Blood Ocean

by Weston Ochse

  And now?

  Now?

  Now he was the caretaker of a submarine attached to a floating city in the middle of nowhere. One at a time, the missiles had ceased to function until he had less than a handful with any chance at operational probability left. His reactor was at less than thirty per cent efficiency. His men had dispersed to fuck and suck the Asian men and women who called this extended scow home. And he was left with the ball of twine that was his friendships, partnerships, contracts, loves, likes, hatreds and responsibilities. He couldn’t touch one without touching another. He couldn’t unwind it without unveiling what he’d had to do to survive. What had began as a glorious appointment on the docks of Vladivostok, twenty-nine years ago had liquefied into the role of Japanese fuck-puppet as he prostrated himself for the Nip bastards to inject him with their desires and crazy machinations as they positioned themselves to be the next rulers of the universe in this sad, ruined world, which had once held the promise of unlimited caviar eaten from the velvet pudendums of Ukrainian virgins.

  “Fuck!”

  He swept the table clear; glass shattered and vodka dribbled down the walls.

  A burly man with a snake tattooed on his bald head rushed to the doorway. “Okay, boss?”

  “Egor, get me another bottle.”

  “Yes, boss. Want me to clean up?”

  “Nyet! Leave it.”

  Victor stewed in his misery for five minutes as his bottle was replaced. He unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. It burned, but not enough; it had been a decade since he’d been able to lose himself in the booze. One thing about vodka was that one could become adept at drinking it. You could become a professional. Just as the capitalist West had had professionals who played golf, badminton and lacrosse, and the East had had professionals who played ping pong and poker, Russia had experts in the consumption of vodka. Thankfully, the ability to make the vile substance was something learned by every young man and woman before they reached the age of maturity. In the old country, everyone drank it. Victor remembered sitting on his grandmother’s lap in front of a roaring fire, his grandfather telling stories about wolves and snow, and deliveries made late or not at all. His grandmother would sip her glass and raise it to his lips. He still remembered the first acidic slide of the white liquor into his gut, and the nuclear explosion that consumed his inner core afterwards. In the deep cold of the old country, the fire did a little to warm the soul. That was one reason the old Soviet Union had made certain its people had bread and vodka, the two ingredients of a satisfied life.

  A knock came at his doorway.

  “Captain, it’s Mr. Nakihama.”

  Victor started and turned to Valeri. He must have slipped into a half-sleep. “What? He’s here?”

  “No, in the coms center.”

  “Oh.” His vision sharpened. “I’ll be there. Tell him.”

  Valeri nodded and left.

  Victor stood. His feet balanced themselves somewhere, a thousand feet below his head. He strangled the bottle in one hand, and dragged it with him as he ricocheted down the galley.

  In the coms center he found a seat and fell into it. Valeri was there. He pressed a button and a small black and white screen filled with the wide face of a Japanese man.

  The man began to speak. Like always, he had something to say, which meant that Victor had something to do.

  God, how he hated to be alive.

  He felt himself nodding as the Nip brought him to heel.

  Then like a good dog, he smiled. If he’d had a tail, he’d have wagged it. If he’d had a pistol, he’d have stuck it in his mouth.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE KNOWLEDGE BURNED in her head, catching everything it touched on fire. She hadn’t many friends; she’d never had a mother; she’d never had any brothers and sisters. She’d scraped and clawed and begged until she’d gained the attention of La Jolla. The old kingpin had taken her under his wing and become more like her father than her real father. He’d called her daughter. He’d taught her the business. He’d taught her how to read people, how to survive. He’d also taught her to trust no one. She’d never thought to have any friends, happy to climb the ladder until one day she, too, would be kingpin and raise up a waif like he’d done, plucked from the gutter, her stomach so thin two hands could be wrapped around her waist.

