Slaughter Beach Read online

  DARK MINDS PRESS

  Slaughter Beach

  Published by

  Dark Minds Press

  31 Gristmill Close

  Cheltenham

  Glos.

  GL51 0PZ

  www.darkmindspress.com

  [email protected]

  First Kindle Edition - October 2015

  Cover Image © 77studios

  www.77studios.blogspot.com

  The copyright of this story

  remains the property of the author.

  Edited and typeset by Anthony Watson

  CONTENTS:

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER:

  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,

  11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,

  18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23,

  24, 25, 26, 27

  EPILOGUE

  EXTRACT FROM RIDE THE DARK COUNTRY

  INTRODUCTION

  Ben Jones knows a lot of stuff. I mean really, a lot of stuff. This is a good thing. It’s good because when I’m writing and need some technical information about what a Russian sniper would wear or what kind of bullets an ex-American Civil War soldier would put in his rifle then I know I can send an email to him and he’ll tell me – and provide lots of other information that I can use in the story besides.

  It’s also good because as well as this encyclopaedic knowledge, Ben also has a vivid imagination and is able to combine the two with his great skill as a writer to produce entertaining, realistic stories which are a joy to read.

  He doesn’t limit himself to just one genre either. He has had numerous short stories published in the fields of horror, war, western and crime – his debut novel, Pennies for Charon, falls into the latter category and features his character Charlie Bars – and it’s with some degree of pleasure and pride that here at Dark Minds Press we’ll be publishing his collection of weird westerns, Ride the Dark Country in the not too distant future. A sample of one of the stories is included at the end of this book.

  And so to Slaughter Beach. This is out and out horror, firmly in the tradition of the slasher/exploitation films and books whose lurid covers graced many a VHS box and dustcover back in the seventies and eighties. It’s set in the seventies and those days are recreated vividly here. Also created vividly are some particularly gruesome death scenes, which are certainly not for the faint-hearted. It’s a potent blend of sex, drugs and mayhem which cracks along at breakneck speed.

  So brace yourselves and enjoy the ride. And do remember to breathe in every now and then…

  Anthony Watson, August 2015

  SLAUGHTER BEACH

  -Where paradise becomes a blood drenched hell-

  A novella

  By

  Benedict J Jones

  To Fran, for “ploughing on…”

  “It is with much embarrassment, but I have returned.”

  – Shoichi Yokoi

  1.

  T he beer did little to cool Don Curtis in the sweat-box of a bar in which he was sitting. He looked up and watched the large ceiling fan rotate slowly. It wasn’t so much the heat as it was the humidity, just walking across the room felt like moving through cotton wool. But Curtis had no intention of moving from the table he sat at. On a small stage the stripper, a brown skinned island girl, didn’t even bother to do any more than step from foot to foot in some kind of time to David Soul’s Don’t Give Up On Us and Curtis found himself envying her lack of clothes. He lit a cigarette and gestured for another beer just as the door opened and a fat, red faced, man in a crumpled white suit fell into the bar. The fat man made it as far as Don’s table where he collapsed into a chair.

  “Better make that two beers, Mike.”

  The barman nodded and broke the neck on another cold one. The fat man caught his breath and nodded his thanks to Curtis before wiping a handkerchief across his forehead. He was in his early fifties, nearly twenty years older than Curtis, but he was the only other Australian in town so they had fallen in together in an easy expatriate camaraderie.

  “I swear this place will be the death of me.”

  “Keep running about like a blue-arsed fly and it will be.”

  “This is all on account of you.”

  “How d’you make that out, Clive?”

  “There’s a bloke looking to hire a boat – he’s heard about you and wants to meet you.”

  “That so,” mused Curtis, taking a deep bite out of his bottle.

  Clive nodded.

  “Down by your boat right now.”

  “Might go and see him in a bit.”

  Clive turned even redder.

  “Like you don’t need the money!”

  Curtis smiled.

  “I said I’ll go and see him. Now stop being an old woman and enjoy your beer.”

  After sucking on his front teeth for a moment Clive took a long swallow and necked half of his bottle.

  “Who’s this fella looking at my boat?”

  “A yank. Some photographer, apparently, wants to go to the islands up north. He says the remoter the better.”

  “What in the hell for?”

  “I don’t know. To take pictures I’d imagine. Jesus, Don, I’m not your bloody booking agent go and ask him yourself.”

  Curtis threw back the last of his beer and got up.

  “Think I will. I’ll catch you in a bit, Clive. Get him another beer, Mike – on me.”

  *

  The walk from the bar down to the moorings where Curtis kept his boat, The Ariadne, was a short one but he took it slow, the sweat already beginning to show through the loose white shirt he wore. When he turned the corner to the moorings and saw his boat she brought a smile to his face, as she always did. The Ariadne was a converted US crash boat, an eighty five footer painted white to cover the US Navy grey. The crash boats were designed to help pick up pilots who had been forced to ditch in the sea but the advent of helicopters had scuttled their usage somewhat. She was a bit rusty but Curtis loved her like the wife he didn’t have. He looked and saw a small knot of people standing near the jetty; a man and three women.

