Love for Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  ****

  Kirsten had her iPhone propped on the galley counter, a pasta recipe on the screen as she picked through the canned goods in the locker above the galley counter looking for tomatoes. She'd been distressed to learn while they were grocery shopping that there was no microwave aboard Diamantista. She had a buggy full of TV dinners when Connie caught up with her at the checkout counter. They had spent a few minutes returning all the frozen, single-serving meals to the freezer case as Connie tried to explain about energy budgets and electric power consumption. It reminded Kirsten of the lectures she'd heard from her father back in her teens.

  "But don't you have a generator?" she had asked.

  "Yes, but we don't want to burn diesel fuel that way, especially early in the trip. We don't carry enough fuel to motor all the way as it is. Conserving it's a safety issue on a long voyage; unless there's an emergency, we'll sail the boat and cook with propane. That way, if something goes wrong, we stand a chance of being able to use the engine to get us out of trouble. Suppose we lost the rig and didn't have enough fuel left to motor to the nearest port? It can happen."

  Kirsten nodded, suddenly sober. "Sorry, Connie. I know that from my father, but I thought it would be different on such a big boat."

  Connie smiled. "As a friend of mine always says, all ships are small at sea. Don't feel bad; I'm thinking about getting a microwave. It would be handy once we start carrying charter guests and we aren't making long passages. I just ran out of time; I’ll probably do it in St. Martin."

  "We're going to St. Martin? I thought we were going to the Virgin Islands."

  "We are. I'll pick up my first mate and cook there. He and I will go on to St. Martin and finish up the boat preparations before we pick up any charter guests."

  "Sorry I messed up. Let me just start over with the shopping, then. I'll need a few minutes to regroup and get a new list together."

  "No problem. I'm going to the coffee shop next door and use their Wi-Fi. Take your time." Connie looked around for a moment. "Where's Jimmy?"

  Kirsten shrugged. "I dunno. Said he had to run some last minute errands. If he's not back by the time we're done, he'll meet us at the boat."

  Connie had nodded, a frown on her brow, and walked away. Kirsten knew Connie wasn't comfortable with Jimmy; she didn't blame her. He was a condescending bastard. She wished, not for the first time, that she hadn't gotten mixed up with him, but it was too late now. She was committed.

  ****

  Jimmy coiled the wash-down hose and hung it back in its place on the bow pulpit, stealing a glance at Connie as he did. She was easy on the eyes, no doubt about that. She filled out that red knit shirt in a way that made a man want to see what was there. If she was wearing anything under it, it couldn't be much. And those shorts! Or whatever that garment was called. He'd noticed a lot of women around the yachts wearing the same thing. From the front, it looked like a really short skirt; from the back, it was shorts.

  The way Connie wore it put the younger girls he'd seen to shame. She was one hot babe, even if she had some time on the clock. That just meant experience, by his reckoning, especially for a Mexican. Everybody knew about them. Climate, diet, whatever. They were all hot to trot, and he'd seen the way she was checking him out.

  Too bad that Kirsten was taking the watch right after Connie. It could be just the opening he needed with Connie to come up on deck and chat her up at the end of her watch while Kirsten was asleep below. Oh, well, there would be plenty of time for him and Captain Connie over the next two or three weeks.

  Finished washing the mud off the deck, he dropped the scrub brush in the bucket and started to take it back to the cockpit when he saw Connie shaking her head and pointing. He looked in the direction of her gesture and saw the anchor. He had forgotten all about tying it in place like she said. Stupid broad. It wasn't going anywhere; the windlass was pulling the chain tight.

  She probably just wanted to see him bend over again, check out his butt in the tight jeans. He blew her a kiss and set the bucket down, turning around and dropping to hands and knees to lash the anchor in place. Let her look; what the hell. It would just get her in the mood.

  He found the short piece of rope that was already tied to the cleat by the anchor windlass. Passing the end through the anchor shackle, he tied a couple of knots in it, lingering to give Connie her money's worth.

  He wondered what Kirsten was cooking for dinner. Silly bitch. She thought she knew it all. College girl, sailed on Daddy's yacht. She wasn't smart enough to avoid his clutches, though. Kirsten had gotten seriously messed up on coke and then she couldn't pay for it after her old man found out and cut off her allowance.

