by David Berens
Finally, Barry seemed to understand. Geezus Christ, Jack thought. Kid’s as dumb as a sack of hammers.
“I don’t think I need ta tell ya ta wear gloves when yer…doin’ the deed, do I?”
Barry laughed long and low. “Nah, I got this. You ain’t gotta worry no more, Dad.”
Jamaica Jack was absolutely sure that he did need to worry some more. He had a sneaking suspicion that his son’s desire for blood was not going to be quenched tonight. And he had no idea what to do about it. What he did know was that he damn sure needed a beer.
“Now you get down there and get started and be quick about it.” Jack waved toward the back of the boat. “I’m gonna take the Jon boat into the pier and grab a beer.”
“Sweet.” Barry sniffed. “Get me some Bud Light.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you actually drink that swill, son?”
Barry propped the blade of the sword on his shoulder and said, “Only when I’m workin’.”
Meira Carr coasted Troy’s borrowed truck into the parking lot at Jennette’s Pier. She hadn’t noticed, but all of the running around town had drained the gas tank dry. She pulled into the handicap parking spot not giving a flying hoot if anyone said anything about it. Running up the stairs two at a time to the pier, she slipped on the last one and banged her knee hard on the rough stair. The six-inch-long scrape on her shin began to ooze blood immediately. But pain was nothing she cared to spend time thinking about right now.
She jogged down the pier to the small bait, beer, and gas shop at the end, flung the door open and sent a rack full of postcards fluttering in all directions. The clerk behind the counter jumped.
“Geezus Christ, lady. What the hell?”
“I need gas.” Meira slammed both hands down on the counter, sending him stumbling back a step.
“Lady, I don’t know what kinda shit you’re on, but we don’t serve junkies here.”
Meira took a deep breath and slowed her speech. “I’m not a junkie and I’m not high on anything, but I don’t have time to chit chat and have a lovely conversation with you about the weather. My daughter has been kidnapped and is in a shitload of trouble and I need gas in my truck, now.”
“Your truck?” the clerk looked confused. “We got gas out on the dock for the boats, but I ain’t never filled up a truck before.”
“Well, Sparky, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”
The kid stared blankly at her for a second and Meira wondered if every cashier in this town was this stupid.
He scratched his head and then shrugged. “Unless you can get your truck up the stairs or out there in the water, I don’t think the hose’ll reach it.”
“Shit!” Meira’s hands flew from the counter to her hair and she grabbed handfuls of it.
She began to sob and felt herself losing it. And then an idea came to her.
“Can? You got a gas can?”
“Nope.”
“What the ever-lovin’ hell? You have gas, but no gas cans?”
“Lady, most folks bring their own cans and they take up too much space for us to keep them in stock out here.”
“Well, ain’t that just flippin’ grand. Son of a b—”
“I gotta can ya can use, darlin’,” a scratchy voice interrupted her.
She whirled around to see a deeply tanned fisherman standing there with a wide smile on his face. He looked a bit like Willie Nelson, if the singer had been made of leather and was a hundred years old…which Willie might be, she couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, God, thank you.”
The man turned to the cashier, slapped a hundred dollar bill on the counter. He nodded toward the twelve pack of beer under his arm and the one in his hand.
“This should cover the gas and this beer, yeah? If there’s any left over, you keep it.”
“Yes, sir!” The kid smiled so that Meira guessed there would be quite a big tip left out of the large bill.
The man put his arm around Meira’s shoulder and led her out the door.
“Come along, little lady. The can is on my boat. We’ll grab it and fill it up and get you on your way.”
Meira was shaking with relief. She wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I can’t thank you enough. I just don’t know what to do. I need to find my daughter.”
“I heard you talkin’ ‘bout that in there. No offense. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on yer private conversation.”
“It’s okay.” Meira would’ve laughed any other time. “I’m not trying to keep it a secret. My daughter is in real trouble. I think someone’s kidnapped her and I just can’t help but think it might be the same kid that murdered those two girls. And I see my baby and I…I…”
She couldn’t continue as the sobs began to wrack her body again.
“There, there.” The man squeezed her shoulders and she felt comfort in his arm. “I’m sure everythin’s gonna be alright. Did you by any chance call the police yet?”
Meira blinked. “Um…uh…no, I…I guess I haven’t called them yet.”
She pulled her phone out and started to dial 9-1-1. The man clasped his hand over hers with the phone.
“S’not worth tryin’ from here, darlin’,” he said. Meira saw a hint of something flash across his face, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Signal’s shit out here. Ya can’t get through.”
For a second, Meira considered breaking away from the man and running, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Let’s get this gas in yer truck and then you can get the cops on the job.”
She nodded, numb from the experience. “You’re right.”
“Here,” he pointed down to a small metal boat. In the back of the boat, she could see the familiar red of a large gas can. “Hop in and hand me that can.”
Meira stepped down into the boat and waddled to the back. She lifted the can and handed it to the man. He smiled and shuffled the twelve packs to her awkwardly.
“Just put the beer somewhere in the back, will ya? I’ll get this filled up right away.”
