by Weston Ochse
A Vitamin V staggered towards her. Bald. Old. Shriveled.
Please, God, no.
“What you hiding under that dress? Come on. Show me what you’re made of.”
Smiling on the outside, she shook her head slightly. What were the odds that she’d dress up as a man dressing up as a woman and actually be asked to prove it?
He stepped into the shadows next to her. His breath reeked of Vodka. His bloodshot eyes made it clear that he wanted to own her. Before she knew it, he groped her with his left hand, squeezing her breasts painfully.
She smacked his hand away and was about to shove her palm into the base of his nose, making quick work, but she wasn’t ready to lose her disguise just yet.
“What’s this?” He went cross-eyed. “Those are real?”
Lowering her head, she smiled and blinked her fake lashes. “I wish. Implants from the Corpers. You like?”
He stared at her a moment, then shook his head. He pushed her hard enough so she had to take two steps backwards to keep her balance on her three inch heels. “Ruined a good thing is what you did.” He spat at her feet. “You took it too far.”
She imagined piercing his left eye with one of her heels, but instead acted as if his words hurt and shoved out her lower lip. “You don’t like me? You don’t want me?”
The Vitamin V backed away and shook his head. He looked around, wild-eyed, for a moment as if he’d just discovered where he was, then staggered back the way he’d come.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
She straightened her dress and resumed her vigil. The Water Dogs owned the morgue. It was just about the only ship they owned. Otherwise, they slept in slings on the sides of other ships, divvying the wealth of the ocean to the ship owners for their own score of chits.
The thing about the sea was that everything eventually ended up there. Even the bodies. And when they found their way to the water, it was the Water Dogs who took them and recycled them. Everyone knew what happened to the bodies. It wasn’t something people talked about, but they knew. After all, the Water Dogs paid well for the bodies, providing fish futures to the families of the deceased for as long as the body lasted as bait. She’d heard that before the end time they’d planted bodies in the ground. The idea was too ridiculous. What would grow from them? Where was their use? She’d long ago realized that there’d once been a way of life based on waste. The idea of throwing anything away, even a body, was as alien to her as the idea of living on land.
The Water Dog she’d been watching left the hold of the ship and slipped over the side into the water. Now was her chance.
The Morgue Ship was little more than a low-slung pleasure yacht. About twenty meters from stem to stern, the main cabin stood less than a man’s height. Clearly much of the ship was beneath the waterline. The deck was littered with stacks of old clothes and odd items of the deceased. Once every month the Water Dogs held a trade fair, offering what they had for what they needed. As Lopez-Larou approached, she saw a hip pack she’d love to get her hands on.
She glanced left and right, then peered into the rigging of the nearby ships. Seeing no one, she stepped onto the ship, removed both her shoes and tied them to her waist, and then hurried to the door to the cabin. She put her ear to it; hearing nothing, she opened it and slipped inside.
She took a moment to let her eyes adjust. Each side of the cabin had a bank of windows, but they were covered with a mish-mash of cloth that blocked most of the light. Holes in the fabric and inexpertly sewn seams allowed what light she needed. Boxes lined each wall, and a line of tables went down the center of the room. All were occupied except the one right in front of her.
She hurried to the first occupied table and pulled aside the fabric to check the identity. It wasn’t Akamu, but an old Chinese woman. The wrinkles and creases in her sun-hardened face were smooth in death. A slight gray pallor colored her tanned skin. A faint odor emanated from her that was both sweet and awful.
She covered her again and went on to the next one. A young boy, couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Before she knew it, she’d cupped the dead boy’s cheek. She pulled the fabric entirely free, searching for what killed him. His body appeared unmarked, except for bruising along the legs. She felt them and then knew. He’d fallen. The bones beneath the skin had shattered like a sheet of glass. His fall must have been from a great height.
She replaced the fabric, shaking her head. She was about to move to the next body when she heard voices. She stopped cold and spun toward the door. The voices grew louder.
