Rising Force

by Wayne Stinnett

  The arguing had stopped, but there was still a lot of noise coming from inside the boat docked on the other side of the Revenge. I couldn’t see it, but it sounded like things were being tossed around inside. I stepped over onto the dock, then dropped down into the cockpit of the Revenge, going straight for the engine room hatch with my keys in hand. I keep a powerful hand-held spotlight mounted just inside the engine room. Unlocking the hatch, I opened it and grabbed the light.

  Stepping over to the gunwale, I looked forward. The boat next to me was a small sloop, no more than thirty feet. The Revenge was backed in, and the sailboat was pulled in forward, so her cockpit was up near the foredeck of the Revenge.

  Aiming the spotlight at the sailboat’s cabin, I flicked it on. The light pierced the darkness, turning night to day on the small sloop. “What’s going on over there?” I shouted.

  There was silence for a moment. Then a suitcase popped up from below, clattering to the cockpit deck, as a man’s head came up out of the cabin.

  “Kill the light, asshole,” the man said without turning around.

  I didn’t blame him. The spotlight in my hand was two-hundred thousand candle-power and looking directly into it would ruin your vision for a few minutes.

  “How about you move out to where I can see you first,” I replied, my right hand on the butt of the Sig in my pocket.

  Instead, the man disappeared below. A moment later, another suitcase was toppled onto the deck with the first. The man slowly rose up from the cockpit but didn’t turn to face me. He was smallish in both height and build.

  “I ain’t gonna let you blind me,” he said, his voice raspy like a three-pack-a-day smoker. He was American, but I couldn’t tell for sure where he was from. Somewhere in the mid-Atlantic states, maybe.

  “What’s with all the noise?” I asked.

  “What’s it to ya?”

  “I don’t like noise when I’m resting,” I growled back.

  “It’s over,” the man said, lifting one of the suitcases and dropping it onto the dock. “She’s gone, and I hope the bitch never comes back.”

  I kept the light on the man, as he tossed the second bag onto the dock, then went to the helm and started the engine.

  “You wanna kill that light, so I can cast off?”

  I reached over to the salon hatch and flicked the bridge lights on above me, then switched off the spot, but I didn’t put it away.

  The man turned and looked up at the bridge, then moved toward me to untie the bow line. “This ain’t none of your business anyway,” he called up to the fly bridge.

  I didn’t say anything, just watched him from the shadows below the fly bridge overhang. The man was young, maybe twenty-five or thirty. He had long, light-colored hair, which he wore in dreads. He didn’t have quite enough fuzz on his face to call it a beard. His clothes were worn, and he just had a semi-permanent disheveled look about him. In the subdued light, I couldn’t make out any facial features. He kept his head down, as if hiding his face for some reason.

  Without another word, he untied the lines and backed the sloop out. Within minutes, he was leaving the marina and turning east, away from the bridge.

  Once he was a good distance away, I stepped up to the dock and went to where he’d tossed the luggage. The suitcases showed a little use, but they were both high-end matched pieces. Apparently, they belonged to the woman he’d just abandoned, though I hadn’t seen anyone leave. I moved them to the center of the dock, then returned to the Revenge.

  Not my circus, not my monkeys.

  After putting away the spotlight, I’d gone back over to the Salty Dog. I wasn’t going to be caught unprepared again. I’d finished unpacking a few things, then stashed another Sig in the aft stateroom and a Glock in the hiding spot in the pilothouse.

  Around twenty-hundred, curiosity had gotten the best of me and I went back over to the Revenge. The suitcases were right where I’d moved them to on the dock. I don’t know why, but I fetched a small cooler with a six-pack of Kaliks and took it up to the fly bridge. Kalik is a decent lager brewed in the Bahamas, and here it’s cheaper than any other brand.

  Just before midnight, I was on my third beer, and yawning. It had been a long day, and I wanted to get an early start. Sitting in the darkness, debating going to bed or drinking one more beer, I heard footsteps on the dock. I could just make out a figure moving along the main pier. It stopped at the finger dock for a moment, then ran out to where the suitcases were sitting.

