by Boyd Craven
“Ah, so you take Irish John’s advice on ‘dese womenz?”
“I … she kinda came over on her own,” I admitted, leaving out the part where I’d apologized to Mina and that that, more than anything, had led Carly back my way.
Well that, and how she’d found Mina’s deceptions out for herself.
“Ah, ‘den she is liking you, despite the fact you’re a dummy asshole!”
“Hey!” I said, kicking a little sand at his legs.
“You fish today?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the water.
“Yeah, I was thinking about it. You want to come?” I hoped he did, which is why I asked.
“Maybe some other day. In truth, Irish John is getting ready for big storm. Lots of ‘tings to tie down. Hopefully, island not swamped, and everything float away.”
“Big storm?” I asked him, looking up at the picture of a perfect tropical morning paradise in front of me.
“’Tis almost hurricane season. My old bones tell me we have big blow coming,” he said softly. “Maybe not now, but in a week?”
“I haven’t heard anything like that in the radio news.”
“Maybe Irish John an old fool, but I feel it here,” he said, holding his hands up, “and here,” he said, dropping them to his left knee that he was balancing a large leaf on, and was using as a plate.
“If there was a hurricane, where do you go?” I asked him.
“Why, right here. Tie myself to tree and wait it out,” he said with a grin.
“You stole that idea from a book,” I said after a minute.
“Ahhh, you’re of course right, surprising for a big dummy asshole. Maybe ‘dis year, Irish John will come inland. Make you and Miss Josephine no worry about me, yes?”
I noticed his speech patterns changing. Yeah, he kept calling me names but that was par for the course. This bugged him, and quite a bit.
“You want to come stay with me at Franklin’s? Or are you going to cozy up to Miss Jo—”
“See, ‘dis why I didn’t mention it before,” he said, turning his head away from me.
“Irish, I didn’t mean… Man, I’m sorry. I won’t tease you about her.”
A long moment stretched into almost a minute and he turned his head back. “I ‘tank you for ‘dat. I don’t know why it … gets under my skin.”
“Because maybe she’s getting under your skin, just a little bit?” My question was asked in earnest, and when he glared at me for a second, I could tell at first he thought I had been joking. He let out a big sigh.
“You probably right. Irish John getting soft in the head in his old age.”
“So… you want to go fishing, or what?” I asked, trying to change the subject again.
“You have ‘da sunshade on your boat up?” he asked.
“Of course,” I told him with a grin.
“You get ‘da baitfish already?”
“Of course, found a big school of pilchards on my way out here.”
“’Den let’s go fishing,” Irish John said, shoving the rest of the food in his mouth, and setting the leaf aside.
It was a remarkably good day fishing. We had the coolers full of king mackerel. Irish John called them swimming five-dollar bills. I hoped we got five dollars a fish, because we had a lot of them. I was pulling anchor up when I saw a familiar boat headed our direction.
“’Dose guys always harass Irish John,” he said, spitting in the water.
“That’s the FWC boat, right?” I asked him, noting we weren’t quite a mile offshore, near a spot where an underwater hump rose up to the forty-foot mark, making the fish shoal up.
“Yeah, ‘dose two agents always harass Irish John. For once, I am not violating any rules,” he said with a grin that was a bit evil in its own way.
I finished with the anchor and reeled in my pole, tossing the half dead bait in the water. We had been packing up when we saw them. I started stowing things for a fast ride to drop off Irish John, then I’d hit the markets while I had a good frozen slurry mix in my coolers. I had my wallet and documents in the console and was reaching for them when the boat slowed down, letting their wake catch up to both of us. They had piloted the boat perfectly so when it finished riding the hump it was right next to ours.
“Good afternoon fellas,” Agent Carter said. “What you catching?”
I handed over my credentials, which Page only glanced at briefly before handing them back to me.
“Fishes,” Irish John said, an evil grin across his face.
“Almost our limit of Kings,” I told them, moving to a cooler.
I opened one, showing them the bloody slurry and fish.
“Very nice. Listen, not sure if you’ve had your NOAA radio on or not, but there’s a big front pushing through the next couple of days. Could be building up to a tropical storm if we’re unlucky.”
Irish John looked like somebody told him he had just won the lottery, but I knew he was happy he was right, and I was of course, a big dummy asshole.
“How bad do you think it’s going to be?” I asked.
“Nothing ever seems to hit this side of the coast, if you’re worried about hurricanes… but we can get storm surges and enough rain to make things bad,” Agent Page answered.
“Storm surges? Bah,” Irish John said, his grin fading. “’Dis be a big blow coming. You can bet!”
“It could be,” Carter told him, with a grin. “I just saw your little boat out here and wanted to see if Irish John was with you so we could warn you both. Him because he’s on that rat shit island, and you because you’re right on the water.”
“Rat… shit… island? You want me make you shit in your hat and eat it?” Every word rose in volume.
The FWC agents tried not to smile or even snicker, but Carter had to turn his head and check the horizon for a moment while Irish John seethed.
