Private Demons

by Robert Masello

The amber light flashed again, twice, with what almost appeared to be a swinging motion.

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observed. “I’ll notify navigation of what’s goin’ on.” Pomeroy

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He just hoped there weren’t too damned many people; tankers weren’t built to accommodate

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the sea was rolling easy tonight, and the sky was clear. In a squall, he’d run as good a chance of crushing them under his own hull as of

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probably come after him with a blunt machete. Of course, with a man like Lucien Calais, it was hard to say anything for sure. “I’ve got Molloy and Koop coming up on deck,” Skolnick said. “I’ll go down and check out the boat myself.” “Check it out good … that bunch the Le Havre picked up, off Con Son, had been eating each other for two weeks.” Skolnick grimaced

on after me.” They both fell silent, the cigarette smoke curling lazily into the air, the pounding of the huge engines a far-off but constant pulse beneath their