Primordial

by David Wood

  “Of course.” Aston looked down into the water, and watched the large shadow of the tiger shark cruise by again, down near the sand. He imagined scouring the seabed for coins, keeping one eye out for that predator. He looked up, eyes narrowed. “Twenty five grand, eh?”

  Greg smiled, probably knowing that if he hadn’t yet hooked his prey, he at least had Aston nibbling at the bait. “First payment. More to come.”

  Aston moved to the gunwale, leaned over, and held out a hand. “Let me have a look at that letter.”

  Chapter 3

  Aston moored up and strolled slowly along the pier toward the Pacific View Restaurant & Bar. The late afternoon sun cast the rustic venue in a deep, golden glow, lending it an undeserved dignity. It wasn’t a bad little place at all; it just wasn’t for the sorts of fellow who walked around with a wad of cash in his pocket and a stick up his arse. Right now, neither applied to Aston. The cool, salty breezed ruffled his hair, but was no balm to his ire.

  He needed a cold beer and time to think. He’d told Holloway’s messengers to leave him alone, refusing to be pressured into anything. They’d pressed a business card featuring nothing but a cell phone number into his hand, assured him they knew they’d be hearing from him shortly, and motored away. Their confidence irritated him. He hated to do anything people told him, or expected him, to do. That was always his way and had often worked to his detriment, but considering his current predicament, perhaps a change of course was in order. He was a grown up and could take his time making a decision. He’d read the letter once on his boat and wanted time for its contents to sink in.

  “G’day, Sam. Usual?” Kylie, the bartender, greeted him with a warm smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She was all tanned skin, long blonde hair and never wore more than shorts and a bikini top. How Aston loved Far North Queensland. She was smart and funny too, and they’d fooled around a few times when he was in town.

  He flicked a grin her way and nodded. “You busy tonight?”

  She put a glass of Cooper’s Pale Ale on the sticky wooden bar, cool beads of condensation already forming on its smooth surface. “You know how it is,” she said, flipping her wrist in a loose gesture.

  “What time are you finishing?” Aston hooded his eyes a little, confident in his skills as a player, especially with a girl who already liked him.

  Kylie laughed and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. “Why don’t you stick around and have a few beers and see what happens? Who knows what time we’ll close. Midweek, so it’s not likely to be late.”

  He lifted his glass and toasted her. “I just might have to do that.”

  She winked and turned to serve an elderly couple, obviously tourists, who had wandered up. He spared a moment to admire her in profile before turning his attention to his ale, taking a long, slow drink of the rich, frothy brew, letting it slake his thirst and praying it would calm his nerves. “It’s going to take more than one of these,” he muttered.

  He turned and strolled across the shiny floorboards, past crude tables consisting of plywood circles nailed to the top of old wooden kegs. Fishing nets with plastic crabs and fish entangled in their strands draped the walls in sagging arcs like holiday bunting. Stiff-looking stuffed gulls perched here and there on wooden pommels, some sticking out at absurd angles from the ceiling support columns. A jukebox in the corner crooned the Whitlams’ distant hit single, ‘No Aphrodisiac’. Aston hated the maudlin whine of it, yet it seemed to persist through the years. Some songs were musical herpes; every time you thought they’d finally gone away, they flared up again.

  He found a table under a lazily turning fan, hopeful for at least some relief from the close humidity. One day this place would get air-conditioning. Then again, they’d only had a sealed parking lot for the last year, so he didn’t expect much any time soon. The further north you went, the deeper into the past you traveled.

  He took out the letter again and scanned through the salient points: Discovery of a prehistoric lake creature in Finland. Holloway sinking millions into tracking it down, all kinds of solid leads. A TV crew on standby to make sure everything got recorded for the world to see. Guaranteed fortune for all involved.

  He grimaced, shook his head, and took another drink. He sorely needed the money, but it all sounded too ridiculous to be possible.