She walked to the back of the boat and shoved the twelve packs under one of the bench seats. When she turned around, she saw the man standing over the can with the pump, leaning one elbow on a wooden oar.
“Just a few seconds more, dear,” the man said calmly. “Then we’ll be off.”
“Thank you so much, mister… um…”
“Barron. Most folks call me Jack. Jamaica Jack if you like.”
“Oh, uh, thank you, Jack.”
He winked at her as the gas rushed into the can. For a few seconds, he said nothing. When he finished pumping, he tapped the nozzle a few times to shake off the extra gas.
“There she is,” he grinned.
Meira felt the faint anxiety return as he heaved the gas can toward the boat.
“Here,” he said swinging it out to her. “Just stow it in the back with the beer.”
“But, um, don’t we need to carry this out to the truck?”
“Oh, but darlin’,” he stepped into the boat beside her steadying himself with the oar gripped in his hand. “We’re not going out to the truck.”
“I don’t understand,” Meira said as the alarm bells screamed out in her head. “I need to get this gas in my truck to get to my daughter.”
“Never fear, young lady,” he said lifting the oar up above his head. “I’ll get ya to yer daughter all right.”
Meira screamed as the oar came down and slammed into the side of her head. As darkness enveloped her, she felt the small boat fire up and slosh out to sea.
19
Face To Face
Riley Carr’s eyes closed involuntarily as the sudden light poured in from the hatch above her head. She couldn’t see who was up there but they were hurling something big down into the hold beside her. A body, she thought, it’s a body. He’s killed someone else…probably another girl. And then the light was gone again. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light that had been there before, but now she wa
s flash-blind like a thousand paparazzi cameras had gone off at once. Spots floated in and out of her vision as she tried desperately to make out the shape of the new victim in the room.
She sloshed near the spot where she thought she’d seen the body hit. Her hands patted the surface of the water around her ankles until she made contact with something. She flinched and drew back, but after a few seconds realized that was foolish. A dead person couldn’t hurt her. And there might be something on them that she could use as a weapon. She inched forward again until her feet nudged against the poor soul. She kicked it softly, just to be sure. No response.
“Hello?” she said quietly into the inky black room.
Again, she got no response. She reached down and touched the body on what felt like a leg. A smooth leg. No hair. She was right; it was another female victim…or maybe a skinny male Olympic swimmer. She traced her fingers up the person’s leg until she found the shorts. The dead girl moaned suddenly.
Riley fell backward, splashing in near hysteria at the sudden noise. It’s one thing to watch television shows or movies about zombies, but it’s an entirely different thing to encounter one in real life. Okay, wait, Riley thought, breathe. Take it easy and just breathe.
Though she was thinking this, she found herself holding her breath and trying to remain absolutely still and quiet. Another groan came from the dead—er, well maybe not completely dead—girl.
“Hello?” Riley nearly whispered toward the sound.
This time the girl’s grunting formed a word. “Riiiiley?”
“Mom?” Riley ran toward the voice, suddenly recognizing Meira’s voice. “Mom, is that you? Are you okay? I thought you were dead.”
Her feet found her mother’s body again and Meira grunted with the kick to her side.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Mom,” Riley said as she knelt beside her mother.
She eased her hands under Meira’s arms and lifted her up to a sitting position. She couldn’t see her in the darkness, but in her mind’s eye she pictured her mother as she always had—ponytail, running shorts, sports bra, earbuds, and the sheen of sweat all over her body.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“The old guy?” Meira asked, sounding like she had a mouth full of marbles. “He knocked the shit out of me with an oar. I think I may have a concussion.”
“Old guy?” Riley reached out and touched her mother’s head softly.
She wasn’t sure if there was blood mixed with the grimy water from the hold, but a gigantic lump had formed on her mother’s temple.
“Ouch, Riley, gentle,” Meira pulled away from the probe. “Yeah, gray hair, pot belly, leather skin.”
“No, no, you’ve got it wrong,” Riley protested. “The bump to your head must’ve made you forget. He’s a kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. His name is Barry. He has red hair and—”
“I’m pretty sure I know who whacked me, dear,” Meira interrupted her. “This guy wasn’t young or red-headed by any stretch of…”
Meira’s voice trailed off.
“Mom?” Riley asked afraid maybe her mother had passed out.
“Red…,” her mother muttered. “As in Red Orc?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s his screen name. But his real name is Barry.”
“Riley, when we get out of here, we’re going to have a serious talk about this gaming crap.”
“But, Mom, I didn’t—”
“And, on top of that, you are grounded for life. How did you get mixed up with this person? Your judgment is clearly not as good as I had hoped if you were willing to sneak out and meet a boy who is four years older than you.”
“I met him online…in the game, Bladehammer. And I never meant to—”
“I think we can safely say that you will never be playing this game again. I’m not saying you’re fully to blame. Hell, since your father left, I haven’t been able to spend much time with you.”
“Mom, it’s not like that.” Riley felt tears forming in her eyes and her voice wavered.
