Blood at Bay. Sue Rabie

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СКАЧАТЬ she arrived, whether to tell her about Maritz’s accusations. It was almost five o’clock and she would be here soon. Should he also tell her the truth about himself? Before she found out who he was and what he had done?

      The kitten was waiting for him as be ducked into the saloon. She had woken from a nap and stretched as she greeted him.

      “You think I’m paranoid?” he asked her as he ruffled her under the

       chin. “You think I’m going over the edge?” The cat suddenly stiffened and looked up.

      “Well, someone’s going over the edge,” a menacing voice announced.

      David turned. There was a man standing in the companionway, his shadow blocking the sunlight from above.

      “Well, well, well. Look what we’ve got here.” The man’s tone wasn’t pleasant, and David stood up cautiously. The kitten vanished through the galley.

      “Can I help you?” David offered warily.

      The man came down the steps, lowering himself down the companionway with ease.

      “I’m sorry,” David tried, this time more forcefully. “Do you mind getting off my boat?”

      The man laughed, a short, barking laugh. “Your boat?” He glanced behind him. “You hear that, Bruce?”

      There was another man on deck; David could hear him. He could also hear a splintering crack as someone forced open the forward companionway and started down into the chart room. The person swore and there was a savage crash. “Fucking cat!” the man, presumably Bruce, said as he appeared through the galley. He was well built, tall enough to have to stoop in the main saloon to avoid touching the ceiling. He was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved khaki work shirt. As was the first man. They were both in their mid-thirties, the taller one slightly older.

      Bruce smiled at David. His teeth were discoloured from smoking. One front tooth had a gold cap. “Don’t mind us, Mr Roth,” he said with a sarcastic sneer. “We’re just going to fetch some lost property, aren’t we, Thomas?”

      The first man, Thomas, smiled. “Won’t be a moment.” He grinned at David, showing perfect teeth. Too perfect. They were caps. He also had a scar on his chin that might have been made by a knife.

      For a moment David had a fleeting suspicion that these were the two men who had tortured and murdered Peter Calder; then he realised they might be the two who had brought the yacht down from Richards Bay. Whoever they were, they wanted something, and David instantaneously understood what kind of men they were. Thomas was a brawler, someone who liked to fight with a knife by the looks of it. Bruce was the leader. They were dressed as any worker would be, but underneath they were thugs.

      David told himself to keep calm, but they had effectively boxed him in, Thomas covering the companionway and Bruce blocking the passage to the galley. There was no way out. The poop-deck hatch at the back of the saloon was unlocked. But David hadn’t even started cleaning up in there yet, and the skylight that opened out onto the deck was screwed tightly shut.

      “Look,” he started, his hand up in a calming gesture, “I don’t want any trouble.”

      Bruce nodded. “You won’t get any, so long as you give us what’s ours.”

      David gestured to the saloon. “Take whatever you want.”

      Bruce smiled. “Why, thank you, Mr Roth.” His voice was dripping with scorn, and Thomas sniggered. “That’s very kind of you.”

      Then Bruce’s voice changed. “Where is it?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” David told them defensively.

      “Go search the boat, Thomas,” Bruce told his partner. “I’ll keep Mr Roth company.”

      Bruce came further into the saloon, allowing Thomas access to the galley. Thomas disappeared forward into the chart room, and immediately David heard the sound of something crashing to the floor, then something tearing, then something breaking.

      “Hey!” he objected.

      “Sit down,” Bruce ordered. He was very close to David.

      Intimidatingly close.

      “I’ll stand—” David began.

      Bruce placed a large, meaty hand on David’s bare chest and pushed. The saloon table was behind David, and he stumbled against it and fell to the floor. The shock of the attack almost matched the sharp stab of pain as Bruce kicked him in the stomach. David gasped for air as he thumped against the built-in bench. He tried to blot out the pain, tried to breathe, but things suddenly got worse.

      Bruce jammed a large scuffed shoe on David’s stomach to hold him down. David tried to shove the foot off, but Bruce stamped down harder and sat down on the bench over him. He placed his other foot on David’s throat, and then bore down on him with both feet, grinning while he sat there. The pain in David’s stomach was suddenly matched by his inability to breathe.

      “We’ll just sit here for a while.” Bruce smiled down at him. “Until Thomas gets back. Or did you hide it in here, Mr Roth?” he asked, looking around the saloon. “Is it under a seat? Is it in a cupboard somewhere?”

      David didn’t hear him. He was clawing at the shoe at his throat, while at the same time trying to suck air into his lungs.

      “I found a cat when I was seven,” Bruce said in an almost conversational tone. “I tied it to a tree and threw firecrackers at it. It never came back.” He grinned down at David sadistically. “Speaking of cats, I see you’ve got a little minx.” He stomped harder on David’s stomach. David grunted and Bruce grinned in satisfaction. “If I catch that fucking cat,” he said, “I’m gonna feed her to the sharks.” He looked up as Thomas entered the saloon. “Well?” he asked, putting more pressure on David’s throat to keep him down. “Did you find it?”

      Thomas looked at David trapped against the bench beneath Bruce’s legs and slowly shook his head. “Not yet,” he told his partner.

      The foot on David’s stomach was pinning him down, the boot at his throat cutting off his air. One minute he was gasping for breath and then suddenly the pressure was gone. He was released from the bench, precious air gushing into his lungs. It didn’t last. He was hauled up by his arms, a hand gripping his hair, and shoved against the companionway steps with unceremonious force. The air was slammed from him again, and he sagged against the stairs, unable to fight, unable even to hold himself up.

      “Mr Roth.” They had him up with his back against the stairs, the wood digging uncomfortably into his shoulders and legs.

      “Mr Roth!”

      Someone held David’s hair and banged his head against a wooden step behind him. David blinked through the tears of pain. Bruce’s face loomed at him menacingly. “Where is it?”

      David coughed and gasped and tried to breathe normally. It was difficult, and Bruce’s bad breath only made things worse. “Where is … what?” he managed to say.

      A fist slammed into his stomach. He would have collapsed had they not been holding him up. One on each arm. A hand still in his hair.

      Thomas СКАЧАТЬ