The props churn black water into white froth, and we’re headed out to Smugglers Cove where I’m scheduled to be tortured for a little while, and then brutally murdered.

Afterward, I expect I’ll be unceremoniously dumped into the water to feed the sharks, but I can’t be sure about that, because I’ve never actually been on this ride before. I’ve heard the stories, though, and everyone has heard about the sharks.

Smugglers Cove, ironically, is a spot out in the middle of the ocean where the aforementioned sharks were known to hang out. The name must have been an old joke among pirates or something, I’m not sure, but I am sure that no one dragged out here has ever been seen again. I should be terrified, I know, but the truth is; I think I kind of deserve what I have coming.

According to street rules anyway.

For starters, in the regular world, people don’t care if you let your debts get a little out of hand, right? The bank will just take all of your stuff and send you to jail.

On the street, we operate a little differently. For instance, say you owe your dealer money; they have an entirely different way of handling this type of situation than the bank. They don’t see a lot of humor in you owing them ten grand, and they see even less humor in an offer to pay it back a week late. In my case, I got a little cheeky and threw in the old “oh, by the way, could you spot me another two grand in credit until then?”

As I reflect on it now, I don’t consider it one of my shining moments. But that wasn’t why I was on this ride. I got the usual forty-eight hours to pay up, zero credit, and by street rules, that was really quite reasonable. But at the time, it pissed me off as being a mite stingy, so I helped myself to about two grand worth from the dealers pantry and disappeared for an extended party weekend. But even that wasn’t why I was here now.

I was enjoying this particular boat ride because when I disappeared with the stash, I took the dealer’s daughter with me.

Lena and I go way back. We’ve partied together for years, and when she caught me filling my pockets, it was only reasonable that I invite her along to partake of the bounty.

As it turns out, when it comes to his daughter, this dealer has no sense of humor at all. Sure, It was a little uncool of me, and I do admit to being a little left of thinking straight at the time. But I had known these guys for years and I figured we were straight.

They figured otherwise when the hospital called. Lena got sick; I don’t even really know what happened to her, and all I remember was the door to my room being kicked open and my head getting busted on. A few kicks and punches later, give or take several hundred, brings us to the present situation and my imminent meeting with the sharks.

The boat throttles down and the engines are cut. Now we’re just drifting along in the dark, under the stars, and usually, I would enjoy this kind of thing, but my arms and legs are on fire from being tied up for so long and not being able to scratch is about to drive me insane.

The itch is crawling underneath my skin, so I look up to try and count the stars to get my mind on anything else and I notice Dario and Popi looking down at me and neither looking any to friendly. Dario is younger than me, and meaner than a damn snake. He’s an up and coming enforcer and has always been jealous of Lena and me. Popi is Lena’s uncle and must be pushing sixty by now. He’s actually one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, which is why it surprised me that he was the one holding the ice pick.

Dario jerks me up to my feet and spins me around to face Popi. The old man doesn’t say a word; he just leans in and punches that steel into my gut over and over. I’ve seen this guy at birthday parties, laughing with children on his lap, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. Now he was as cold as a stone, sticking me like I was some kind of a stranger, and there was nothing in his eyes. Not one damn thing.

I grunt and moan and do all of the things you’re supposed to do when you’re getting stabbed. I don’t even have to try, really, it just comes naturally. Finally, Dario lets go of me and I crash down into a puddle of my own blood, smearing it where it’s splattered all over a plastic sheet.

At this point, I’m thinking that maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the torture end of things and now they’ll just shoot me, drop me over the side, and it won’t matter what happens after that because my ass will be dead.
Sadly, no one reaches for a gun.

The boat is an old fishing model, and Dario is busy pulling in one of the metal poles that they use to drag bait with. Popi is tying a rope behind my back, and I suddenly have an unbearable urge to reach out to him.
“Popi, I’m so sorry about Lena. You know I would never hurt her…”

He stops tying the rope and just looks at me with those blank eyes. Then he grabs my bottom jaw in one hand, the ice pick in the other hand and jabs the damn thing in my mouth four or five times. Surprisingly, getting stuck in the tongue and jaw hurts a lot worse than taking it in the gut. Weird, but true.

