And you’re discussing it over an open line.
“Hey, maybe we oughta cool it with the urder-may talk,” he said.
“Den just get over here and see for yourself!”
“All right, we’re on our way. You figure out what’s wrong with the engines?”
Jericho gave a laugh so hysterical it almost sounded like a sob over the static-heavy walkie. “Yeah, I solved dat mystery! You gonna love dis one!”
“What?”
“Better I show you when you get back. Hurry de hell up!”
Lito clipped the radio back to his shorts, aware that everyone’s eyes were still on him. Jorge and Carlos were already in the rowboat, with Eric and the blonde trussed up on the seat in front of them. While Ray held the mooring, Lito offered his hand to Amber to help her down into the boat.
“No thanks,” she told him. She stepped past him and plopped down on the end of the bench next to the blonde.
Jorge was first to break the uneasy silence. “Cap’n… did he just say Mondo’s dead?”
Lito stepped in after Amber and took a seat at the front, facing the rest of the group. His lips felt numb as he said, “I think so. Ray, I’m sorry…he said Cheech was killed too.”
Ray took the news with only a nod as he released their line and shoved them off from the houseboat. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand exactly what happened. But from now on, everybody stays together until we figure out what’s goin on.”
Carlos leaned over the side of the boat to look at him. “Yo Lito, what’d he say about them engines?”
“I think he’s got it figured out. Don’t worry, if anybody can get us ready to roll, it’s Jericho.”
But Carlos did look worried. In fact, he looked almost sick with fear, and the emotion was utterly alien on his usually cocky face. He seemed to notice Lito watching him, wiped his expression clean, and threw himself into the oars. No matter how much trouble Carlos gave him, how much shit he talked, he was still just a 19-year-old kid. Lito hadn’t seen his first dead body till he was almost 22, and even that was just a crewman that had been attacked by some rich old coot with a shock stick while they were plundering his yacht.
They were in motion a few seconds later, Jorge and Carlos grunting as they turned the boat and rowed back toward the Steel Runner. The wind had picked up out of the southeast, ushering those dark clouds closer to them. They held lightning deep in their hearts, visible as white flickers alternating between sections of the sky. The ocean was calm for now, but Lito suspected it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
He looked around at their prisoners. The blonde stared at the aluminum floor, Eric at the shrouded hulks of the ships in the distance. Only Amber—sitting across from Lito with her tied hands clasped in her lap, their knees almost touching—met his eyes in the dark. “What about Justin? Is he still all right?”
“My man didn’t mention, but I’m sure he’s fine.” He sized her up, waiting for her gaze to move away, but she met him with just as much intensity. “He your boyfriend?”
Lito couldn’t be sure, but he thought there was a moment’s hesitation before she finally answered, “Yeah.”
“Well…we’ll have you back to him in a minute.”
The rowboat moved on through the still night.
5
The below-deck area of the Steel Runner reminded Lito of the slaughterhouse floor he’d worked at when he was 17: chunks of scattered gore, various corpses propped everywhere, and a sticky, partially-coagulated layer of blood underfoot. Even Jericho, sitting on the edge of the card table with his feet pulled up, had the same shellshocked, dejected look in his eye as the men who stayed in such a job for too long. That look was the main reason Lito had walked off the line fifteen years ago and joined up with Brewster.
What he wouldn’t give to be back there covered in bovine intestines right now.
Mondo lay at the base of the stairs, a ragged hole in the side of his neck and blood down his shirt like spilled wine. Unlike with Rabid, Lito had considered the man a friend, and it stung to see him sprawled out so carelessly, like those cattle after their skulls had been bashed in. Cheech’s body was just to the old man’s left. The pitbull’s head looked distorted, as if his jaw was attached with a hinge that went the wrong way. Across the room, almost in the corner, Amber’s boyfriend sat tied to one of their chairs, a parody of a child undergoing punishment. Sweat-drenched hair hung in his face. And, in the middle of all this carnage…
“Jesus H. Christ.” Ray crossed himself like the good little Catholic he’d been raised.
