The Raft

by Christopher Blankley

  Chapter 5

  Maggie was lost in thought, standing in a light drizzle on the deck of the Straight Dope. Rachael was making her calls. Maggie was so consumed in her musings that she failed to notice a long, thin, top-heavy boat emerge from the rainy haze of the cold morning and cut a course through the chop towards her.

  It only caught her attention when the narrow vessel began to come about. Its pilot had obviously caught sight of who and what the Straight Dope was rafted up to. It nose turned and its engine revved, filling the air with the pained whine of a struggling two-stroke.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Maggie hollered. She leapt from the deck of the Straight Dope and back aboard the Soft Cell. She was quickly disentangling the two vessels as Rachael hung up her call.

  “What's going on?”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Maggie repeated, thrusting a finger after the fleeing vessel.

  “What's that?” Rachael strained to make out the aft of the receding ship.

  “Chemical,” Maggie replied. The mooring lines of the Soft Cell were free. The ship was drifting away from Rachael and the Straight Dope.

  “Chemical what?” Rachael asked, then realized she was being left behind. “Hey, wait!”

  “Jump,” Maggie ordered.

  “What?”

  “Come on, he's getting away!”

  Rachael jumped. Her bare feet caught the deck of the Soft Cell. Maggie caught her and pulled her aboard.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Maggie said a third time, rushing to get to the helm of her vessel. As soon as she was behind the wheel she gunned the throttle. The Soft Cell jolted forward, kicking up a wake behind its small propeller. Quickly, it reached its top speed, perhaps no more than eight miles and hour.

  Luckily, the top-heavy vessel's top speed was no greater. Slowly, ponderously, Maggie was closing on the lumbering vessel, while the whine of its two-stroke pieced the air. It was, perhaps, the slowest, weirdest chase Rachael could imagine. She could have jumped out and swam faster than both vessels. But Maggie was gritting her teeth with anger and struggling against the currents to keep her vessel on course. She was closing, she almost had her prey. Determination radiated from her.

  “Who is that?” Rachael asked again. Despite the languid pace of the pursuit, Rachael's excitement was building. She held the grab rail before her with white knuckles.

  “Chemical Ali,” Maggie said, not taking her eyes away from the chase.

  “Who?”

  “Chemical Ali G,” Maggie added. It made no sense the more she elaborated. “Horus's piece-of-shit homey. If anyone knows where Horus is... take the wheel,” Maggie commanded.

  “What?”

  “Stop saying 'what' and 'who' and hold the helm!” Maggie stepped up and out of the cockpit, letting go of the wheel. Rachael lurched forward, catching the wheel in both hands. She had no idea how to steer a boat. She vaguely knew it worked in no way like a car.

  Maggie scampered on her hands and knees up to the bow. The thin boat was twenty yards in front of them now, lost in the drizzle. Maggie opened the bow hatch and pushed the top half of her body through, letting her legs kick up into the air. She came back up, trailing a pump action shotgun in her left hand. She stood up, feet spread wide apart at the pulpit and cycled the action of her weapon.

  “Chemical Ali, you son of a bitch! Come about!” she screamed into the cold air.

  There was no answer.

  “Ali, you goddamn fool! This is Maggie! And you better consider yourself under arrest, you piece of shit! Cut your engines and prepare for boarders, or God help me!”

  “Ya can't arrest me!” a heavily accented voice spoke up from the fleeing vessel. There was only the voice, no sign of its owner. “I ain't no member of ya court!”

  In answer, Maggie lowered her shotgun. She fired of a shot, taking the recoil of the gun handily with her weight leaning forward. The blast of buckshot ruptured a large water tank to the port side of the narrow vessel. A torrent of fresh water poured out onto the deck.

  Rachael ducked down behind the helm.

  “You crazy bitch!” the voice came again.

  Maggie rested the shotgun in the curve of her hip. She cycled the action with a single hand and expertly caught the thrown shell with the other. “Cut that motor or the next round will be in your ass, Chemical!”

  In the drizzle, the incessant whir of the two-stroke died.

  Rachael braved a quick glance over the helm.

  “Bring me in abaft,” Maggie said to Rachael's terrified pair of eyes. She was threading the shotgun carefully back through the bow hatch. “Then cut the engine. Understand? Rachael?”

  Rachael hurriedly nodded.

  Back on her feet, Maggie climbed over the grab rail and hung out over the water from the very tip of pulpit. When Chemical's vessel came within reach, she sprang forward, catching hold of the ruptured water tank, still spouting water.

  Rachael cut the engine. It took her two attempts, but she quickly deduced the control that was the throttle. There was an interminable period of silence as Maggie disappeared in amongst the cluttered deck of Chemical's craft. Then a thump, followed by an earsplitting crash. There were a few screams and Rachael began to panic. The Soft Cell was drifting from the stern of the other craft, Rachael began to stab at the controls to bring her back into position. The helm was infuriatingly complex. She pushed the throttle forward and got no response. She pounded it with her fist and felt like she was about to cry. Then, to Rachael's infinite relief, Maggie appeared on the deck of Chemical's vessel. All one-hundred-and-forty pounds of Maggie had a muscular two-hundred-and-twenty of bloodied-nosed, baggy-pant gangster in tow.

