Dead Girl Beach by Mike Sullivan Page B
Authors: Mike Sullivan
Tags: Suspense, Mafia, serial killer, love, island, tropical, story, dark, girl, Lifestyles, beach, Dead, Damnation Books, Corruption, female, paradise, worlds, conflict, strange, Exotic, hong kong, chilling, 9781615729852, Mike Sullivan, Thailand. Gruesome, needlefish, contrast, Contract killing, crooked cops, Eerie, murders
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street. Give it ten or twenty minutes. Maybe, the guy was running late. Maybe, he stopped off for a beer somewhere after selling a lot of tickets.
As he sauntered back outside along the walk, he remembered heâd forgotten to lock the door to the cabin. Arun was lazy and didnât feel like walking back to lock the door.
Ah, screw it
. Heâd sit on the curb and wait with one eye peeled for the vendor and the other eye back on the cabin. It seemed like a good idea. Besides, he couldnât lock it, anyway. Heâd forgotten where heâd left his keyâon the bookshelfâ¦or in the drawer to the bed stand? Was it out on the pegboard in the kitchen? He couldnât remember.
He looked up the street and back, again.
Ah, hell. Who cares, anyway?
He was close enough to the cabin. If someone tried to slip inside, heâd spot the bastard, race over, and put some hurt on him. He may be skinny, but Arun was tall and gangly, and he could hit pretty hard for a guy his sizeâfive-ten and 155 pounds. So, he wasnât worried.
Besides, he wore his amulet for good luck, and it gave him protection. Most Thais believed in the power of amulets and wore them constantly. He also had the Smith &Wesson tucked away under his pillow. So, that gave him extra incentive not to worry. At 4:45 p.m., the vendor rode by. Arun waved the guy over, and the guy stopped one inch short of running over his feet.
âHey, watch it!â Arun shouted at the guy. âWatch the goddamn bike, will ya?â
âSorry,â the guy said.
He leaned over the handlebars with his fat face smiling down at Arun like a circus clown. His breath reeked of beer, and his nut-brown eyes glittered in a dizzy light. He wore jeans, sneakers, and the same Baltimore Orioles baseball cap heâd worn when he sold Arun the winning lotto ticket.
Getting off the bike, the vendor kicked the stand down and parked the bike next to the curb. A ray of late afternoon sun glinted off the chrome handlebars. The vendor brought out a large board with rows of square, paper tabs lined with numbers. Arun fingered through the tabs of paper, looking for his birthday numbers. The guy stared out dreamily onto the street while Arun searched through the tabs, tearing off ones with a combination of 12-5-77. He won the lotto once; maybe, he could do it, again.
âYou got a cigarette?â The vendor brought two straight fingers up to his lips and tapped them lightly.
âNaw, donât smoke.â Arun shook him off.
As he studied the lotto tickets, Arun had no idea what was going on behind him. In the wheat-colored Camry, Bram Beckers had driven by five minutes before and pulled off onto a side street. He got out of the car, crossed a vacant lot, and walked up to the door of Arunâs cabin, keeping his eye focused on the street. He was both pleased and astounded to find the front door unlocked. Putting the sheet of tool metal back into the pocket of his suit coat, Beckers opened the door and slipped inside.
âThat should do it.â Arun pulled out a thousand baht note heâd borrowed from Lawan and handed it over to the vendor.
The guy unzipped a cloth bag and slipped the note inside. He said, â
Kap-Khun Kap
ââthank you very muchâgot back on his bike, and drove away.
Sitting on the curb, Arun stayed a while longer. Studying his numbers, he wished, hoped, and prayed that some combination would turn up tomorrow to make him a rich man, again.
Inside the cabin, Bram Beckers searched to see if anyone else was inside. When he found the place empty, he moved down the hall toward the back bedroom. With a pair of black riding gloves, he opened the door and closed it behind him. The room was clean, the bed made, and a smell of lilac filled the air. Beckers got out his K-Bar knife and waited.
Chapter Twelve
At 4:15 that afternoon, Suma was panic-stricken. Her nerves were about to snap. She locked the cabin door and rushed
As he sauntered back outside along the walk, he remembered heâd forgotten to lock the door to the cabin. Arun was lazy and didnât feel like walking back to lock the door.
Ah, screw it
. Heâd sit on the curb and wait with one eye peeled for the vendor and the other eye back on the cabin. It seemed like a good idea. Besides, he couldnât lock it, anyway. Heâd forgotten where heâd left his keyâon the bookshelfâ¦or in the drawer to the bed stand? Was it out on the pegboard in the kitchen? He couldnât remember.
He looked up the street and back, again.
Ah, hell. Who cares, anyway?
He was close enough to the cabin. If someone tried to slip inside, heâd spot the bastard, race over, and put some hurt on him. He may be skinny, but Arun was tall and gangly, and he could hit pretty hard for a guy his sizeâfive-ten and 155 pounds. So, he wasnât worried.
Besides, he wore his amulet for good luck, and it gave him protection. Most Thais believed in the power of amulets and wore them constantly. He also had the Smith &Wesson tucked away under his pillow. So, that gave him extra incentive not to worry. At 4:45 p.m., the vendor rode by. Arun waved the guy over, and the guy stopped one inch short of running over his feet.
âHey, watch it!â Arun shouted at the guy. âWatch the goddamn bike, will ya?â
âSorry,â the guy said.
He leaned over the handlebars with his fat face smiling down at Arun like a circus clown. His breath reeked of beer, and his nut-brown eyes glittered in a dizzy light. He wore jeans, sneakers, and the same Baltimore Orioles baseball cap heâd worn when he sold Arun the winning lotto ticket.
Getting off the bike, the vendor kicked the stand down and parked the bike next to the curb. A ray of late afternoon sun glinted off the chrome handlebars. The vendor brought out a large board with rows of square, paper tabs lined with numbers. Arun fingered through the tabs of paper, looking for his birthday numbers. The guy stared out dreamily onto the street while Arun searched through the tabs, tearing off ones with a combination of 12-5-77. He won the lotto once; maybe, he could do it, again.
âYou got a cigarette?â The vendor brought two straight fingers up to his lips and tapped them lightly.
âNaw, donât smoke.â Arun shook him off.
As he studied the lotto tickets, Arun had no idea what was going on behind him. In the wheat-colored Camry, Bram Beckers had driven by five minutes before and pulled off onto a side street. He got out of the car, crossed a vacant lot, and walked up to the door of Arunâs cabin, keeping his eye focused on the street. He was both pleased and astounded to find the front door unlocked. Putting the sheet of tool metal back into the pocket of his suit coat, Beckers opened the door and slipped inside.
âThat should do it.â Arun pulled out a thousand baht note heâd borrowed from Lawan and handed it over to the vendor.
The guy unzipped a cloth bag and slipped the note inside. He said, â
Kap-Khun Kap
ââthank you very muchâgot back on his bike, and drove away.
Sitting on the curb, Arun stayed a while longer. Studying his numbers, he wished, hoped, and prayed that some combination would turn up tomorrow to make him a rich man, again.
Inside the cabin, Bram Beckers searched to see if anyone else was inside. When he found the place empty, he moved down the hall toward the back bedroom. With a pair of black riding gloves, he opened the door and closed it behind him. The room was clean, the bed made, and a smell of lilac filled the air. Beckers got out his K-Bar knife and waited.
Chapter Twelve
At 4:15 that afternoon, Suma was panic-stricken. Her nerves were about to snap. She locked the cabin door and rushed
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