  That is, until the night she’d fought and befriended Spike. Kavika had come later, and although she’d always consider Spike to be a closer friend, the broken and beaten Pali Boy’s sullen vision of the universe had made her wonder if that wasn’t what her real brothers were like. It wasn’t just him, but what he represented: a life not lived and a brother not known.

  As she neared the Hawaiians’ ship, the activity above her increased. She’d long ago stopped noticing the Pali Boys leaping from cable to cable. She might just as well watch the clouds, or the birds; what they did had nothing to do with her.

  But she began to glance skyward now, because there was one she was searching for. A Pali Boy with a tattooed line running from chin to navel. She knew who it was. She probably wouldn’t have to look far. Still, she kept her eyes open.

  Her presence aboard affiliated ships normally caused some sort of disturbance. Los Tiburones were as universally known as Pali Boys or Water Dogs. Where she went, drugs followed. Her footsteps were filled with the full spectrum of emotions as she catered to the needs of the lives adrift in the floating city. Yet no matter how well she served, the affiliated saw the opportunity to tax her. Moving aboard or through one of their ships cost, which was why she used runners. The easier and cheaper she could get product to its destination, the higher her profit margin.

  She’d had this crazy idea running through her head since she’d seen Kavika yesterday. She could end his miserable existence by slipping him something swift and powerful. She could end his misery and walk away and no one would be the wiser. Or she could do something else. She knew enough to do do just about anything with the right ingredients. She might even be able to save his sorry Pali Boy ass.

  She was a ship’s length from the Hawaiian Legacy when she spied him. Other Pali Boys orbited him like he was the center of a brown-skinned typhoon. He barely even moved. She saw him watching her. If he knew that she realized she’d been seen, he didn’t make any indication. Then again, he probably didn’t care. He was a Pali Boy. His version of the world was from the perspective of a child with an unbreakable toy.

  So like them.

  She made it perhaps ten meters closer before he swung down with one of his boys to intercept her.

  She barely glanced at the tattoo, watching instead his hands and eyes. He was at ease. He didn’t register his followers. Instead, all his attention was on her. She gave him points. La Jolla had had that ability as well.

  “You circling, shark?”

  “Always.”

  “Who you trying to bite?”

  “Maybe it’s you.”

  “You think you can bite me?”

  “Maybe I already have.”

  He snorted and glanced at the other Pali Boy. That glance was enough to give him away, to show her his nervousness. She changed her mind. La Jolla never would have shown his unease.

  “Serious, now. No selling on the Legacy.”

  “Why should I bother to sell when you got the market cornered?”

  “What’d she say?” asked the other Pali Boy, confusion coloring his face.

  “Talking out her ass. Scamper back up. I’ll be there in a moment.” The tattooed Pali Boy gave her a long look. He held his hands down at his side, but his fingers flexed and unflexed to bleed off energy. “Name’s Kaja.”

  “Lopez-Larou.” She didn’t offer her hand. “You took something of mine.”

  He still smiled, and almost hid the tension behind it. “What if I was to say that I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  “Then I’d say you need to check yourself, because you’re not fooling anyone.”

  He stared at her for a lon
g moment, then nodded. He walked to the nearest rail with only the barest glance at the sky. When he stopped, he leaned against it and stared at the Water Dogs harvesting barnacles far below.

  Lopez-Larou followed, and carefully slid in beside him. She placed her hands over the edge of the rail, aware of the stiletto she had hidden in the sleeve of her sharkskin top.

  “How do I know it was yours?”

  “It was. We both know.”

  “You arranged for one of my boys to take it across.”

  “That was between him and me.”

  “What’d you give him?”

  “Enough chit to feed his family for a month.”

  Kaja nodded. “That’ll do it.”

  “What’d you get for it?”

  “An arrangement. The Taos promised not to come aboard our ship for awhile.” He shrugged. “They make everyone nervous.”

  “Really? Is that all you got for the stash?”

  “What? Don’t you think it was worth it?”

  “To keep the orange-robed monkey worshippers from your ship? Hardly. They’re just a nuisance, is all.”