  “Dammit, Benny!” The voice was obviously female.

  The woman sat on the larger suitcase, mumbling something. After a moment, I heard the unmistakable sound of her sobbing.

  I switched on the red overhead lights, so as not to diminish my night vision. The woman on the dock noticed the faint glow on the dock and looked up.

  “Is someone there?” a frail-sounding voice asked.

  “He left a couple of hours after sunset.”

  The woman stood and looked up. “Did he say where he was going?”

  Rising from the helm seat, I moved to the ladder and climbed down, switching on the red lights in the cockpit, mounted under the overhang.

  “No,” I said. “He didn’t say much of anything at all. But he headed east out of the harbor.”

  She took a hesitant step toward me. “Do you have a phone?”

  “You have friends in Nassau you can call?”

  “No, not here.” She was close enough that I could see the tears in her eyes. “But I have a friend up on Chub Cay who I can call.”

  Fishing my cellphone from my pocket, I leaned across the gunwale and extended it to her.

  “Thanks, mister.” She turned and walked toward the end of the dock, past her luggage.

  After a moment, I could hear her talking in a low voice. Though I couldn’t tell what was being said, I recognized the pleading in her voice. She started back toward me, and I heard her say, “I’ll find a way,” before ending the call.

  She was young, probably younger than the guy that dumped her. In the dim light of the bridge, I could tell she had a pretty face, with light-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail. Maybe five-six or so, with a slim build. She was wearing faded jeans and a white pullover with exposed shoulders and sleeves that tied just above her elbows.

  “I’m Kat,” she said, handing the phone back. “That’s with a K.”

  “Short for Katherine or Katrina?” I asked.

  “Kathleen.”

  “I’m Jesse,” I said, taking the phone with my left hand, and extending my right. She shook hands quickly, then snatched it back as if realizing that I could easily pull her off the dock. “Someone coming for you?”

  “I have a friend on Chub Cay,” she repeated. “But her boat’s not running, and she can’t come for me for two days.”

  I paused for a moment, looking into the girl’s eyes. What I needed to do was get to sleep and set sail early in the morning. Instead, I was debating if the girl was going to be okay, or if she was some sort of looney.

  “This is my boat,” I said. “And I own the ketch on the other side of it. I can let you sleep here, if you want. But I’m leaving at first light.”

  “How do I know you’re not some kind of sicko?”

  “I could ask the same of you,” I replied. “But I’m not the one standing at an empty dock with nowhere to go.”

  She stood there a moment, then looked up toward the bow of the Revenge, some forty feet ahead of us. “I don’t guess sickos go around in fancy boats like this.”

  “I can put on some coffee,” I offered. She considered it another moment, then took a tentative step forward. “Probably oughta bring your luggage aboard,” I said, stepping out into the light in the middle of the cockpit.

  She turned and went to her bags. As she carried them toward me, she said, “You’re sure I’m not putting you out?”r />
  “You are,” I replied. “But I have two girls about your age and I just don’t see how I can leave you stranded on the dock and be able to sleep.”

  She handed me the luggage, then stepped down to the cockpit and looked up at me. “Wow, you’re really big.”

  Turning, I unlocked the hatch and put her bags inside, switching on the interior lights. “I’ve moved most of my stuff over to my ketch,” I said. “That’s where I’ll be sleeping. If you’re hungry I can whip up something to eat.”

  “I’m not real hungry,” she said, following me into the salon and looking around. “This is really nice.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Under the inside lights, she looked malnourished, her eyes slightly sunken, but still pretty in a familiar sort of way. Like a woman you’d known since childhood might be. “Make yourself at home. The staterooms are forward, take your pick. Head and shower are to starboard. I’ll go over to Salty Dog and rustle up something to eat. You afraid of dogs?”

