Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller (15 page)

What had Angela said? From the Midwest? No family or friends? Almost too perfect? Plain only added to that “too perfect” pile. People who are plain aren’t missed, even when they’re alive.

(
Starting to think like her now, are you?
)

No. NO.

I immediately turned away from the girl. Likely sensing my apprehension, the girl began pleading through her gag—incoherent moaning and sobbing, but obvious pleading.

“I reckon she likes ya, mate!” Gene laughed with a pat on the back that pitched me forward.

I kept my back to the girl and said nothing.

“Right,” Gene began, “you two keep an eye on the sheila. I’m going above to get the chum-line started.”

“Got it,” Andrew said, head down, fiddling with something on his camera.

Gene climbed the short wooden ladder and was gone, his heavy footsteps thumping the ceiling as he went about his business above deck.

I stole a quick glance at the girl again. Her head was down, hanging, defeated for the moment. I was grateful.

(
Why? Make your job easier to have a defeated subject? No struggle? Can’t blame you. Stephanie was a fucking pit bull wasn’t she?
)

Shut up. PLEASE Shut up.

(
Make me shut up. Stop watching the fucking movie before it’s too late. Do something NOW.
)

I looked at Andrew. “This ever bother you?”

He kept fiddling with his camera as he responded to me. “Does what bother me?”

“
This.
What we’re doing. This kind of work.”

“Nah.”

I snorted. “You always this cavalier about filming murder?”

He lifted his head slightly, looking up at me with mostly eyes, horn rims on the tip of his nose. We locked eyes for a tick, then he dropped his attention back to his camera and said, “It’s either us or them.”

What the hell is wrong with these people?

(
You mean
you
people.
)

I’m different and you know it.

(
Actions speak louder than words, superstar.
)

I headed above deck to see what Gene was doing.

“It’s called chum,” he said with a smile after seeing my nose wrinkle from the smell.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ve heard of it.”

He continued ladling as he spoke. “A little on the nose to us, but it’s a sheila’s shaved fanny to whites.”

Guy would give Manny a run in the charm department.

“What about other sharks?” I asked.

“What about ’em?”

“We need a great white, right? Won’t the chum attract other sharks?”

“Sure it will. But once the whites show, and we get ’em into a bit of a frenzy, the others will steer well clear.”

“Frenzy?”

“That’s right,” Gene said. “We get ’em curious with the chum line…” He held up a big spoonful of chum, blood and guts dripping down the ladle. The smell went right up my nose and I almost barfed. “Whites can smell the tiniest bit of blood and guts from miles away.” He mercifully tossed the ladle overboard and I exhaled. “Once they’re curious, we toss ’em a few appetizers—keep ’em put until they get a proper meal.”

I almost asked what the proper meal was—and then the sobering truth smacked me on the back of the head. So I suppose I did what I do best: I kept watching the movie—

(
pathetic
)

—and steered away from that sobering truth.

“What are the appetizers?” I asked.

Gene motioned towards two other white buckets a few feet away, bigger than the chum bucket. “I’ve got some big cunts in there. Whites aren’t too choosey once you get them up to the counter. In fact, be a mate and crack one of those buckets for me. I want to get a few sorted beforehand.”

I headed towards one of the big buckets, cracked the lid, and withdrew a fish that was at least three feet long and felt like it weighed as much as a kid. I handed it to Gene. “This alright?”

Gene dropped the ladle back into the chum bucket and took hold of the fish. “This’ll do fine, mate.” He placed the big fish onto the edge of the boat, dipped to his left, and unsheathed a giant machete fastened to his belt. With a firm grip on its handle that made his already massive forearm bulge, he braced the fish with his left and brought the blade down onto its belly with his right. The fish instantly fell in two, one piece slapping the deck, the other beneath Gene’s hand on the edge of the boat.

He asked for another and I brought it to him. Same as before: fish on boat ledge; machete;
whump!
Fish in two. He asked for one more. Same process.