“No, I don’t think I’d like the taste,” Page said in his best diplomatic way. “Just wanted you to be aware. The Governor is already talking to the agencies about an evacuation plan in case this turns into more than a tropical storm. Nobody wants to get caught with their pants down like they did a few years back and everybody is stuck in the middle of the state with no supplies, gas or places to go.”
“Thanks,” I told them, “for the warning.”
“You get your paperwork on your boat?” Agent Carter said, turning back to look at me.
“Yesterday. I was thinking about transferring the registration when my girlfriend showed up. Sort of ran out of time. If I can get these fish sold at the market before the office closes, I’m hoping to get it done today.”
Hint. Hint.
“Ok, let us know if they give you any issues on the paperwork. And thanks,” Carter said looking from me, then to Irish John.
“Any time,” I told them.
“What ‘da hell was that?” Irish John asked after they had fired up their motor and had moved off a ways.
“They were the agents that showed up to check out the boat with the sheriff.”
“We are doomed,” he said, staring at them. “Come, let’s go sell fish.”
“You don’t want me to drop you off first?” I asked him, surprised.
“No, but let’s stop to get Irish John’s boat. We tow it back. I got most of Deadman’s Cay tied up and locked down already. Besides,” he said, turning to look at the horizon, “I don’t like how ‘da wind smells.”
Chapter Eighteen
I had too many fish to sell it all to the restaurants, so I ended up at the market. One of the brokers I was getting friendly with saw me and gave me a nod when he saw me pushing the two coolers I had left, and I ended up selling him everything. Five-dollar bills was what Irish John had called them, and he wasn’t wrong. We made good money, even with the broker taking his discount off the top.
“Let’s motor to your place. Irish John wants to shower, and you go get your boat registered.”
“Do I have to get it insured first?” I asked him.
&
nbsp; “Do you owe moneys on it?”
“No, it’s mine.”
“‘Den you are not required. If we hurry, you should have an hour or two.”
He was right. We had gotten back to Franklin’s dock and I tied off my boat behind the power boat. I was tossing the coolers on the dock when Irish told me to just go and hurry and do my thing; he could manage. I didn’t hesitate then and got the paperwork from the cabinet and went to unlock the gates. When that was done, I drove my box truck out and locked it up behind me.
Waiting at the Dept. of Highway Safety & Motor Vehicles office is always agonizing, but I had just spent a day on the water. My clothing and skin still smelled of the ocean, the salt, blood, and fish slime I had been covered in all day. I’d rinsed my arms and hands off in the salty brine, but that didn’t help much. I had hardly noticed it myself, until a little girl’s stares caught my attention. I cocked my head and was about to ask the elementary school aged kiddo what was wrong, when her mom caught both of us.
“I’m sorry if she keeps staring. Her uncle was a fisherman and she loves boats. That’s what you do, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, I… how could you tell?” I asked her.
“Your white bibs, the fish blood on your shirt, the way you’re sunburnt everywhere but your lips and around your eyes where you constantly have to wear sunglasses.”
I looked down at myself then back up to her.
“But Uncle Walter is old, and he’s a lot tanner than he is,” she said pointing to me.
“Tanner than me?” I asked her, looking at my bronzed arms, even darker than they’d ever been since I’d moved to the sunshine state.
“Yeah, but you don’t have white in your hair. You kind of look like that movie star guy though.”
“Shhhhh,” her mother said.
“No, he does, Momma!”
“I’m sorry, she’s—”
“Hm… do I look like Jimmy Smits?” I asked her with a grin.
“No, more like George Lopez, before he got old!”
My smile fell. She started laughing, almost falling out of her chair, her mom looked mortified.
“George Lopez?” I asked, feeling crushed.
“I’m kidding, you’re more Ryan Guzeman, but you’re bigger,” she said, hanging her arms down in front of her in the universal hulking out pantomime.
“How old is she again?” I asked her mom, both of us red in the face.
“Old enough to embarrass me apparently. Sondra is my daughter, I’m Elouise.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I said tipping an imaginary hat, “and thank you,” I told Sondra for the compliment.
Mina always said my ugliness almost transcended into beauty. Boy, did I have the little girl fooled. It was one thing to feel like a George Lopez, but to be told I looked like him…?
“Number 167?!” came over the PA.
“That’s me,” I said, “you two have fun.”
“Bye!” Sondra called sweetly, her mother gave me half a wave, enough for me to see she was wearing a ring.
Guys notice things like that, but I’d also noticed the blush. Some ladies like bad boys. Some ladies like guys who did dirty jobs. I swear, if I weren’t built like a tank, I’d still be a virgin. Not that I think I had a chance with Eloise, nor wanted one. I was still figuring out my feelings in general and Carly had the romantic side of me twisted up into knots.
“How can I help you?” The clerk asked as I got in line.
“I’ve got a boat registration to transfer…”
I was locking the gate behind me as the sun set. I was debating where I wanted to sleep tonight; in the big boat, or in the hull next to the barn. Having options like this made me happy. I do not think of prison too much, but times like this made me reflect on my life. Before my dad had got sick, I’d had an apartment because it was just someplace to sleep, and I went where the work was. When my father was sick, I’d stayed with him, because that was where he was. When I was with Mina, I’d stayed there, because that’s where she was.
