Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller)

by S. G. Redling

  Until she opened the hold.

  Then all she could do was gag.

  The smell was staggering. Ammonia and mildew and some kind of cheesy smell and rust all rising up in an eye-watering funk that made Dani fall back against the deck. She coughed, turning her head for the breeze that did little to dissipate the stench. Good lord, she thought, were these fertilizer bombs?

  The heat only intensified the smell but Dani was determined to scuttle this boat. She wished she’d worn a bandanna or something to cover her nose. She held her breath as she climbed down the steps into the hold, feeling around in front of her for a string Choo-Choo had told her would probably be the light switch. Her fingers found the string and she pulled, reminding herself to breathe through her mouth before she fainted.

  When the light came on, she forgot the smell.

  She forgot to breathe.

  Packed into the hold of the Pied Piper, covering every square inch of the filthy wet hold, were children. A dozen? More?

  Twenty-five prime units.

  3:55pm, 106° F

  Dani saw nothing but eyes and hands and scabby knees where the boys and girls crouched and lay against each other. None of them could be older than ten. Some of them were naked; all of them were filthy. Not one of them made a sound.

  Children. Bermingham was buying children. From the Wheelers.

  Her butt hit the stairs as her mind tried to take in what she saw. What could she do? She had no boat, no way to get these kids off the Pied Piper.

  The Pied Fucking Piper.

  It wasn’t the smell that made it hard to breathe now. It was rage. She didn’t care about getting away. She didn’t care about Tom Booker or Mr. Randolph or Bermingham. All that mattered now was finding a way to get these kids off this boat.

  And making everybody pay for it.

  “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Her voice was loud in the echoing hold but only a few of the children seemed to hear her. Water sloshed against the outside of the boat, doing nothing to cool the space. They had to move. There was nothing to be done down here. They had to move.

  She hurried back up to the wheelhouse. She knew less than nothing about boats, but how much different from cars could they be, right? Steering wheel, motor.

  Ignition.

  Shit. She had no keys. A quick search over the panels and broken radio and around the sticky floor produced nothing but a splinter in her thumb and something nasty stuck to her arm she wouldn’t investigate. There was no way Dani was stealing this boat.

  She pounded her fists against the panel of dials, wanting to scream. What could she do? Nothing from here. She had to get back to shore. And do what?

  How about calling the FBI? The Feds were so interested in her, maybe they could actually do some good.

  But first she had to tell those kids she was leaving them. She had to tell them she was leaving them in the hands of Juan and Joaquin Wheeler, who had taken them from God knows where to trap them in that filthy stinking hole to face a future in the hands of Bermingham.

  Dani steadied herself against the railing of the boat. Her head spun from the heat and the anger and the helplessness of it all. Her thoughts struggled to line up, to make some sense of what came next. She had to get past the Wheelers and Bermingham.

  She wanted to kill them. She hated them.

  Want and hate. That was all she had.

  She didn’t hear the motor of the dinghy until it nearly reached the trawler. Ducking down below the railing, she caught a glimpse of Juan’s greasy head as he steered the little boat toward the ladder. She had to get out unseen. Dani had one foot over the back railing before she realized she’d left the hold open.

  He’d know someone had been there. Who knew what he’d do then.

  She had to lock the children back in that darkness.

  3:30pm, 106° F

  “Mr. Vincente wants his money in cash.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Bermingham slouched back in his chair. “We had a deal.”

  “Mr. Vincente is changing the deal.”

  Oren watched Juan and Bermingham pretending to be cool around the low bar table. Peg and Rolly sat sullenly at the service end of the bar where they’d been ordered to sit. From where he and Caldwell sat at the middle of the bar, in clear sight of Joaquin and his gun, he could just make out the lengthening shadows on the deck. Bermingham’s thug Ned stood at the doorway to the deck, keeping an eye on the boat.

  “I want to talk to Vincente. Get him on the phone.”

