Nightwitch Read online

  Nightwitch

  Ken Douglas

  Ken Douglas

  Nightwitch

  Chapter One

  John Coffee struggled for air as his bare feet slapped the winter sand. He was running into the wind, finding it hard to move, harder to breathe. It started to rain as he tore across the dark, early morning beach. He yelled, but the sound of the crashing surf smothered his warning. All he could do was keep charging toward the dunes and hope he could stop them before they killed her.

  He had been watching them for the last hour. Three from the dregs of any one of America’s larger cities. Spending some time here, before they moved on. Come to beg for a few days, or to rob. They needed money. Coffee hated it when they used needles. There was something wrong with men who sent the white death flying through their veins.

  It made them so they couldn’t think straight.

  He’d come across their kind before.

  He knew what they would do to the woman.

  She should have turned back when she reached the pier, like she did yesterday and the day before. But she didn’t. Life wasn’t fair. She was out before the sun, so maybe she had some extra time this morning. Maybe the runner’s high clicked in late. Maybe she just felt good. But whatever the reason, she shouldn’t have to die because she ran farther than usual.

  He heard her scream as his right foot slammed into a rock and he went rolling onto his side. The night vision glasses dug into his ribs, then slipped off his shoulder as he struggled to his feet. He didn’t waste time groping for them in the dark.

  He never should have let it get this far. He should have stopped the woman. Warned her. Even though it was none of his business, he couldn’t let the woman die this way. Sometimes you had to get involved.

  She screamed again, the sound carried to him on the wind as he tore up the dune.

  “ Don’t, please don’t,” he heard her plead. They’d done this before. The big man was using a long bladed knife to slice through the woman’s jogging shorts and panties while another held her from behind. She was already naked from the waist up.

  One of the men was standing off, watching his two companions. Coffee backhanded him as he came off the dune, striking him in the bridge of his nose, driving bone and cartilage into the brain. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Coffee kept going, went for the big man with the knife.

  The man holding the woman shouted a warning and the big man turned, but too late. Coffee blocked the knife with his left and broke the big man’s jaw with his right. The man screamed and stumbled, but didn’t go down.

  The second man, the one with the pock-marked face, released the woman and flicked open a switchblade. Two men, two knives.

  Coffee slipped between them while they were still trying to figure out what went wrong. Needles, he thought, they dulled the senses.

  “ Behind me,” he said, in a throaty voice, barely above a whisper. The woman stood still, stunned. “Now,” not any louder, but said with force. The woman moved. Now, to get at her, the men would have to go through him.

  “ Marty,” the big man said, “you all right?”

  “ He’s dead,” Coffee said.

  “ Garth,” the man with the pock-marked face said, “he kilt him.”

  “ Shut up, Eddie,” the big man named Garth said, turning an angry gaze toward John Coffee. The words came out, “Ut ut, Eddie,” either from drink or the broken jaw, but his meaning was clear.

  “ Back off and live,” Coffee said.

  “ We got the knives,” Eddie said. “What do you have?”

  “ Lady,” he said, “this never happened. Go home. Forget. I’ll take care of these men.”

  “ I won’t leave you. I can fight,” she said. Coffee was surprised. To her the odds had to appear poor. Two men, both big, armed with knives. They were about to rape and kill her, she had to know that. Yet she wouldn’t run.

  “ Yeah, lady, stay,” Eddie said, and he charged, holding the switchblade above his head, blade down, like an amateur. Coffee blocked the thrust with a backhand blow that sent the knife flying. Eddie howled and jumped away.

  “ Look out,” the woman yelled. Coffee ducked in time to save his head as the long knife sliced through the air where his neck had been. He lashed out at Garth, but the big man was faster than he looked, dodging Coffee’s blow and delivering a punishing left to the side of his face.

  Coffee staggered, he hadn’t expected coordination from the man. He was big, drunk, hopped up and apparently feeling no pain, because his broken jaw hadn’t slowed him down.

