Page 6 of Hiding In the Dark (The Righteous 4)
“Forward is down, back is up, or is it the other way around?” He pushed it forward, and the chain jerked down slightly, drawing a terrified wail from Spike. Up to this point, he hadn’t screamed for help, as some of his other kills did, but he did so now.
“Please don’t do this. Please, I’ll do anything. I’m loyal, and I have skills. I’ll do whatever you want.” Kes pulled back on the handle, and Spike slowly rose away from the water. “Thank you, oh God, thank you, you won’t regret this.”
“I know I won’t.” The look in his eye must have said it all, as Spike went feral on the end of the chain and desperately tried to haul himself up the last bit of chain to the winch’s arm, the only safety to be had. He waited for Spike to get a grip on the arm and then released the chain. Loud rattling ensued as it slipped from the winch and fell into the water. With a sick glee, he watched each and every link slip below the dark surface. The weight would be heavier with every passing second, dragging down Spike’s waist.
“No, no, no!” Spike yelled as he tried to maintain his grip as the large coil of chain on the deck now unfurled and followed the rest into the water. Arm’s shaking, sweat dripping from his brow, Spike stared at him, terror in his wide eyes.
“I don’t save men that deal in human trafficking, Spike. The only question you have to answer now is will your choices see you in heaven or see you in hell?” Shock registered on Spike’s face as he realized there really wasn’t a secret left to be unearthed. Other than who his employer was, of course, but he was useless in that regard.
With a final scream, the man’s hands slowly slipped off the arm of the winch. With a comedic display of flailing arms, he fell into the waiting water and disappeared just as his phone had. Kes watched the final bit of chain snake its way up the arm and off the winch to disappear as well. He couldn’t help but wonder as the fins slipped silently below the surface if the sharks chased Spike down and had the meal they’d waited patiently for before he drowned. It didn’t matter, dead was dead.
“I used to see the light in the dark,” he whispered.
Kes scanned the softly rolling waves and smiled at the water as all returned to an eerie quiet broken only by the rhythmic sloshing against the hull.
Kes nibbled on a granola bar as he wandered toward his home. It had taken a little longer than he would’ve liked to make sure the boat looked the same as when he’d arrived. To be safe, he always had to do a disinfecting scrub. You could never be too safe when it came to cleaning up after a kill. The one extra bonus of the yacht was the ability to have a shower. Chum was a tough smell to get rid of otherwise.
He wrapped the other half of the granola bar up for later and traded it for a toothpick, choosing to twirl it around with his tongue as he thought. Spike may have proven useless when it came to the Golden Dragon’s true identity, but he did have a very detailed list of buyers and sellers. Everything from drugs to women was on his list.
A couple walking in his direction scooted as far away as they could get from him on the sidewalk. The man wrapped his arm protectively around the woman and glared as they passed. The man watched Kes out of the corner of his eye but didn’t slow down. Kes avoided the Dwellers as much as they avoided him. He took the long way back, weaving his way through the various allies that most wouldn’t dare look down, let alone walk. For Kes, though they were as comforting to him as a warm cup of cocoa with a shot of Irish Cream on a cold day.
The overpass was quiet this time of night, but it was loud during the day as people went about their lives running around like lines of ants on a mission. The Dwellers were sheep. Nothing more than an itty bitty cogs in the giant wheel of father time—a rat race with no end, and he was happy to let them have it.
Metal barrels were burning brightly as he exited the alley and made his way toward the clusters of gathered groups. Some were singing and others talking about their day, while others simply huddled around the warmth. Soft murmurs about the church Salvation Place came from those gathered closest, but he didn’t bother involving himself in any conversations. Kes instead focused on getting to his own spot.
He did nod to those that acknowledged him as they huddled around the glowing fires for warmth. He averted his eyes from the dancing flames. Flames brought screams like a ghostly echo to his mind. His tent was furthest from the fenced entrance to the area, and he weaved his way through the small clusters of people, each one a collection of different stories that should be written in a book. Instead, they were lost to those who loved them. Like a family heirloom that had been stolen, their memories and stories would forever be adrift in a sea of forgettable faces.
Unzipping his faded tent, Kes ducked inside and sat down on his makeshift bed. Unsheathing a knife from the strap across his back, he gripped the handle until he could feel every little contour imprinted on his palm. The knife brought him as much comfort as any lover ever had but with far less hassle. He’d just laid down to sleep, holding the knife over his heart, when he heard the shuffle of feet nearing his tent. Kes looked toward the tent opening and waited.
“Kes?” Came a small voice.
“Yes, Nezumi?”
“Can I come in?”
All he wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t tell the kid that. “Yeah, come in.”
Kes spun the knife in his hand and hid it behind his back as the zipper opened just enough for the young girl to crawl inside. She was nine now, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was six or seven. Being born and raised on the streets didn’t exactly provide the best nutrition before or after birth, and the brown-eyed girl had ended up born prematurely with an addict for a mother. Nezumi had already had two heart surgeries, both before he even met her, which had been provided for by an ‘anonymous’ financial donor. You’d expect someone that had been kicked in the teeth from the time they were born to be leery of the world, but instead, she was the epitome of optimism, which blew his fucking mind.
“It’s a little late for you to be awake, isn’t it?” He lowered the hood of his sweater as Nezumi, or as everyone liked to call her, Zumi, crawled across the mostly barren space to sit on a red milk crate. He didn’t need much in there other than a small table he’d made out of old skids, the cot he’d picked up at the Army surplus store and the red crate to park his ass. Zumi looked tiny sitting on top of the crate. He could see her shadow as she turned and looked at the guitar he kept at the foot of the bed. Reaching out, she ran her hand down the wood like it was a pet.
“You ever going to sing a song?”
“You going to tell me why you’re in here?” he shot back.
She shrugged her shoulders, her black, shoulder-length hair bouncing with the motion. “I saw you sneakin’ in. I just wanted to say hi.” Zumi played with a string on her sweater, her small hands weaving around the thread much like he’d done earlier with his dog tags.
“I wasn’t sneaking. And saying hi couldn’t wait till morning?”
Again with the shoulder shrug. She bit her lip and looked away, her normally bubbly personality nonexistent. “I didn’t want to be alone,” she mumbled as she drew her knees up onto the small box.
“Where is your mom, Zumi?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I could probably find her, but why would I want to?”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Turn on the lantern.” He watched her shadow reach out and click the small lantern hanging near her head. “Have you eaten?” She shook her head no, and he instantly reached into his pocket to produce the other half of his granola bar. “Here, you can have this. I already had something else to eat.” He held out the small treasure, and Zumi’s face lit up as she reached for the wrapper.
“You sure?” she asked, her hand pausing just as her fingertips touched the colorful foil.