  “Mr. Vincente said he wants me to handle the arrangements. Mr. Vincente says he no longer feels comfortable with a wire transfer. Mr. Vincente feels that, that . . .” Oren could see Juan struggling to remember his boss’s words, invoking his name like a magical spell, “. . . that wire transfers can be compromised and traced. Mr. Vincente wants the payment in cash.”

  “That’s not going to happen. That’s impossible.”

  Juan smiled. “That’s another reason we came a couple hours early. To give you time to make it possible. Mr. Vincente says you’re a real capable guy.”

  “I can’t just pull a hundred K out of my ass.”

  “Yeah about that,” Juan let out one of his squeaky giggles. “Mr. Vincente says the price went up. Double. In cash.”

  Bermingham’s fingers ghosted over his gun that sat on the table and Juan leered at him. “Remember, I gotta go back to the boat and call Mr. Vincente to let him know you’re playing nice. I don’t call, the boat goes boom.”

  Bermingham leaned over the table, his meaty forearms covering the distance to Juan. “What makes you think I’m going to pay double for merchandise that’s been sitting in this heat? In an hour it’s going to be worthless to me. I won’t be able to sell it to anyone.”

  “Then maybe you’d better hurry up, huh? It ain’t getting any cooler out there.”

  Bermingham fell back in his seat, shifting his gaze to Ned, who stood silently in the doorway. The two men considered each other for a moment before Ned gave an almost imperceptible nod. Bermingham sighed.

  “Okay. Tell him we’ll do it. Cash. One-fifty.”

  “Two hundred.”

  “One-fifty or I walk and he can try to peddle his shit after you sail it back to whatever hellhole you got it from. Another couple hours in this heat he won’t be able to trade it for a hand job from a dock whore.” The Canadian rose from his chair, pulling out his phone. “I’ve got to call my people. It’s going to take a little time to get that cash.”

  “I’ll go give Mr. Vincente the good news.” Juan stood too. “I’ll leave you in the care of my brother. There’s just one more little matter than needs to be taken care of.”

  Bermingham scowled. “What now? Gas money?”

  “Insurance.” Juan pulled his piece and pointed it toward the bar where Oren sat. “There’s a Fed here. I know it. You know it. Mr. Vincente knows it. That’s got to be taken care of before any of this goes down.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of it now. No deal otherwise.”

  Bermingham looked up from his phone, seeing the way Juan and Joaquin held their weapons, itching to start shooting. “I said I’ll take care of it. I’m taking him with me when I go. We’re going to have a nice long chat on the water on the way to my ship. If he’s very, very cooperative, he may live long enough to see international water.”

  Oren felt Caldwell stiffen beside him.

  “Now or no deal.”

  “I have questions for him.”

  Juan didn’t move. Bermingham swore, shaking his head in disbelief, and walked over to where Caldwell and Oren sat.

  Jesus, this was really happening.

  Oren felt the wind as the Canadian swung a backhand that knocked Caldwell to the floor onto his face. Caldwell scrambled to get beneath the nearby table but Bermingham’s enormous foot on the back of his leg pinned him to the floor.

  “We’re gonna have us a nice chat about how you happened to be h
ere today, Agent . . .” he looked over his shoulder at Juan, “what’s his name?”

  “Caldwell.” Juan grinned.

  “Agent Caldwell.”

  Caldwell raised his hands over his head, lying very still on the floor. Oren was thankful his friend couldn’t see the weapon Bermingham pointed at his back.

  “Now this is going to hurt, Agent Caldwell. It’s going to hurt a lot. It’s going to register on the Richter scale of hurt, but you be still, okay? You stay nice and still and I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt long once you answer my questions. First, though, I’ve got to make this deal. I have people to answer to, just like you.”

  The shot deafened Oren for a second. He wished it had deafened him longer. Caldwell screamed, curling up on himself as blood flooded the floor of Jinky’s.

  “I’ll go call Mr. Vincente.” Juan headed down the steps to the dock.

  Bermingham didn’t look at Ned as he went back to the table. Joaquin grinned. Oren could only sit there, watching his friend bleed.