  With a calm moment to inspect the control panel, Rachael noted Maggie's helpful reminders scrawled in black Sharpie here and there on the console. Her lips moved as she read, she soon had the engine restarted and the boat puttering forward, closing on the stern of the second vessel.

  “You crazy bitch!” Chemical Ali G repeated as Maggie pushed him off of his own craft. He crashed down onto the deck of the Soft Cell. Maggie sprang on him, dragging him forward to the pulpit and zip-tying his wrists to the grab rail. “Ya goddamn, crazy-”

  Maggie slapped him hard on the side of the head. Rachael winced. “Enough,” Maggie instructed, wagging a stern finger at the brutalized Chemical.

  Chemical evaluated his compromised position and decided to keep his mouth shut.

  He was young, perhaps no older than Meerkat, with a head of dyed blond hair and a small black goatee. He was all muscles under his white undershirt, for all appearances a tough character. Rachael marveled that Maggie had been able to handle him so convincingly.

  “He's injured,” Rachael said with concern, not moving from her spot behind the helm.

  “Crazy son of a bitch tried to stab me,” Maggie held up her bare left forearm, showing it to Rachael. She was bleeding, too. “I had to hit him with the closest thing at hand.”

  “Yeah, a friggin' frying pan. I think me nose is broke,” Chemical complained in his thick Cockney accent.

  “Serves you right!” Maggie spat.

  “Ya attacked me, you crazy slapper! Chasin' me down and comin' onto me boat. Ya got no right!”

  “I got every goddamn right,” Maggie replied dryly, tending to the cut on her arm.

  “You ain't holdin' me franchise. You kicked me out, 'member? For not paying me fines.” Chemical Ali G rolled up a wad of blood in his mouth and spat it overboard. Rachael had dodged down into the cabin and returned with some dish towels. One she handed to Maggie and the other she tentatively used to wipe Chemical's face.

  “Did you have to hit him so hard?” Rachael asked, wiping Chemical's mouth.

  “He was a fleeing felon.” Maggie wrapped the towel around her forearm.

  “I ain't!” Chemical protested. “I ain't done nothin' wrong!” He struggled against his zip ties. Rachael, surprised, stepped back. Up close and agitated, Chemical was even more intimidating than Rachael had first
feared.

  “With Meerkat dead and the Brontosaurus on the run, I'm sure you're an accessory to something, Ali.”

  A cold chill suddenly hit the bound man. “What?” he asked.

  “Accessory to something: murder, evading arrest, withholding information. I'll have to think of something.”

  “No, what was that 'bout Meerkat?” Chemical said with cold intensity. Maggie looked up from tending her arm and exchanged a glance with Rachael.

  “He doesn't know,” Rachael muttered.

  Maggie's shoulders deflated. She tied off the dish towel on her arm and turned to Chemical.

  “What? What happened to Meerkat? Tell me.” Chemical demanded.

  “She washed up onshore this morning,” Maggie said flatly. “She'd been in the water for maybe half the night.”

  “No, no...” Chemical said in disbelief. “No!” He struggled again at his bonds.

  “Don't make me hit you again!” Maggie showed Chemical the back of her good hand.

  “Maggie!” Rachael scolded, stepping between the two of them. She turned to Chemical and spoke softly. “That's what we were doing on Horus's boat: looking for him. You really didn't know anything about it?”

  “Nah, nothin'. Oh God, Meerkat...” The white pallor of Chemical's skin told Rachael he wasn't lying.

  “Horus has fled to the dryland. He's our prime suspect.”

  “Nah, no. He'd never,” Chemical muttered. “He loved her... loved her...”

  Rachael turned to look at Maggie.

  “Was Meerkat... pregnant?” Maggie asked, returning Rachael's gaze.

  “What?” Chemical grunted with what appeared to be genuine surprise. Rachael could almost see the wheels in his head turning. When the right cog fit into the right slot, he again began thrashing at his zip ties. “Come on, Maggie, let me go! I'm done causin' any palaver. Cut me loose. Hey, darlin',” he addressed Rachael. “Have a heart...”

  “What is it, Ali? What is it? Was she pregnant?” Maggie asked again.

  “Nah, nah... come on, Maggie, you know you can't hold me like this. Let's call this all a misunderstandin' and cut me loose, ah?”