If Lito had believed in God, the sight of the tiny girl lying on her stomach with her brains exposed might’ve made him echo the sentiment. “Jericho…what the hell did you do?”
“It wadn’t me fault!” the Bahamian cried. “She was batshit crazy!”
“She’s fuckin five-years-old! You couldn’t’ve held her down?”
“You didn’t see her! She’d already killed Mondo and Cheech and was goin for de boy! What was I supposed to do?”
“You’re tellin me she killed a grown man and almost tore that dog’s head off with her bare hands? I call bullshit on that one, Jer.”
“I don’t care what you say, Lito, it’s true. Dere was somet’in wrong wit her. Her face, mon…you shoulda seen her face…”
The girl lay on her stomach, with her small butt slightly pooched in the air. Lito put his foot against the shoulder of her tattered blouse and gently rolled her over. She hardly weighed anything. A wave of acridness like singed hair rolled across them as her disgusting features were exposed. “Ugh. I thought little girls were supposed to be made of sugar and spice and everything nice.”
Ray peered over his shoulder, holding his nose. “What’s that blue stuff?”
For the first time, Lito realized the dark blood puddles under her injuries had a tint to them the color of midday sky. “Christo, where’d she even come from?”
Jericho snorted before answering. When Lito glanced over, he was dabbing at his eyes with his fingertips. “I got no idea. I heard de yellin and she was here when I came down.”
“We have to get her off the ship. Right now. If we were to get boarded by the cops…”
“Uh, Lito?” Ray discreetly pointed a finger at the white kid. “Lack of a body ain’t gonna matter when there’s a nice little witness gift-wrapped in the corner.”
“Shit.” He shrugged. “Well, if he’s a witness, he might as well be our witness.”
Lito walked over and stood in front of the chair. “Hey, kid. You’re Justin, right?” He gave no response, just stared at the floor in front of him. Probably in shock. Lito knelt and waved a hand in his face. “Hey, look at me.”
Justin blinked and raised his head. His eyes were clear, but his breathing seemed husky, almost labored. Beads of sweat rolled down his skin to soak his t-shirt collar. Lito noticed the front of the garment was torn, the cloth around it bloody.
“You all right?”
“I don’t…feel so good. Where’s Amber?”
“She’s upstairs with your other two friends. Everybody’s fine and they’ll stay that way as long as you cooperate. Now, tell me what happened. Where’d that girl come from?”
“Don’t know. She just…came down the stairs.”
“Did she say anything?”
The kid took deep, shuddering gulps of air and talked in a rush between each one. “No. Just…screamed and ran at me. Killed the dog…then the other guy.”
“You’re a real help, kid.” Lito stood and turned to Jericho, who was still sniffling. Ray had disappeared into one of the bunk rooms. “She sure as shit wasn’t on board when we left! And don’t tell me she was swimming out here, goddamn it!”
“Ain’t it obvious?” Ray emerged with an arm load of sheets and began laying them out on the floor in the areas that weren’t covered in blood. “She came from one of the derelicts. Maybe that pontoon boat we’ve been rubbing against for the past half
hour.”
Lito grimaced. He couldn’t believe he’d missed the answer that was staring him in the face. He needed just a few minutes to clear out his head so he could think, but there wasn’t time. “Okay, fine. Let’s just get her wrapped up with some weight and toss her overboard. Mondo too.”
“No, you can’t do dat!” Jericho jumped off the table and stood with his hands held out in fists. “We can’t just dump her for de sharks, she’s just a little girl!”
“Yeah, a dead little girl! And we’ll all be joinin her if anyone finds her body on board this ship! Trust me, the jury ain’t gonna care if she looked like a G. I. Joe after you burn it with a lighter.” He instantly regretted the quip.