  She was out of school now, working off her debt to his employers by helping him with Giannetti's latest scheme. Lucky for her she knew something about boats, otherwise she'd be working it off the old-fashioned way, turning tricks like the others.

  He hadn't known she could cook; he'd been surprised when she answered yes to that question. Hell, all broads could cook, probably, but he never thought of her that way.

  He snickered to himself, thinking about the things she'd do for a snort. She was probably down there in the galley, high as a kite. They'd be lucky if she didn't set fire to this damn boat. Then Captain Connie would have something to worry about besides his cute ass and the stupid anchor.

  Connie -- every time he thought of that name, it reminded him of his old cell-mate at the Tennessee Correctional Institute. He would have gotten a real kick outa this Mexican babe, that's for sure. He'd even thought Jimmy was hot. Pushed him a little too far, though, and got a shank in the kidney for it. Jimmy's first kill; he'd never forget old Connie, but he'd much rather get it on with this one.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  "I hope it's good," Kirsten said as she set the three steaming bowls on the cockpit table that Connie had folded out. "I never cooked spaghetti from scratch before."

  "I'm sure it'll be fine," Connie said, poker-faced, as she eyed the strange-looking, glutinous mass in her bowl.

  "It'll be great as long as there's plenty of beer," Jimmy said. "Beer makes everything better, right, Connie?" He gave her an exaggerated wink.

  "Perhaps, but not when we're standing four-hour watches and there're only the three of us. I'm sorry, but the liquor locker's closed until we make port."

  Jimmy groaned. "Aw, c'mon, sugar. A beer never hurt nobody. Just one?"

  "Sorry," Connie said. "We all need to stay sharp. I'd feel differently if there were more of us, but with just the three, that's the way it has to be. Four hours on and eight off will mess up everybody's sleep rhythms, especially this early in the trip. Alcohol will compound the problem."

  "But we're only going to Norfolk," Jimmy said, sprinkling a heavy layer of grated Parmesan cheese over his bowl and stirring it vigorously.

  "I'm watching this cold front that's coming in from the Midwest over the next few days. We'll see what the forecast is once we make the Thimble Shoals channel. If we've got two days clear, I'm going to skip Norfolk and run for the east side of the Gulf Stream."

  "But what about resting up for a day?" Kirsten asked.

  "If we stop in Norfolk, we won't be able to get across the Stream for several days, once the wind comes out of the north. If we can get across before that, the northerlies will give us a quick ride out to just south of Bermuda, and with any luck we can ride them south from there for a while before they blow out. Then we can catch the trades, and we'll have an easy thousand-mile ride to the Virgins."

  "It's a thousand miles?" Jimmy asked, shoveling a fork-full of the vile-looking pasta into his mouth.

  "More like 1,600 from here," Connie said, tasting a small bit of the pasta.

  "We could use the engine," Jimmy said. "Make some speed."

  "I told you it doesn't work that way," Kirsten said. "A displacement hull will only go so fast."

  "Yeah, but that engine's turbocharged. It said so right on top," he protested. "Right, C
onnie?"

  "You're right. It's turbocharged, but Kirsten's right, too. Diamantista will only make about nine knots, no matter how hard you push her."

  "That don't make sense to me."

  "It's the physics of a displacement hull. Once the boat begins trying to cross its own bow wave, the fluid friction increases dramatically. You can get a tiny bit more speed by applying a huge amount of extra power at that point, but it's extremely inefficient and it just puts unnecessary stress on the boat. And on the crew, for that matter. It makes for a very uncomfortable ride."

  "Then why would they put a turbocharged motor in it, except to go faster? Tell me that, huh?"

  "To save weight."

  "What?"

  "This 75-horsepower turbocharged diesel weights around 60 percent of what a naturally aspirated 75-horsepower engine would. Saving that much weight means we can carry several hundred pounds more fuel or food or water."

  "Harrumph," Jimmy grumbled. "Or beer, if we didn't have such a tough captain."

  Connie focused on her food, forcing herself to eat the gooey pasta to avoid further debate with Jimmy.

