Takaashigani Read online

  Takaashigani

  Justin Hunter

  Chapter – 1

  The diver descended slowly. He wasn’t in any hurry. When he left his ship for the dive, he had a full forty-five minutes of air left in his tank. Plenty for this type of dive. He held a small floodlight in his left hand and an underwater video camera in his right. The sandy bottom of the ocean floor came slowly into view. Dimly lit by the waning twilight, everything beneath the waves was cascaded with a sickly yellowish tinge. The diver smiled and kicked his feet gently to steer his descent. The ocean floor was alive with movement. He had timed his dive perfectly.

  The diver tried to concentrate on the job ahead. Losing himself in the second universe beneath the waves was a part of his job that he relished, but reality refused to let go. Diving at night was dangerous, even with a team, but he had to go it alone. The government funding he’d received to track the migration of the spider crab had run out several months ago. Since then, he had lost his crew and most of his equipment had been pawned; equipment that didn’t belong to him in the first place. So far he had been able to keep both his creditors and the government at bay, but he knew that soon they would come to collect. He didn’t know what he would tell them when they found out that he had sold their things. He was still flabbergasted that his funding had been cut for other projects. To him, there was nothing more important than what he was doing now and he would see it through to the end. He felt that if he caught something extraordinary in these final moments before his creditors came to call, his funding would be restored and all forgiven. If that didn’t work out, there was always putting a .45 under his chin and pulling the trigger. That was always an option.

  The sandy bottom of the ocean was dotted with huge spider crabs. Having migrated from Japanese waters, these creatures now made their home along the European coast. Some collected specimens were a full nine feet long from tip to tip. The crabs were ferocious looking, but completely harmless. The diver had tracked their migration over the last several years. Rarely did he see them clustered together in such large numbers; but now was the mating season, at the height of which a person couldn’t see the bottom of the ocean from the writhing mass of armored flesh, spiny backs and snapping claws. The diver stopped his descent ten feet from the bottom and hovered, catching the animals as they marched, mated and dined on whatever carrion they could find.

  The stingray seemed to float above the carpet of crabs like the scuttling horde wasn’t there. The crabs turned up their tiny claws at the intrusion, moving quickly sideways to escape the stingray. Trying to pinch the ray was futile. Its movements were graceful and fast, mesmerizing both the crabs and the diver, who almost lost himself in the excitement of catching such a beautiful vision of nature on camera.

  The stingray hovered in place over a small mass of crabs, then spun in a tight semi-circle, bouncing off the ocean floor, sending a cascading cloud of dust whirling around its body. The diver dipped down, kicking his legs softly until his body was flat on the ground. The stingray rose from the ground. The diver shook with glee as he saw he had the perfect shot.

  Dangling from the ray’s mouth were the long legs of a spider crab. The ray had swallowed the entire head of the crab with one gulp. The ray sucked the crab further into its gullet, but the crustacean’s legs were too long. The stingray sunk to the ocean floor with its struggle. Sand was whirling in every direction, blinding the camera’s view. The diver swore and kept the camera in place, praying the sand would clear enough so that he could get the final result on film. The other crabs moved in, encircling the stingray. Their movements were slow and deliberate. For every two steps forward, they scuttled on backward, as if the ray’s caressing body would slice them in two.

  The diver sucked deeply on his air hose. A splitting headache slammed him into reality, as his depleted oxygen tank stopped giving him clean air to breathe. Blackness crowded in at the corners of his vision. He reached back and slapped the side of his tank in exasperation. He fell sideways as the giant crab beneath his feet leaned to one side. He reached out and grabbed a spear-like spine along the crab’s back, but his fingers had stopped responding to his commands. He fell off the crab to the ocean floor. An eye stalk the length of a telephone pole arched toward him. The giant crab’s eye, a soupy black and blue orb the side of a mailbox, gazed at him. The diver saw his reflection in that orb. He was a small, black dot with tiny drifting bubbles seeping from his mask. He tried kicking his legs but they didn’t respond. The diver thought of the .45 he had on board and how he would never get to use it. He thought about how this way was better, more peaceful.