And felt even worse when Jericho covered his face and began to sob outright, big, choked snorts. Lito had never seen the man cry. “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t have no choice…”
Lito laid a hand on his shoulder. “Jericho, it’s not your fault. Not if it happened like you say. Nobody’s blamin you. But we gotta get this situation taken care of while we still can. We’re alone out here for now, but who knows how long that’s gonna last?”
Jericho sobs cut off. He lowered his hands. “Oh god. With everyt’in else goin on, I completely forgot.” He ran up the stairs, out of the galley, leaving Ray and Lito to stare at one another. Without speaking a word, Lito helped him move the body of the girl onto one of the sheets while the comatose white kid sagged in the corner. They had just packaged her up into a tidy bundle of blue-soaked cloth and were about to start on Mondo when Jericho came bounding back into the room with the VHF scanner. “We heard somet’in before… Well, just listen.”
They did, long enough to get an earful, then Lito said, “Turn that shit off. It’s givin me the willies.”
“Sounds like two bears in mating season,” Ray added. It was far too tame—too normal—a comparison, for that growling voice. Lito could practically feel the words crawling on his skin.
Jericho complied, silencing the speaker. “Mondo found it. He called it ‘de Voice of de Deep,’ or some of his voodoo nonsense. It’s broadcastin on every channel.”
“That means one of these derelicts you wanted to tow ain’t so derelict after all.” Ray hunkered on the floor next to his dog’s corpse and looked up. “So we leave now. Right?”
Lito didn’t answer.
“Right?”
“This could be comin from anywhere,” he said finally. “Could be a stray signal. Somethin we’re pickin out of the atmosphere from some radio tower in Bumfuck, Idaho. Hell, for all we know, it could be some guy talkin on his cell phone in China.”
Ray sighed. “Lito…it’s time to pull anchor and get the fuck outta here. We can take these white kids with us and dump them off wherever you want, but let’s just get rid of the bodies and go before somethin even worse happens.”
“I second dat,” Jericho whispered.
Lito looked from one to the other. “I admit guys, this situation has gotten extremely FUBAR’d. I hate that we lost Rabid and Mondo. But runnin away and forfeitin whatever might be out here isn’t gonna bring ‘em back. So let’s take a quick cruise through the neighborhood on our way out, see if anything looks choice.”
“Well, dat brings us to our engine problem.” Jericho swiped at his eyes again. “It seems our fuel line has disappeared.”
“Disappeared? What, did it fall off or somethin?”
Jericho rolled his brown eyes. “No, Lito, it didn’t fall off.”
“Then what…?” He frowned. “Are you tellin me the engines were sabotaged?”
“I’m tellin you a vital piece is missin, and dat someone who knew what dey were doin had to’ve taken it.”
“But who? And why?”
Ray folded his arms across his chest and stood up. “The why is pretty clear. We’re not supposed to leave. As for who…” He moved his foot and tapped the tied bundle of sheets containing the dead girl.
Jericho shook his head vehemently. “No way she coulda done dat.”
“You sayin a kid couldn’t uncouple a hose?” Ray argued.
“No, I’m sayin dat kid couldn’t do it. If she even knew how to tie her shoe anymore, I’d be surprised.”
“Okay, maybe so, but just her bein here at all proves that we’ve been severely infiltrated. If she got on board, then who else—or what else—did?”
Lito had been pacing in front of the card table, but the cracking sound of the drying blood on the floor sucking at his shoe soles was making him sick. He stopped and stared at Ray. “Are you sayin there could be more like her?”
Ray shrugged. “What I’m sayin is that we got no fuckin idea what’s goin on around here, or what to expect next. What we do got is a lotta derelict ships with their crews unaccounted for. And now some goddamn spooky voice on the long range is broadcastin God-knows-what from God-knows-where.”
Lito felt cold suddenly. “We gotta search the Runner, top to bottom. Make sure we don’t have any more stowaways. Jer, what are our options here?”
“Options?” Jericho barked laughter. “Our options are sit here dead in de water, find a new fuel line, or use de radio to call for help. When we can find an open channel, dat is.”