Now? I lived in a boatyard. But with the boat I had, maybe I could live just about anywhere. Suddenly, I was excited to get back to it. I left my box truck in front of the gate and started walking. I had left Irish John behind, but I could see a new shape on my new boat, swinging gently. As curious as I was, I tucked the new paperwork for my boat into my shirt pocket and headed into the hull I had been sleeping in. I was going to grab some cooking gear and see about frying up one of the two mackerel I’d kept for the two of us. I’d sort of assumed John was staying, but I wasn’t sure. He had brought his boat, so he might have left.
What I found though, was all of my kitchen gear, my food, my cases of bottled water, were gone. I noted the growing pile of folded clothing I usually stored on the edge of the bed I didn’t use was also gone. Inspiration hit and I looked on top of the galley cabinets and found Irish John or somebody had found two or three of the pints I had stashed there. There were two left on the other side of the sink, so I took those, feeling confident I knew what had happened. To make sure, I opened the two overhead galley cabinets to see everything had been emptied out of there as well.
I decided to check my secret stash spot for the hell of it, and found it still full. I grabbed the small box of my precious essentials and headed out with the last of my personal belongings and some pints of Johnny Walker. I made it halfway down the dock when I could hear some soft music playing. It only took me a minute to figure out it was Bob Marley.
“John? Irish John?” I called at the edge of the boat.
“Anthony, my boy! Please, come be jolly my son!” The words came out in a slur, so I figured I’d found out who had taken three of the pints.
I also saw a hammock strung up between the heavy wooden supports of the hard top, hung on old hooks. It took me a second to figure out where I had seen that hammock. It had been stored under the bunk in the front hold. Irish had fished it out and hung it up.
“You didn’t find all the booze,” I told him, stepping over and hopping down on the deck.
“’Tis ok, I only drank one of ‘dem,” he said, then proceeded to hum.
“You want me to cook up some fish steaks for dinner?” I asked, getting close enough to see him.
He was bare chested, wearing his threadbare khaki shorts, his bowler hat hanging on the same hook the head of the hammock was tied to. His sandals were underneath him along with three pints, one of which was empty. I grinned and waited for him to answer.
“You know Bob Marley is an American?” Irish John asked instead.
“What? I guess… You hungry?”
“You going to work me like a dog again?” he asked, trying, and failing, to sit up.
“No,” I said chuckling, “I was going to cook. I don’t know if the galley has gas or not, but I was going to throw the mackerel we didn’t sell today in a frying pan or on the grill.”
“I could eat,” he conceded. “Empty stomach but lots of booze. Irish John has become an easy date.”
“Maybe I should give Miss Josephine a phone call to join us?” The words were out before I had a chance to think about it.
Irish John lurched, trying to hop out of the hammock. He didn’t make a clean break and ended up tangled in the hammock with his top half sprawled drunkenly on the deck.
“She… I do not want her to see Irish John in ‘dis state,” he said, getting his legs untangled.
I hurried and got the glass pints out from under him before he could crush them and cut himself up. He got to his feet and pointed at me, poking me in the chest.
“You don’t want her to see you having a good time, swinging in a hammock, listening to some good music, about to have the most amazing fish dinner, prepared for you by one of Florida’s best cooks?” I asked him.
“I… where’s your hat boy?” he growled, then sat on the side of the boat near me.
I joined him. “Sorry, I was just messing around. You staying here tonight?”
“If you do not m
ind me borrowing ‘da hammock from the front hold,” he said.
“Irish John, you’re always welcome to stay with me. In fact, with that storm coming in a couple of days, wouldn't it be a good idea to be near the mainland?” I asked, remembering the promise.
“Thank you, Anthony,” he said, relaxing slightly. “’Dis storm feels… I don’t like big storms. I have everything on my island tied down and weighted as best as it can. My bones… I feel the storm. You know?”
“I don’t,” I told him. “I’m not used to these things like you are. I mean, we could stay here on the boat, or I have a truck now. We could pack enough gear and go inland a bit if you want?”
“Irish John is scared, but I don’t know. Irish John has been scared before and nothing has happened. You must ‘tink me an old fool.” He said it as a statement, not fact.
“No, not at all,” I reassured him. “I’m not experienced enough to know these things. They’ve always happened on the TV, when I was somewhere else. Besides, can’t a tropical storm turn into a hurricane easily?”
“’Tis true, but I know not if ‘dese aching bones are from storm or hurricane. Both can be bad. Storm surge and flooding are also bad.”
“How about I get some fish cooked up tonight and we’ll listen in on the radio and try the TV antenna and see if we can get some local news?”
“That’s good. You could also call your womenz. I bet they have paid for TV. Cable even.”
I laughed and had to give him a nod because it hadn’t occurred to me. Months of incarceration and another part of a year living out of a junked boat hull had radically changed my mindset. Fishing in the mornings, selling my catch, then having a quiet evening, watching the sun set over the gulf. Life had slowed down for me. National politics, something I used to follow in my former life, now meant nothing. As long as I had a boat and water to glide across… I got up, taking the pints with me.
“How about I cook, and you drink one of ‘dose with Irish John?” he asked, pointing to the bottles I still had in my hand.