  Kirsten noticed. "You like it okay, Connie?"

  "It's okay. The flavor's pretty good. The texture's kind of strange, though."

  "Yeah. I think I put the spaghetti in too soon. It said eight minutes, but they wanted you to boil it separately. I thought it would be better if it cooked in the sauce, but I guess not. It got all mushy by the time the hamburger was done. I'm out of practice at cooking. I'll get better; I promise."

  "It's food. It's hot and nourishing. Don't worry about it," Connie said, feeling sorry for the girl as she choked down the last mouthful from her bowl.

  "There's more, if you want seconds," Kirsten said, hopefully.

  Connie shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm fine."

  "Gimme some," Jimmy said, holding his bowl out. "Man's gotta keep his strength up with two women to keep satisfied."

  Kirsten looked at Connie and rolled her eyes.

  ****

  Two hours later, Connie was alone in the cockpit, gazing at the occasional lights on the distant shoreline. The dark water glistened in the silvery light of the nearly full moon, giving her surroundings an otherworldly look. Over the soft droning of the well-insulated diesel, she could hear heavy metal music from the stereo. She assumed that was Jimmy's doing; she hoped that Kirsten was at least trying to sleep so that she would be alert for her watch. Connie considered going below and suggesting that the music was too loud, but she restrained herself. They were adults; Kirsten could fight her own battles with the jerk.

  They were definitely an odd pair. Kirsten seemed like a decent kid, except for her choice in men. Jimmy had little to recommend him, in Connie's view. He was ignorant, arrogant, and condescending, not to mention his slovenly appearance. She thought about putting in at Norfolk and dumping the two of them, but then she remembered the weather forecast. She should take this weather window. This time of year, it didn't pay to dally in the face of opportunity. Once they were at sea and truly in the rhythm of the four-hour watches, there wouldn't be much interaction with either of them.

  She had called Paul a few minutes after Kirsten and Jimmy had gone below. Her cell phone had a spotty signal, and they hadn't been able to hear one another until she switched to the satellite phone. She had heard Jimmy complaining to Kirsten that he couldn't get a signal on his phone as she spoke to Paul. She mentioned to Paul that maybe she should offer to let Jimmy use the sat phone, but Paul discouraged her from doing that.

  "You should keep that in reserve; sounds like he's a confrontational sort. I wouldn't do him any favors just yet. Having the sat phone as your secret might come in handy if things turn ugly."

  "You're such a cop," she teased. "Always suspicious."

  He had replied, “And you, why, you're right up there with Mother Teresa. Such a trusting soul."

  They had both gotten a good laugh out of that.

  "I got some preliminary info on the girl, by the way," he had said. "She's got a record."

  "That's a surprise," Connie said. "I would have guessed it would be the other way around. She seems like a pretty good kid -- maybe overly pampered, but not bad. He's the one I pegged for having a record."

  "Yeah, well, you may be right. I've pushed a little on that. Nothing came back on his passport; I mean really nothing. No traffic violations, no driver's license, even. It's a little suspicious. Her record's basically college-kid stuff. Public intoxication, disorderly conduct. She got busted for possession, but it was just a single joint; they didn't prosecute. Her father's a lawyer, a straight-up type, apparently. Can't imagine he'd be very happy about this guy she's with. Even if he's clean, he sounds like a dirt-bag."

  "I'm surprised you got so much information on her so quickly."

  "Nah. That's the way it usually works. She's probably just a mixed-up spoiled brat. Getting nothing on somebody when your gut tells you he's dirty is a bad sign, though. I don't feel good about this Dorlan character. Keep an eye on him."

  "You said you were pushing a little harder on checking him out. What's the story?"

  "Well, given the way you described him, a perfectly clean record makes me think the passport's not in his real name. You know how easy it is to build a false identity, Maria."

  They laughed at the memory of her experience with an assumed name a few months earlier. "Well, I had some ugly people after me, Paul. A girl's gotta look out for herself."

  "No argument from me on that score. Just keep your guard up this time, too. I'll let you know the minute I hear anything about him."

  "Thanks. Hey, he did say he was in the Navy for four years, if that helps."