“And not only would we be rollin the dice to see who shows up to rescue us,” Ray added, plopping down in one of the chairs, “we’d also be alerting whoever’s behind that broadcast that we’re here.”
“What about the pontoon boat? Could you get a hose from that?”
“Dat’s a little outboard engine; I need an industrial grade fuel line that fits all de modifications I’ve made. But if I could get dat t’ing or maybe de houseboat up and runnin, we could at least use one of dem to get our asses outta here.”
“And abandon the Steel Runner? I don’t think so. That I’m not even gonna consider. You two keep an eye on the kid and get as much of this cleaned up as you can. Just…bury the bodies in the back of the cargo holds for now and we’ll decide what to do with ‘em later. I’m gonna get Carlos and Jorge to help search the ship.” Lito took a few steps toward the stairs and then stopped. An object on the floor beyond Cheech’s body caught his eye: the linguistic textbook they’d brought up from the yacht wreckage. He bent and picked it up, then said over his shoulder, “Wait, scratch that. Cut the kid loose. I got an idea.”
6
“Hey, girlie. Hey. I’m talkin to you, chica.”
Amber set her jaw and asked, “Yeah?”
“Not you, dyke,” the skinny pirate—she thought she’d heard him called ‘Jorge’—spat. “That little blonde puta next to you.”
After climbing from the rowboat onto the pirates’ scow (a process that involved them getting hooked under the shoulders and dragged over the side like trout) the man named Lito had gone below deck with his pony-tailed right hand man, leaving the two younger guys to guard them. Jorge reclined against the railing with a cigarette jutting from his lips, while Carlos—shaggy hair and barely more than a teenager—paced further up. There was a nervous energy around that one, like the kids she saw in the library at school, studying at three in the morning the day before finals.
Amber, Cherrywine, and Eric sat on the deck up against the boat’s wheelhouse, a steel cord threaded through the bindings on their hands and then through eyelets embedded in the wall, giving them freedom to move but not escape. The lights in the wheelhouse threw long squares of yellow light across the rubberized deck in front of them.
Amber looked at Cherrywine, sitting on her knees and pulling her long pajama t-shirt down so it formed a tent around her legs. The strengthening breeze kept blowing her long hair into her face. “Just ignore him,” Amber told her.
“Hey girlie,” Jorge pressed. His voice had the squeaky timbre of a cartoon chipmunk, which didn’t help his seduction. “You got a nice ass, baby.”
“I’m…I’m not interested,” Cherrywine told him.
He flicked two fingers in her direction. “You like it rough, huh? I can do that.” Cherrywine put her hands to
the marks on her throat, her face clouding over.
“Leave her alone,” Amber said.
“Just tryin to give her a chance to get with a real man.”
“Why, are there some around that don’t have the body of a fifth grader?”
Eric gave a loud, concentrated, “HA!”
Jorge flashed his teeth around the cigarette. “Don’t be jealous, honey. You’ll get your turn. You all will, for what you did to Rabid. I’m ‘onna see to that, pinche puta.”
He turned, flicked the cigarette out onto the water, and then slid up the rail away from them, giving them the first privacy they’d had since being brought on board.
Eric leaned closer to Amber and whispered, “We gotta get away from these guys.”
“If you have a way to do that, I’m all ears.”
“We get our hands untied and then, as soon as we can grab Justin, we should just…just…you know…”
“What?” Amber rolled her eyes. “Make a run for it? We’re in the middle of the ocean.”
“If we can just jump overboard, maybe we can swim back to the Holy Mackerel.”
“I don’t wanna go back in the water,” Cherrywine said in a small, hoarse voice.
“Me neither,” Amber agreed, “considering we saw a man get eaten by something out there.”
“All right, all right, yeah, maybe that’s not the best idea, but we can still overpower them and try to take this ship.”
“They outnumber us, and they’re armed.”
“Well, we can’t just go with them!” Eric snarled. “I have to get free and get back over to that houseboat!”
“Why? If the engines and the radio are out, then what’s so important over there?”
Sargasso Page 14