Merde!
She searched frantically for a place to hide. Everything was too damned well-organized. Then she saw her only chance. She ran towards the door as the handle began to turn, and leaped atop the empty table as the door opened. She slammed her head back and pushed her dress down where it’d slid up, wiped sweat from her forehead with her left hand, and—as the door swung wide and washed the interior with light—turned her head, staring dull-eyed and holding her breath. It wasn’t until two people were entering the room that she realized that all of the other bodies were covered in fabric and here she was laid out on the table in all of her wannabe transvestite glory.
Merde!
KAVIKA AND SPIKE entered the gloom of the morgue ship. The smell hit Kavika immediately; sweet and pungent, it wasn’t altogether unpleasant until he reminded himself that it was the smell of death. Then suddenly it became intolerable. He glanced at Spike and saw that she was about as nonplussed as could be. Why shouldn’t she be? After all, she’d grown up aboard this ship, her parents and brother working the morgue, feeding the fishes and paying back the families of the dead.
“You look green.”
“I feel green. Where is he?”
A row of tables ran down the length of the ship’s interior. All were occupied, and all but the first was covered with a length of fabric. The table nearest them held a Hispanic girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty. Her sharp features were pleasant to look at, but he forced himself to turn away, unwilling to disrespect the dead.
“Farther down, I think.” Spike took a step and then made a face. “This isn’t right. She should be covered.”
She turned to look for the fabric that must have fallen to the ground and as she did, the eyes of the dead girl shifted.
Kavika held his breath and stared. Had he really seen that or was it his nerves? He stepped closer to the body. Her dress lay rumpled against her lean body and her feet were bare. Spiked shoes had been tied to her waist. Her dark hair still held a luster as it splayed across the cold stainless steel. He stared at her eyes for a long moment, but they didn’t shift again. Maybe it was her blood settling or something. Still...
“Hold on. Got to get a sheet. Not like my brother to forget something like this.” Spike stepped to a long box on the floor, on the right side of the cabin.
Kavika nodded, but never took his eyes off the dead girl. It was almost imperceptible, but it really seemed as if her chest had moved. Was she breathing? Had someone put a living girl in here, thinking she was dead? He stepped closer to the edge of the table and leaned down until his face was inches from hers, close enough to count the freckles across her nose and see the birthmark at the corner of her left eye. Close enough to smell her. And she smelled good; like a girl.
Then her eyes moved and locked onto his. Anger burned in the dark brown orbs. She grinned, muttered “Merde!” and rolled off the table, coming to her feet on the left side of the cabin.
Kavika jerked back. “Spike!”
Spike spun, holding a length of fabric. “What the—?” Then she turned to look down the length of tables. “She’s after something, Kavika. Hold her!”
Kavika stepped between the door and the young woman. “Who are you?”
“Get out of my way, Maricone.”
“Los Tiburones?” Spike said softly, but loud enough to be heard.
The Spanish girl’s eyes flashed.
“She’s a Shark, Kav
ika. She’s a drug runner.”
The girl shook her head. “I don’t run product. I distribute.”
“Then who?” Her eyes went wide. “Akamu?”
“No way.” Kavika straightened. “No Pali Boy would do such a thing.”
The girl snorted. “You Pali Boys. You all think you’re special. When it comes down to starving and feeding your family, you’re no different than anyone else.”
Kavika moved towards her. “That’s not right. We’re not like—”
Before he could explain, she feinted left, then dodged right, hitting the table and leaping over it. She slipped towards the door, but Spike moved faster than she anticipated. Long nails scraped the side of her neck, eliciting a scream.
“Chito! Where are you? Hurry! Come!”
The girl opened the door, but Kavika had managed to recover enough to reach out and grab a length of her dress. He jerked her back, the door slamming shut.
“Hold it,” he snapped. “Who are you?”
