deek off, his jaw rising and falling a few times in silence. “Oh,” he managed after a moment, not moving.

  Seizing the small opening, Reed pushed ahead. “Riley always said you were the best, the guy who enjoyed digging up stuff nobody else could or that others thought they had buried.”

  The situation seemed to resonate a bit with Deek as he thought on it, finally nodding once. “So it’s something big?”

  “You been watching the news at all lately?” Reed asked, still remaining in place, no more than a few feet removed from the stairs.

  “On occasion,” Deek replied. “Grandma always has it on. I hear it when I go upstairs sometimes.”

  “Seen anything about the killer loose in The Bottoms?”

  Deek’s eyes bulged as he looked at Reed, a lump traveling the length of his throat. “Damn. That’s your case?”

  “That’s mine,” Reed confirmed. “And I could really use a hand.”

  Without breaking his gaze, he slid his fist into the duffel bag and extracted the whiskey, pulling it out and wagging it in front of him. “I even brought full payment. No pro bono work. I remember the rules.”

  A crack of a smile showed just a sliver of teeth as Deek looked at the bottle and up at Reed. “You didn’t have to bring that, I would have done this as a favor to Riley. Since you did though, and grandma won’t let me bring it into the house myself...”

  His voice trailed away, letting it be known the token would be accepted and appreciated.

  Reed extended the bottle butt first across the recliner, hanging on to it as Deek grasped the opposite end. “Before you take this, I should probably tell you, I need you to hack into the expunged records of the Columbus Police Department for me.”

  The half-smile grew into a jack-o-lantern grin across Deek’s face. He shook the bottle twice and brought it over to himself, looking down at it but refraining from diving right in.

  “I almost feel bad now. I would have gladly done that job for free.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sitting in a parked car would have been too obvious. On a street as rough as this one, it would have been glaring. Not only was it far too nice to even be in the neighborhood, anybody who owned it would know better than to just leave it on the street, seated behind the wheel or not.

  Instead, the Boat Man opted to leave it parked 10 blocks away at a McDonald’s, covering the remainder of the distance on foot. Sticking to alleyways and the long shadows afforded
by the street lamps throwing down yellow cones of light, he was able to move in virtual invisibility.

  Most people, no matter how secure, tended to feel a bit of fear in the darkness. There was something about the unknown, of never being quite sure what could be lurking just beyond the sightline, that petrified them.

  Society as a whole tended to rely far too much on their eyes for their sense of self. They used it to dictate how they regarded themselves and how they shaped their place in the world around them.

  Two years before, the Boat Man had been one of those people. He had lived in a comfortable home on a comfortable street in a comfortable suburb. He had felt the tingle of fear rise along the nape of his neck whenever he was forced outside that comfort zone, always worried about what he couldn’t see, wondering what might be lurking in the dark.

  Unlike most other people though, he had found out first hand. He had discovered the horrors that could be found in the shadows, had experienced the violence they could produce, far beyond anything he could have imagined.

  The doctors, after the fact, had said he was lucky, that his life had almost been taken. What they didn’t realize was how wrong they were, how every iota of his old life had been stripped away, shattered in an instant.

  In its place was what he had now become, a man who no longer feared the shadows. A person who had made peace with them, felt most at ease in their presence.

  No longer was he afraid of the shadows.

  He was something to be feared in the shadows.

  The Boat Man’s shoes made no sound as he picked his way through the back alleys, coming up on the opposite side of the intersection. Less than 50 yards away, he could see the glow of the diner where he had spent the previous evening, the lights spilling into the darkness, illuminating much of the area.

  His back pressed against the outer wall of an abandoned building that had once been a pawn shop, the Boat man tucked himself behind an overflowing dumpster, his body hidden from view. Bags of rubbish were piled around him, the stench of rotting food filling the air, providing him the perfect cover as he sat and waited.

  Fifteen yards in front of him, Scanson and Duvall Streets intersected, two thoroughfares that 50 years ago had served as the hub for The Bottoms. Now more of a cautionary tale of what had been lost, they were home to dozens of buildings just like the one he now leaned against, a refuge for the poor and destitute.

  On the opposite side of Scanson was a corner schoolhouse, closed down decades before, the windows gone, standing like gaping sores on its façade. The far corner was the diner, the sole survivor of the four, the thin crowd visible through the front window, showing it, too, fought a daily battle for survival.

  The final corner of the intersection was what the Boat Man had come for, the spot he had trained most of his surveillance on the last few months. He knew that it was only a matter of time before his marks arrived, just as they had the night before, just as they did most every night.

  Until then, he only had to sit and wait, alone in the shadows, allowing the city to continue its slide into slumber.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  After an hour of digging, Deek was able to find only a single mention anywhere of the Kings of The Bottoms. It was attached to a complaint from a local business owner who had since closed up shop and moved across town, a citation being the only thing that had come from it.

  The fact that someone had gone to the trouble of having a citation redacted seemed odd to Reed as Deek first read it off, even more so as time passed. It clearly seemed someone was going to extreme lengths to keep the gang off the books, though their motivations for doing so still eluded him.