  “Help you?” he called as he got closer.

  A dark-haired man in small white shorts and a blue tennis jumper with a camera hanging around his neck turned to look at Curtis.

  “You the captain?”

  The accent was American, west coast Curtis reckoned. He nodded and took the cigarettes out of the pocket of his worn jeans. He lit one and then spoke.

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  “My name’s William Marshall – maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  “Don Curtis and no, I haven’t - should I have?”

  The man laughed and showed two rows of perfectly even white teeth.

  “The brutal Australian honesty, I’ve heard about that.”

  Curtis shrugged.

  “Heard you were interested in my boat?”

  Marshall nodded.

  “I want to charter it.”

  “Well, that’s my business.”

  “What kind of boat is it?”

  “Old US Navy crash boat, they used to pick up downed pilots but the boats kind of got superseded so they sold them off. She’s had a conversion job done – comfortable for passengers and cargo.”

  “And do you know the far islands?”

  “Sure, not much call to go out there but I know them well enough. Why do you want to go there?”

  Marshall gestured at the Nikon hung around his neck and the bevy of women stood behind him all tall and long legged, with jutting hip bones and bee sting tits but there the similarity ended; one was blonde, one dark haired and olive skinned, the third was possibly the darkest skinned black woman Curtis had ever seen and the last had the hint of the Orient in her almond shaped green eyes. Th
e way the women looked, their clothes, everything about them were out of place on the small backwater harbour. It was as though just by being there they made it even more drab and backwards.

  “I’m a photographer. Brought some model friends out here and I’ve heard the outlying islands are stunning. We like to get off the beaten track, see the undiscovered world.”

  Curtis shrugged again.

  “All the islands are beautiful.”

  That too-white smile again.

  “But I’d like to go to the far islands. And I’ll be footing the bill.”

  Curtis tossed off a salute.

  “Then I’ll call you sir and tell you we’re setting out at first light. That way we’ll be there by nightfall. Camp out on the beach and then you’ll have a full day and another night before we head back. That sound okay to you?”

  “Exactly what I had hoped for.”

  “Charter fee’s payable up front. Just the five of you?”

  Marshall took out a small leather zip case and opened it up.

  “No there’re three assistants I’ll be bringing. Will we all fit in there alright?”

  “I’d have thought so,” replied Don.

  “Good old US dollars okay?”

  “Good as anything.”

  “Six hundred cover it?”

  Don whistled.

  “And then some. Want me to arrange some supplies with what’s left over?”

  “Yes, fine. What time do we cast off, Cap’n?”

  Don gave him the eye for a moment as he pocketed the folded bills.

  “Five. Early enough for you?”

  Marshall smiled, whiter than Colombian pure, and nodded.

  “Fine with us.”

  Don looked the tall skinny women over again and touched his forelock.

  “Ladies.”

  2.

  The supplies were stowed and The Ariadne was ready by a quarter to five. Curtis stood on the jetty and waited. He lit a cigarette and looked at the four man crew he had hired on. They were all locals that he had worked with before. Don had paid them thirty five dollars each, bought the supplies and paid off some debts. He still had the better part of a hundred dollars left in his pocket and that buoyed him.

  “Where the fuck are they?” asked Samson, one of the local crew, a big man with a head of curly black hair that was starting to streak with grey.

  “Fucked if I know,” replied Curtis “still, it’s their money.”

  Samson shrugged and lit a cigarette of his own. Curtis stepped back onto the boat and headed into the bridge house. He checked the charts for the third time and made sure the course was set to the outlying islands. He then made sure his bottle of rum was well stashed, wrapped in an old towel in the locked gun cabinet along with an M1 carbine and a .357 Ruger revolver. Pirates and thieves were rare but Curtis never liked to take chances, there wasn’t much ammunition but he reckoned they could put up a pretty decent account for themselves if anyone tried to take his baby.

  “Ahoy the ship!” came a shout from outside.

  Curtis turned at the voice and hurried outside. He stopped and put his hands on his hips to survey the party that stood on the jetty; there was Marshall and the four tall models, along with them were a short dark woman in her mid-twenties and two men. One of the men was tall and bearded, the other short, skinny and clean shaven. There was a pile of travel cases and wooden boxes of wines and spirits.

  “Get that aboard boys and get it stowed tight.”

  His four man crew swarmed past and began to move the baggage. Curtis stepped off the jetty and shook Marshall’s hand.

  “Better late than never I suppose but I do have four women to deal with,” said Marshall with a smile.

  “Five,” put in the short brunette.

  Curtis threw her a look and liked what he saw. She was just over five four and wore her curves in all the right places, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, olive skin and eyes that danced like lovers at midnight.

  “Ah, how could I ever forget you Tammy.”