Finished, he sheathed the machete, organized the fish halves into a pile at his feet, and went back to the chum line.

“Who’s driving the boat?” I asked.

“The ocean,” he said. “We’re far enough out now to let the sea take us where it wants.” He flashed a sneaky smile. “Goes without saying we need a bit of privacy for this kind of thing, yeah?”

I looked at my feet.

“You alright, mate?”

I looked up. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…I don’t know what I should be doing.”

Gene frowned. “I told ya; you’re doing the deed, mate. You’ve done this before, yeah?”

“No—I mean
yeah
, but not like this. Not on a boat. Angela didn’t really give me specifics about…procedure.”

Gene nodded. “I gotcha. No worries then—carry on with the chum line and I’ll go below deck and get the harness sorted on the sheila.”

“The harness?”

“That’s right. We’ve got us a fishing pole.” He pointed to a large metal pole attached to the roof of the cabin. The pole did not stand up straight like a flag pole; it was fixed horizontally, pointing out towards the sea. Its height was maybe a good ten feet from the deck, like a pull-up bar for giants. (Gene probably used it.)

I’d barely noticed the pole when boarding because I had no clue what should, and should not be on a boat like this. As I studied the pole now, I saw that it was segmented, capable of extension. I also saw a pulley system that ran the length of the pole, the tip ending in a big wheel that fed the line, the base ending with two large cranks. Had Gene not told me what it was, I would have assumed it was a pulley system rigged for a sail or something. Like I said; I didn’t know boats.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “I thought we were just pushing her overboard.”

“Nah—what fun would that be? We’ll get her all rigged and she’ll be a nice juicy worm on a hook for Jawsy.” He smiled and winked at me.

I looked away and could not help muttering, “
Jesus…
”

Gene inched towards me. I looked at him and saw concern on his face. It wasn’t friendly concern. “You won’t be losing your nerve come kick off time, will you, mate?”

I looked away again, shook my head.

“I hope not,” he said. He nudged me, insisting I meet his unyielding gaze. “For your sake.”

“I reckon that’ll do for now, mate,” he said, taking the ladle from me and dropping it into one of the empty buckets.

“What’s up with the girl?” I asked.

He flicked his chin towards the cabin. “Go on down and have a look if you like.”

I did.

The girl was still tied to the chair; still bound and gagged, but was now wearing the harness. It looked like a parachute to me.

Andrew came up on my left. “All gift-wrapped and ready to go,” he said. “All we have to do now is wait for
dun-dun-dun-dun…dun-dun-dun-dun…
”

John Williams’ classic theme to
Jaws.
The sick fucker—Andrew, not John Williams—wore a maniacal grin as he performed, his face inches from the girl’s, his “
dun-dun-dun-duns
”
getting louder and louder, his black eyes behind those horn rims wilder and wilder.

The girl was damn near having a seizure; sobbing and screeching into the gag as Andrew carried on.

Andrew suddenly stopped, stood upright. “Fuck! This is
gold
, man. I need to be getting this shit.” He grabbed his camera, fiddled with a few things, then shoved the lens into the girl’s face. “Come on, honey, make love to the camera for me…” The girl kept turning her head away from the lens, but Andrew was undeterred; he followed her every move, started giggling as he continued to taunt. “Give me scared…oh, oh yeah, yeah that’s good.” Giggle. “
Visualize
for me, baby. Picture the
biggest
fucking shark you can…” Giggle. “Now picture that scary son of a bitch chompin’ down on you like a fucking meatloaf!”

I placed my hand over the lens and guided it towards the floor.

“Hey!” he screamed. “What the fuck?”

Calmly, I said, “I don’t want you getting my face on film.”

“So then put your fucking mask on!”

I got in his face. “Easy, man; I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.”

I saw him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck.

“You’re supposed to be doing a job,” he said, his tone softer.

“I understand that,” I said, my voice still calm but firm. “But when you start getting excited, waving that camera all around, you might end up with a shot of my profile, and I really don’t want that.”

He swallowed again. “But the job’s all about fear; we gotta get her scared.”