  The crab drifted forward a claw the size of a Cadillac down over the diver. It pinched the man at the waist and lifted him slowly several feet off the ocean floor. With a quick downward movement, the crab smashed the diver head first on a boulder, crushing the diver’s skull into the man’s ribcage. Entrails floated out of the man’s hemorrhaging torso. The crab lifted the man up to his mandibles and began to feed. Intestines were sucked from the human soup like spaghetti noodles. Flesh was ripped up by the inches and devoured with skillful quickness. Below the giant crab’s feet, the others gathered by the hundreds to catch the small bits of flesh that escaped the giant to drift to the ocean floor below.

  Chapter – 2

  Duke stubbed out his Swisher Sweet wood-tipped cigar in the custom stainless steel ashtray attached to the console of his tow truck. He effortlessly spun his huge truck along with the heavy trailer he pulled behind it down the small gravel entrance road to the docks. He took another cigar out of his front shirt pocket and lit it with a disposable Bic, deeply inhaling the smoke laced with sweetener. He blew a steady, thin stream out of the driver’s side open window and checked out his surroundings.

  The gravel entryway led out to an open gravel parking lot where pricey tourist rental cars mixed with dented and well-used working trucks. The docks themselves held every type of ship imaginable, from million dollar yachts, to bulbous tug boats, to huge, equipment laden shrimping boats. Duke pulled his truck and trailer over to the edge of the lot and took a quick look along the dock line. He was looking for a teal fishing vessel, which could hold about five people. The ship had been bought by the government for some research project which had been canceled and the guy neglected to return it. Duke’s instructions were simple. Get the boat and bring it to a specified storage area to be picked up or sold by the government research grant people in charge. They, in turn, would pay him six hundred bucks for his trouble. He didn’t know any of the specifics apart from that, and he didn’t feel he needed to. His look along the docks didn’t reveal any matches for the boat he was looking for, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t there. Duke was used to people hiding the vehicles they knew would soon be repossessed. Duke, from his ten years’ experience, was certain he could sniff it out.

  He drove the tow truck along the gravel parking lot next to the edge of the docks, leveled the trailer behind him and parked. Duke knew he wasn’t supposed to park where he did, but nobody messed with where someone parked a tow, and he wasn’t going to park in the back of the lot and walk his ass all the way back to the docks. Screw that.

  Duke opened the tow truck door and stepped down out of the cab. He was a big, intimidating man and he knew it. He stood at six and a half feet tall, broad of shoulder, head shaved down to the skin and tattooed sleeves of Japanese coy fish ran colorfully up both arms. He reached back into the cab and took his snub nosed .22 pistol and tucked it into his belt, and pulled his shirt over it. He also had a heavy Bowie knife in plain view on his right hip, nestled in a thick leather holster. The job of repossession was a dangerous one. Duke liked it best when he could stake out the job for a few days and take the property when there wasn’t anyone around
to contest it. This job was well out of his usual work area and he didn’t have that luxury. He wasn’t too worried about it. He had cracked many skulls over the years of people who were unwilling to let go of their property. He was shot at but never hit. The worst that had ever happened to him was one lady bit a hunk out of his right forearm when he took her Cadillac that was five months in arrears of payment. Most of the time, the people were cowed by his size, and the big knife at his belt didn’t hurt.

  Duke took a long drag off his cigar and walked down the aluminum stairwell that lead to the wood planking of the docks. He loved the water and always wanted a boat for himself, but never purchased one. He lived a couple states east of California and could never get his wife to agree to the purchase. He knew she was right. Spending that kind of money on something he would rarely use, if at all, would be a waste. While he scanned the docked boats closer to find the one he was looking for, he thought of how he might get his wife to move out here to the coast. The weather was nicer, that was a big draw, and he could easily find repo business out here as anywhere else. Duke thought he would make a lot more money out here anyway, judging by the expensive watercraft he was looking at. His wife told him that it could cost them too much to live out here. She was probably right. She usually was, but it was fun to think about, and it kept his mind off the impending conflict as was usual per the job.

