Hungry Darkness: A Deep Sea Thriller (6 page)

“Are the tentacles very hard?”

Emanuel looked at him. Gabe feared he was going to correct him for the millionth time and tell him that octopodes had arms, not tentacles, but apparently the matter at hand was far more important than scientific accuracy.

“They are harder than the mantle, but not incredibly hard. There’s a lot of muscle in there, but no bone. I can almost hear the grinding going on in that head of yours, man. What are you thinking?”

Gabe wasn’t about to give Emanuel a penny for his efforts, but if the marine biologist could keep a secret and wanted to come along for the ride in the name of science, so be it.

“I know shooting the octopus and killing him with a few bullets would be almost impossible, but what if instead of just me trying to put a single bullet into the beast’s brain I had two more people with me, and we all had shotguns?”

“Shotguns? You want to put three people in a boat with shotguns and have them shoot at something that’s moving in the water? Sorry, Gabe, but that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, and I heard your idea about dropping poisoned fish all over the damn reef. For starters, using guns in a boat is as smart as wearing a steak suit to a pit bull convention. Second, it’d be really easy to shoot someone in such cramped quarters once things start getting hectic. Third, boats in the water tend to move, and firearms and movement don’t go very well together. Last but not least, you’re talking about an animal with eight arms that can crush you in a second and a beak that can probably bite chunks off your boat, so grazing it with a few pellets meant to kill small birds isn’t going to cut it.”

Gabe had more or less thought about everything Emanuel was saying, but the idea still struck him as the best way to go. He doubted the wild-eyed man sitting across from him had anything better in mind.

“Okay, so you say no shotguns because it’s too dangerous. We might not blow that monster to pieces before he gets us. Whatever. Great. What’s your idea then? How do we kill this thing?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Okay. The damn expert has no plan, so we’re back to square one. Square one is my plan. You’re good at dissecting fish and all that, but don’t forget I’m the one who gets out there and catches and kills them for a living. I’m telling you my shotgun idea is the way to go. Octopodes don’t have bones, man. I’m sure those tentacles are powerful enough to destroy us, but muscle isn’t that tough when you compare it to bullets. Plus, I think there are a few shotguns that pack a punch that’s meant to put down more than small birds. As for the movement, listen, shotguns are not too hard to handle. Plus, you already mentioned the close quarters. Sounds bad, but in close quarters it’ll be easy to get shots off near that thing’s head and…”

“Gabe, my man, maybe you’ve seen too many movies, but bullets don’t really work that well underwater. You can probably aim and get some shots off, but the second those bullets hit the water, all that damage you were planning on doing just disappears. You don’t see folks using guns to fish no matter how clear the water is, do you? There’s a reason for that.”

Emanuel was not saying the shotgun idea was bad because he really doubted three men could kill or at least seriously injure the giant octopus with shotguns; he was being negative because he was scared. Gabe hadn’t realized it because he had been taking everything the man was saying as the word of a connoisseur, the informed opinion of someone who, unlike him, had gone to college, read a ton of books on the subject, and actually become a certified expert on everything living under the waves. However, Emanuel was now fidgeting with his hands, running his fingers through his unruly curls every minute or so, and not looking at Gabe while he talked. He had turned into the quintessential excuser.

“Listen, smartass, you’re just rambling on and on because I invited you to go with me and try to kill this thing. Face it, you’re scared. That’s fine with me. Don’t come. I’ll find someone else. I just invited you because I thought you’d be interested in seeing this thing up close before it disappears.”

“How in the hell are you going to get your hands on three shotguns?”

The question surprised Gabe. Emanuel was going on as if he had said nothing about not going.

“Never mind that. I know someone. Are you coming or not?”

Emanuel looked at him. His brows pushed against each other the way most people’s did when tackling a math problem. The marine biologist inhaled and then released the air in his lungs through his mouth, letting his lips flap like a horse.

“Your plan is shit, but I’m coming. There’s no way I’m gonna sit here and let you turn that unique specimen into a carcass without getting a good look at it first. I’m taking my camera and…”

“No camera. You can come with me, but you can’t take any pictures. The people paying me to take care of this don’t want folks to know what’s out there. Those are the rules. Take them or stay on shore.”  