  She couldn’t hold her breath. She’d jumped from the railing of the trawler, not even a quarter of the height she jumped from every day after her run, but she couldn’t hold her breath. She’d hit the water hard, her body reacting to memories of much, much colder water. Fear, anger, and helplessness choked her. They made her arms clumsy and her legs weak. The tide drew her toward the inlet but every wave seemed to break in her face, every ripple pulled her under until she gasped and choked.

  Children. Kids. Little kids in a dark hole to be sold.

  She kicked and paddled, spitting salty water and trying to breathe.

  Mr. Randolph made a deal with people who sold children.

  The water warmed toward the inlet. She was on the wrong side. She was on Jinky’s side.

  Bermingham had kissed her. She’d kissed him. Bermingham bought children.

  Seaweed wrapped itself around her fingers, making her want to scream, and she heard the chug-chug of the water at the mouth of the inlet. Broken boards and jagged pieces of fencing hung over the ratty dock hidden behind the clump of bushes. Cracked buoys and rusted cleats rattled against the old boards as the water rose and fell. The screwdriver around her neck caught on the edge of the outer plank as she pulled herself up onto the dock, spitting out mouthfuls of hot sea water.

  Oren heard coughing. After decades on the quiet island, Oren could pick out sounds others never heard. It was easier to hear now that Caldwell had grown quiet. Oren didn’t want to think about that. He listened to the new sound. He knew that cough. Dani used to cough like that when she’d started swimming the channel. He hadn’t heard it in months, not since she’d gotten so much stronger.

  Dani was way too tough to cough like that now.

  Ned must have heard it too because he came to attention, moving to the edge of the deck to look toward the water. Joaquin moved to the doorway to look.

  “It’s nothing,” Ned said.

  “I’ll go check it out.” Joaquin waved his gun around at each of them. Nobody seemed to care. Oren sure didn’t. “You all stay here. If I see any sign of anyone fucking around, you all die. You understand?”

  4:11pm, 107° F

  The wood scraped her knees as she crawled across the old planks, her hands fumbling over the debris gathered there. When Joaquin Wheeler pushed aside the waxy shrub, she sat back on her heels and looked up.

  His upper lip drew back in what passed for a smile; his good eye fixed on her. She flipped her wet hair back from her face and smiled at him.

  “Hi Joaquin.”

  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I was just curious, you know?” She held eye contact with him but made note of the gun hanging from his right hand. She got to her feet slowly, keeping her own right hand behind her back. “I was wondering what the big deal was. Kids, huh? I wouldn’t have taken you for a pedo. You always seemed too”—her gaze roamed over his lumpy form—“big a man. Guess you never know, huh?”

  He wheezed out a protest. “That ain’t for me. It’s just business. Big business. Juan maybe likes a little of that, but I like my ass a little older, you know what I mean?”

  She bit her lip, inching closer to him. The wet dress clung to her and she saw Joaquin’s good eye follow tracks of water across her skin. She cocked her hip, keeping her right arm behind her so her body eclipsed the rusted boat cleat she gripped.

  A loud whine sounded that she knew was just in her head. It was blood rushing through her veins, pounding at her to move, to strike. But she didn’t. Mental boxes opened; mental boxes closed as she remembered what her father had taught her.

  Offer what they want in one hand; take what you want with the other.

  She licked her lips slowly and inched closer.

  You do what you have to do until you don’t have to do it anymore.

  “I saw Juan head back to the boat. I guess that means you’re the man in charge.” His lip curled more and Dani could see something yellow and dried stuck in the corner of his mouth. “I like to know who’s in charge, Joaquin. I like to be good to people who can be good to me.” She stood close enough to smell his breath that sped up the closer she came. “Will you be good to me, Joaquin?”

  Saliva bubbled on his lips when he spoke. “You gonna be good to me?”

  Dani dropped her gaze in a show of girlish modesty. The gun hung forgotten from his hand. Looking up from under her lashes, she pulled down the neckline of the dress, exposing her left breast. Joaquin’s breath caught as she slid her hand over her skin, her fingers playing over her nipple.