  He backed away from Garth as the knife came for him again, but again it found only air. He held the knife like a sword. Garth was speeding, but he knew how to use a knife in a fight. Coffee slid to the left, expecting Garth to charge on past, but he turned with him and Coffee felt the blade prick his abdomen as he jumped back.

  “ Get away, Garth. I’ll get him,” Eddie yelled. He had a gun. Garth moved back as the woman jumped on Eddie’s back. He screamed when she sank her teeth into his neck. She wrapped an arm around him and grabbed onto his gun hand, shaking it and forcing the shots to go wild.

  Coffee turned back to Garth, who was still diverted, watching the naked woman terrorize Eddie. Coffee took advantage of his lapse and moved forward with a killing blow to the bridge of the nose, like the one that had finished the first man, but Garth jerked away in time to save his life, however not in time to avoid altogether the blow that slammed into his broken jaw. He stumbled backward and this time he went down.

  Coffee swirled around and kicked the gun out of Eddie’s hand.

  “ Get off,” Coffee said. The woman jumped off the man’s back, leaving him staggering and stumbling. He crumbled into a sitting position on the sand.

  The fight was over.

  Coffee grabbed a great breath as lightning knifed across the sky and thunder cracked the dawn. The rain was pouring. The fog was moving in. The early morning moon was blacked out. A dog howled in the distance. The woman was safe and Coffee was going to have to kill these two men. The dog howled again, sending shivers down his spine.

  The clouds shifted overhead, allowing enough moonlight to filter through for him to get a good look at her. Her body rippled, she was a runner in beautiful shape, and she was beautiful. The kind of woman a man like John Coffee could never have. Then the clouds covered the moon again and she was covered in the early morning darkness.

  “ Okay, lady.” He was still disguising his voice with the throaty whisper. “Go home, please. Forget this ever happened.”

  “ Who are you?”

  “ The best friend you ever had.” He kept his face turned away from her. “And if you appreciate what I’ve done, you’ll leave. Now.”

  “ I don’t even know what you look like.”

  “ Now, please,” he said.

  “ Thank you.” She turned away and jogged over the dune and into the dark fog.

  The dog howled again and he tensed. It was between him and the sea.

  The old horror had seen the article and she had been waiting to pick up his scent. She had it now, and she was confident enough to announce herself. She wanted him to know before he died.

  He had to get ready. She was sure of the kill or there would have been no warning. Coffee bent low and picked up Garth’s long knife, then he grabbed Eddie and jerked him to his feet.

  “ What?” the man said.

  “ Keep quiet and you’ll live,” Coffee lied as he moved behind him. He held on to Eddie’s belt with one hand and brought the knife up to his throat with the other. Then he started stepping backwards, bringing Eddie with him, till he was above the fallen Garth. The big man opened his eyes, staring blankly at the night. Coffee reached down with the long knife and slit his throat.

  �
�� Shit,” Eddie said.

  “ For his own good,” Coffee said. Then the Rottweiler came over the dune, big, black, with fangs bared. Eddie screamed as they ripped into his groin, separating his private parts from his body, a fitting, but horrible way to die.

  Coffee moved his arm around his human shield and sunk the long knife into the belly of the huge dog, then jumped back as it howled, snapping at the knife protruding from its belly. He dropped Eddie and ran. His one chance was to make it to the sea before the dog realized he’d taken flight.

  He charged up the dune, slipped and scrambled on all fours for a foothold, got it, grabbed a breath, pushed himself back onto his feet and then he was on top of it. The sea was visible, despite the rain, and he longed for it as he went down the steep side. He slipped again in the wet sand and went down on his back, feet first. He pushed off against the dune when he hit bottom, like a sprinter in the starting blocks, and shot out for the sea.

  The rain stopped as quickly as it had started, but the sand was mush sluicing between his toes. His lungs screamed. His heart was pumping like a locomotive gone crazy. His legs burned like they’d been stabbed with a branding iron. Every muscle in his body said, slow down, but the chill charging up his back said, run faster.