  “It is what it is.”

  Lopez-Larou snorted.

  “What?”

  “You’re treating the symptoms, not the cause.”

  Kaja grinned at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay, then tell me. What are people more afraid of; the orange robes, or the monkey that comes with them?”

  “But you can’t have one without the other.”

  “Spoken like someone who stares at the world through a hundred-foot lens.”

  “Mother Pele! Talking to you is like talking to a fortune cookie.”

  “You spend your days swinging away above the city and from that distance everything seems just fine. You can’t see the misery. You can’t see the fear. All you see is people moving far, far beneath you.”

  “I’m getting out of here.” He put a foot on the rail and was ready to push off.

  “You leave and I’ll spread the word far and wide that the Pali Boys are running drugs for Los Tiburones. You won’t ever be able to swing onto another ship again without paying chit.”

  Kaja stepped back down from the rail and glared at her.

  Lopez-Larou grinned with delight. “I know. You hate me. I’m like an itch you can’t scratch.”

  “Oh, I can scratch you.”

  Her grin remained behind sizzling eyes. “Try it.”

  Kaja stared at the Water Dogs for two minutes before he spoke again. He didn’t look at her, but she knew she was so far under his skin that he didn’t have to. “How can I make restitution?”

  “Kavika.”

  That snapped his head around. “Him? What about him?”

  “Do you know what happened?” she asked.

  “I do. Unfortunate. He was never really very lucky.”

  “We need to see if we can free him from the monkey.”

  Kaja stared at her for a second, then laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I couldn’t be more serious.”

  “Even if I could, why would I want to? He’s been chosen because of his blood. He’s working on a cure for Minimata.”

  “He’s been chosen for his blood, all right. But listen to me closely when I say that Minimata has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  “Now look who’s crazy. Why else do you think the Japs strap monkeys to people’s backs?”

  “Here’s what I know. I know what sells aboard the city. I know what different people want and need and would trade their nearest loved one for. I know and keep secrets like I’m a priest. And what I also know, based on the chemistry I’ve learned, is that in the post-plague world it’s pretty rare for so many white-skinned people to be around without something keeping them alive.”

  “I—I don’t understand. Are you saying that there’s a cure for the plague?”

  “Not a cure. But there is a treatment. A treatment in blood.”

  “This makes no sense at all. People wouldn’t allow it.”

  “What people wouldn’t allow it? Are you serious? Whose people are you talking about? Are there people strong enough to take on the Boxers or the Corper Nips aboard the Freedom Ship? I know that Spike and Kavika went there, but where were you when it happened?”

  “Watching,” Kaja said softly.

  She couldn’t help it. She smacked him across the face. He didn’t flinch. “Maybe you should walk the decks sometime,” she snarled. “See what’s really going on. Maybe you should get close enough to see the misery. Maybe then you’d pay attention and see, and stop being a victim.”

  Kaja’s eyes looked lost. His mouth hung open and his face sagged. It was too much to take in. Still, he somehow managed to ask, “What’s your plan?”

  “I don’t have one. I was hoping that between you and Leilani, we could all figure something out.”

  Kaja looked at her.

  “What is it?”

  “You haven’t heard, then.”

  “What?”

  “Leilani. She’s missing. Probably dead.”

  “What?” Lopez-Larou felt a fluttering in her heart. “What?”

  AN HOUR LATER found them making their way on foot to Ivanov’s. Kaja had filled her in about what he’d learned about Spike, and how the rumors had it that she was dead. Lopez-Larou wasn’t taking it well. He didn’t pretend to understand what had gone on between them, but he found himself wanting to understand. The Tiburón had gotten under his skin. She’d been more insightful than he’d given her credit. That she wanted to parlay the loss of drugs into helping that part-time wannabe Pali Boy, Kavika, was an equal mystery.