My mouth fills up with blood and I get the message. No more talking.

Popi lays the pick down and finishes whatever he was tying behind me. Then both men grab the sides of the plastic, and lift. I must look like a porpoise being transferred from one tank to another, except that I’ve never seen a porpoise as bloody as I was then.

They toss me over the side, plastic sheet and all, and the saltwater burns like fire in every one of the little holes that I’ve just acquired. I figure that all of those molten points must be what real pain feels like. Then they jerk me up and out of the water, and I get a crystal clear picture of pain because Popi had tied my hands and feet together, and as I was hoisted out of the water, both of my shoulders dislocated at the same time with a dull pop.

The pain is intense for the first few minutes and it’s hard to focus on exactly what’s going on. Then, slowly, I realize that I’m hanging belly down, just over the surface of the ocean. I look back at the boat and see Dario holding a video camera. He pushes the bait pole with his foot and I swing out and away from the boat; skimming over the water, pain lighting fires along every nerve in my body. Then the swinging stops and it takes a few moments of stillness before I can focus again.

As the pain quiets, it occurs to me that I can hear drops of blood leaking from my belly into the water underneath me. I look back at the boat and see that the camera light is on.

Fat droplets fall into the water and I think about a show I watched one time where they talked about how a shark can smell blood in the water from like, ten miles away or something. I run through a quick calculation of how many sharks are probably within ten miles of me now and the number is staggering. I lose control over my imagination and switch over to thinking about how big a sharks would have to be to reach up and tear a bite out of my belly, but as it happens, I don’t have to imagine it for long…

I can actually see it, and it’s a big, long dark shadow sliding just beneath me and then disappearing.

Dario whistles in appreciation of the size of the shark. Great. Then he loosens the rope and lowers me into the water until my belly is just under the surface, bleeding, and the shark won’t have to put any effort at all into tearing me open and feasting on my insides.

My chin is hanging into my chest just above the water, and I can feel the shark, sliding around just below me, circling.

I feel water push across my belly and my pulse jacks up like it’s going to hammer right out of my body, pumping even more blood into the water. I can feel the bite coming, and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for those teeth to rip into me and spill all of the soft, bloody things that will float out. The waiting is like nothing I’ve ever experienced and I would take a hundred jabs with an ice pick to the mouth over this, any day.

Then I realize that I just had time to think about that, and that nothing had ripped my belly open yet. The water beneath me is still, the breeze is blowing and the moon is shining above. Even in my haze of pain, I can appreciate how beautiful it all is. Then I hear the screams.

Dario’s voice is high-pitched, soaked through with terror. Go figure. It’s always the guys with the badass reputations…you know? On the other hand, Popi bellows like a Viking and sounds more like he’s attacking than being attacked. Then it goes quiet except for a soft, strangled whimper, a moment of silence, and wet, tearing sounds. Nobody screams after that.

I can’t turn around to see what’s eating Dario and Popi, but I can feel it watching me. Then I hear a splash and feel water moving toward me, and whatever is swimming underneath me is bigger than the shark. The water surges around me, but nothing breaks the surface and I realize that the thing has gone still.

The water is drenched in my blood, and I can feel this thing just sucking it in, whetting its appetite. Then, slowly, something rises out of the water in front of my face. I say something, because I have no idea what it is, but it’s long like the arm of an octopus with a mouth full of needle sharp fangs at the end of it. The arm ducks underneath me, and bites into the soft skin of my belly. My pulse is rocketing through my veins, but it calms a little and the bite loses its sting.

Then, bless the souls of all who have gone before me, I start to feel good. And when I say good, I mean really, really good – better than I’ve ever felt in my life and this whole thing has turned into a surprise and a pleasure instead of a nightmare, and I just glide along, riding the wave.