  And he ran faster, because he heard it behind him as it howled into the night. Then it was silent and he knew that it was coming for him. Halfway, the sea, so close and so far. He stepped on a shell or small rock. It dug into the tender part of his foot, but he kept running, grabbing air with lungs and loose fists as he pumped his arms. He heard the dark rumbling breath of the beast behind as his feet slapped water and he dove forward, sliding into the turbulent waves and safety.

  The big dog howled. He heard it easily above the crashing sea, but he couldn’t risk a look, all his effort had to be spent getting back to the dinghy. He took long even strokes, making slow headway against the tide. He was tired, but he was in his element now.

  He rolled his head out from the water with every other stroke and glanced at the heavens, using the stars to keep himself swimming in the right direction. He flipped over onto his back after a few minutes, to float, to rest and to think for a few seconds. The kayak he’d used to get back and forth to his dinghy was on the beach. Going back for it was out of the question. He studied the sky and watched the moving clouds cover the stars, then release them, as the winds aloft pushed them from the sea, to be caught by the mountains inland.

  Then he looked to the shore and smiled in relief. The dog was gone. But he wasn’t surprised. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t be coming back. She was probably behind the dunes taking care of the bodies. She wouldn’t want any police.

  He took a few easy breaths, made sure he had his heart rate under control, then rolled over and swam out against the tide. He saw the gray dinghy five minutes later and he swam toward it with renewed effort. The rubber boat was anchored above a sandbar only twenty feet below the surface and far enough away from the shore so that it wasn’t visible in the dark.

  He was tired when he reached it. He wanted rest, but he had a lot left to do before sunup. He said a silent prayer, then propelled himself up out of the water, with a strong kick, and into the boat.

  He pulled off the wet jeans and tee shirt and thought about pulling off the boxer shorts, but the thought of riding around naked in the ocean made him shiver.

  He thought about the men on the beach and wondered if the one he’d used as a shield was dead. He hoped so, because even a man like that should not have to die at the hands of one like her. She had a way of keeping them alive till the very last. Very bad, he thought.

  Thirty minutes later he closed on his boat. It was anchored three miles south of Palma and as far out as four hundred feet of chain would let him anchor. He pushed the kill switch on the Evinrude and was coasting toward it when the first bullet ricocheted through the night and sizzled through the inflatable boat.

  The second bullet whizzed over his head as he went over the side. He was a powerful swimmer and he struck out away from the boat, toward the open sea, the last place they’d expect him to go.

  A flashlight beam hit the water.

  “ See him, Tom?” The voice was high pitched and whiny. Coffee pictured a skinny man in his early twenties, with a scraggly beard and long hair.

  “ I think I got him, Itchy.” Coffee wondered what kind of name Itchy was. “Yeah, I think I got him,” Tom repeated. Tom had a deep bass voice and Coffee pictured a big man. Big and not too bright. He’d fired the gun before he had a clear target.

  “ We gotta get the body,” Itchy said.

  “ I know.” Tom moved the flashlight back and forth across the water. Coffee went under when it came his way and did the breast stroke toward the boat, coming up quiet and close, two more silent strokes and he was underneath the bow. They could look till dawn with that flashlight and never find him.

  “ Check the rubber boat,” Itchy said and Tom moved the light to the dinghy.

  “ He’s gone,” Tom said.

  “ Makes no difference if you got him or not, he’s dead. No one could swim to shore from here,” Itchy said.

  Wrong, Coffee thought, any good swimmer could make it.

  “ But we got no proof,” Tom said. “No proof, we don’t get the other half.”

  “ So we make ourselves a little bonus. He’s got a lotta neat stuff below and I bet if we look, we’ll find a stash. Guy with a boat like this. Gotta have a stash. Even if he don’t, we can get a pretty penny for the CDs all by themselves.”

  “ But we’re supposed to sink the boat and not take anything.”

  “ I won’t tell if you don’t,” Itchy said.

  “ Fine by me.” Tom turned off the light.

  “ Okay,” Itchy said.

