Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  He fell silent as the boat's engines coughed and thrummed back to life. Sambita walked back toward the cabin, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face, the fragrant breeze that sighed across the rippling blue water. For the first time in her life, she was savouring the taste of freedom, although how long that would last she couldn't be sure. But for the moment, she didn't care. The moment was too new, too exciting to be tainted by concerns for the future. She saw Bala's body bobbing in the river beside the boat, clouded in pinkish-red, a few carrion birds already circling curiously above.

  She stepped into the cabin and joined Riya at the helm as she accelerated, steering the trawler back toward shore. They soon passed Jay, swimming slowly to their right, and Riya waved.

  "It's been fun, Sambita. Why don't you come with me?"

  "I . . . I couldn't possibly."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm not like you, Riya. I don't have it. The strength, the fitness, the sheer gall."

  "I think you've got more guts than you give yourself credit for. Don't let Kamal haunt you anymore. Don't give him a legacy, Sambita."

  "I suppose."

  "Speaking of which, do you want me to pay him a visit? I'll make sure he never lays a finger on you or any other woman again."

  For a moment, Sambita was sorely tempted by whatever Riya had in mind, be it violence or actual murder.

  "No," she said reluctantly. "Thanks, but despite what he's done to me over the years, he's still my husband. The fact that I've brought him such shame will have to be punishment enough. Perhaps it's a weakness, but I can't consent to what you want to do."

  "Compassion is a strength, not a weakness. Sometimes I wish I had some."

  Riya steered the boat close to the riverbank and eased off the power. "This is where we say goodbye."

  "What about me?"

  Riya took a pen and a scrap of paper from beside the helm and began to write. "I'm going to give you an address. Take the boat and once you hit the ocean, turn right. The village is about ten miles down the coast. Don't take it into the harbour, just sail past and leave it around the cliff . Go to this house and ask for Kishen. Mention my name. This man used to hide Nazi war criminals and Mafia informants. He's the best."

  "How much does he charge?"

  "A fortune."

  "I've only got a couple of thousand. Could you . . ." Sambita squirmed awkwardly, hating to ask, but realised that this was her life here. "Could you please give me some money?"

  "Check your satchel." Riya passed her the paper. "Leave Pradeep where he is. They'll find him soon enough once you dump the boat."

  "Okay. And thanks, Riya. For everything."

  They stepped out of the cabin, and Riya picked up her bulging sports bag. "It's the least I can do. You'll be fine. Maybe I'll see you again one day." She hopped up onto the gunwale. "Take care, friend."

  She flung her bag onto dry land before dropping into the sparkling water and swimming to the bank. She climbed out, gleaming in the sun, turned, waved once, then disappeared into a lush grove of trees.

  Sambita retrieved her satchel from beside the storage chest. It was much heavier than before. She opened the flap and blinked. As well as her sad handful of possessions, it was stuffed with wads of money, thousands of rupees, maybe even hundreds of thousands. Riya had taken the heroin and left the money for her.

  She looked at the address in her hand, memorising it, just to be safe. The sun caught the thin sheaf of paper, and she realised Riya had written something on the other side, too. She flipped it over.

  I'm going to visit Kamal anyway.

  Good luck.

  R.

  Sambita frowned, angry that Riya had decided to go behind her back, especially on a matter of principle and family, but quickly realised what the woman had done. Sambita was snared by a deep-rooted, flawed loyalty to the man who had abused her, so Riya had simply relieved her of the burden of responsibility. If her husband died, it hadn't been Sambita's decision. Kamal's fate was in the hands of the Brahmapur Buccaneer now.

  She may have been about to smile, but was jolted from thought by the clumsy sound of Pradeep thrashing against the crate.

  Hefting the cutlass, she strode back down the boat and saw that he had managed to kick the lid off and was lurching about like a landed fish, trying to get to his feet, not an easy task in such a cramped space with his hands tied behind his back.

  "What do you think you're doing? Do you want me to push you into the water?"

  "Please. I couldn't stand it, I can't breathe. Don't put the lid back on."

