Cruising at Night

"Vampires don't exist Jack, get a hold of yourself."

But why else would a fatal wound not be bleeding. The irrational thought first crossed his mind halfway down the pitch black alley. He knew it was stupid but his mind kept imagining the corpse springing back to life, its long pale fingers clawing out of the tarp and wrapping around his neck, fanged teeth extending to bleed him dry.

Just as he forced that happy picture from his mind, a distant memory long suppressed bubbled up from the depths of Jack's subconscious. An image of one of his comrades next in the line, pressed up against a foe in the aftermath of a last ditch charge by the French. In desperation he had used whatever means necessary to live, and gnawed on the enemy's throat. Jack still remembered that man's gurgled scream, distinct over the din of battle as his jugular came out in a spray of blood, bits of sinew hanging from the Englishman's teeth.

A shiver went up Jack's spine as he gratefully let the body drop from his shoulder, landing on the wooden planks with an unceremonious thud. It would still be a while before Billy got back with the boat, so Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigar and matches again. The simple rhythm and familiarity of the habit was soothing, pulling in the smoke and letting it swirl in his mouth. The worries of the world fell away for a few blissful moments as the dark water rolled by to the quiet hum of night. As the tension from nearly being shot ebbed away, Jacks general awareness returned. Despite the smoke the waft of shit and piss hung in the air, the corpse having evacuated it's bowels at some point but had gone unnoticed with until the adrenaline had completely worn away.

About three in the morning the black steamer of their order chugged up to the dock. Billy was near the furnace, almost unrecognisable now with his sandy blonde hair turned black with soot. Evidently Barry wasn't keen on any hard work and had convinced the boy to shovel the coal. The fat man didn't move a muscle while Jack tied off, his oddly high pitched voice rang far louder than needed as Barry expressed his annoyance.

"Well where's this body then? Some cheek you have mate, sending this flea bag to get me out in the cold, and at this hour!"

"Suppose you won't be lending a hand then Barry?" replied Jack in a tired rhetoric.

"Nothin' in my job description mentioned heavy lifting, boy! Go help!"

Billy shot a black gaze at Barry as he dropped the coal shovel he with indifference. He hopped off the boat and strode to the rolled up tarp on the ground. Jack had dragged the body a few meters away to escape the stench, the rolled up tarp just on the cobbles of the bank. As jack picked up the torso he expected a comment from the boy down at the less pleasant end, but evidently he was all too accustomed to filth and death. Barry was not so silent, and couldn't help but let a glaring statement of the obvious slip from his wagging jowls as they stepped back aboard.

"That smells like shite!"

Billy and Jack exchanged a quick glance of the no verbal 'you don't say'.

"If it makes a mess on this deck" Barry continued "you'll be the ones cleaning it up. Whether its blood, piss or shite!"

Jack just placed the body down and moved to untie the boat, drolly responding to the chubby mans ramble.

"yes sire, now can we be off? It's not going to make a mess rolled in that tarp. And besides, there wasn't any blood."

Billy paused on his way back to the furnace, slowly turning on the spot with a blank expression as the boat pulled out.

"What do ya mean, there was no blood?" The boy's body was stiff as a nail, only his mouth moving.

"I mean no bloody was coming out of the wound, I only noticed it myself…"

"Vampire!!!" squealed Billy, jolting back to life as he flew across the deck.

He quickly scooped up a thin sliver of wood that had broken off the hand rail and launched himself at the body, stabbing down at the chest with all his might. Jack managed to catch his arm and halt the blow before it could land, hauling the squirming boy away by wrist and waist.

"Calm down, it's not a bloody vampire!" It sounded much more convincing saying it to someone else, and Jack felt a little stupid that he had the same thought earlier. "They don't exist, and even if they did don't you think it would have run off by now?"

To his credit Billy took on the logic very quickly, instantly ceasing his assault to ponder the statement. Barry interjected, not having suffered from any such irrational fears.

"One of you best start shovelling some coal, or we won't goin nowhere. And it was a hot iron poker I'll wager." Billy and Jack turned to the chubby man before asking simultaneously.

"What?"

"No blood, means it was red hot iron that done that fella in."

"How would do you figure that?" questioned Jack.

"Back when I worked at the tower we would, from time to time, use red hot iron on the inmates. When we needed answers like." Barry offered his insight into torture like common trade talk, like a sailor explaining which knot to tie "We found it's scarier when it's all red, leaves less of a mess too."

"Billy, go throw some more coal in" Jack squeezed the boys shoulder and whispered in his ear "And best keep your distance from him yea."

"Ah huh"

The trip back to the office went by in silence. Billy shovelling when needed while keeping one eye on Barry, who was oblivious to the scrutiny. Jack leaned against a rail and pondered his colleague's insight. He hadn't thought about it too much at the time but it was actually pretty obvious. But what kind of pistol shot a round hot enough to burn through a man, and a weave?

They pulled up under Westminster bridge, reversing the boarding process. By the time Jack had tied off and went back to the body, Barry had already disembarked and was already halfway down the dock, his stance on manual labour unchanged. With Billy's help it wasn't too hard to keep up despite the dead weight, the ex torturer just clicking turning the key as they got to the office door. As Barry headed back to his chair by a small fireplace at the far end of the hall, Jack led Billy down a narrow dusty stair to the basement. There were a couple of long wide benches in the room so the pair hauled the corpse onto the nearest one, leaving the tarp on for the time being.

"Well lad, I'd say you've earned your pay." Jack pulled out the three one pound notes and placed them in Billy's outstretched hand, the boy hurriedly stuffing the cash in his pocket less Jack change his mind. "You ever looking for work again I'm down in Southwark, look for a black door on at Nelson Square."

"Nelson square, by the king mate you're poorer an me." Jack nearly retorted but the kid had a point. Until his back pay came through, he wasn't exactly well off. And honestly he was too tired to think of something witty so light-heartedly replied.

"Fuck off then kid. Though ill have that ring back before you go."

Billy sheepishly took the ring out of his pocket and handed it over, turning to dart up the stair and be well clear of this place of authority. Jack trudged after him, latching the door behind once he reached the top. After dumping the keys on the front desk he went to leave, just getting his hand on the door when Barry stopped him, calling out from the back room.

"Where do ya think you're going?"

"Home, I finished two hours ago."

"Not much point in that mate, boss be here soon and you need to explain what's downstairs."

While Barry wasn't exactly in charge, he was right. Jack headed for a seat not far from the man, adopting the same position as he put his heels on a low table. He was about to pull his bowler over his eyes when Barry pulled out a dented steel flask and handed it over. Jack unscrewed the cap and gratefully took a short draught. The spiced rum tingled pleasantly, leaving only a slight burning sensation as it went down.

"Cheers" As Jack handed the flask back.

"Welcome."

Maybe not such a bad bloke after all.