  Coffee saw a glowing cigarette fly over the side. Then he heard the men clamor down the companionway and go below. He swam along the side of his boat, a forty-five foot sloop, to the aft end. They hadn’t even brought up the swim ladder. He had to push aside their dinghy, a small red Zodiac, to get at the ladder.

  He climbed silently aboard, listening to the men rifle through his things below. He was going to have to kill them. Funny, he thought, he’d managed to get through his whole life without killing anybody and tonight he had killed two men, was responsible for the death of a third and was about to kill two more. Listening to the men tear the boat apart firmed his resolve. He moved through the cockpit without making a sound, but it wouldn’t have made any difference, because they’d found the stereo and the lonely sounds of Billie Holiday started drifting out over the waves.

  “ How about some rock and roll?” the one named Itchy yelled out. For a few seconds silence reigned. Then Bob Dylan’s scratchy, raspy voice filled the night.

  They had the volume cranked up full blast. He didn’t think the speakers would take it for very long, but it didn’t matter. He stepped through the cockpit, walking softly on the deck to the mast, where he unhooked the main halyard. He held the line firmly in hand and moved back to the cockpit. The other end of it was wrapped around the starboard side power winch.

  Then he eased up the port side cockpit cushion and took out the flare gun, broke the barrel, loaded it and snapped it closed. With the gun in hand, he poked his head into the cockpit.

  “ We’re rich,” Tom said, his bass voice booming from the front cabin.

  “ How much?” Itchy passed by the galley toward the cabin. Coffee got a glimpse of his back. He was tall and big boned, with a close cropped military style haircut, not at all like he’d imagined. He resisted an urge to go in after them, but the quarters were too close, the outcome too unpredictable. So he sat above and behind the hatch, ignoring the cold, as he tied a bowline in the halyard and fed the line back through it, making a sliding loop, and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. A big man with long black hair lumbered through the companionway and went to the aft part of the boat, toward the tethered Zodiac. He didn’t turn around. When I
tchy’s close cropped head came through, Coffee slipped the bowline noose over it, jerked the rope around his neck, then stepped on the deck button, activating the power winch. Itchy’s scream was cut off with a gag as he shot upward.

  “ What?” Tom turned around.

  “ Don’t move.” Coffee pointed the flare gun his belly.

  “ Oh my lord.” Tom stared at his friend, riding upward toward the spreaders, swinging and kicking, while Bob Dylan sang about a simple twist of fate in the background. Itchy’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, his eyes were bulging, his neck was broken and he was dead, his kicking feet just didn’t know it yet.

  “ Why are you here?” Coffee asked.

  “ It wasn’t me. It was all Itchy’s idea. I hate the ocean. I can’t even swim.”

  “ Why are you here?” Coffee repeated, but the man went into shock, staring upward at the jerking corpse. Coffee knew the answer anyway, so he shot the big man in the belly. Tom flew overboard, splashing into the water, with his eyes still in shock, still staring at the swinging corpse, as he slipped into the hungry arms of the dark sea.

  Coffee waited a few seconds, then lowered the body till it was two feet off the deck. For an instant he thought about searching it for the cash, but he didn’t. They’d only found the dummy stash, containing a thousand dollars in twenties. It was meant to be found. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the body over the lifelines, lowering it till its feet were dragging in the water. He grabbed a fistful of the dead man’s shirt and held the body aloft while he removed the halyard. Then he dropped the dead man into the sea to join his friend.

  He found the killing didn’t bother him, but he didn’t enjoy it either.

  Now the cold chilled him and he went below. He turned off the stereo and welcomed the silence. He didn’t have much time as he wanted to be ashore before sunup. He moved to the side cabin and took out his duffel bag and started stuffing it full of clothes. Then he went to the forward bilge, raised the floor hatch and removed a waterproof pouch. He opened it and took out two packages wrapped in wax paper, one contained ten thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills, the other a loaded forty-five automatic and an extra clip. He dropped them into his duffel. He would miss the CDs and books, some of them not replaceable, but it was time to move on.