  But there was that twenty five grand down payment and a trip to Scandinavia regardless of whatever else happened. Aston tried to think of other ways he could settle his immoral debts with Chang and, while there were plenty of options, none were as clean cut as this. Aston was a man with many fingers in many pies. The sovereigns had been a gift, but they weren’t his only out; he had several other interests underway in Australia. Could he really afford to abandon everything for the sake of one wild goose chase, even with a good down payment? Would he become a laughing stock in his chosen profession just for entertaining a loony like Holloway? Plus he was booked for an expedition with the CSIRO in three weeks’ time. That was government-funded, proper scientific research on Orca in the seas off South Australia. It was a golden opportunity, even if it didn’t pay brilliantly. No, he certainly couldn’t give that up. And with all the other bits and pieces going on in his life, some of which he could follow up right away, he would be happy to tell Holloway to find another sucker.

  That only meant he had to evade Chang’s heavies for another few weeks while he collected on those alternative sources of income. He just needed a little more time. It would all contribute to keeping his life interesting, which suited Aston; he was a man who bored easily.

  He screwed the letter up and jammed it into his satchel, drained the last of his ale, and stood to go see Kylie for another when a voice said, “Mister Samuel Aston.”

  The Chinese accent made his blood run cold. He turned slowly to see three men standing right inside the door. Tension ratcheted up as silence descended. The handful of patrons – locals and tourists alike – all turned to watch. The old couple at the bar hurried away to the safety of the bistro out the back.

  “Can I help you guys?” Aston said, trying for bravado that sounded anything but.

  The man in the middle of the three, a tall, lean fellow with his head shaved almost bald, took a step forward. “Mister Chang is not very happy. We’ve come a long way to find you.”

  Aston kept moving until he reached the bar, frustrated they had tracked him down so quickly. This was becoming a trend.

  “Please, don’t bring trouble in here,” Kylie whispered. “Shall I call the police?”

  “No time,” Aston said. Local law could take hours to get to this out of the way boondock and he knew these guys weren’t going to hang around. Typically, rural police did more follow-up than actual crime prevention.

  How the hell had Chang tracked him all the way up here? He frowned. Holloway’s goons had found him too. His mind raced, thinking about where he might have used credit cards, been spotted on CCTV, spoken to the wrong person. It was safe to assume Holloway and Chang both had methods well beyond those of regular people. They were the kind of men who were used to getting what they wanted, with the wealth to make things happen.

  “Tell Chang I’ll have his money in a couple of weeks.”

  The tall man shook his head. “He was supposed to have it several weeks ago, Mister Aston. We have very strict instructions to return with either the money, or you.”

  Aston ground his teeth. It looked like loony Holloway was going to get his way, because there was no chance Aston was going anywhere with these hoods. He found the business card with the cell phone number in his pocket. “Just let me pay for my drinks and I’ll be with you,” he said to the heavies.

  He took his eyes off them for a moment and gave Kylie his most imploring gaze. “Ring this number. I need them here now.”

  He slid a ten dollar note over the bar with the number tucked under it. Kylie, wide-eyed, took the money
and nodded once. She turned to the till and reached for the phone beside it.

  Aston took a deep breath. Okay then. Here we go.

  The three men had moved farther into the small bar and stood arrayed in front of the door, blocking his exit. He could turn tail and run through the bistro and out the back, or out the kitchen door if he doglegged that way. Behind him stood a large veranda overlooking remnant rainforest, the glittering ocean, and the small dock where he’d moored his rented boat just visible to the south. He could bolt that way and take a flying leap, but it was a ten foot drop to the ground, and the fall could result in a twisted ankle or worse. Besides, he needed to buy Kylie time and give the cavalry a chance to arrive.

  Plastering on a wide grin he walked toward the three goons. Basic multiple opponent rules applied: make space so they can’t all hit you at once. As he got close he reached out one hand as if to shake with the guy in the center. As that man frowned and looked quizzically at Aston’s outstretched palm, the marine biologist burst into action. He surged forward, slamming two fists into the center thug’s chest. The man cried out in surprise more than pain, and staggered backward, tripping over his own feet and sitting heavily on his arse.

