The Mariner

An angry voice. With several others growling in agreement. These are what had awoken him from his nightmare. He would thank them, if they were the sort who’d respond well to kind words that made little sense. Perhaps not, instead he would hold his tongue; there was a drunken meanness in that tone that the Mariner wanted no part of.

“Just take it all, please, I was playing for fun, I don’t even want it.” A woman’s voice. Scared. Threatened.

“So you think you’re above us? Our goods no good?” Another nefarious voice, not as gruff as the first, but slyer. Not the alpha male, but a member of the same pack all-right. A coward suddenly feeling bold.

“Of course they are!” Crying now. The sound of prey cornered by wolves. “But I’d rather we just went our separate ways, and forget this happened at all.” Dead already. “Please, I’m not well, I need to get back to the clinic.”

The fog fell from the Mariner’s drunken head. It was Rebecca! The room swam into focus; the game had gone sour and her opponents had cornered her, four in total. Her back was to the table whilst they stood around, blocking retreat.

Not that retreat looked likely, even if she managed to bolt past them, entrapment seemed certain. The Mariner glanced about the room. Drinking and chatter in the dark recesses had stopped, all eyes were now on the central altercation. Anticipation in the air. They were in a beasts’ den. How had he not seen it before?

Rebecca gathered her chips together in her hands and offered the bounty, though they didn’t even elicit a glance, not even when the coins caught the light and shimmered; cold eyes were too busy sizing up their victim, planning how to violate her first.

The Mariner knew he had to act. The thugs thought he was passed-out, dead-drunk, and that was fine by him. They could go on thinking that until he put a bullet through each of their heads, but he had to be careful. No doubt they would be keeping an eye on him as her accomplice. When he made his move, he had to do it fast and without warning.

In the corner of his eye he could see the barman making his way to the den’s front door. Any hope of the large man calling for help or rousing whatever served as the local peace-makers was short-lived. With a well-practised motion he placed a wooden beam across both door panels, sealing the room shut.

“If y’struggle, we’ll just fuck y’worse,” said the alpha. He stepped forward, closing the gap between her and him, imposing even more with his great height. It made her drop the coins and they scattered across the the floor beneath. None bent down to pick them up; poker chips were no longer the focus of their desire. “And if we can’t trust you, we’ll have to remove your teeth.”

“De-fang the fucking bitch!” cried one of the others, a scrawny weather-beaten rodent of a man. Sniggers came not just from the jackals, but the carrion birds who watched from the side.

“Now that would be a shame.” Alpha held out a large hand to take Rebecca’s chin, but she pulled away. Shaking, she backed up against the table so hard it juddered momentarily, letting out a screech that echoed off the walls. The sudden noise made her scream and the men pounce, the whole scene suddenly set in motion.

The Mariner moved his hand slowly to his side. He had a gun there, hidden beneath his coat. It was a vicious little device that could spit out bullets in quick succession, unless it jammed, which it was oft to do. The boy who’d traded him a full case-load had told him they were Mausers, though that seemed a strange name for a gun. Sounded more appropriate for a dog.

Whatever the name, the Mauser might just spew enough bullets to take down the gang and whoever felt gutsy enough to move from the shadows. Did any of them have guns? The Mariner had no idea. The ocean was endless and some he met had never seen a gun, others had them falling out their arse.

A quick punch to the stomach sent Rebecca double, her scream going silent as the wind was knocked from her lungs. Further blows pushed her against the table, her head striking the wooden edge with such force an ugly red gap opened on her forehead.

“Hold her down,” Alpha commanded one of his underlings. Both he and a second grabbed Rebecca by the arms and pulled her across the poker table. Face down against the hardwood she once again found her voice and begun to scream. Blood formed a pool in front of her eyes, the gash upon her head making her hair form thick scarlet clumps. Several pairs of hands gripped her trousers and pulled with such force her legs were lifted clear off the ground. Buttons, torn free, dropped to the floor, mingling with the discarded chips. As the garment disappeared down her legs, it revealed pale white skin, eyed lustily by the onlookers.