“Sweetie,” Meira’s arms wrapped around Riley in the darkness, “It’s okay. When we get out of this—and I promise we will get out of this—we need to get back to where we were before the…”
“The divorce?”
“Yes, the divorce. I’ve closed you off in a way that I never saw coming and you reached out for validation in the game.”
“Really, Mom.” Riley squeezed her mother’s hand. “I promise I never meant for anything like this to happen. I mean, I thought Barry was sweet…and he liked me and everything.”
“Well, unfortunately, he also likes killing young girls,” Meira said. “And chopping their heads off.”
In the darkness, a clang rang out. The noise was inside the room and close…very close. Riley had frozen and it seemed that Meira had too. Her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably and she clamped her jaws together as hard as she could. And then the sloshing sound came. Someone was down here with them and had been the whole time…listening. As the sound got closer, Riley felt the ripples splash against her legs. Someone was walking toward them through the foot-deep water.
A low, guttural voice echoed in the hold with them. “Those bitches deserved what they got.”
“Barry?” Riley squeaked.
Under her grip, she felt Meira’s muscles tense. She was about to strike out. But she didn’t know what Barry was capable of…she hadn’t seen him chopping up the bodies behind his trailer. She shivered at the thought. Meira lunged toward the voice, but Riley had felt it coming. She grabbed her mother’s shirt and held on as tight as she could.
“Riley, stop! What are you doing?”
“Mom, don’t!”
The blinding light suddenly came back and flooded the room. Riley could see Barry’s silhouetted form against the bright white hatch opening. He had his sword held high above his head.
“Boy,” a rough voice yelled from above them. “Get yer ass outta there. We gots work ta do. Ain’t got time fer ya to mess with them dames right now.”
Barry froze and lowered the sword. “I’ll be back, bitches.”
Above him, Riley could see the man the voice was coming from. It was an older man, gray-haired, deep ruddy tan, and a bandana tied around his head.
“Be right up, Dad,” Barry said as he pulled himself through the hatch.
And the pieces began to click in Riley’s mind. Barry had kidnapped her, and the old guy who had hit her mother—Barry’s father—had kidnapped her as well. The sound of the boat’s motor rumbled around them and they were suddenly thrown backward. And apparently, now they were taking them out to dump their bodies in the ocean…probably without heads.
Troy worked out a deal with the cab driver to wait on him until he made his delivery and walked up to the front door of the immense house. He had the big plastic container holding the interesting batch of crab soup in his arms and wondered how he could ring the doorbell without putting it down. He studied the massive wooden door and found the ubiquitous yellow glowing button to the left. He leaned down, lowered his head, and was able to push the doorbell with the front edge of his cowboy hat. He heard the long, low bing-bongs of the Westminster chimes echo inside. For a long moment, he stood there and nothing happened.
He almost turned around and walked away, but decided against it. Both sides of the house were flanked with perfectly trimmed box hedges and they led around the corners of the place. He carried the bucket of crab soup to the right and found that the hedges grew in height to conceal the backyard in a kind of natural privacy fence. An iron gate split the wall of greenery in the middle and he walked toward it. As he got closer, he could hear the sound of music playing in behind the hedge. He peeked through the bars and saw a crystal blue pool, a dozen or so iron lounge chairs, and a shockingly large pool house flanking the back of the concrete patio beyond the water. In front of the pool house, in one of the lounge chairs, lay a woman—a naked woman.
His mind flashed back to the time he’d almost been arrested
for peeping through a similar hedge at the Ritz-Carlton’s tennis garden in Key Biscayne. He shook that memory away and coughed loudly.
Trying not to stare at the nude sunbather, he called out, “Howdy, ma’am. I’ve got your crab gumbo delivery.”
She apparently heard him and sat up on her elbows. Her glowing tan body showed no signs of any tan lines and Troy had the sudden feeling that he recognized her. But her hair was tied into a tight bun, and big sunglasses covered her eyes and most of her cheeks. When she caught sight of him standing at the gate, she waved him in.
“Come on in,” she called. “You can bring that crab soup over here.”
She indicated the porch of the pool house and stood. She did not wrap herself in a towel, but instead seemed to be comfortable in the buff. As he walked through the gate, she smiled broadly.
“Hello, Troy,” she said brightly. “Nice to see you again.”
“Clarice?” Troy finally made the connection.
This was the girlfriend of the protestor kid who had proclaimed himself the leader of their band. He’d remembered that she was good looking, but not many people are as attractive when they’re naked. Though he’d tried hard not to stare the last time he saw her, he found himself staring at her exposed body.
“Troy, you do know you don’t have your sunglasses on, right?” She laughed.
He felt his face flush and knew that his eyes had been wandering all over to places they shouldn’t have been wandering.
“Oh, uh,” he stammered. “I uh…”
He tried desperately to come up with an excuse, but failed miserably. He gave up and shrugged.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just not used to people bein’ um…nekid.”
She laughed and folded her arms under her chest. He was certain she had done it to make him even more uncomfortable because now her breasts sat even higher. She arched an eyebrow and waited. A long moment passed and Troy suddenly snapped out of his daze.
“Oh, so, I have your order of gumbo.”
