Tuna Tango

by Steven Becker

  The office was quiet now, the phone call over, and a minute later, Lance emerged from the office and came toward them. She stood to shake his hand, kicking Dick in the leg to do the same.

  “You’re Sheryl, Will’s girlfriend,” he stated.

  She nodded, deciding not to contest the latter statement. It would not do anyone any good to muddy the waters with drama. “And this is Dick. He was working for Will on the project.” She noticed his brow furrow.

  “Good to meet you.” He placed a hand on Dick’s back to lead them into his office. She watched him as he squirmed under the man’s touch, wondering who had raised him to be such a mess.

  They took the chairs on the visitor’s side of the desk while Lance went around to the business side and sat. She looked around the office, unable to avoid noticing the civic awards mounted on every wall. Pictures of Little League teams and Girl Scout troops covered every surface.

  “I don’t want to trouble you with this, but seeing that it’s your building, you’re kind of involved, anyway.”

  His gaze moved to Dick and his brow furrowed again. She realized that he might be thinking this was some kind of worker complaint, and started right in on their story to diffuse his concern. He relaxed as she spoke, then sat upright at the mention of the tuna and Kyle’s abduction.

  “Now wait a minute. Just because I own the property, don’t think I have any involvement in this,” he cut her off.

  “No. No. No,” she stammered, not wanting him on the defensive. “I just thought since you knew the area and George, that you might be able to point us in the right direction.

  “And you don’t want to go to the police?”

  Dick shook his head violently and started to tremble.

  “No, there’s too much that would be misconstrued and it would probably shut the job down as a crime scene. They might try and arrest Will for working without a permit and insurance. What about Fish and Game?”

  He leaned back. “I could make a call, but they’re so undermanned I don’t know what they would do. I hear you about the police. This is messy. If we can just get the boy back without trouble, I can handle George. I can look the other way about the black market fish if he moves off my property.”

  She was glad he saw it in such simple terms. Stopping the poaching was high on her list, right after getting Kyle back, but she knew better than to push too hard. Dick seemed to be better as well. He was still fidgeting, but the red color on his neck that had been building through the conversation was a light pink, now, and fading.

  Lance picked his cell phone up off the desk, scrolled through a few screens, and put it to his ear. A minute later, someone must have answered, and she listened to the one-sided conversation.

  “You still out there?” he asked.

  She could hear what sounded like muffled yelling on the other end, but could not make out the words.

  Lance held the phone away from his ear as the voice continued. Finally he asked, “Who’s with you?” He waited for the answer. “That’s all? Give me your coordinates.” He wrote some numbers on a pad and hung up.

  “So what should we do?” she asked as he sat there staring at the phone. The call had clearly upset him, but he wasn’t sharing details.

  “Give me a minute and let me think this out.” He leaned back. “Where’s Will?

  She looked at Dick, who was rocking in the chair. He looked better than before, but better for him was relative. They would have to get out of here soon, before he lost control. “He took that stupid boat he bought out for a sail. He’d have to have a reason to skip work and do that.” She realized that she was defending him.

  Lance looked at her harshly. “You mean he’s not working?”

  “That’s right. His truck’s at the fish house, but the boat is gone,” she said, wondering why he seemed more upset about the job than Kyle. “We need to do something.”

  “You’re right. Why don’t we take a ride to the beach, try and find George. Maybe Will’ll be back by then. If they’re both gone, I have a good idea where George might be.”

  She was grateful enough for someone to take charge that she didn’t question him. Dick was already on his feet when Lance rose and went to the door. They followed him into the waiting area.

  “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He turned and went back to the office.

  They stood waiting and after a moment he returned, jingling his keys as if he had forgotten them.

  ***

  Spindrift was streaming perpendicular to the white-capped waves now—a sure sign the wind had picked up past 20 knots. Not that he needed a reference. He had added another reef to the main sail and furled the jib to a third of its normal size. The boat maintained course, although he needed to constantly adjust the main sheet to compensate for the weather helm pulling the boat hard to windward when the gusts came up. Will guessed the wind was close to 25 knots now, with gusts to 30.