  Duke checked the docking area, twice, doubling back to his truck. His last wood-tip cigar had gone out and he took another from his pocket, the last one he had, and made a mental note to stop at a gas station and pick more up before he left town. He walked back across the parking lot and checked in at the front desk, showing his paperwork to an anemic looking red-haired clerk who couldn’t have been over twenty years old.

  “That ship is still here,” the young man said, looking up at the looming big man in front of him. “He signed in this morning and went out. I think he’s a scientist or something. Are you really going to take his ship?”

  “What do you think?” Duke said. The kid looked at the repo man’s bulging, vein-popping, tattooed biceps and came to the conclusion himself. “If he comes in here, you call me at this number right away.” Duke handed the clerk a business card. The kid took it and put it on the desk.

  “He’s still out for sure,” the clerk said. “I’m sure if you just wait around for a bit he’ll turn up.”

  “Got anything to smoke?” Duke said. The clerk took a crumpled pack of Parliaments out of his pants pocket, took a cigarette out and offered it to Duke. Duke ignored the cigarette and grabbed the whole pack out of the kid’s hands, tossing him a five dollar bill on the counter. He stepped outside and lit the cigarette, sitting down on the wooden bench that sat next to the office door.

  Chapter – 3

  Billy and Marty Bartelle were also paying a visit to the docks that afternoon. They were looking for the same guy and the same boat. They owned Bartelle Brothers Pawn Shop and Jewelry store a couple miles down Cumberland Ave, close to the highway. Mark Armstrong, the man everyone was interested in that day, had been paying frequent visits to the Pawn shop, leveraging boat and diving equipment for quick cash loans. The Bartelle brothers enjoyed Mark’s visits since he didn’t seem to know the real value of the things he was pawning. He could be haggled well down below resale value, and he never paid up on his loans, giving the shop legal possession of everything he pawned.

  The problem came when Billy tried to sell the merchandise to a local fishing operation and found that the goods had been stolen, rendering the sale null and void. He had to turn over the expensive gear at the local police station, which in Billy’s words, “Fucking freaked out over the amount of shit. It was over five grand worth of equipment. Fucking felony’s worth easy.” That led the cops to get a warrant to go over the pawn shop for more stolen goods. The Bartelle brothers lost a lot of guns, jewelry, tools and even several small bars of stamped silver that had been lifted by an auctioneer from an estate sale. The cops went after his records next. After Marty had to turn over documentation of pawned and sold items, he knew that the police were going to follow any illegal sale to its source. The pawn store owners got off with a fine and a warning, but it seemed that about a third of the city was going to go down over this diver selling stolen property.

  Billy and Marty weren’t after the boat; they were after Mark’s ass. They were certain that whatever the diver was doing with the loan money, wasn’t paying off. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. They would ask politely for their money back, both from the loans plus the confiscated police property, and if he didn’t cough it up immediately, they would break his legs first and then cut off his fingers one at a time. Billy was driving. He was short and built like a fireplug. He had a thick mat of black hair on his head that matched his ample thatched body hair. He had permanent dark circles under his eyes and yellowed teeth from chain smoking cigarettes and drinking three pots of black coffee a day. Marty was short as well, but thin, and was well on to losing the hair he had on his head, which he combed over to cover the impending bald patch. His body hair was just as lush as his brother’s, with an almost thicket-like protuberance of the curly stuff sticking out of the V in his white t-shirt. Billy pulled their car, a white Cadillac Escalade, onto the dock's parking lot. He drove right up to the office door. The brothers got out of the Escalade with baseball bats in their hands.

  They looked at Duke sitting on the bench next to the door. Duke stubbed his cigarette out on the bench arm and pulled his shirt up a few inches to reveal the pistol on his hip.

  “Problem?” Duke said, caressing his index finger along the slight gun-grip.

  “Not with you,” Marty said. Duke pulled his shirt back down and put another cigarette in his mouth. He waved them on. Billy and Marty looked at each other, deciding not to beat the out-of-towner to a bloody pulp. Not yet anyway. They opened the office door and went inside.