  More important at the moment, though, was that the citation had yielded the name, William Pryor.

  Using Deek’s computer, they had moved into the general police database, finding Pryor had two previous convictions for assault, both bar fights that had the charges dropped. A bit more digging proved there was nothing else on him.

  The address on file was on the edge of Franklinton, a block or two outside The Bottoms, though on visual inspection, very much in line with its close neighbors. Most of the homes seemed to range from disrepair to condemned, garbage and junk littered the area.

  The situation looked even uglier as Reed rolled to a stop, long shadows cloaking most of the property in darkness. Two automobiles sat on blocks in the driveway, and a sofa rested across the front lawn, all three looking like they had been there a long time.

  “I’m thinking you might join me on this one,” Reed said over his shoulder, shutting the car down as Billie raised herself up onto her front paws. She remained that way, waiting as he clipped on the short lead, both of them making their way up the front walk to the door.

  The porch sagged beneath their weight, paint peeling away from the floorboards. A pair of folding lawn chairs was placed off to the side, a plastic table between them, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts perched on it.

  The scent of cigarette smoke was strong, like someone had just been outside, as Reed raised his fist and smacked it against the screen door. The metal rattled loudly on contact, Reed pausing before pounding once more and stepping back.

  “Yeah, I hear you out there!” a female voice called, annoyance in her tone.

  A moment later the inner door was pulled open. On the opposite side stood a woman in her mid-40s, her hair frizzed out away from her head in a lopsided Afro. She wore spotted sweatpants and a tank-top, a small boy no more than two perched on her hip.

  “What?” she asked, spitting out the word. Reed sensed there was more she wanted to add, most likely, a comment on his skin tone or the fact that he was in the wrong part of town, but she refrained.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” Reed said, holding the badge up from the chain around his neck. “I’m Detective Mattox, I’m looking for a William Pryor.”

  A sour expression crossed her face as she stared at him, her eyes flashing hatred. “What you want with Willie?”

  Again, Reed got the impression there was more she wanted to add, realizing from her repeated glances to the side that her restraint was for the benefit of the child, not respect for his badge.

  “I need to ask him some questions about a crime that has been committed,” Reed said, keeping his answer vague, trying to follow her lead on deferring in front of the child. There was no need to mention the word murder.

  “Willie didn’t do it,” the woman snapped. “He’s been cleaning up his act, got himself a job now.”

  Reed nodded, pretending it wasn’t the same story he had heard 100 times before, all from an angry spouse or parent.

  “Don’t you guys have nothing better to do than be hassling people in the middle of the night like this?”

  Reed knew from the clock on the dash in his car that it was still not even 9:00 in the evening, though her crack was meant more for dramatic effect than accuracy.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to show up so late,” Reed said, forcing his voice to remain even, “but I really need to speak with Mr. Pryor. We don’t believe he has done anything wrong, just that he may have information about something that has happened.”

  The anger retreated a bit from the woman’s features, her gaze flicking to the child and back again. “Information? What kind of information?”

  Taking the cue, Reed paused, selecting his words carefully. “Information from his past that might help us with something occurring presently.”

  He widened his eyes a bit to try and let her know he was insinuating something more, waiting a full moment before a bit of comprehension set in. Her mouth dropped open, and she nodded, drawing in a short breath.

  “Oh, you mean...”

  “I do,” Reed said. “And it’s imperative I speak with him immediately. He might need help.”

  The move was one Riley had been famous for, taking someone’s anger and turn it around on them. Three minutes before, the woman had hated the police, all but tried to come through the door and throw Reed off her
porch. Just by telling her that William wasn’t in trouble and might himself be in danger, her entire tenor had changed.

  Reed only hoped it was enough to extract what he needed from her.

  The woman chewed on the information before finally nodding once. She tilted the top of her head toward the boy on her hip and said, “This is his son, Willie, Jr. For his sake, I’ll tell you. Willie still spends most of his evenings down at the old Mobil station. Don’t do nothing wrong, just him and some friends like to get together and talk.

  “Been doing it for years.”

  Chapter Forty

  Reed thought of leaving the short lead attached to Billie’s collar as he pulled away from the Pryor residence, but decided against it. She was trained to react to the sound of his voice, and he wanted her to have the freedom to rove if need be.

  He wasn’t sure what he would find at the gas station lot, but felt reasonably certain there would be some posturing once he arrived. In his experience, rare was the time when a group of young men didn’t try to hassle an officer at least a little, even when there was no reason to.

  He understood it was all part of the imagery of being affiliated with such a group, but that didn’t mean he had to make it any easier on them.

  Reed knew the way to the gas station even before the woman had told him; it was the same place he had met with McMichaels and Jacobs just a couple days before. The added benefit of the location was that Billie had already searched it, an odd bit of luck that was purely an accident.

  Without any real reason for it, Reed felt his pulse rise as he drove to the location. He knew there was an eatery nearby with a full visual, and that it was still early, though walking up on a group who may or may not have been a gang in recent years left him feeling uneasy.

  The thought of calling for backup occurred to him, dispelled just as fast by the knowledge that showing up with an army would likely only escalate any potential confrontation.