The torch battery died.
‘That’s just what we need,’ Kohl grunted. ‘Please tell you brought a bloody lighter.’
Orin patted his pockets. The spoon he’d used for shooting up last night, couple of clean needles, rubber tube in the left. Zippo in the right.
‘Here you go.’
The junkie snitch waved his hand aimlessly in the dark until it finally ran into Kohl’s shoulder.
‘You could have just lit the fuckin’ thing.’
Kohl grabbed Orin’s arm and wrestled the Zippo from his clammy fingers.
Kohl could feel the nauseating stench of rotting flesh eating into his nostrils even with the cargo door sealed.
‘Listen, If this is as bad as I think it’s going to be, you might want to go back up on deck. Don’t want you chucking you load everywhere, do we?’
Orin showed his yellowing teeth in what might have once been a smile, and gave a slimy servile nod before leaving Kohl alone in the hold.
The inspector turned back to the bulkhead and put all his weight on the freezing handle. The door swung outwards, and Kohl felt his knees buckle under the flow. He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve but the belching vomity stink was still too much for him and the Zippo fell to the floor. He groped around for it in what he first thought was water but he quickly realised the viscosity wasn’t that of water. When he re-lit the Zippo he could see his hands were black. His throat snagged with the taste of rust. It was blood. He stepped into the cargo bay and immediately lost it. He hurled his dinner up right at the door. Good to get that out of the way right at the start, he thought.
The flickering glow of the Zippo was enough to see the carnage. There must have been at least fifty bodies. Bloated, dismembered, decomposing bodies. All poor Syrian bastards. Must have been there for a month. Kohl kicked over the remains of a torso. Rats? No, the teeth-marks were far too big,maybe they had a dog in here? Then he realised. They must have resorted to cannibalism right at the end.
Suddenly the cargo door slammed shut behind him. Kohl felt his bowels twist just enough to leave a damp patch in his boxers. He turned to see Orin holding a Glock7 in his shaky hands.
‘You think they ate each other, don’t you? Fuckin’ police! You think everything’s so cosy, so easy to explain. Driven by necessity or some weird desire. Fuck you Kohl, all explanations and clever theories!’
‘What the fuck’s going on, Orin? What are you talking about? Did you do this?’
‘Well, not all of it. I didn’t kill them, but when I found them I was starving.’
‘What are you saying? You ate these miserable bastards?’
‘What can I say. Once you get a taste for it… You know…’
‘I knew you were a sick mother-fucker but, for fuck’s sake!’
‘It wasn’t easy, though. I had to deal with the Bergen port authorities. Can’t have them disturbing my feeding time, can we?’
‘The fire last week, that was you? You’re not just a sick fucker, you’re an clever fucker.’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say, Kohl the invincible – no case unsolved! Fearless Kohl. Fucking medals up the wazoo! What a fuckin’ hero!’
Orin laughed and the gun slowly steadied in his hand. His stance was no longer that of a hunched vassal. Even his teeth looked brighter.
‘So, Orin. Are you going to eat me?’
‘You know how eating alone can be. So the answer’s no, I’m not going to eat you. I’m just looking for a little company, that’s all.’ Orin handed Kohl the spoon.
Kohl reluctantly took the spoon from Orin’s outstretched hand.
‘No aperitif? Lost your class, Orin?’
‘What do you have in mind? This place only does main courses.’
‘How about we shoot up a bit? Do this blasted out our skulls?’
Orin’s shadow flapped around on the dank slime growing on the wall behind him. He switched the gun to his other hand and fished out the two needles from his pocket.
‘Hey, it’s your call. You’ve got the blow.’
Kohl slipped the fingers of his free hand into his hip pocket, carefully showing Orin his movements.
‘Hold the fuckin’ lighter will you?’ He handed the Zippo to Orin.
As Orin reached for the lighter, Kohl grabbed the two needles. In the split second when Orin was focused on the Zippo, Kohl rammed both hypos into the cannibal’s throat and smashed his clenched fist into his abdomen. Orin crumpled instantly into the black ooze on the floor along with the Zippo and the Glock. In the total darkness Kohl stamped his hefty Doctor Marten’s repeatedly onto the spot where he’d seen Orin fall. God knows how many time he landed his heel onto some other poor sod’s rotting corpse or onto Orin’s mutilated remains, but after what seemed like hours of pumping his foot into the shit and blood he was certain Orin was dead.
***
‘Come on, tell the truth,’ said Ulla, hanging on his every word, her long blonde hair barely covering her naked sylphlike form. ‘You had a nibble, didn’t you? I know you, Kohl. Always looking for new experiences.’
‘You come over here, and I’ll show you a new experience!’
Kohl’s mobile rang.
‘It’s the bloody harbour police.’
‘Don’t you even think about it!’ snapped Ulla, slipping her delicate fingers between his thighs. ‘Let me show you who’s the cannibal.’
Khol threw the phone into the hall and kicked the door shut, knocking over the leftovers from the Japanese takeaway. They went at it nine ways from Sunday, and when at last the sun broke through the pines surrounding Kohl’s summer house, he whispered in Ulla's ear:
‘Now you mention it, it could have done with a bit of salt.’
Was he talking about the sushi?
No comments:
Post a Comment