  His partners ground into action, but Aston was already moving. He spun to his left, grabbed a chair as he went, and swung it into the face of the goon on one side. That one brought both arms up to protect his head and the chair cracked into his bones. Unlike the movies, the chair didn’t break, and the thug was knocked backwards, howling in pain. Still with his makeshift weapon in one hand, Aston lofted out a kick at the third debt collector as the man rushed him. The kick caught him square between the legs. The poor bastard folded up like a scared sea anemone and fell gasping to the floorboards.

  Aston couldn’t believe his luck. But already the first man was regaining his feet and there was no time to celebrate. He swept the chair up and over high and brought it down on the center goon’s head, crumpling him back to the floor. He had no chance to enjoy that victory either, as the guy he’d previously hit with the chair had already leapt up. As Aston turned to face him all he saw was a fist and stars exploded everywhere. His vision tunneled in and his legs turned to rubber. Sound drained away to a distant whine.

  “Ah, fuck it,” Aston slurred as he stumbled and felt something else hit ribs. The pain was distant and strange.

  Close, he thought. I nearly had ‘em! Three of ‘em!

  A sharp clang! rang in his ears and the follow-up blows he’d expected didn’t come. His vision swam partially back and Kylie stood there, a blonde goddess with a metal tray bent in half held in one hand. “Go, you bloody idiot!” she said. “I called the police anyway, but I think your friends just pulled up outside.”

  Aston grinned crookedly, feeling nauseated but elated. “I bloody love you!” he said. “Hey, see that my rental boat gets returned?”

  “Sure.”

  He climbed to his feet, wobbling dangerously. “Rain check on that date, yeah?”

  She shook her head and blew him a kiss. As he staggered for the door she swung a kick into the jaw of the unfortunate tray victim to keep him down. The middle guy was out cold and the third was still curled up around his devastated scrotum. A couple of guys from the corner seemed to suddenly gain some courage now the goons were down and came to Kylie’s aid to watch over them.

  Aston blew her a kiss back and fell out into the blistering sun. He could hear distant sirens. Typical they should come right away when any other time he’d be lucky if they arrived the same day. But a dust-covered silver Lexus slid to a stop right in front of the building. The man in the sharply-pressed shorts and polo shirt looked out with one eyebrow raised.

  “I decided to accept Mister Holloway’s offer,” Aston grunted, struggling to ignore the screaming pain in his ribs and the pulse of pressure in his head. His jaw ached.

  “We knew you would,” the man called Greg said. “We’ve been waiting for your call.”

  Aston didn’t reply. He was too busy fighting off the urge to collapse.

  The back door of the Lexus swung open. He clambered in, felt the cool rush of the air conditioner, slammed the door, and then gave in to the urge after all.

  Chapter 4

  Aston donned sunglasses before stepping from the jetway into Helsinki airport. The lights weren’t particularly bright, but more than twenty-four hours of travel and a few too many stiff drinks had rendered his eyes sensitive to light. Not to mention the throbbing echo of the goon’s heavy punches. Someone behind him began talking loudly into a cell phone and he added sound to the list of things he currently hated. What a freaking day. Under a different set of circumstances, he might have tried to get to know the curvy and flirtatious stewardess a little better, but he’d been feeling too sorry for himself and completely ignored her overtures. It was a shame. She’d made her interest clear. Two fine opportunities lost in one long day. Chang had a lot to answer for. Aston decided there and then that once this debt was paid, he would do everything to avoid any dealings with that bastard again. And he immediately wondered how likely he was to keep that promise to himself. He was nothing if not self-aware.

  A limo driver holding a hand-written sign that read ‘Sam Afton’ waited for him in baggage claim. He didn’t care enough to correct the guy, and followed him out to the waiting vehicle. The blast of hot summer air and choking exhaust turned his stomach as he stumbled to the sleek black Mercedes, a standard four-door model. He ignored the driver’s heavily-accented prattle, and slid into the invitingly dim interior and the cool embrace of its air-conditioning, running full-blast.

