Matt Hilton - Dead Men's Harvest

‘Then they’re more astute than I thought,’ Cain smiled. ‘Don’t worry about them. If it takes killing a couple as an example I’ll do that. The others will beg to be allowed on the lifeboat.’

‘Why are we even taking them?’

‘The currents are notorious around here. Who knows where we’ll end up? If we’re marooned on a desert island I want to make sure we’ve got something to eat.’

Baron blinked.

Cain grinned, showing even white teeth. ‘I’m joking, Baron. Jeez, don’t you ever laugh?’

‘I’ll laugh when we’re off this damn ship and I know that Joe Hunter’s out of the picture. I owe that bastard. When he killed Hendrickson he cost me a lot of money, not to mention shooting me. He ruined everything I’d built up, and it’s going to be a long time before I can recoup my losses.’

‘You’ve picked up the reins of Hendrickson’s organisation, you’ve probably gained a thousand times what you lost.’

‘But with Hunter around, how long will I hold on to it?’

‘He’s remorseless, I’ll give him that.’ Cain touched the scar tissue in his throat. ‘I owe him, too. But I’d rather kill his brother. You can have Hunter all to yourself, Baron.’

This was no magnanimous gesture. Cain doubted that Baron was man enough to stop Joe Hunter, but he’d slow him long enough to let Cain finish his own task. Then he would turn his surgical skills on Hunter. Christ but he hoped that both brothers would appear for the final showdown.

Baron shook his head. ‘Remorseless. Yes, but I’m not afraid he’d hunt me down, Cain. It’s just that I couldn’t concentrate on setting myself up again if I was distracted by him. This way I can finish things once and for all.’

Cain didn’t think that Baron would ever become an underworld boss. Even if by some miracle he did take Hunter down, Cain wasn’t going to let Baron walk away intact. The Harvestman had coveted something of him since the first time he’d looked on his smooth face and wondered how delicate the lines of the skull beneath were.

‘You are both going to die.’

Cain turned to the source of the voice. Jennifer was staring at him, her expression that of a she-panther protecting its young.

‘Be quiet, will ya? You should be afraid of what’s going to happen to you if Hunter does show up.’

‘I’ve known fear for years,’ Jennifer said. ‘What makes you think you can terrify me any more than all the others?’

Cain dipped his hand into his pocket and came out with a small plastic bag. He walked the length of the galley and tossed it on to the captain’s table, then flipped it open and dumped the contents on the pitted surface. Grimy pink lumps scattered across the table, and Jennifer recoiled from the collection of fingers and toes: mementoes from the crewmen who’d refused a new captain. Her shriek of disgust was loud but driven by anger. She swept Cain’s trophies from the table with her forearm and they were distributed in a horrifying pattern on the floor.

‘Would you just look at the mess you’ve made,’ Cain said, as if he was scolding a child.

‘You are sick!’

‘You’ll be sicker,’ Cain said. ‘Pick them up.’

‘No.’

‘I said to pick them up.’

‘No. I won’t touch the filthy things!’

Cain placed both hands on his hips. ‘Hmmm. Then we have a problem.’

Jennifer didn’t see him move before he’d snapped his left hand around her wrist and dragged her forward. He was already drawing his Bowie knife before self-preservation kicked in and she tried to flinch away. She screamed, understanding what he intended, and tried to wrench Cain’s grip loose, but she might as well have been attempting to rip a tree up by its roots. Cain shook her savagely. ‘Sit still,’ he snapped.

Baron swayed in the wings as he watched with fascination. Cain glanced over at him. ‘Get over here, Baron, and hold her down while I replenish my stock.’

Baron took hold of Jennifer’s other arm. Jennifer hollered, tried to fight the men, but all she achieved was a laugh from Cain. He bore down on her arm, crushing it to the tabletop. Then he guided the Bowie to her fingers. Jennifer scrunched her hand in a tight fist, but it was no deterrent to Cain. He jabbed the tip of his knife between the knuckles of her index and ring fingers and instinctively her hand shot open. Cain transferred his grip, holding her hand flat as he positioned the cutting edge of his knife over the second joint of her little finger. ‘Are you afraid yet?’

Jennifer screeched. She bucked and squirmed in their grasp. Both men grinned.

‘I see some things do make you happy?’ Cain said and Baron winked back at him.

‘You like pain, huh, Baron?’ Cain switched his attention back to the woman. ‘What about you, Jennifer? Do you like pain?’

Cain grunted as he pressed down on the blade, and Jennifer’s eyes widened in disbelief as the tip of her finger shot away from her trailing a thin ribbon of blood. ‘Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, my God! ’

‘As good as sex, eh?’ Cain said, retrieving the dismembered joint and stuffing it in the plastic bag. ‘Pity we didn’t have the cameras rolling, we’d have been an instant hit on You Tube!’ Jennifer doubled her efforts to escape, but Cain wouldn’t release her hand. He placed the knife over her second finger. ‘One down, nine to go.’

‘Let me go!’ Jennifer went wild, and even made it out of her chair, Cain struggling to control her until he swung the Bowie towards her face. The tip slid into the flesh just below her right eye, and the pain was enough to halt her in her tracks. She stood, her chest heaving, but it wasn’t for fear of being blinded.

‘Do anything you want to me,’ she said. Her voice was an octave below menacing. ‘But where’s the bait for your trap then?’

Cain loosened his grip, nodding at Baron to also let go. Jennifer slumped in the chair, cradling her injured hand. Blood trickled from the stump, pooling in the cup of her palm, but it went unnoticed by both men.

Her release wasn’t a show of pity. Cain had heard something even over the din in the galley.

The bland-faced man had heard it too.

‘Gunfire.’ Baron grinned, looking like a leering sideshow freak.

Cain addressed Jennifer. ‘Get up, and no goddamn nonsense this time.’

Jennifer’s face was an empty plane formed from shock.

‘You said that Joe Hunter would come,’ Cain said. ‘It seems you were right, after all. Let’s go up on deck and meet him, shall we?’

We took it easy as we descended into the bowels of the ship. I took point, with Hartlaub moving slowly behind me, watching back the way we’d come. He had his gun in a two-handed grip, pointing it at every shadow. I chose to carry my gun propped against my hip, a preferred method for shooting in confined spaces. At each landing, we opted to continue down. If Jenny was being held, it would be far from prying eyes and ears. The first two decks were mainly given over to work space, and I believed that Cain — or whoever was in charge of the ship — would want his prisoner nearer the crew quarters where she could be kept an eye on.

‘Hunter. Over here.’

Hartlaub was peering through a porthole in a door. His whisper was very low, but his words held enough urgency to send a chill down my spine. I looked through the dirty glass at what lay within. Even in the dimness I could make out the forms of bodies stacked in the otherwise empty room.

Dear God, no!

I pulled open the door and stepped inside, fearing the worst. The coppery smell of congealing blood made the air viscous. Now that I was inside, I relaxed. The bodies were all male. There was no need to check to see if any of them had survived, because as well as bullet and knife wounds, they’d had fingers and toes removed and none of them still bled. A man with epaulettes at the shoulders of his once-white shirt had had his throat opened up, but his killer hadn’t stopped there. The shirt had been ripped open and I could see a deep cleft in his chest where a rib had been carved out. That was all the proof I needed that Tubal Cain was up to his old ways.