“Aha! So first you show up here knowing a hell of a lot more than you should know, and then you ask me about the best way to kill a gigantic octopus. Now, finally, you’re telling me the truth, that there is someone giving you money for this. Who the hell are you working for? Am I gonna get a piece of the action if I partake in your harebrained plan which, if I may repeat myself, doesn’t even deserve to be called a plan?”

Gabe had said too much. It wasn’t the first time his big mouth had gotten him into trouble. He knew it wouldn’t be the last. Thankfully, he knew Emanuel wouldn’t say a word if he was honest with him.

“The answer to your first question is that’s none of your goddamn business. The answer to your second question is, hell no. I’m putting my boat on the line, buying the guns, and using my gas to get us out there. I’ll be lucky if I can cover everything with the pittance I’m getting paid.”

“Come one, Gabe, you can tell me who’s behind this. Tell me who hired you. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Why do you care so much about that?”

“Well, I think for some weird reason I’d feel better knowing who wants this thing dead and why.”

Emanuel’s explanation was not the best one, but it was fair enough.

“And you’ll keep your mouth shut about it?”

“Sure, man, I want to know for myself. I won’t be telling anyone else.”

“I’m not giving you a name, but I’ll tell you that our wonderful government is behind it.”

“Figures.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” said Emanuel, “I’m sure any government who basically fills its pockets with the money coming from tourism doesn’t want a monster in its waters, especially one with a taste for humans. I can only imagine the international press jumping on it the second an American or European tourist gets devoured.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll go with you because I’m curious, but I know you won’t be cutting me in on whatever they gave you, so I’ll make you deal.”

Gabe didn’t like the sound of that. The deal was already on the table, and he’d been the one to offer it. He looked at Emanuel.

“What kind of deal?”

“A fair one. If I help you out, I don’t have to pay you whenever you bring me a weird fish, and if we pull this off and a chunk of this beast floats by us or lands on the boat, it’s mine. I know I can’t publish a paper on it or anything, but studying it would be enough. Man, it would be more than enough for me.”

It was indeed a fair deal. Instead of replying, Gabe stuck out his right hand. The two men shook.

“I’ll give you a call as soon as I get the guns and figure out who else is going with us,” said Gabe.

“Sounds good, man. And don’t worry about finding someone else. I have the perfect guy in mind. I’ll bring him along. Who knows? Maybe your stupid idea works and we can bring that thing to shore and open up a sushi joint—call it Shotgun Sushi.”

The joke wasn’t all that funny, but Emanuel had one of those goofy, contagious smiles that carried bad jokes into a place where they actually made people smile. This time round, the scientist’s grin made Gabe smile in spite of himself.

Chapter Eleven

Making a living as a fisherman in Belize was almost impossible. That’s why Gabe had decided to get all the necessary permits and become a fishing/diving tour guide and start his own business. Sadly, there were times when that business was slow and bills piled up, which is why he knew Tito, a small-time drug dealer from Belize City.

Gabe had been loading some supplies onto his boat on a slow weekday with no clients when a small man approached him. He’d had on an incredibly colorful shirt and sported a gold necklace so thick it could’ve been used to tie an anchor. He’d said something about the boat that immediately told Gabe the short man knew absolutely nothing about boats. The man went on and said something about the weather. Gabe more or less ignored him. Then he’d felt a hand on his shoulders. “I see you hate small talk as much as me, so let’s get to the point,” the man had said. “My name is Tito. I work with Los Zetas, the Mexican drug cartel. We own the coast between Belize and Texas. From time to time, we need to run merchandise up the coast. The trips are short and pay well. It’s a low-risk kinda thing. If you’d like to give it a try some time, write down my phone number. If you think this isn’t for you, just say so. I’ll let you get back to work and be on my way. Of course, this conversation never happened. You know, for your own good.”

Gabe had only called Tito twice.

