Authors: Mike Jastrzebski
Cathy slid around me as I moved out of the way. “I’ve got to get going,” she said.
“I was hoping we might get a chance to talk a little before you left,” I said.
“About what?”
I pointed a finger at Cathy, and then at me. “Us. What happened.”
Cathy shook her head and ran her fingers like a comb through her mussed hair. She sighed, plopped down on the cockpit seat, and patted the space next to her. I sat down.
She took my hand and held it on her lap. “Look, Wes, I like you. Obviously I find you attractive or we wouldn’t have ended up in bed together. And the sex was very, very good. But to be honest, I’m still in love with my ex-husband.”
“You could have told me that before we went out.” I knew when I spoke it wasn’t the right thing to say, but I was irritated and couldn’t help myself.
“You know, when I agreed to go out with you it wasn’t exactly a lifetime commitment. I like bad boys, and the ex is a bad boy,” she said.
“Actually, he’s an actor. They don’t always work steady. He sold some pot to a couple of other actors and got busted. He’s getting out of jail tomorrow.”
“Sorry,” I said. I’d been chastised. “And last night?”
She stroked my hand, brought it up to her lips and kissed it before looking me in the eyes. “Last night you were my bad boy.” She reached out and touched my bruise through my shirt. “You told me about your fight, showed me your pain, and I melted. I’m not saying it can’t happen again. But I’m being honest when I tell you it will be for fun, not forever. If you can accept that, then we can get together again. If not, then we end things right here.”
I nodded, but I knew it wouldn’t work for me. I just couldn’t say that to her.
“Good,” she said. “Now I’ve got to get going.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, letting her lips linger for just a moment. We broke apart and both stood at the same time, as if our actions were choreographed.
I didn’t watch her leave, just swayed with the quick movement of the boat as she stepped onto the dock. I felt strangely calm for a man who’d just had his ego deflated by a very sexy woman.
Chapter 7
I’ve suffered on and off from depression ever since a young girl died because of a mistake I made. Celine Stewart still came to me in my dreams. She never spoke, she just pleaded with me through sad eyes, silently accusing me of screwing up.
When I’d first been diagnosed, my doctor recommended Prozac, but the idea of using any kind of mind-altering drug had little appeal to me. I rejected his offer of medicated bliss and instead turned to my lifelong love of sailing for relief. Still, on occasion, I suffer episodes of darkness where the light dims and threatens to go out. This is often followed by roller coaster flights of fancy and bravado. Today, all I wanted to do was sleep.
A distant beat tore me from dark dreams where that ghost taunted me. Looking around the room I felt dazed until I realized that the music was the call of my cell phone.
I reached over, picked it up, and when I saw the number, put it back down. The last person I wanted to talk to was Jessica. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Once again it was my phone that woke me. Once again it was Jessica.
I flipped it open. “What do you want?”
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day.”
“I was sleeping.”
“It’s after five.”
“Did you call for a reason, or just to check on my sleeping habits?"
I felt a twinge of guilt as I listened to her breathing on the other end. When she spoke again there was a sharp edge to her voice. “I wanted to see how you were doing and to find out what our next step is.”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m done. Let the old man handle things. He seems competent.”
“Uncle Roy? I never expected him to show up last night. He doesn’t really want to get involved.”
“Neither do I.”
“You can’t back out now,” she said.
“Watch me.” I switched off the phone and flung it across the cabin where it bounced off the settee and landed on the floor with a dull thud. I knew I was being irrational, but with dead bodies came responsibility. I didn’t want to be responsible for another girl’s death, especially a relative I barely knew.
I thought about going back to bed. I thought about the warm inviting beaches of the Bahamas. I thought about untying the boat and taking off. Instead, I headed down to the marina store for a cold six-pack.
I paid for the Miller Lite and left the building by the side door leading to the gathering area. I couldn’t stand the thought of drinking alone on my boat but wasn’t sure I was up to idle chitchat either.
I’d met most of the locals the first afternoon I spent at the marina. Bob Preston, known around the marina as Cajun Bob, saw me and waved me over. Cajun Bob lived on a steel trawler he built himself and worked some kind of construction job. He was short and in his mid-thirties. He kept his long black hair tied back in a ponytail, had a thick, weightlifters body, and an even thicker Cajun accent, which earned him his nickname.
Bob seemed to be the name of the day in these parts. In the short time I’d been at the marina I’d also met Motorcycle Bob, Too Tall Bob, Lil Bob, and a generic Bob who had apparently not earned a nickname yet.
I sat down across from Cajun Bob. Phil Hamlin and his wife, Renee, were seated to his right. Phil was a potbellied, balding, retired stockbroker. Renee, thin, with bottle-tinted red hair and disapproving eyes was the marina gossip. She tended to dress in garish skin-tight pants that accentuated her bony frame, and spoke with a husky, sexual voice that fit neither her body nor her personality.
They’d come down from Illinois on a thirty-seven foot Beneteau sloop with the intention of sailing around the world. That was three years ago and marina rumor had it that they’d never had the sails up on the boat and never even run the engine since arriving at the Dog River.
“What’s this I hear about you and Cathy?” Cajun Bob asked. He wore a knowing smirk on his face, and I wanted to reach out and snatch it away.
“Don’t put much store in what people say around here,” Phil said.
“Waitresses tend to be slutty.” Renee was knitting something that could have been a sweater, and didn’t bother to look up when she spoke.
“You were a waitress in college,” Phil said.
“For only two weeks.” She looked up for a moment and cast an evil look at Phil. “You know I quit because I didn’t like hanging around with those girls.”
“I thought the boss fired you because you were too slow,” Phil said.