She swung a fist and caught him in the side of his head. It stung, but he held on. She hit him two more times before she realized it wasn’t going to do much good, then she reached to her front and tore the dress down the middle. Her small breasts swung free; sharks had been tattooed on her chest and stomach, but he barely noticed them.
“Kavika!”
His gaze snapped away just as her foot slammed into his midsection. He staggered back and gasped for air. He’d been trying to help until now, but the girl clearly didn’t want any assistance from him. He growled and felt his blood rise like it rarely had before.
She saw the change in him and backed away, turning and confronting Spike, who had grabbed a length of wood. Spike swung it expertly, eviscerating the air in a complex geometry.
Just then the door opened.
Everyone turned for a moment to take in the surprised look on the face of the young Water Dog, still dripping from his recent swim in the sea. Spike’s brother Chito took in the scene with narrowing eyes.
That moment was enough.
The girl pushed Spike hard, then rammed her head into the young man’s midsection. His air left him with a woof, and she was out the door.
Kavika was the first to move and followed her. But as fast and agile as he was, she was faster. She was across and onto the nearest ship by the time he was out the door.
Chito and Spike cried out in their native Filipino. Suddenly, Water Dogs began to pull themselves from the water onto the ship. They gathered themselves, dripping, searching.
But the living dead girl was damned fast.
Kavika chased her for a moment, leaping across deck rails and running through living areas. He’d never been too good at traveling on the surface because of the sheer number of people and their closeness. He glanced at the rigging and noticed a few Pali Boys following him. He’d never get there in time. He could ask the Pali Boys to give him a hand, but he doubted they’d help him. After all, Kaja had given the task to him.
Kavika slowed and stared across the decks. There was no sign of her.
He trudged back to the Morgue Ship. Spike was chattering with Chito and half a dozen Water Dogs. When she saw him and realized he didn’t have the girl with him, she shook her head and cursed. He watched as the Water Dogs looked at him. As one, they turned away and shook their heads.
Then a Water Dog leaped out of the sea and said something that got everyone excited.
Spike turned, all smiles. “They trapped her in a net on one of the subs. Come on, Romeo. Let’s go.”
“Romeo?” he asked, rushing after her and her brother. The rest of the Water Dogs dove into the ocean.
“I saw the way you were looking at her.”
“I wasn’t looking at her, I was...”
“Breasts. They were breasts. Everyone has them.”
As Kavika ran, he grinned to himself. Sure everyone had them. But he kind of liked the ones the living dead girl had.
Spike saw his grin and tried to push him; he avoided her and ran ahead.
She cursed behind him, tore off her pumps, and was soon running beside him.
He kept his grin going as he leaped into the rigging. Soon he was soaring above the city, swinging from antenna mast to chimney.
CHAPTER FIVE
KAVIKA MOVED FAST, just on the edge of control, while the other Pali Boys held back. Most of them were faster than he was, but Kaja must have gotten the word out, so they let him have the lead. That was just fine with him. He didn’t need anyone getting in his way.
A hundred feet below he saw Spike moving quickly over the decks, sliding over rails and avoiding the guards who’d been put in place to keep cross-boat traffic to a minimum. As a Water Dog, she probably could have moved faster beneath the water, but the state of her dress and make up were always a big deal to her; in fact, they were who she was.
They had to skirt the Freedom Ship. No lines and no rigging ran to or from it. The Jap Corpers wouldn’t allow it. In fact, other than two gangways, no other ships were allowed to anchor to it. They claimed it was for everyone’s safety, but the people of the city knew it was because the Corpers were afraid of their unwashed neighbors. They didn’t want their corporate lifestyle sullied by the ghetto of the ships. But that was okay. All the ships had been tied off at the anchor line, run there and constantly monitored by Water Dogs.
So what was left was a big lagoon. Donnie Wu called it a moat and had explained about castles and protection against attack. Kavika had initially laughed at his uncle’s comment, but the older he became and the more he learned, the more he began to believe in its accuracy.