I’m drifting close towards unconsciousness, I know, but I don’t really care, and the last thought I have is that this is the without question the best high of my life, and push come to shove, it’s not a bad way to go. Not a bad way to go at all…

***
Waking up is a surprise. It’s also a bit of a bitch and my body hurts in too many different places to focus on just one at a time. I’ve got sand in my mouth and my tongue feels like it’s swollen to the size of a papaya, so I can’t spit the sand out. I roll my head and stare out at waves breaking across a beach. It’s not a pretty beach, just a desolate stretch that no one would ever bother to walk down, even if they could find it at all.

I try to move and am again surprised that I can. I push up onto my knees and then slowly stand, going easy on the tender places in my gut. My pants have holes in the thighs from Popi’s ice pick. I don’t even remember him stabbing me there. My shirt and shoes are gone.

Events from the night before come rushing back into my head and even though I’m afraid to do it, I look down at my stomach. Evidently, puncture wounds close up pretty fast because all I’ve got are angry red welts around tiny holes and one strange looking bite. It’s actually not that bad. It hurts, but I can still walk.

The sounds of traffic draw my attention away from my belly and I realize that I’m not far from a road. That’s good, because roads lead to people. People have money, and that’s what I needed if I was going to score, and believe me, after last night, I’m ready for a party like no one has ever been.

It’s a mile walk and thirty minutes of intense craving before I find a gas station and see a lady filling her tank. She’s gabbing away on her phone; not even paying attention to the pump, like whoever was on the other end is the most fascinating person of all time.

What’s fascinating to me is the purse laying on her front seat and the fact that her windows are down. I don’t even break stride, and I’m wealthier walking out of the parking lot than I was walking in. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not normally a thief, but last night must have really done a number on me because I’m burning for a fix something awful, and anyway, that lady looked like she could miss a few meals and still be all right. I wasn’t so sure about me, though, and I started to look for something else.

I had to admit that I felt better than I thought I would given all of the little mementos that Popi had left me, but the craving was more intense now and it was getting worse. I thought about Popi screaming, but the memory was hazy and I seriously doubted that anyone would expect me to feel bad for him after what he’d done.

That thought evaporated as soon as I spotted what I was looking for. A kid, maybe ten years old, sitting on his bike and watching a neighborhood intersection. I make it a point never to buy from kids, but I was in a jam and I knew this kid would have exactly what I needed. Turns out he did, and he was a tough little negotiator. I wound giving him the purse and everything in it. He gave me a small, tightly wrapped cellophane bag, and directions to an abandoned house down the block.

I briefly considered jogging, but my legs were sore as hell now and walking was all I could muster.

I find the house and don’t even have to search for the other things I need because they’re scattered all over the floor like last night was New Year’s Eve or something. Some dude is propped up in the corner, and I can’t tell if he’s staring at me or at something else. He looks like he could use a little help and he’s got some nasty marks on his arms, so I make a promise to myself that I will see what I can do for him in just a minute.

Then I find a nice quiet corner and in no time at all, I’m fixed up and feeling better that I have all day. Really, really good, and I just know that everything is going to be okay. I drift off with that thought in my mind. Everything is going to be okay.

***

I open my eyes and I have no idea where the hell I am. I’m thirsty, I know that, and I’m burning for a fix like a madman, but this is a different kind of craving than I’ve ever felt before. This is real intense, and when I smell the salt air blow in through the window, it rolls in my gut like something living.

I scramble to my feet and I feel good, strong and ready. The scent of salt air is deep in my nose, and all of the sudden, I have a crystal clear picture of what I need. I need to get to the beach, and not the one you picture with lovers strolling along in the moonlight, but a desolate little stretch I know where I won’t be bothered.

I walk into the next room and dude is still there, staring off into space. I feel bad for him and I tell him that I’ll come back to help him in a little while, but my tongue is still all swollen in my mouth, so I mumble it. I do it quietly so I won’t wake him up if he’s sleeping.

Then I realize that I still don’t have a shirt, and ask him if I can borrow his for a little while. It’s hot, anyway, and he’ll probably be more comfortable without it.