  "You thought this crate was good enough for both me and Riya. Safe and comfortable, you said. Have you changed your mind about that?"

  "Please."

  She raised the cutlass to her lips. "Shhh."

  "I need to go to the toilet," he demanded, trying a different angle.

  "Oh, you should've said. In that case . . ." Sambita reached into his pocket and pulled out the stained tube of the catheter. It slithered in her fingers like an oily weevil.

  "No."

  She smiled, mimicking his lascivious tone from earlier. "Do you want me to help you put it in?"

  Sambita wasn't quite yet the fearless buccaneer, but she was sure Riya would be proud of her progress so far.

  The Kindness of Strangers

  Vicki Stevenson

  Everybody knew that it was the last big weekend of the summer for Ridge Lake Marina. The sun was bright and warm, but signs of an early fall were already beginning to show. Two-week family vacations were over. Most of the kids would be starting school on Monday, and they behaved accordingly, running noisily on the wooden sidewalk in front of the shops, pursued by their agitated mothers.

  Business was okay—not as brisk as it had been in the middle of summer, but not nearly as slow as it would be in a few months. The lake had been restocked six weeks ago, so the fishing was still good. Bob's Live Bait booth closed up at two-thirty, and Bob Whitson took his old wooden dinghy out in hopes of catching a couple of largemouth bass for dinner. Demand at the snow cone stand was steady. Things had slowed down in the gift shop, and the lunch rush had ended at the floating restaurant adjacent to the pier. There were no customers at all in Locksley's Marine Equipment and Supply.

  Locksley's was well stocked. Racks along two center aisles featured a variety of fishing needs—rods, reels, lines, and weights of every description, tackle boxes, special knives, and exotic tools of the trade. The far wall was of interest to those who preferred to enter the water rather than look at the surface while holding a pole in their hands. There were fins, snorkels, masks, and wet suits. There were underwater gadgets like compasses, altimeters, cameras, and even special pens to make notes on accompanying special paper. On the wall nearest the door were refrigerated drink cases. Robin was on her knees refilling the bottom shelf with beer when the customers entered. They were young, expensively dressed, obviously well off . She hoped that they were the Gisbornes. "Beautiful people" were often difficult to deal with, but most of the time, they played fair in their financial dealings, given a bit of coaxing.

  "Mr. Locksley, please. I have a reservation." He was almost handsome and almost well built. He was about six feet tall with thick, sandy spiked hair that somehow managed to look conservative. He wore an expensive brown polo shirt, tailored beige Bermuda shorts, and loafers without socks. He also wore an expression that signaled his attitude for all to see. He was arrogant as hell. The woman clutched his arm and beamed up at him.

  "There's no Mr. Locksley," said Robin as she got to her feet. "I'm Robin Locksley, the owner. And since you have a reservation, you must be Guy Gisborne." She extended her hand.

  He ignored it. "I've never driven a boat before. You'd better have somebody around to show me how. And somebody has to unload my car." Robin withdrew her hand. "If you'll step over to the counter, I'll be happy to get you started."

  She glanced at the woman, who must have been Nancy Gisborne, the other half of the honeymoon couple. The
new bride seemed a perfect match. She was about the same height as Robin, around five-foot-eight, give or take. She was slender, and she fit nicely into a snappy yellow sundress complemented by dainty tennis shoes with yellow ankle socks. She wore a small gold watch on her left wrist and matching gold chains that screamed money, money, money around her neck and right wrist. Adjacent to her wedding band was an engagement ring that was off the charts. Surprisingly, her streaked blond hair was cut short. Or maybe it wasn't surprising. Maybe there had been a hairdressing disaster. Her brown eyes scrutinized Robin, broadcasting disapproval at what she saw: a healthy woman in her thirties with dark, wavy hair cut way too short, a badly faded light blue "Ridge Lake Marina" T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and fraying deck shoes sporting a variety of paint stains. In a contest of which of the newlyweds found her more disgusting, Robin wasn't sure who the winner would be.