  They were making headway, but as he glanced at the GPS he saw that their speed was down to 5 knots. The lack of sail area and heavy seas breaking over the bow slowed their progress.

  The girl had stuck her head out of the cabin an hour ago, given him a disgusted look, and gone back to bed. Now he could see movement below, and waited for her inevitable appearance.

  “You should drink some water,” he called into the cabin. “You’re probably dehydrated.”

  “Why? So you can watch me puke my guts out some more? Are you the kind of guy that enjoys this?” She came onto deck and sat across from him. These were the first words she had spoken in hours. “Turn us around and go back. I will make it worth your while.”

  The thought of touching her repulsed him, now. He had realized hours ago that he had made a huge mistake breaking up with Sheryl. “Relax. We’re almost there.”

  “Where?” She looked around. “The middle of fucking nowhere. Zadrota.” Her accent was harsh when she cursed. She leaned back against the gunwale and swallowed hard, then quickly turned and stuck her head over the side.

  “Please, drink some water. You really will feel better.” He tried to soothe her as she turned back around, but her blue eyes pierced his flesh as she glared at him. Then she got up to go back to the cabin, but just as she took her first step, a large wave caught the boat. The hull turned toward the wind and rolled in the trough. The girl was caught on her feet and quickly lost balance, skidding across the deck to the leeward bench. Will was too slow in correcting the boat and it spun, causing her momentum to increase.

  Her ankle caught the jib sheet and she was over the side.

  He had no control of the boat now. The sequence of events had happened too quickly for him to react. The PFD on the rail was already in the water, thrown as soon as he saw her go over, its line trailing behind it. He was standing trying to spot her, but with white caps breaking everywhere, it was impossible to see her. To make matters worse, the wind was blowing in the same direction of where he suspected she was, moving her away from the boat and making it impossible to hear her if she screamed.

  The PFD was visible, though, and he had to assume it was drifting in the same direction as the girl. Just as he thought he spotted a head bobbing in the waves, the boom swung hard across as the boat, accidentally jibed, nailing him in the head. He went to his knees.

  His head throbbed as he lay on the deck, the sail flapping in the wind above him. The boom was swinging back and forth, causing the canvas and lines to slam against each other and the rigging, disorienting him as much as the injury. Not sure if he had lost consciousness or not, he remembered the girl, and struggled to his feet, staying low to avoid the boom. He scanned the water, but there was nothing in sight; not the PFD or the blond head. Terrified at what had happened, he struggled into the cabin to call the Coast Guard.

  As his foot hit the first step, another wave lifted the bow and pitchpoled the boat into the trough. Already unsteady on his feet from the boom, he slammed into the cabin head-first and fell to the deck.

  ***

/>   George leaned over the transom and cut the line from the reel, grabbing the end before it was lost in the waves. This made it hard to get an angle on the line as he tried to work it around the propeller. The engine was almost horizontal to the seas, the blade dipping into the water every time the boat bounced. Slowly, he tried to work the line backward around the shaft, but he didn’t have the reach. Someone was going to have to get wet.

  He stood up and looked at his choices. The crewman was not the brightest bulb in the ceiling. He could do it, but why risk injury? Plus, George needed his help to fish. It was almost impossible to single hand a large bluefin.

  The boy caught his attention. “You. Come over here. Maybe you’ll be useful after all.” He waited as the kid named Kyle approached. “What you need to do is climb over the transom and hug that engine. Once you’re out there, you can untangle the line. Piece of cake.”

  Kyle was clearly unsure.

  “Here, I’ll tie a line around you just in case.” George opened a hatch and pulled out a coiled dock line, which he tossed to Kyle. “Put it around your waist.”