  Offer what they want with one hand.

  “Touch me, Joaquin. Show me who I belong to.”

  She saw his right hand start and saw him realize he still held a gun. He did what she knew he would do, what she counted on. He raised his left hand to her breast, bending his head forward and opening up the side of his neck.

  Take what you want with the other.

  She swung the boat cleat hard. Bits of rotten deck wood still clung to the bottom, attached by a long, exposed screw that buried itself in the flesh of Joaquin’s cheek. He staggered at the blow and she had to yank the cleat free. As he fell, she kneed his groin and brought the cleat down hard again on the back of his neck. He tried to yell but she backhanded him with the edge of the metal, sending him sprawling. Not giving him a chance to get his bearings, she dropped heavily on both knees onto his stomach, forcing the air from his mouth in a bloody burst.

  He jerked beneath her and she swung the dripping cleat back over her head for another blow and felt a tight hand on her wrist, stopping her. A white canvas sneaker pressed the bloody man’s face against the dock.

  Tom.

  “What’s this, Dani?”

  “You.” She let him pull her to her feet and she did nothing to hide her disgust. “This is who you are? This is who you work with now? You sell kids? You sell babies?”

  He held her arm, his eyes wide. When Joaquin groaned, he moved his foot down and pressed it against the man’s bloody throat, cutting off the sound. “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s why you’re here, right? To protect this deal?” She could see the words hitting home and she desperately wanted to bury the cleat in his skull. “Is that what kind of man you are? Selling little kids to pervs to play with? You’re nothing like I thought you were. You’re not a man at all.”

  Something shifted in his face, something that turned his beautiful eyes hard and alien. If it hadn’t been for the adrenaline, Dani might have been afraid, but she was past fear now.

  “What children?”

  She looked over her shoulder at the Pied Piper. “On that boat. Twenty-five of them. Alone with Juan Wheeler to be sold to Tucker Bermingham. So which one of them hired you? Huh? Which pedophile signs your paycheck?”

  His grip on her wrist tightened to the point of pain, but Dani refused to flinch. He bared his teeth, staring past her toward the boat. She could feel her fingers tingling before he
came back to himself, dropping her wrist as if just noticing he held it. Dani didn’t know which was more terrifying—the look of unfiltered rage that had glowed on his face or the ease with which he put it away.

  He slid his fingertips over the red marks on her wrist, following her fingers down to the bloody cleat. “Don’t hit him in the forehead. It’s too hard to break. Bring it down on his nose; let the screw go into his brain.”

  Dani nodded.

  He dropped his gaze from hers. His hands moved slowly. With care, he lifted the neckline of her dress to cover her breast. Then he slipped into the water.

  4:18pm, 107° F

  Bermingham surprised Oren by throwing him a bar towel when Joaquin left the room. “Put pressure on the wound. He’ll live.”

  He dropped to his friend’s side quickly, relieved to see Caldwell conscious and calm. The blood had slowed.

  “No talking.”

  Oren nodded reassurance to Caldwell while Bermingham paced the floor. Ned stayed in the doorway, scanning the grounds.

  “What the hell is taking so long? Where’s Joaquin?”

  Ned nodded toward the water. “He went that way to check out the noise.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing yet. He went behind those shrubs. There’s been no noise, no shots. No boats on the water. Nobody walking around. Maybe he’s taking a leak.”

  “This is wrong.” Bermingham shook his head and Oren could hear the anxiety in his voice. “Something’s up. We’ve got to call this. They’re going to blow that boat. Vincente is going to fuck us.”

  “Give it another fifteen minutes,” Ned said. “Give Juan a chance to tell Vincente we’re going with cash.”

  Bermingham stared down into the inlet, frowning. “Where’s Dani? Where’s that blond kid? Have you seen him?”

  “I left him at that shed where she sleeps. He’s sitting right there. Hasn’t moved.”

  Bermingham stomped over to Oren and pressed his gun to the side of his face. “Tell me where Dani is.”

  “How should I know?” Oren looked up as much as possible past the muzzle.