Nightwitch

Nightwitch

by Ken Douglas

A Bootleg Book

Published by

Bootleg Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Nightwitch. Copyright © 2012 by Ken Douglas

March 2012

Bootleg Press is a registered trademark.

For all the sailors who’ve been alone at sea,

miles from port, home or harbour

on a bad night.

And for my Trinidadian pal

Gary Pierre

Who has pulled my bacon from the fire

too many times to mention.

Table of Contents

Chapter One 5

Chapter Two 11

Chapter Three 19

Chapter Four 26

Chapter Five 31

Chapter Six 38

Chapter Seven 45

Chapter Eight 52

Chapter Nine 59

Chapter Ten 65

Chapter Eleven 73

Chapter Twelve 79

Chapter Thirteen 87

Chapter Fourteen 94

Chapter Fifteen 101

Chapter Sixteen 108

Chapter Seventeen 117

Chapter Eighteen 124

Chapter Nineteen 131

Chapter Twenty 136

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.