A houseboat. Finegan Fine

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The next morning Joey is standing over Finegan, who is passed out drunk

on the deck of the houseboat. The ice pail and empty bottles are strewn

about near him. Finegan is snoring loudly, sprawled on his back with

both arms splayed out.

Joey picks up the empty bottles and tosses them into the water, a

disgusted look on his face, but Barney hobbles up to lick Finegan on

the face. Giving up on Finegan, Joey walks off to the other side of the

houseboat and grabs the net, Barney at his heels.

Common Barney, lets go fish.

______________________________

Joey is sorting through his catch, a conglomeration of small fish,

crabs, twigs from trees, and the occasional coke bottle. He is tossing

what he does not want back into the drink, and putting the flapping

fish and snapping crabs into a box. Barney has his nose into the box,

curious and explorative and perhaps a little hungry, but pulls back

quickly when a fish flaps or a crab snaps.

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Finegan shuffles to the front of the boat, holding onto supports as he

goes, not too certain of his balance. He is shielding his eyes from the

sunlight, although all days are gloomy and uniformly gray lately.

Finegan is clearly hung over.

I suppose you two want breakfast.

Then, gulping a bit in trying to overcome the urge to upchuck, hand to

mouth, he reconsiders.

Listen, I’ll tell you what to do. You cook.

Joey is lifting a pot of boiling water off an outdoor grill and placing

it to the side on a folded cloth used as a hotpad. The portable outdoor

grill has coals lit but is on the outer edge of the houseboat, where

any chance of fire can be contained by pushing the lot over the edge. A

bucket of cold water is nearby, as insurance. The houseboat is loaded

with flammable material, and Finegan is no fool.

Joey loads the grill with fish fillets and pokes a couple potatoes

wrapped in aluminum foil into the coals, to bake. Barney is watching

the cookout eagerly, sitting on his haunches, tongue out, panting and

drooling, eyes watching every move Joey makes.

Finegan has a pot of freshly brewed coffee on the deck beside him. He

is holding a steaming mug of coffee in both hands, hunched over the mug

and looking out over the water directly in front of him. He groans, and

pushes himself up on one side, with one hand on one knee, the other

hand still holding the mug. Finegan holds his breath for a minute, then

winces. Hangovers can be a bitch.

13

Chapter 3: Good Hard Cash

Water is splashing at the sides of the houseboat. Finegan and Joey are

securing some gear as the wind has picked up. As Finegan heaves the

fishing net up over the line reserved for drying the net, he catches

sight of a pair of men in a rowboat.

The rowboat is in the distance. One of the pair is standing and looking

down into the water. The other, a diver, pops up, gasping for breath

and holding onto the edge of the rowboat for a minute, then diving

again. Finegan mutters under his breath.

Hello, what’s this?

Finegan’s curiosity finally gets the better of him. He waves his arms

and shouts at the pair.

Hello, need some help?

The man standing in the boat glances up briefly and gives a weak wave

back but is fixated on the spot where the diver disappeared.

Seeing he is being ignored, Finegan unties the houseboat from the tree

where it has been moored, and maneuvers the houseboat closer to the

rowboat. Letting the houseboat drift, he leaves his seat at the paddle

wheel and comes forward to engage the pair in the rowboat.

What’s the problem?

The man in the boat only glances up briefly, then back at the spot

where the diver comes up for air periodically.

There’s an outboard down there, and gasoline.

Finegan points to the sky.

You’ve got something better right at hand!

Finegan disappears into the house, emerging with a tattered book on

sailing. He is flipping pages, then holds the book up in the air,

opened by his splayed fingers, pointing the illustrations at the pair

in the rowboat. The diver has come up for air again and is clinging to

the side of the rowboat.

Finegan explains,

You could rig a sail! There’s always a breeze

out here. Look, I can help you. I’ve got the

supplies right here.

has billowed out in the evening breeze, and the rowboat is picking up

speed as it moves toward the shoreline.

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