  “If you're covering for Horus, Chemical, I'll make sure you get it good, just as bad as Horus. You want me to hand you over to the dryfoot cops? How many warrants do you have outstanding on the dryland, huh? Chemical? You want to think about what they'd do to you if they caught wind of what you and Horus have been up to? And let's not forget accessory to murder after the fact. You remember the inside of a dryfoot prison? I bet you do. No, you're going to sit there and like it and tell me what it is that's got you so excited all of a sudden. Was Meerkat having some other man's child? Someone other than Horus? Is that why he flew off the handle? Threw her overboard?”

  “I-I-” Chemical stammered.

  “I'm running out of patience, you limey snot...” Maggie inspected the cut on her forearm. Chemical's eyes grew large and round.

  All of a sudden, he couldn't get the words out fast enough. “Look, I don't know nothin', okay? I ain't tellin' you nothin'. But it's like... ya know, big. Massive. If I tell ya what I know, ya got to let me go, alright?”

  “You're not -” Maggie began again to lecture Chemical, but he interrupted her by pulling against the pulpit with all his might. Something had him spooked, honest to goodness scared, and he seemed willing to tear the Soft Cell apart to escape.

  “Okay, okay,” Maggie conceded. “Calm down.”

  And at the sound of Maggie's acquiesce, Chemical visibly relaxed.

  “What is it, Chemical?” Maggie asked.

  “Alright, alright. Ya see, once or twice, ya know, I took Meerkat along... you know, on a delivery...”

  Maggie shook her head, missing Chemical's point. “So what? She helped you deliver weed? To who?”

  “To the dryland. Horus has been sending her onshore, now and again, you see...”

  “No. Why?”

  “Well,” Chemical's tone became suddenly conspiratorial. “And I ain't sayin' any of this, you understand. You didn't hear nothin' from me. I don't know nothin', alright? But accordin' to Horus, before Meerkat came out to the Raft, she used to strip, ya know?”

  Maggie shrugged. “So?”

  “Well, so she had this customer back then, a regular.”

  “Yeah?” Maggie cocked an eyebrow, catching on.

  “And a few months ago, he comes callin' again-”

  “Ah, okay,” Maggie interrupted, rapidly losing interest in Chemical's story.

  “Nah, nah, you ain't heard the meat of it yet, Maggie.”

  “I've heard enough,” Maggie dismissed, turning her attention to her injured arm.

  “Nah, you harkin'? It weren't no professional visit, this. He calls up Meerkat lookin' for a surrogate.”

  “What was that?” Rachael shot back, suddenly realizing she'd only been half listening.

  “Surr-o-gate,” Chemical rolled around in his mouth. “Ya know, young girls havin' babies for old slappers.”

  “You're joking?” Maggie thought it was humorous.

  “Nah! Well, guess the wife of this geezer can't have no more babies of her own. And the straight-up dryfoot services have turned 'em away. Too old, or somethin'. Anyway, he's lookin' for a healthy young girl. To, ya know, plant his seed. And, out here, after all... well, everythin' is for sale out here on the Raft...”

  Maggie and Rachael exchanged confused glances. Was Chemical Ali for real? He certainly seemed like an unreliable witness. But his earnestness was compelling.

  “'Cause Meerkat don't take none of this seriously, but there's Horus whisperin' in her ear. Horus is a smart one, he is. He sees the potential. Ya know, potential for blackmail. They ain't talkin' about no clinical setup here, no. We talking about old school insemination, if you know what I mean.”

  “And you were taking Meerkat to shore for this?” Maggie seemed skeptical.

  “Yeah, see, this dryfoot pigeon, he starts payin' up, all callin' up Meerkat and shit, tryin' to hook up, lookin' for more. Every time Meerkat goes to shore for a treatment, the more the pigeon wants more. And Meerkat keeps jackin' up the price. We're talkin' cheddar here, ya know?”

  “And Horus was okay with this?” Rachael seemed appalled. “Prostituting his girlfriend?”

  “Ah,” Chemical dismissed. “Can't be all that hung up about that sort of thin' out here on the Raft, love.”

  Rachael looked at Maggie disgusted. Maggie shrugged.

  “And this dryfoot pigeon?” Maggie pressed. “Horus ever say who he was?”

  And Chemical Ali G smiled. A wide, fat, toothy grin. “Oh yeah, Horus was real proud. Says it was the biggest, fattest pigeon that ever flew, if ya know what I mean.”

  “And?”

  “And that's why you gotta promise to let me go! This is serious shit, Maggie. Cut me loose.”

  “Tell me first, then you can go back to your junk.”

  Chemical paused, licked his bloody lips as his eyes darted back and forth conspiratorially. “Alright, but these fellas are hard, you understand? You already seen what they done to Meerkat.”

  “Chemical,” Maggie was impatient.

  “The dryfoot pigeon... Horus told me... that it were... Hadian...”

  “Who?” Maggie recoiled in genuine incomprehension.

  “What?” If Maggie was confused, Rachael was blindsided. She was instantly able to place the name.

  “Senator Hadian, yo,” Chemical stressed.

  Rachael and Maggie exchanged a pained, wide-eyed look of panic.