Raging Hard(42)

First, they seemed like amateurs. Any pirates working the U.S. coast would absolutely have to be pros just to keep from getting caught. Those two guys just seemed like normal thugs with a speedboat.

Second, they both had the same tattoo. That in itself wasn’t weird, since there were plenty of gangs and pirate crews that used symbols to prove membership. But there was something about the symbol that was nagging at me, like I had seen it before somewhere.

Finally, and most damning, was the situation they’d found us in. Why were pirates out in the rain? Maybe they thought the bad weather meant it would be easier to stay out of sight and slip past anybody that was patrolling the waters. But it also meant that most boats worth anything wouldn’t have left the harbor.

So why decide to attack some piece of shit junker like the one we were in? They had to know that we were a tourist vessel and that we didn’t have anything worth stealing. Maybe they were just going to attack the first ship they saw, but that was just stupid and reckless, even for pirates.

The whole thing felt fucked up and wrong. If they weren’t just some run-of-the-mill pirates, then who were they, and why did they come after us?

I was drenched in sweat and feeling good by the time I made my way back to the house. Claire was still sleeping, and our parents hadn’t come home, which meant it was easy for me to slip upstairs, shower off, change, and grab some food real fast.

I was out the door before anyone knew any better.

The Outer Banks was a popular tourist destination. Claire’s dad lived in the richest town, but there were plenty of other places scattered throughout the 200-mile expanse that were typically included as a part of the Outer Banks but weren’t full of millionaires.

It was large enough to hide a few little hidden pirate coves, too, but I didn’t know where to find any. Plus, I couldn’t go around asking questions like that, or else I was liable to get stabbed in the neck. Walking up and down the coast until I found something was out of the question, too, considering the whole point of a pirate cove was to be hidden from people. One asshole wandering around wasn’t going to just stumble upon it, not to mention the huge size of the coast.

Instead, I made a drawing of the symbol I’d seen tattooed on those guys and went to one of the seediest towns I knew about.

Seedy for Outer Banks standards, at least. It was still pretty decent, with plenty of tourist crap and whatnot, but it wasn’t geared toward the rich and the ultra-rich. It was a little rough around the edges. As I walked around the downtown and boardwalk areas, I felt much more comfortable here than I had back with Claire and her dad.

It didn’t take me long before I found the shadiest bar in the area. It was a dive called The Salty Pecker that had a seagull as their mascot. I smirked to myself, always one to appreciate a good penis joke, as I went inside the dimly-lit space.

It was early, still before noon, and the few people in there were hardcore regulars. Otherwise, it was mostly empty, and so I took a seat at the bar until the bartender came over.

“What can I do for you?”

“Beer. Coffee, too, if you have it.”

“Beer and coffee, coming up. You want some food?”

“Nah. Not right now.”

He nodded. “Kitchen does breakfast for another hour.”

I thanked him as he walked away. Only in the Outer Banks would a dive bar also serve breakfast.

He returned with my drinks pretty quickly, and I left him a decent tip. I drank the coffee first, enjoying the scalding heat, and watched a soccer game on TV.

I was going to have to be patient, and patience was not one of my strongest qualities. Still, I couldn’t exactly wave the symbol around to every asshole I saw, hoping that someone would lead me directly to the pirates. I had to be subtle, or at least a little bit subtle, otherwise I’d get that knife right in the back.

I wasn’t sure why I kept thinking about getting stabbed. I was probably remembering how I had killed the first guy on the boat. Not that I felt bad about that or anything. I’d killed before in the line of duty and would kill again. But it was the first time I’d killed outside of a mission, and it felt a little strange.

Still, I’d do it again if it meant protecting Claire. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it or anything like that.

I started in on the beer as the first hour ticked away. I finished it and ordered another, tipping generously again. Soon people began to filter in, mostly tourist types, but also a few hard-looking people, probably locals.

Eventually I started chatting with the barman. He was a bored guy, owner of the place, and seemed happy just to have someone to talk with. He’d been married but was divorced, and he had lived in the area his whole life. He was Dan the barman, and I had to repress a little smile at the stupid rhyme.