  Kyle was in the water a minute later, riding the outboard motor like a bucking bronco. Slowly, he seemed to get in sync with the seas, and started to work the monofilament off the propeller.

  “Good work. Let me help you.” George grabbed the line and pulled. He caught Kyle off balance, but the boy recovered and was back over the transom.

  George ignored the trembling figure in front of him. Soaking wet, the wind chilling him, Kyle went and huddled out of the wind against the small console. The lift motor whined and the engine lowered into the water, and then the sound changed as George started it. A bump into forward confirmed that the propeller was functional. He pushed down harder on the throttle, and the boat started to move.

  He steered a wide circle and the boat came around 180 degrees, on a course toward land.

  “Enough for this trip.” He turned to the deck hand. “This wind is crazy shit, and not going anywhere. Un-fishable, if you ask me. Screw that guy. What’s he going to do if we don’t bring in two? I’d rather make the run back in the daylight with these conditions.”

  “What about him?” The man was looking at Kyle.

  “Was going to dump him, but losing the fish gave me an idea.” He pushed the throttle near its limit and the boat launched over the waves, surfing the crests and struggling in the troughs.

  Chapter 15

  Sheryl felt strange as they pulled into the parking lot of the fish house in Kyle’s car. It felt as if she didn’t belong here after breaking up with Will, and she wondered how the wheel of fate had brought her back here and what it meant. Will’s truck sat unmoved from this morning, and a quick glance around the corner of the building revealed that the boat was still gone.

  She opened the door and got out, thankful for the fresh air. The windows had been rolled down on the drive over, but between the smell of pot and fish slime on the backseat, she was queasy. Dick had lit a joint as soon as they left Lance’s office. Her first reaction was to ask him not to, but he seemed to calm down as soon as he inhaled. Maybe it was better than a half dozen pills, if that’s what worked for him. Ending the medicinal marijuana debate in her head, she looked back toward the road, waiting for Lance’s SUV to pull in.

  She had a bad feeling about what was transpiring. Will leaving work was not all that surprising … if he were fishing. But shutting down the only job he had and going out for a sail was not like him. She had to admit she was worried, and deep down missed him. But the loss of Kyle was what had her more on edge. The boys had struck a chord with her, it was hard not to like them. There was also something about Lance that was bothering her, but she was having trouble focusing, and couldn’t pin it down.

  “Got any more of that?” she asked Dick. He gave her one of his queer looks, like it was OK for him, but not for her. “It is mine, remember. I know you took some off the tray.” She hoped it would settle her nerves.

  He looked down, hesitated, and then reached into his pocket for the half smoked joint. “Here. I could use a little more, too.”

  She took the joint back to the car and waited for him. They each rolled up their windows and he lit up. Soon she felt much better. Maybe he was onto something. Then a glint of metal flashing in the sun caught her eye. She looked back and saw the SUV pull in the lot. Lance did not need to know about this, she thought, and quickly exited the car.

  Dick stayed, the yellow glow of the joint in his mouth. Rather than have Lance come to the car and see what they were doing, she went to him.

  “Where’s your boat?”

  “They should have it in the water now.” He looked over at the large metal building filled with racks holding boats of all sizes. A forklift was moving forward into one of the bays. It grabbed the underside of a hull, reversed, and navigated toward the ramp. The driver lowered the forks and the boat dropped into the water.

  “There we go.” Lance moved toward the boat.

  She glanced behind her at the car and waved for Dick to get out and follow. Together, they walked toward the boat, where Lance stood at the helm with the motor running.

  “Come ’on aboard,” he yelled over the engine’s rumble.

  Sheryl hopped into the boat, admiring the luxurious fittings. It was certainly not a fishing boat. About thirty feet long, shaped slightly beamier than a cigarette boat, it was all leather and stainless steel. And spotless. She had never seen a boat gleam like this. Looking down at her feet, she realized that she was leaving a trail of dirt behind her.

  “Don’t worry about that. Get settled and we can get out of here.”