  “I love dogs,” she said. “And the truth is, I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “Then go get cleaned up,” I said. “Come over to the ketch next to this boat when you’re ready. I promise I’m not a sicko.”

  I remembered seeing that Salty Dog had been connected to shore power at Brown’s and I’d already found a box of frozen hamburger patties in the freezer. Hopefully, the patties were still good. I pan seared three of them, though I wasn’t terribly hungry. While they cooked, I opened the hatch in the galley to let the smoke and heat out. There were chips in the pantry. Normally, I’d opt for fresh vegetables, or at least fried potatoes. But that would take too long.

  As I moved the patties onto a rack to drain off some of the grease, the girl called out from the dock, “Hello?”

  “Come, Finn,” I said, as I started up the companionway. “You might as well meet our guest now.”

  She was standing on the dock, wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. Both were worn, but looked clean.

  “Come aboard,” I said, as Finn joined me in the cockpit. “This is Finn.”

  She stepped aboard cautiously. I noticed the handle of one of my galley knives sticking out of her pocket. I felt pretty certain she stole it for defense reasons, but just in case, I stepped back to arm’s length. My arm, not hers.

  “You’re in no danger,” I said. “I know all bad guys will say that, too. But I really do have two daughters your age and it’d bother me if I didn’t at least offer you the necessities.”

  “Is he friendly?” Kat asked, looking at Finn.

  “He is, but he’s a little confused right now.” I nodded toward the Revenge. “We’ve been living on that boat for a while, and it’s our first night on the ketch.”

  Kat extended the back of her hand to Finn, as someone familiar with dogs would do. He sniffed it, wagging his tail, then took a step forward to allow her to scratch his neck.

  “Well,” I said, “that confirms my impression that you’re not a dangerous psycho. Dogs have good instincts about people.”

  She squatted and scratched both sides of Finn’s neck, which was just pure nirvana to him. As she did so, the carving knife fell out of her pocket, clattering on the deck. She looked up, horrified.

  “You can hang onto that, if it makes you feel more secure. But I would like it returned before I leave tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been in strange places with strange people, where I couldn’t tell the good ones from the bad. Come on down, I made a few burgers.”

  Around bites of the rather large hamburgers, Kat told me about her relationship with the man who abandoned her, telling me his name was Benny, but she didn’t think it was his real name. He’d struck me as an unsavory character, at best, and her description of him removed any doubt. He was a simple thief and con-man. A boat bum who lived fully over the line and off the grid.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What’s your story? You own two high end yachts here in the Bahamas, but you’re from the States?”

  “I have a few other boats back home in the Keys.” I nodded toward where the Revenge was tied up next to us. “Mostly work boats like Gaspar’s Revenge over there. I do charters, fishing and diving mostly. A friend is arriving tomorrow to take the Revenge back home for me.”

  “You’re a charter captain?”

  “Sometimes,” I replied, recalling a waitress asking me the same thing ten years ago in Key Largo. “I don’t have to charter a whole lot to get by.”

  “You said you were leaving tomorrow? Taking this boat back to Florida, too?”

  I knew what was coming. She was American, but had no discernible accent, which I pegged for Floridian. She wanted to go back home and needed a ride.

  “No,” I said. “I’m cruising the Bahamas, looking for someone. I could arrange for my friend to give you a ride to Florida. But he won’t be leaving until day after tomorrow.”

  She chewed a handful of potato chips, but I could see something in her eyes: fear or dread. “No, I don’t want to go to Florida. Where are you going tomorrow?”

  I didn’t want a passenger and I didn’t need company. I wasn’t the greatest sailor in the world; I’d only sailed a few times since I was a kid. Back then, I’d sailed a lot with my parents, and later with Mam and Pap, even helping Pap build a few boats. But single-handing a sixty-one-foot ketch would be a bit of a learning curve. If I was going to screw something up, I wanted to do it alone.

  “Your friend in Chub Cay? Will you be safe with him?”