  "Yeah, good. That should help; I'll pass it along. I guess I'd better let you go for now. You've got a boat to run. Wish I was there."

  "Me, too, Paul. I ..." Connie caught herself, surprised by what she had almost said.

  "What was that?"

  "Oh, nothing. I wish you were here, too. That's all."

  "It should only be another three weeks or so."

  "Right. Goodnight, and thanks again."

  "G’night, captain."

  Remembering the conversation with Paul made her feel warm and secure in a way to which she wasn't accustomed. When she was with Paul she could be herself, just like with Dani and Liz. She'd had girlfriends like that from time to time in her life, but she could recall only a few with whom she felt as comfortable as she did with the two of them. Before Paul, she'd never had a man in her life with whom she felt that kind of ease. Her feelings for Paul were alarming; she didn't dare let him know how much she craved his companionship. Men didn't like for women to feel that way -- at least none of the men she'd been around before.

  The alarm on her wristwatch beeped softly, saving her from pursuing that thought. It was time for her to check the engine instruments and take a stroll around the deck to make sure all was as it should be. In another 30 minutes, she'd be off watch; the chilly evening air made her warm berth below seem especially inviting tonight. She stood up and stretched, noticing that sometime during her reverie the music from below deck had stopped.

  ****

  Kirsten was on watch from midnight until 4 a.m., alone with her thoughts. She was past crashing; that had been this afternoon. Jimmy had let her do a couple of lines before they came aboard, but that was 18 hours ago. She'd begged for a hit when they had gone below to rest for their watches, but the bastard had laughed at her.

  "Thought you could stop any time you wanted," he had jeered.

  She could, too, but this wasn't a good time for her. He should understand that. When her bastard father had cut off her allowance, she'd kept herself going for a while by selling off all her stuff. The money from her car had been good for a couple of months' worth of rent and coke, but when that ran out, Jimmy had threatened to cut her off.

  She had begged then; that was when he had told her he could fix her up with a friend of his that ran a string of high-cla
ss 'escorts.' Shocked and appalled by the suggestion, she had slapped him. That was the first time he had beaten her, and he had laughed at her the whole time.

  "Don't worry, babe. I ain't gonna hit you in the face. Not good to spoil the merchandise," he had said. Afterward, he'd been good to her, bringing her food, fixing ice packs for the sore ribs. She had apologized for slapping him when he shook out a couple of lines for her.

  "I'm sorry I lost it, but I'm not gonna be a common whore," she'd protested. "I'll quit snorting first."

  "Uh-huh. I heard that before. Ain't nothin' common about Willie's girls, anyways. Most of 'em are college girls, just like you. I mean, he ain't gonna make you sell it on the street or nothin'. You won't have to do nothin' you ain't prob'ly done before. Just that now you'll get paid for it."

  "There's gotta be another way, Jimmy. I don't mind working. Can't I help you? Like, keep the books, or carry the stuff, or ... or something?"

  He rubbed his jaw, his poorly shaved whiskers making a rasping noise as he moved his callused palm across his chin. "Maybe so. Your old man's got a yacht, don't he?"

  "Well, it's just a big sailboat. I wouldn't call it a yacht. Why?"

  "You said you'd crossed the ocean on it."

  "Yeah, that's true."

  "I'm about to become a yachtsman myself. Prob'ly be easier for a couple to find jobs as crew, 'specially if you got some experience -- speak the language, like. You know what I mean?"

  "Yeah, I think so. Would I have to ..."

  "Have to what?"

  "You said 'couple.'"

  "Well, that would be part of the job, but it'd be with me, not some stranger in a hotel room. I ain't such a bad sort. I know how to treat a lady. It'd be like you was my wife, see?"

  "Not with Willie, or that other guy you both work for up in Baltimore?"

  "Nah, I don't think so. You worried 'cause he's black, ain't-cha?"

  "No, that's not it. I'm just not ..."

  "Yeah, sure. Bullshit. Look, no guarantees, but if I can make this happen, you 'n' me, we'll be sailin' back and forth to the Caribbean on yachts, see. We'll be hired crew, and we'll carry money down and bring the shit back. Like a paid vacation. You can sample the goods, make sure it's not goin' bad along the way."