  She stepped behind the counter. "You'll be putting the houseboat rental on your charge card, I assume."

  Guy Gisborne paused, as though considering whether to demand an answer to his questions about operating the boat and loading the luggage. He shrugged almost imperceptibly and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He perused the cards in it, made a selection, and handed it to Robin. She processed the transaction, entering the full amount for the rental. When Gisborne signed the credit slip, she pulled a small transparent zipper lock plastic bag from under the counter. It contained a key card and a keyring with two conventional metal keys. She shoved the bag into her back pocket. "I guess that's it for the paperwork. I'll show you the boat now." She was at the door before she realized that the couple hadn't moved. "If you'll follow me, it's just a short walk to the slip. I'll show you everything and then turn the boat over to you."

  Guy frowned, then shrugged and walked toward the door. The appendage, still clutching his arm, moved with him in lockstep. Robin moved the dial on the "Back in . . . Minutes" sign to 25, flipped it outward, and locked the door. The trio made its way to the dock in silence. The Loralei was a thirty-six-foot beauty that Robin had modified and restored. She was widely advertised on Internet travel sites as "a romantic floating honeymoon cottage" and she had never disappointed the newlyweds who chose her.

  They boarded portside at the stern. Robin scrambled up the ramp. Guy followed, watching his feet, as if to ensure that they didn't make a sudden turn and carry him overboard into the cool water. Nancy brought up the rear, clinging tightly to the back pockets of her husband's shorts. The small aft deck was equipped with a swim platform and a water slide. If the pair of beach chairs were moved away from the wall, the area would be crowded. "Is this the so-called Party Deck?" asked Guy. He turned to Nancy. "Looks like you've made a big mistake as far as our honeymoon is concerned. So, as far as future decision making—"

  "The Party Deck is forward, at the front of the boat," Robin interrupted. "Normally, you'd only use this area if you wanted to go swimming." She turned and opened a sliding door. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you the rest of the boat."

  They stepped inside to the bedroom area. The head of the king-sized bed was against the starboard wall. Next was a small bathroom equipped with a marine toilet, sink, and stall shower.

  "You have two hundred gallons of fresh water," Robin explained. "That's way more than you'll need for the four days you'll be on the water. If you're curious, you can check here," she said, pointing to a gauge over the sink, "and see how much water you have left. There's an identical gauge in the galley, since you also have access to fresh water there."

  Nancy spoke for the first time. "This is just lovely. I come in here and use the bathroom, then jump off the back of the boat and go swimming in my own waste."

  Robin was speechless for a moment. Was the woman just taking advantage of an opportunity to be as obnoxious as her husband, or could she actually be that naïve? "All wastewater is collected in holding tanks," she replied, hoping her surprise at Nancy's ridiculous outburst wasn't obvious. "The tanks are emptied when the boat returns to shore. This lake is not polluted, which is one reason the fishing is good here. And while we're on the subject, you're not permitted to throw anything overboard. I'll show you the trash chute when we get to the galley."

  She turned to another door just outside the bathroom. It was a pocket door that slid into the bathroom wall. When she opened it, the bedroom suite and the forward area became one large room. On the port wall was a galley with a three-burner stove, double sink, and four-cubic-foot refrigerator. "The appliances are electric," Robin said. "Quite a few people are uncomfortable with propane, so I made the conversion, including the water heater, which you won't see because it's belowdecks—under the floor. And I added small electric running lights that turn on automatically at night, when the sensor registers darkness. You'll probably notice them if you look outside after dark. I also added an extra gasoline generator to make sure there's always enough juice. It's almost completely silent, so you're never even aware it's running."

  Nancy's expression was puzzled, almost as if she wanted to ask more questions, legitimate ones, about what else Robin had done to renovate the Loralei. Guy peered ahead, apparently ready to continue the tour. Next to the galley was a couch. It faced the dinette, which was located starboard adjacent to the back of the bathroom wall. Robin reached up and tugged on a short rope over the dining table. She pulled down a portable wooden staircase whose base rested firmly on the floor. She scrambled up. "C'mon, this is one of the best parts," she called down to Guy and Nancy.