  “I’m not sure Will, how could you?”

  Marshall grinned.

  “Cap’n – may I introduce Miss Tammy Rodriguez.”

  “Captain,” said Tammy shaking his hand.

  “A pleasure.”

  She looked him in the eye and gave Curtis a smile.

  “Likewise.”

  Marshall stepped in quickly.

  “This is Tony Lewis, he’s here to help me with the cameras.”

  The bearded man shook Don’s hand.

  “And this is Carmine Eco, the dresser for the models.”

  The short man reached in.

  “Charmed. Oh, rough hands.”

  Curtis raised an eyebrow and then ushered them on board. The models went first and Marshall called them off to Don as they went.

  “Heidi, Francesca, Nubia and Joelle.”

  Curtis nodded to each in turn. He watched as his crew stared at the women sashaying past and shook his head.

  “Going to be one hell of a trip,” he muttered to himself and then roared “get ready to cast off! Get that gear stowed away below. Chop-chop, we’re already late – time to get moving.”

  3.

  The sky was blue without a cloud, almost as blue as the sea that

  The Ariadne skipped across. Curtis smiled as he stood behind the wheel with a coffee cup in his hand. Samson lounged behind him sipping from his own cup.

  “Good to be back out, eh?”

  Curtis nodded glad to be away from the rotting harbour and the rotting people who infested it. He never felt as free as he did with The Ariadne beneath him and open sea to the front.

  “Yeah, like nowhere else in the world.”

  “Reckon this’ll just be a two night thing like you said?”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “You know these rich fuckers. Get there, see how beautiful it is, probably want to stay forever.”

  Curtis laughed.

  “They keep pulling the money out and I’ll stay.”

  “You got that straight, boss.”

  “Do me a favour and make sure the others are working and not staring at those model chicks.”

  “Roger that, Captain.”

  Samson headed out leaving Curtis alone with the helm.

  *

  William Marshall lay on the front on the converted crash boat in a pair of white Speedos, the models lay around him in wearing the latest pieces of fabric cut in various shapes but none much bigger than a slice of bacon. Carmine had a large portable cassette player, he pressed play and Freddie Mercury began singing about Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

  “Time for bubbles, ladies? And maybe some blow – I think the sun is well and truly over the yard arm, or shall I check with Cap’n Curtis?”

  Squeals and giggles greeted his announcement. Carmine was immediately on hand, in a pair of Speedos that were even smaller and tighter than Marshall’s. He passed a glass vial of white powder to the photographer and another to Nubia.

  “Oh, Tony,” called Carmine.

  Tony stuck his head around the wheelhouse where he had been taking pictures of his own of various parts of the boat.

  “What?” Tony’s London accent heavy was with annoyance.

  “Be a darling and fetch us two bottles of the Bollinger.”

  Tony stared daggers at Carmine but went off to fetch the champagne.

  “Fucking idiots aren’t they?”

  Curtis turned and saw Tammy Rodriguez leaning up against the doorframe of the wheelhouse. He looked out the window of the wheelhouse and watched them chopping and cutting lines of cocaine outside as Carmine popped the champagne.

  “You don’t like all that?”

  “Not how they go on like it’s the last days of Rome.”

  Curtis smiled.

  “You drink though?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want one?”

  “A drink? Sure, as long as it isn’t champagne.”

  Curtis tossed T
ammy the keys to the gun cupboard.

  “Then get the rum. I’ll have one too.”

  Tammy splashed rum into two metal mugs and passed one over to Curtis.

  “Cheers,” he said and she held out her mug to be clinked.

  Curtis watched through the window as Heidi, the blonde, removed her bikini top and threw it at Tony. He topped up her glass, put the bottle down and walked away back to his camera. The music changed from Queen to Blondie’s Heart of Glass. Heidi poured champagne down her leg into Carmine’s waiting mouth.

  “What’re you in this circus?” Curtis asked Tammy.

  “I’m Marshall’s assistant, which means I do everything from booking restaurants for him, managing his girlfriends and taking out his dry cleaning. Pretty much wipe his ass so he can take his pictures.”

  “Hope it pays well.”

  “Probably better than a boat captain in the middle of nowhere.”

  Curtis raised his mug.

  “You got that right.”

  “So how come you’re out here?”

  “Because your boss paid me.”

  “No, I meant why are you up here doing this?”

  “Well it’s this or take out the occasional fishing trip, maybe deliver some cargo.”

  “But why?”

  “Why not?” replied Curtis.

  “What did you do back in Australia?”

  “Not been back there in a while, worked on my Dad’s fishing boat for a while. Six months after the war was enough for me.”

  “War?”

  “Vietnam – you must know that one.”

  “Sure I know it, my brother died over there.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  Tammy shrugged.

  “It is what it is.”

  She topped herself up and then Curtis. He took a sip and looked Tammy in the eye and she held his gaze. Shouting from outside pulled Curtis away. He set the wheel and stepped out.