The first time, a storm had done some damage to his boat, and he needed cash fast to fix it and keep working. Tito told him to go to meet another boat on Caye Chapel. He went there and shady-looking characters loaded a few packages into his boat. He was told to go all the way to Calderas and wait for a green speedboat to get close to him. When he had called Tito, Gabe had only been thinking about the money. Once in the water, alone, with enough drugs to get him locked up for three eternities, and on his way to meeting what he was sure were very dangerous men, things had changed drastically. He wasn’t an overly analytical person, but years of being forced to ensure dumb, drunk, and inexperienced people returned to shore alive had changed him. While for most things in life he was a regular person, when it came to assessing dangerous situations, Gabe could imagine outcomes with the same agility and speed that professional chess players analyze moves.  Despite the fact that he was going into an unknown situation, everything Gabe could imagine included his death, or in the best cases, just a serious wound or dismemberment. Finally, he reached the Calderas. The other boat was already waiting there. Without introduction or preamble, the boat pulled up next to him and a group of men armed to the teeth with guns that seemed to have been plucked from the hands of soldiers, took the drugs from the boat, and gave him a thousand dollars.

Returning home alive and with the cash in his pocket was enough to keep him from promising himself he’d never call Tito again.

The second time was six or seven months later. He simply hadn’t been smart with his finances and when the wet season came, Gabe struggled to pay rent, keep gas in the boat, and buy food. Although the first time had kept him on the verge of a heart attack for a week or so, Gabe decided to do it again.

The trip they asked him to do the second time was longer: from the same spot in Caye Chapel all the way to Pájaros. Instead of a second boat, he had to get really close to shore at night. The same collection of bloody, painful endings haunted him all the way to his destination. Finally, he reached a beach near the natural reserve, and six men came to meet him in a couple of dinghies. They retrieved the goods just like the first time, but their eyes and attitude were far more aggressive than those of the first group of men. The bag of money had been a tad heavier, but spending so much time in Mexican waters surrounded by guys who looked like they wanted to kill him took at least half a decade out of Gabe’s life and he was sure had given him a couple of white hairs. He never called Tito again.

The last trip had been almost a year ago, and now, sitting at home and with the memories of those two long, scary nights accelerating his pulse, he dialed Tito’s number a third time. The small man picked up on the third ring.

“Yeah.”

“Tito?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Gabe.”

“Gabe. Good hearing from you. Need me to set up a trip for you?”

“No, Tito, not today. I’m calling you because I need a favor.”

The silence at the other end of the line was a sharp, dangerous thing that Gabe could feel hovering invisibly somewhere over his head. Finally, Tito spoke.

“What do you need?”

“I need three shotguns. Three powerful shotguns.”

“Last time I checked, you had two arms. What the fuck do you need three shotguns for?”

“It’s a long story. The short version is…”

“I don’t really have time for stories, Gabe. I can get you three shotguns. No serial numbers. Good stuff. They’ll work, I can promise you that. If I get them to you, you’re gonna owe me at least six or seven trips. And don’t get used to calling me to ask for shit.”

“I was thinking about paying for them. I’m not sure my heart has bounced back all the way yet from that last trip. Those guys that came in the dinghies at Pájaros looked like they could give the devil some nightmares.”

Tito laughed. It sounded like someone coughing up a wet, angry cat.

“Yeah, some of our guys on the other side of the border look a little rough. You can’t blame them for that. They’ve lead rough lives. Anyway, I’ll give you a special price. Maybe that way you’ll rethink doing a few trips. Let’s call it eight hundred. Cash. You won’t find a deal like that anywhere else. Feel free to ask around.”

“No need. Sounds good to me.”

“Okay. You still live in that parrot place?”

Gabe couldn’t remember ever telling Tito where he lived, but he wasn’t entirely surprised the small man knew that, and probably much more, about him.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“I’ll send someone over tomorrow. Have the cash ready. They’ll call you at this number when they get there. Put the money in an envelope or a small paper bag or something. Just don’t come down with a shitload of cash in your hand for everyone to see. Also, remember you’re getting dirty guns. If you get caught with them, the police will probably want to talk to you about things you know nothing about. I suggest doing whatever it is you’re going to do and then giving them a burial at sea.”

“I’ll do that,” Gabe said, suddenly scared of something he hadn’t even considered before.

The phone clicked in Gabe’s ear. Tito had hung up without another word.