  She looked at Dick, who was looking warily at the boat. By now she knew his ticks, and one was definitely coming on. Having him along might be more of a liability than a help if he started getting anxious, or worse.

  “Why don’t you stay here and keep an eye out? If George or Will show up, you can give us a call.”

  He looked relieved. “OK. But I got no phone. Kyle has ours.”

  She thought for a second and tossed him hers. “Be careful with it.” Then she turned to Lance. “Can you text him your number so he can call us if anything happens here?”

  Lance handed her his phone, she entered the number and sent it to her phone. “You know how to use that, right?”

  Dick gave her one of his looks. “What do you think? I’m not from the olden days.”

  Satisfied that she had made the right decision, she settled into the soft caress of the seat and waited for Lance to pull away. He went to the bow and released the dock line, then came back to the helm and backed toward open water. When they reached the end of the pier, he turned and straightened the boat before putting it into forward and pushing down on the throttle.

  The air felt good on her face as the boat picked up speed, and she watched the white sand beach of Shell Key disappear in the distance. Used to the ride of Will’s flats boat, where you felt the water, she noticed that the heavier boat cut through the waves, parting them with huge swaths of white spray. Despite the circumstances, she found herself enjoying the ride. The engines were too loud for conversation, which suited her. Lance was busy working some kind of computer screen set into the dashboard. She looked over to try and see what he was doing, and saw a chart of the area with a line they were following leading to a cross. That must be their destination.

  The thought that she couldn’t pin down earlier resurfaced. How did he know where to go? The Gulf was huge, with no landmarks like the Keys. There, if you told someone you were going out by Sombrero Light on the reef, they knew where you would be. Here, there were no landmarks at all.

  Suddenly the speed dropped as he eased off the throttles and pulled the phone from his pocket. It must have been on vibrate, she thought, as there was no way he could hear it ring over the engines. Even at idle speed the engine was too loud for her to hear any of the conversation.

  But something must have happened, because he swung the wheel and turned the b
oat back toward shore.

  ***

  Will thought he heard a scream and something slam against the hull, but his ears were ringing from the blows to his head, and he couldn’t be sure. Slowly he rose from the deck, careful that he didn’t follow the girl overboard. Finally, he was able to pull his body high enough to see over the gunwale. He pulled on the jib sheet, which was hanging over the side, but felt resistance. With both hands, he hauled and the line started to move.

  On his knees, he peered over the side and saw her body caught in the line. Her head was bobbing in the water, submerged each time the boat hit a trough. Will gathered his strength and started to haul her back onto the boat. When her body reached the side, though, he lost his leverage and was unable to pull anymore. He dragged the line to the winch, used to trim the sails, took three loops around the cylinder, and started to pull. The mechanical advantage helped, but he had to resort to the winch handle for the final few feet. She came aboard an inch at a time.

  The effort was monstrous, his head still spinning from the effects of the boom hitting him. Once she was aboard, he sat back, trying to catch his breath, and unable to even assess her situation for several minutes. Finally he was able to get his head straight, and went to her. She was conscious, but appeared out of it. Probably a good thing, as he anticipated the tongue lashing he was destined for when she came to. He sat her up on the cockpit floor, allowing the benches on either side to keep her from falling over, and started to organize the boat.

  First he released the tension from the sheets, allowing the sails to flag. Then he sorted out the lines, pulling the jib sheet that had taken her overboard back onto the boat. As soon as the lines were organized, he tightened the main sheet and set course back to the dock. Considering the weather and what had just happened, it was the only move he had.

  The ride was slower but more comfortable with the wind and seas behind them. The boat no longer fought him, but settled into the rhythm of the waves, allowing the wind to push it forward. He lashed the tiller and went to the cabin, where he grabbed a bottle of water and drank deeply. Back on deck, he went to the girl and placed his hands against her face. Devoid of makeup and her hair a wet mop, she barely resembled the girl he had fallen for last night.