  No, that wasn’t fair. The boy had done something entirely unexpected. Kaja hadn’t ever anticipated that Kavika and Spike would try and take on the Corpers. The very idea went so far beyond what anyone would do as to be unimaginable. Was it foolish? Yes. But was it a stunt equal to anything the other Pali Boys had done? Kaja felt himself nodding. Absolutely. The attack had been a badass move and something the boy’s father would have been proud of.

  But look where it had gotten them. The transvestite was reported dead. Donnie Wu was definitely dead, his headless body retrieved ten days ago. And Kavika was monkey-backed.

  He glanced sideways at Lopez-Larou. The set of her jaw and the heat in her eyes spoke of a determination that would be hard to ignore. She claimed that the monkey-backing could be reversed, but how much of that was blather?

  They made it to the old sub and asked to see Ivanov. They were made to wait for five minutes, and then escorted inside.

  It smelled like sweat and piss. It always did. The smell took some getting used to. After they climbed down the ladder, they slid through several galleys until they came to an open room. Ivanov sat in an old-fashioned lounge chair that had been bolted to the floor. Made of some indistinguishable fabric, it was a motley color of stains and cigarette burns. He was watching a war movie on a television affixed to the wall. Men in gray uniforms shot at other men in green uniforms. Explosions colored the sky orange in the background. Without looking away from the screen, he gestured for them to take a seat on one of the benches along the wall.

  They sat for another five minutes before he finally turned to them.

  “Dirty Dozen,” he explained. “Lee Marvin. He was a man’s man.” He smacked the arm of the chair. “I love that movie. What is it you want from Ivanov, now?”

  After brief pleasantries, Lopez-Larou repeated her idea to him. His reaction was to laugh.

  “Nothing chemistry can do for that. We’ve tried. I lost my first mate that way. Terrible way to go, to be attached to a fucking monkey.”

  “I don’t try and tell you about submarines, so don’t you tell me about chemicals. I have my own ideas of how to separate him from the monkey.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” Kaja asked.

  “Then it doesn’t work.” She shook her head. “Please don’t tell me you think living life like
that is better than being dead.”

  “And your claim that it has nothing to do with Minimata?” pressed Ivanov.

  “Don’t insult me. I know that you know.”

  Kaja watched the pair stare at each other for several moments. Was it possible that Ivanov knew the secret as well? He’d been friends to the Pali Boys for as long as Kaja could remember. How could he have kept such a secret from them?

  Finally Ivanov nodded. A slow sneer took over his puffy-cheeked face. “Da. We know.”

  “Holy Pele. When were you going to tell us?” Kaja demanded, rising from the bench.

  Ivanov regarded him as a parent would a child. “You would want us to tell you everything?” he asked, shaking his head. “You Pali Boys have secrets. Water Dogs have secrets. Los Tiburones have secrets. Everyone has their fucking secrets. This is one of my secrets.” He glanced at Lopez-Larou and gave her a vicious smile. “Although it seems that others know this secret. Tell me, how is it you know?”

  “You want me to reveal my source?”

  “I want you to do what you want to do.”

  She shrugged. “It was the Sky Winkers.”

  “Ah, the Night Men. Yes, they seem to know too much.”

  “Why’d they tell you?” Kaja asked.

  “I don’t know,” she turned to him. “They just did. They also claim to talk to people in space too, so you have to take what they say with a grain of salt.”

  “Then how can you be sure?”

  “I just am.”

  Kaja hesitated, but the more he thought about it, the more he was beginning to believe it, too. The Corpers had begun monkey-backing twenty years ago, and in all that time they’d never given any sign of having made progress on a cure for Minimata Disease. There should have been something. Anything.

  “I’ve got to say that I never thought he’d get as far as he did.” Seeing the looks on the others’ faces, Kaja added, “Kavika—he pissed me off and I’m afraid that all of this was because I told him that he had to find out why Akamu had been killed.”

  “But you knew they left the drugs,” Lopez-Larou said. “It was nothing more than an accident.”