marlin.
We put all six bodies down below. The women were the hardest. The very youngness of them moved me. They had no sense of the swiftness of life, nor of its limits. Such a waste. The cabin quickly began to take on the sweet, sickening smell of coagulating blood. I was ready to be through with this.
The bow of the boat was slippery with blood, but I managed to get the anchor up, leaving it lying on deck. The ignition key was in Barrel-chest's pocket. Dave climbed up to the Flying Bridge and started the engines. He motioned for me to follow in the cigarette.
We ran a mile offshore, into deep water. Dave shut down the engines, went below and opened all the seacocks. Quietly closing the salon door, he jumped into the boat with me. We watched as she settled low in the water. It is always sad to watch a good boat go down. Soon all we could see were the tuna tower and the outriggers. A minute later she was gone, leaving only a flat, calm sea, unfeeling, uncaring, and unforgiving.
I did not examine the events of this night, did not grasp their cause, and did not consider their consequences. I tried not to think. The clogged ball of emotion was like a physical weight in my chest, filling my consciousness, releasing me from the responsibility of thought. The ball was hatred — hatred was my only answer, hatred as the sole reality, hatred without object, cause, beginning or end, hatred as my claim against the universe, as a justification, as a right, as an absolute.
'Let's get out of here,' Dave said softly, as if not to anger the Gods of the sea.
It was the expression in his voice that showed total disgust with what happened, conveying the need to get as far away from this place as quickly as possible. To kill is a terrible thing, but how and why one kills is important, also. There are lines one cannot cross and return the same. This was one of those times.
False dawn was gone. Light was showing in the east. A line of thunderstorms was building out on the horizon, the same ones that formed over the Marls yesterday. It was a spectacular sunrise for those in the mood to appreciate it. The wind was from the northwest; the seas flat and calm. The breeze felt cold on my face. Dew formed on the boat, soaking through my pants, and the wheel was damp to my touch. We ran back in across the bar and turned north for Man-O-War Cay. The sun broke the horizon, its rays playing among the dark thunderstorms, causing fiery orange colors.
Pulling up to the stern of Dave's sailboat, we tied the painter off and climbed aboard. The two men handcuffed to the mainmast wore a subdued look. Dave removed the shackles and made the two men sit together on the portside bunk. His face showed no sign of an inner struggle, the skin of his temples was pulled tight and the planes of his cheeks were drawn inward, seemingly more hollow than usual. A single artery beat under the skin of his throat. I was witnessing a man making a difficult decision.
Pointing to me, Dave said, 'He wants to kill you both. I tend to agree. Did you really think you could come here and take this cocaine from me? Are you really that stupid?'
They both shook their heads in unison.
'Killing you two would be a waste of good ammunition. So here's what we're going to do. Sanchez has decided to get out of the Snowpowder business, and so have you two. If either of you so much as spits wrong, I'll come back and do what I should do now. Understood?'
'Yes, sir,' they both blurted out.
We led them out into the cockpit and they started to get into their boat.
'No, you swim. The boat dock is about fifteen minutes away.' He slid the bolt back and forth on a machine pistol, a round clicking into the chamber.
Both men jumped overboard and started swimming. We watched until they rounded the bend and were out of sight.
'How did you know they could swim?'
'I didn't.'
We took both cigarette boats back across to the mainland of Abaco and tied up to the fuel dock at Marsh Harbor. The sun was above the water and, after the storms dissipated, low, swift-moving puffball cumulus clouds dotted the cobalt blue sky. It had the makings of a great day.
Dave contemplated the thick, bleached planks of the dock, then gazed toward an infinity of flat bright-green water mottled with pale greens and blues. 'Let's go to Bobby's Bar and get drunk, drunk enough to forget this night ever happened.'
'I'll buy the first round.'
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mr. Bobby's is a fisherman's bar. It never closes. Located on the waterfront inside the protected bay of Marsh Harbor, the bar has a three hundred foot long pier that runs straight out into the water. Fishing boats, charter boats, sailboats, and visiting yachts use the docking facilities.
We walked into the dark, cool bar with its low ceilings and full-length doors on three sides, soon after sunrise. Aged fans turned slowly moving stale air. The bar was empty except for a lone female swaying and weaving in front of the old jukebox to 'Yellow Bird,' the Bahamian national anthem. Oblivious to the world, her bare feet, slim legs, and short skirt seemed to move of their own free will, revealing the panties she did not wear, the bra she never owned. She was made for smoky bars, cocaine highs, and ten-minute trips to the men's room.
A giant of a man stepped out of the storeroom carrying a case of beer. 'What'll it be, gents?' he asked, without looking at us.
'How about better service to start with?' Dave growled.
The big man, putting the beer into the cooler had his back to us. He stiffened, remained motionless. Straightening up, he did not turn around, but bellowed a booming laugh that shook his entire body. Cocking a massive head to one side, he turned and looked through narrowed eyes.
'I'd know that voice in hell. Mr. Dave, what you doing on the
…Well, I'll be, it's Cop'um Jay, too. What a pleasant surprise for this glorious morning. It's shore good to see you both. Mr. Bobby, he be out in a minute. He be glad to see you, also.'
The big man, whose name was Skinner, came over and shook hands. We'd known him for years. Standing six feet five inches and well over three hundred pounds, he was a massive and powerful man. No one knew his exact origin, but rumor had it that his mother was from Cuba and his father a black Bahamian fisherman. He'd been orphaned as a child, and cared for by a local whore until he was ten years old. The whore died, and Skinner lived on the streets and around the waterfront until Mr. Bobby caught him stealing beer off his loading dock. Soon after that, Bobby adopted him. They've been together ever since, except for a short time when Skinner tried out with the Pittsburgh Pirates baseball team after being noticed by Roberto Clemente, who was on the island fishing for the giant tuna. A knee injury in the minor league ended the baseball and Skinner returned to Marsh Harbor.
'Bring us a bottle of cognac and a couple of those Cuban cigars Bobby keeps hidden away behind the bar.'
'Yes, sir, Mr. Dave. I might even join you for a drink being as I'm so glad to see you.'
He brought the cognac and cigars, and poured us each two fingers in short whisky shot glasses. Skinner made a toast, and we drank the hot, alcoholic brandy like ice water. He poured another two fingers, but none for himself.
Dave eyed the woman at the jukebox. 'Would you see that we're not disturbed for a few minutes. We have some important business to discuss.'
'Yes, sir, Mr. Dave. Don't worry about her, she belongs to the 'Sisterhood of the eternally medicated.' You can rest assured no one will bother you till you tell me otherwise.' He walked over and said something to the woman who quickly left the bar, throwing hateful looks at us.
Dave bit the end off his cigar, picked up a kitchen match from the small holder on the table, struck it with his thumbnail, and slowly lit the aged tobacco. He looked at me with dark, serious eyes. 'How are you going to handle this Renoir thing?'
'I haven't had time to think it through. The first thing is to call Glossman. I'll know more after that. Do you think we can believe Barrel-chest?'
'Dying men don't lie.' He blew smoke up toward one of the ceiling fans, watching it disappear in a swirl.