  He took in the leather seats and tinted windows. It was certainly roomier and far more luxurious even than his first-class airline seat. He wondered if this was the way all of Holloway’s guests traveled, or if the man was going out of his way to make an impression.

  The driver slid behind the wheel, met Aston’s eye in the mirror, and grinned. “Anything you need before we go, sir?”

  “I don’t suppose you have any bourbon?” Hair of the dog. Couldn’t hurt.

  The driver shook his head. “Mister Holloway said no alcohol.” He managed an apologetic smile. “Bottled water?”

  “Forget it.” Aston closed his eyes and laid his head back as the driver pulled away from the curb. “How far is it from the airport to where we’re going?” Maybe he’d be able to catch some shut-eye on the way.

  “Not far at all. Mister Holloway is waiting to greet you.”

  Aston suppressed a groan. “What sort of a guy is he?”

  “Good man.”

  Aston opened his eyes and stared daggers through his sunglasses at the driver. “Can you be more specific? What’s he like? Is he eccentric? Flighty? Into weird stuff?”

  “He smiles a lot. He pays me on time and my check always clears.” The driver shrugged and flashed another contrite smile.

  “Useless,” Aston muttered. “Am I your only passenger today or have you picked up anyone else for Holloway?”

  The driver’s face clouded. “I’m to pick you up and take you to Mister Holloway. That is what he asked me to do.” He grimaced. “I can close the partition if you would like some privacy.”

  The message couldn’t have been clearer. Stop asking questions.

  “Suit yourself.” Immediately a tinted window rose between the driver and Aston. The bloke must have had his finger hovering over the switch.

  “Press the Intercom button if you need me,” the driver said through the narrowing gap. “We will be there very soon.”

  Aston had no intention of chatting any more. He supposed he shouldn’t fault the man for doing his job, but he wasn’t in the mood for compassion. He opened the tiny mini-fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and downed half of it in a few gulps. His stomach kicked back, but settled quickly. He finished off the bottle and discovered he actually felt a bit better. He grabbed another bottle, took
out his iPad, and called up a web browser.

  A search for Ellis Holloway turned up the usual results: articles related to Holloway’s business dealings, a couple of interviews, also business-related, a discussion of his interest in exotic animals, and one photo gallery of the man’s New York City apartment. It wasn’t until he reached the ninth page of results that he turned up something interesting.

  In an article titled ‘Billionaire Bigfoot Hunter’, a writer for a celebrity gossip website briefly recounted Holloway’s interest in what the article termed ‘unusual creatures’ and hinted at a zeal that bordered on the unhealthy. The article was light on quotes and heavy on innuendo, but cited as a source an Internet forum called ‘Cryptomyth’.

  Aston surfed to the site, which was filled with the usual sorts of things that interested conspiracy theorists and their ilk: aliens, ancient mysteries, and legendary monsters. A quick search turned up dozens of hits on Holloway. He only had time to check out a few, but they painted a picture of a true believer who was desperate to prove the existence of creatures like Nessie, Bigfoot, and the Yeti. Rumor had it, in addition to the failed Sasquatch expedition that made the papers when a jeep carrying four crew members went off a cliff somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, Holloway had also mounted failed expeditions to find Atlantis, the Ark of the Covenant, and the remains of Amelia Earhart.

  The limo slowed and pulled into the entrance of the Manhattan Hotel, a thirty-plus story steel-and-glass monument to opulence and excess. Aston returned his iPad to its bag and took a long drink of water. What did he care if Holloway were a monster nut? Aston was in this for the money, and the guy clearly had plenty of it.

  A burly Latino man with a shaved head, cauliflower ears, and slightly crooked nose, greeted Aston on the curb, his thuggish appearance at odds with his Rolex watch and finely tailored Armani suit. “Mister Aston, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Joaquin, Mister Holloway’s personal assistant. I’ll take your bag and escort you to up the suite.” He accepted Aston’s suitcase from the driver, carrying it as if it were a child’s toy, light and tiny in his massive grip.