Kavika swung down the rigging and onto the deck of a Chinese fishing boat that floated on the edge of the lagoon. Fishing lines stitched the water from the rails of the sixty foot yacht. The water was sludgy and laced with iridescent whirlpools. A wizened crone pulled a shad from the water and slapped it against the deck, knocking it out. She added it to a pile of sickly-looking fish, probably bound for a pot or to be reduced to fish paste. She glanced at the Pali Boy and grinned a single-toothed smile. Kavika returned the greeting, but bit back a comment. These were the kind of people bringing Minimata Disease to the rest of the city, but where else were they to fish? How else would they get their food? It was ironic that in the shadow of opulence, they had to eat mercury-riddled fish and play the Minimata lottery. The same lottery his sister had played and lost.
A slim Chinese youth carrying a gaff blocked Kavika’s way. He wore black pants and had a tattoo of a Chinese Earth Dragon curving around his torso. He wore his hair long and wild.
Kavika tried to dodge to the left.
The youth swung the gaff hard, in a short arc that just missed Kavika’s ear.
Kavika’s anger flared. The youth swung again, but this time Kavika caught the gaff on the descent, redirecting it into the deck. The hook sunk into the wood and caught. Before the youth could jerk it free, Kavika caught him in the elbow with a palm slap. The gaff fell free as the nerves in the boy’s arm deadened, and Kavika kicked the side of the youth’s left knee, sending him to the deck in a sickening crunch.
Kavika felt his nostrils flaring, but he allowed the fallen boy mercy. He stepped over him, leapt onto the rail, and went on his way. He almost slipped into the water when he hit a deck covered in fish scales, but at the last minute he was able to keep his balance by bending his knees and going into a slide. When he hit the opposite deck rail, he propelled himself up and over, with a half flip that left him able to continue running.
A few moments later he was running across the flat deck of a barge, dodging lines of clothes from those who used the wide open space as a fresh air laundry. On the other side rested the old Soviet Alpha-class submarine. It was there that Kavika drew himself to a stop.
Four Vitamin Vs stood on the deck of the submarine, each holding a corner of a net. Ivanov waved from atop the wide metal mast, pointing towards the undulating net on the deck. Beneath the net, caught like a fly beneath a swatter, was the
living dead girl. She cursed and spat, more like a Freedom Ship bilge rat than a living dead girl.
Ivanov put his hands to the side of his mouth and yelled, “Is this what you were after?”
“I was chasing her,” Kavika called back. He ran down an edge, then leaped aboard the submarine. The submarine’s mast was a good four meters above the deck.
“Finders keepers,” said Egor. Kavika knew him from the snake tattooed around his bald, tanned skull.
The way his eyes flashed, Kavika had no doubt what Egor would do to the girl once he and his companions got her belowdecks. Normally the Pali Boy wouldn’t care, but he felt his own heat rise as he watched the undulations of the girl, her brown skin beneath the grid-patterned net.
“She’s mine,” he heard himself say.
“What? Little Pali shit,” Egor growled.
“A little Pali Boy doesn’t order us around,” said one of the men, who had arms as big around as Wu. His skin was covered with tattoos of the before time. White hairs coiled like wire, against skin baked to a nut brown.
“She has something of mine,” Kavika said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He didn’t know if she’d taken anything or not... that is, if she had a hiding place he couldn’t see. Considering he could see virtually every part of her body, he knew he was reaching, but what the hell.
“Scat, boy,” said a third Russian. “You don’t want to get hurt over this little shark.” Hunched, thin and mean, the man strained at his section of rope, but kept a hungry leer working beneath a hooked nose.
Kavika leaned back to see if Ivanov was watching, but the old man was no longer at the mast. He’d probably gone below. Not that it mattered. What did matter was that Kavika had to talk to the girl first. She was one of their few leads, and if he was going to be able to get back with the Pali Boys, he had to solve the mystery of Akamu’s death. And looking at this band of rapists and criminals, Kavika knew that if the girl was taken below, she’d never be seen again.
“Listen,” he began, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