The moon is bright, lighting my path, I can smell the ocean, even though it’s still a ways away. My legs feel good and barely hurt where the pick jabbed me, so I just cruise along minding my own business. Then I come to the gas station, and damned if there’s not a cop car sitting there. I feel their eyes glued to me as I walk across the lighted parking lot. I hold my breath for the last twenty steps or so, and then sigh in relief as I make the edge of the shadows on the other side. I duck off the side of the road for good measure, but for once, they don’t seem to be after me.

My blood is boiling now and my attention is back on the task at hand. I find the spot on the side of the road that I emerged from earlier and head right back in to the thick stand of weeds and vines. After a couple of scrapes and stings from wrestling my way through, I’m standing on sand, and baby, I’m ready like I’ve never been before. I can’t say exactly what I’m ready for, but it can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned. The wind blows off of the water and across my nose, and suddenly, I do know.

I wade out into the dark water and I’ve never looked forward to anything so much in my life. The memory of last night pulses through my blood; of feeling so good, so peaceful, and I can’t wait to feel that way again.
Something big slides underneath the surface of the water in front of me and I know it’s there. I’m just about to dive in after it when that little mouth pokes up out of the surf and this time I practically shove my wrist into its teeth. The sting is sweet as it bites down and within moments, I’m floating again, riding waves of pleasure over and over into a silky paradise, over and over, floating away…

***

I hear voices, and for a moment I wonder if it’s the angels singing. Then I realize that angels don’t use codes when they’re talking into radios, and they don’t shine flashlights in your eyes. But I don’t really care, I haven’t done anything wrong and all I want to do is go back to sleep.

I close my eyes and I guess it’s all right because they take the light out my face and stop shaking me and asking questions. I’m kind of there and kind of not, but I catch snippets of their conversation. I hear them say “multiple puncture wounds” and I think of Popi again, that bastard.

The phrase “murder charges” catches my attention and I chuckle at that. Man, those guys were trying to kill me, not the other way around. Whatever happened to justice in this world? Then they say something about “bite marks” and “just like the others” and I get a weird feeling that something bad may have happened. I picture the dude in the house, but it’s hard to concentrate.

I roll my head in the sand to try and tell the cops that the guy might need help, but my tongue still won’t work. The sand in my mouth is driving me nuts and I struggle to work up enough juice to spit some of it out. My expression must have been awful, but when I look back up to the cop to shrug and apologize, I notice that his expression is worse than mine. That only lasts for a split second, though, before something flashes from behind me and tears his throat from his neck.

Blood sprays everywhere and he’s trying to scream, but it all comes out as a panic driven gurgle. His partner is screaming, though, and it’s even higher pitched than Dario. Of course, Dario never got his gun out, but the cop definitely has, and he manages to squeeze off two rounds before his throat gets torn out as well.

He stands there for a minute, doing his best imitation of a blood fountain, then topples over into the sand. I feel a dull ache and look down to see that he hit my right leg. Not with his body, but with both shots. Damn.

I’m bleeding, but not as bad as you might think after being shot. I laugh at the thought that I must not have much blood left in me, but I stop laughing when I look at the two dead cops lying on the beach.
A voice is screaming through the radio and it gets louder and louder until I finally hear it clearly and reality comes crashing down over me like a ton of bricks.

I stumble to my feet and even though my leg doesn’t feel exactly normal, I can still move. The question is, where do I move to, and as the question flashes in my mind, an answer comes in the form of a sharp pang. I’m dying for a fix. I’m dying for it like a desert staring up at a rain cloud and the two dead cops are suddenly much less of an emergency than they were just a minute ago.

I start working through the logistics of how I’m going to score, but honestly, after all I’ve been though, standing around and putting the polish on a master plan just isn’t my style. Besides, I do better as an action man, so I creep back toward the road and figure that I’ll swing by the gas station again and see if that lady ever came back.

I’m really burning now, and this time, I do start jogging. But even as I get further away from the beach, that sweet scent is my head like a beacon. I pick up the pace, because the sooner I take care of business, the sooner I can get back, and baby, I need to get back like nothing you can imagine…