  The clerk was still regarding the card that Duke had left him. He yelped when Billy smashed his baseball bat down on the counter. He knew who the pawn brokers were, by reputation and rumor only. He had never been in their store and never planned on it if he could help it. They had moved into town only five years before, to stay, not as tourists, which was rare. It was rumored that they were running from something, but that didn’t stop them getting permits to set up shop and get down to a good business. As long as tax money was rolling in, the local government didn’t care, a few carefully chosen greased palms kept the questions to a minimum.

  “Where is that fucking diver?” Billy said, smashing his bat down on the counter again.

  “Who?” the clerk said, saliva running out of the corner of his mouth.

  “The fucking diver!” Marty took his bat and pushed over the articles on the clerk’s desk one at a time. Pens, papers and framed photos thumped and gathered on the floor.

  “He’s not here,” the clerk said. “I mean he is here, but he’s not at the docks. He’s still on the water. That guy is looking for him too.” The clerk gestured to the front window where Duke had turned his head to watch the carnival that was going on in the office.

  “Who is that guy?” Billy asked.

  “Repo man,” the clerk said. “I think he’s here for the guy’s boat.”

  “No he’s fucking not,” Billy said. “That asshole is ours. No way is that guy getting the boat.”

  “We’ll have to send him on his way,” Marty said. “What about this guy?” He tapped his bat on the clerk’s shoulder. The smell of piss wafted in the air.

  “He’s fucking wet himself,” Billy said. “He won’t be any trouble. You’re not going to tell anyone about our visit, are you?” The clerk vehemently shook his head no as he gazed down at the widening puddle between his shoes. “Let’s just go.”

  Marty gave the clerk a lingering look and then lowered his bat. “Let’s go talk to the repo guy.” They turned and left the office. The clerk quickly stood up and ran to the door, knocking over his chair and trailing a long s
tream of piss along the linoleum flooring. He locked the doorknob and deadbolt, moving quickly to close the blinds.

  His last look outside was seeing Billy and Marty standing in front of the repo guy who was still sitting and smoking the clerk’s cigarettes. All three men were smiling, but none of the smiles reached their eyes. The clerk thought it was best that he the take the rest of the day off. He left out the back door.

  Chapter – 4

  The four of them huddled in the cavern’s semi-darkness. Soaked to the bone, shivering from the dampness of the weeping rock walls, their skin cut and scraped all over, they tried for the thousandth time to figure a way out of the mess they were in while they awaited their fate. They were within a cave, only accessible by going underwater. The only light source came from the ocean itself; a blue-green murky twilight that never seemed to change. Since they had been brought here, they had lost all track of time, but they knew it must have been at least a day, maybe two. Susan and her sister Claire, two brown-haired, blue-eyed townies, had met up with some younger guys they knew for a day on the water. One of the guys, Shiro, was the son and heir of the area’s immensely profitable commercial fishing trade, and owned a nice fast Sea Ray 190 Sport Boat. His friend, Clive Harkin, was another townie they had known since they were kids. Clive was good looking and popular enough to hang out with Shiro. Susan and Claire knew they would have to put out for the guys at some point during the day, but that was a small price to pay for a fun day out. There was another person with them, Cindy Hawthorne, Shiro’s younger sister, but she was in the process of being eaten and wasn’t very talkative at the moment.

  Everything seemed to be going okay during their time out on the water. Susan and Claire were belted in firmly in the back seat of the boat while Shiro sped along the gentle chop of the waves at top speed. The speed exhilarated them, but not as much as watching the defined back muscles of Clive flex as he held onto the passenger windshield. Susan and Claire were over a decade older than the boys, and their reputation as easy marks for sex was well known. Meeting up with the boys was nothing more than a kind of transaction, one that Susan and Claire would like to pay in full with Clive, but they knew that Shiro would have the first pick of either of them. At least younger guys were quick about the business of sex. Men with more experience bored them with their ministrations. The problem was Cindy. The townies knew they would have already gotten the unspoken fuck payment out of the way if she wasn’t around, now they would have to wait for a more discreet time. It would have been nicer to get it out of the way so that they could relax completely. Cindy was buckled in the middle seat between them and laughing and screeching with joy. Only being fourteen, and pretty immature and unworldly for Susan and Claire’s standards, she seemed like an annoying child.