  They climbed the stairs gingerly, emerging on a flat deck surrounded by a three-foot metal railing. There was patio furniture of all kinds, loosely anchored to the deck to prevent its being tossed around or lost overboard. After Robin showed them how to reposition it if they wanted to, they followed her down the stairs to continue the orientation.

  Robin returned the hatch over the dinette to its closed position and took a few steps forward. Ahead of the dinette was the helm. She gestured toward the posh leather captain's chair. "Have a seat behind the wheel," she told Guy. "I can teach you everything you need to know about how to operate the boat in less than ten minutes."

  Guy sat nervously. She pulled the keyring from her back pocket and tossed it at him. He flinched and ducked. It hit the large map of the lake that was mounted on the wall next to him and dropped into his lap.

  She stifled a grin. "Large key in the ignition, then turn it. Just like a car." He did as instructed, and his eyes widened in surprise when he heard the soft hum of the engine as it came to life. They reviewed the location and use of the gears, the information displayed on the instrument panel, and the amazing fact that he could guide the boat in whatever direction he wanted by using the familiar automobile-like steering wheel.

  At this point, she provided details about rules and regulations. They were free to go anywhere they wanted on the lake, which gave them plenty of room to roam, provided they stayed within the area designated by the yellow buoys. They were not permitted to take the boat ashore, as that would damage her hull. They were to drop anchor at night, and she would show them how, so that they didn't drift into an unauthorized area. Guy indicated that he understood everything. Nancy seemed to follow the lesson with interest. Robin opened a small compartment on the instrument panel. She showed them how to use the ship-to-shore radio in case of emergency. She pulled the key card from her pocket and used it to open a small safe tucked away above and behind the captain's chair. She gave the card to Guy.

  "Once you're settled, I strongly recommend that you store anything of value in this safe. You don't have to worry about pirates or anything like that," she said with a chuckle, "but it's waterproof and fireproof. No matter what happens, everything you put in here will be preserved. So, be sure to lock up your wallet, loose cash, jewelry, passports, anything else you don't want to lose." Guy nodded gravely.

  They followed her forward through another sliding door to the final attraction of the Loralei: the infamous Party Deck. It looked exactly as pictured on the Interne
t, with wet bar, state-of-the-art sound system, and luxurious outdoor furniture. Robin could see that they were pleased, although they would never admit it, and that they would probably end up spending most of their daylight hours here. She gave the last bit of instruction, the simple procedure for using the deck hoist to drop and pull up anchor. As they made their way back to the stern, Robin said, "Be sure to close all the doors at night, even the pocket door between the bedroom and the galley. It's extremely unlikely, but if anything should come loose and start rolling around, you'll be much safer if it's confined to a small area."

  They walked down the ramp and stood on the dock next to the Loralei. "Do you have much luggage?" asked Robin. "I have a dolly you can use if there's anything too heavy to carry." She caught a glimpse of the glares that passed between Guy and Nancy. "I can handle it," Guy growled.

  "Okay, then you have everything you need," Robin said cheerfully. "Have a happy honeymoon." She breathed a sigh of relief as she left.

  An hour later, she watched from the window of Locksley's Marine Equipment and Supply as the Gisbornes headed out onto Ridge Lake. She went behind the counter and checked the GPS system. It registered the Loralei's departure and was tracking her course correctly.

  The rest of the day passed without incident, and almost without customers. Two six-packs of beer and one fishing magazine netted a profit of maybe five bucks.

  Not every day was profitable for Locksley's. But there were enough good days to support them, which was a good thing because it almost killed Marian to take money from the shelter, even though she was entitled to it. Although rich people paid a small fortune to spend a few days on a luxury houseboat, the boat-rental venture barely broke even. The cost of maintaining the Loralei combined with the huge unavoidable advertising expenses ate up most of the revenue, and Robin had no idea how anyone could make a decent living in the boat-rental business. The marina was almost deserted by five-thirty. She locked the store and drove home, where she found her partner close to tears.