  “Her,” Kat corrected me. “She works at a marina there and has a tiny room available, over the store. She said I could stay as long as I wanted, and she’d even get me some work.”

  “The person I’m looking for,” I began. “She was last seen headed toward Chub Cay. That’s where I’m going in the morning.”

  “I know how to sail,” Kat offered, hesitantly. “I can help crew in exchange for a ride. I don’t take up very much space and can stay out of the way. It’s only a day’s sail.”

  “You’ve made your mind up that I’m not a dangerous fugitive?”

  “Bad people raise bad dogs,” she said, extending the last bite of her burger to Finn.

  He looked at me, licking his chops, and I nodded. He inched closer and delicately took the morsel from the girl’s hand.

  She smiled. “Dogs have good instincts about their owners, too.”

  I smiled back, and even though I didn’t want the company, I knew I couldn’t leave her stranded if she had a safe place to stay on Chub.

  “I accept your offer to crew, then. But this boat only has one stateroom. There’s a sofa bed in the lower salon and this dinette converts to a bunk. Or you can spend the night on my other boat. Just don’t steal any more knives, okay?”

  She looked down the forward companionway. “The couch looks plenty big enough. I’d rather not be alone.”

  “You sure?” I asked. “The Revenge has a state-of-the-art security system. You’d be perfectly safe there.”

  Kat removed the carving knife from her pocket and slid it across the table. “What’s your last name, Jesse?”

  “McDermitt,” I replied, leaving the knife where it was.

  She finished her second hamburger, and I ate about half of mine, giving the rest to Finn. He was like a bottomless pit when it came to burgers.

  Kat rose from the table, picking up both plates. “I’ll clean up, Captain McDermitt. But I need to get my bags from your other boat.”

  Grinning, I said, “I’ll get your bags. I want to sail early, so we need to get some shut-eye.”

  Leaving the Salty Dog, I crossed over to the Revenge. The salon hatch was locked. She’d apparently locked it from the inside, when she left. I opened it and went forward to my stateroom, checking everything along the way. She seemed like a nice enough kid, bu
t you just can’t tell. Finding nothing amiss, I turned off the main breaker, picked up her luggage, and returned to the Dog.

  When I stepped down into the pilothouse, Kat was opening the cabinets in the galley, holding two plates in her other hand.

  “One more to the left,” I said, carrying her bags on down to the lower salon.

  She put the dishes away, then followed me down, going over to the couch and opening the guitar case. “You play?”

  “Not really,” I replied. “It came with the boat.”

  “Hey, this is a Silvertone,” she said, taking the guitar out and lightly strumming a few chords.

  The CD player was still playing, apparently having started over at the end. Eric was singing a tune about being a reggae guy. It was fading to a close, and he was narrating about smoking a spliff.

  “You like Eric Stone?” she asked, easily playing along with the music for a moment. “I’ve seen him play a few times.”

  “He was playing at a friend’s bar when I left Marathon last month.”

  She put the guitar back in the case and lifted the smaller suitcase, putting it on the couch. Opening it she dug through the contents and produced a small wooden box.

  “Thank God he didn’t find it,” Kat mumbled, sliding a side of the box open and pulling a small metal tube from the box. “Do you party?”

  I could smell the pungent contents of the box and recognized it as marijuana.

  “Tried it once,” I said. “Wasn’t real crazy about the way it made me feel. Kinda nervous and awkward.”

  “Mind if I take a lift?”

  I did. But a lot less so than in the past. Jimmy smoked pot all the time, as did a lot of other people I knew. It seemed like it had gone from an underworld drug to common usage in my lifetime. Or maybe I saw it that way because it just wasn’t very prevalent in the Corps.

  Kat seemed to sense my negativity. “I don’t have to. But, it wouldn’t stink up your boat. This is good weed, and it doesn’t take much.”

  I remembered the time I’d smoked it. A tiny fleck of the stuff in a pipe had me seeing stars.