I glanced back at the girl. The fact that her heart hadn’t burst from her chest was nothing short of a miracle. “I think she’s plenty fucking scared, asshole.”

Andrew turned his back to me and set his camera on the shelf. Perhaps in an attempt at salvaging some sense of pride, he turned back and asked, “You
do
have a mask, right?”

I did. Angela had given me a hood this time. Like an executioner’s hood. Like the one I remembered seeing in her lovely montage. I’d taken it from my bag and shoved it into my back pocket soon after I was below deck.

“Yeah—I got one,” I said.

“Maybe you should get it ready then.”

“Maybe you should shut up before I start beating you with your own camera.”

“You wouldn’t say that shit if Gene was here.”

“You gonna go run and cry to him?”

“I’m just sayin’, you wouldn’t—”

Gene boomed from above, cutting Andrew off. His shouts were loud and clear and they chilled me. The movie I was watching had hit a pivotal scene.

Gene yelled: “
WE’VE GOT ONE!
”

“I don’t see anything,” I said.

Gene smirked at me, took one of the fish halves, and tossed it overboard.

There was a brief moment where the dead fish floated on the surface as though it would eventually drift away untouched. The water appeared so dark and still, I felt that anything below had surely gone. I was seconds from voicing this when a monster’s mouth emerged from the deep blue without warning, impossibly wide, unsheathing rows of white knives, slamming shut on the fish, taking it whole.

I jumped back, nearly tumbling over my own feet. “
Jesus Christ!
”

Gene exploded with laughter and slapped another heavy hand on my back. “He’s a big one, ain’t he, mate? I’d say a good fifteen footer.”

My heart hammered in my chest. I’d never had a problem with sharks and
I
was about to shit myself. This girl was going to have a fucking coronary before we even got her into the water.

(
So you’re definitely going through with it then?
)

Gene tossed two more fish halves overboard. Andrew’s camera was on the shark’s whereabouts, had been the whole time. I wondered if the sick bastard flinched like I did when the bear trap with fins appeared.

“Right,” Gene began, “Andrew, turn the camera off for now while we get her on the hook.” He looked at me. “Go on below and grab your mask and the sheila. You need any help with her, give me a shout. I’m going to stay here and make sure Jawsy stays interested.”

(
Do something.
)

Like what?

(
Hit the bastard! Toss him overboard.
)

He’s a fucking house.

(
Just hit him! And KEEP hitting until he’s in a fucking coma, then hit him some more.
)

“Calvin!”

I flinched and my daze broke. Gene was frowning, spearing me with his eyes. For some reason, I muttered, “What?”

“The fuck ya mean, ‘
what
’?”

(
Hit him hit him hit him hit him
)

I looked at his jaw. The thing was huge, no way I’d miss.

(
Hit him hit him hit him hit him)

Gene shoved me back a step. “Well go on!”

I turned and headed below deck.

(
You useless…
)

The gag in the girl’s mouth prevented her from any sensible dialogue, but it did not stop her from trying. She eventually resorted to sobbing the word please over and over (it came out sounding like “leez”) as though each utterance might carry more impact than the last. And it did.

“Shut up,” I said. “If you just shut up it’ll be easier.”

“
Leez.
”

Don’t look in her eyes. Start untying her binds.

(
Pathetic…
)

“
Leeeez…
”

Almost done. You don’t hear a thing.

(
Pathetic piece of…
)

“
LEEEEEEEZ…
”

“
Shut up!
” I grabbed her throat with my left and cocked my right.

She did shut up, but not out of fear. Not because she thought I’d hit her. She shut up because she could see it. Could see that I was doing it all against my will. Probably saw it from the start. She stared into me now with eyes that no longer begged for mercy, but asked for it. There was a difference. And even after her realization, those eyes did not convey relief or victory, they were wise; they embraced the truth of our situation, spoke with soulful blinks and focused appeals to my humanity: I could not even bring myself to hit this woman, yet I was to feed her to a shark?