Again Renee looked up from her work. Her eyes found Phil’s, and she held his gaze for a full count of ten before turning her attention back to her work. This time the look must have worked. Phil picked up his beer bottle and took a deep slug before setting it back down. The silence between the two was more telling than their verbal sparring.
“I took a swing at the lady myself,” Cajun Bob said. “We just haven’t been able to get together yet.” He watched me for a reaction and when I didn’t jump at the bait he continued. “
C
ourse if you two have something going I’ll step back out of the running.”
“That’s nice of you, Bob.” I was saved further discourse by the arrival of my cousin Jessica. Her car skidded to a stop at the edge of the parking lot. I sipped my beer and watched her throw open the door and spring from the car.
She wore white jeans with a tight white blouse and her breasts bounced madly as she strode up to where I was seated. “You’re a son of a bitch, Wes Darling.”
“You move pretty damn fast for someone who’s only been here a few days,” Cajun Bob said.
I thought I detected a tone of approval in his voice. It was a sense of regard I could do without. He was a shallow man with a shallow agenda. “She’s my cousin,” I said.
“This is Alabama,” Cajun Bob said.
I turned and glared at him. “Shut up, Bob, before I get really pissed and do something I’ll regret.”
“I was just….”
“Didn’t you hear the man?” Jessica asked, without looking away from me. “If Wes doesn’t take a swing at you, I just might.” Her anger was directed at me as much as at Cajun Bob.
“You want to take a ride?” I asked.
“Sure.” She threw me her keys and added, “Why don’t you drive?”
I pushed the remaining beers into the center of the table, said, “Help yourselves,” and followed Jessica out to her car.
Neither of us spoke until we were out of the parking lot. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“We’re going looking for Fish Conners.”
I glanced her way and read the confusion on her face. “What made you change your mind?” she asked.
“I find Cajun Bob to be a bore. Besides, Fish Conners has pissed me off more than you have in the last couple of days.” I turned the car onto Dauphin Island Parkway and reached into my pocket for the directions Rusty had given me. I drew them out and handed them to Jessica. “You navigate,” I said.
It was starting to get dark so Jessica turned on the dome light. After a minute she tucked the paper into the visor and switched off the light. “I’ve been to Darlene’s,” she said. “Make a left at the next light, then a left at the stop sign and follow the road around. You can’t miss it. What makes you think Fish will be there?”
“Rusty Dawson told me Fish goes out there on free oyster night. That’s tonight.”
“What do we do if he’s there?”
I pulled into Darlene’s lot, parked the car, and got out without answering her question. Truth of the matter was, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I just wanted to see the guy up close. Maybe ask him why he tried to kill me.
The bar’s décor was a mix of vintage pub and modern sports bar. The jukebox looked like it was from a fifties malt shop, but it had been converted to play CDs. The wood floor was scarred and polished by years of foot traffic. The bar appeared to have gone through a recent facelift. Three television sets hung from the ceiling above the bar, and new wood tables with vinyl-covered chairs were scattered about. I suspected it wouldn’t be long before the owner managed to kill the Southern ambiance and replace it with anywhere USA dull.
The place was packed and I took one of only two empty seats at the bar, next to a tall redhead dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with the words “Hell Bound” stenciled across her abundant chest. She looked over at me, picked up her beer, and tipped the long neck in my direction. I nodded, and then watched her glow evaporate as Jessica took the seat next to me.
Jessica put her lips close to my ear and exhaled, sending a pleasant chill down my back. “They’re probably fake.”
I spun the bar stool to face her. “I didn’t notice.”
“Right. And you just happened to sit in the seat right next to Miss Jumbo Tits?”
“There were only two empty seats at the bar.”
“I noticed you left me the seat next to Sasquatch.”
I looked over at the bearded giant seated next to her and laughed. “So, all right, maybe I did choose this seat because of the scenery, but we’re not here for fun. Do you see Fish Conners around?”
Jessica was peering over my shoulder while I studied the room behind her. After a few moments she poked me in the arm. “Over there, by the jukebox.”
I followed her gaze and watched as the man who’d tried to kill me sat down at a table. He was dressed in khaki Dockers, wore gold chains around his neck, and had left the top three buttons of his shirt undone. If he was the man who had attacked me on the dock, he was also much bigger than I remembered him.
I swung my barstool around and slid off at the same time he noticed us. He grinned and pushed back his chair, jumped up, and hustled toward the back of the bar. We followed, weaving our way between clumps of bar patrons. He beat us to the rear door by a half dozen steps and pushed through it, letting it swing closed behind him.
“You wait here,” I said when we reached the door. “I don’t want to have to worry about you getting hurt.”
“Are you nuts? The guy’s built like a truck. If you go out there he’ll bulldoze his way right through you.”
I reached for the door. “What did you think was going to happen if we found him?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I don’t want you to get hurt either.”
“Just wait here and call out an alarm if it looks like I need help. Or call the police. Who knows? Maybe the guy will just talk to me about the whole thing and we’ll find out he went after the wrong person.”
Jessica muttered something about men and their crazy macho attitudes. I took a deep breath, swung the door open, and stepped outside.
“Wes!” Jessica called out from the doorway.
He must have been hiding alongside the door. I spun around but I wasn’t fast enough. Fish Conners drove his shoulder into my mid-section with the force of a demolition ball. He half carried, half pushed me across the dirt yard, smashing my body into the concrete block wall of the building. I’d played football in high school, but the force of Fish’s body block was like nothing I’d ever felt before.
Fish backed away, and I slid down the wall. My legs were too weak to support me and when I tried to push myself up my entire body rebelled. I fought to remain alert.