68 Knots (21 page)

“You must have really wanted a motorcycle,” Arthur said.

“Badly,” Logan said. “Still do. By the end of that summer, I had managed to save all of, like, two hundred and fifty dollars. Cha-
ching
! I couldn't afford
gas
.”

“I know what you mean,” Joy said. “I once worked the night shift as a short-order cook. It was a little diner that was the only place open all night. When the bars would close, everyone who hadn't managed to pick up a date wandered in there. The order was always the same: cheeseburger with everything, apple pie, coffee. And the conversation was always the same: ‘When do you get off work, baby?' ‘I'll have a cheeseburger and a great big helping of you.' ‘That grill ain't the only thing that's hot around here!' I finally went to a flea market and bought a picture of some big ugly boxer. I put it on my counter next to the grill, and whenever anyone gave me a hard time, I'd just point to it and say, ‘Don't let my boyfriend José hear you talk like that!' And after an entire summer of putting up with that stuff, I saved four hundred dollars.”

Dawn nodded. “That kind of hassle can be a real pain, but it's easier to take from a lot of lonely strangers. I once spent a summer working as an intern for an anthropology professor at the university near where I live. It started out with me doing typing and filing and stuff like that, helping him with things while he worked on some big research project he was doing. I loved the work—the thinking, the theories, the realization that we're all basically human no matter how different we look and act. But then we started working later and later
into the evenings, and he started telling me how boring his wife was. It got pretty spooky. Then he asked me to go with him to some anthro conference in San Diego. It was a week long, and he explained, with this stupid little smirk, that he could only afford one hotel room. ‘Two beds, of course,' he said.”

“What did you do?” Joy asked.

“I told him that I would be happy to go with him to that conference. It would be a great experience for me,” Dawn said. “But I also told him flat out that I would need a room of my own, a return airplane ticket, and the right to bring along a friend to keep me company.”

“I'll bet the pervert
loved
that idea,” Crystal said.

“He did—until I explained that my friend was Hank Henry,” Dawn said. “Hank was a right tackle for the school's football team. He was about six-and-a-half feet tall, about three hundred pounds, and he shaved his head. I met Hank through my church group—we weren't dating or anything—but I figured it would scare this professor off.”

“Did it?” Logan asked.

“It's hard to say,” Dawn said. “His conference plans suddenly fell through—surprise, surprise—but a little while later, he told me he was going to the Australian Outback to do some fieldwork. He asked me to go with him, and he said he could only take one tent! By then, though, the summer was over, and I got out of there.”

The pirates continued to share their stories. Arthur had worked on a highway crew, hired by a manager who wanted him to show the union workers how to apply themselves. “Three months of anger and hatred from my coworkers,” he said.

Jesse had worked for a roofer in southern Florida, where the afternoon sun would melt the shingles and the soles of his
boots. “I fell off a roof once,” he said. “Everybody laughed. ‘You damn near killed yourself, boy!' they said. I was lying on my back on the ground. Those people had no loyalty.”

Joy had worked for a daycare center. “It was me and twenty kids for most of the day,” she said. “I had to hire the older kids to help me with the little ones.”

Crystal had worked for a private investigator, shooting videotape from the passenger seat of his Volkswagen. Marietta had worked for a modeling agency, showing off preteen dresses on creaky catwalks in the middle of aging malls.

When most evenings drew to a close, the pirates would stand one at a time, say goodnight, and wander off to the bathroom. When they returned, dressed in some assemblage of T-shirts and shorts or cotton pajamas, they would climb into their bunks, roll over to face the wall, and go to sleep. The last two or three to end the evening would clean up the glasses and blow out the lamp.

But things had begun to change. Signs of affection were becoming more open. On this night, for instance, Crystal stood up, stretched, and announced that she was going to take a walk on the deck before turning in—and Logan stood also. Crystal sat back down, and Logan sat back down. Crystal stood again, said goodnight quickly, and glowered at Logan. Logan stayed in his seat.

When Arthur was ready to call it a night, he announced that he was going to check the anchor before going to bed. Marietta offered to help him. Arthur climbed the steep gangway and disappeared into the night, and Marietta was close behind him.

It was a hot night with little breeze. The humidity made clothes sticky with moisture. Arthur stood in the bow and
studied the anchor chain. It seemed to hold its original position, so the ship clearly wasn't adrift. He turned—and Marietta was close to his face.

They kissed for a long time. Then Marietta made her move. “I'll join you tonight in the captain's quarters,” she said. “Just you and me. We'll be together, alone, and private. It'll be romantic.”

Arthur shook his head. “I don't think we—”

Marietta kissed him again. It was a deep, involved, physical kiss, and it made her intentions clear. “Let's go,” she said. “No one's going to care.”

Breakfast the next morning was unusually quiet. Tension was sharp in the air, and it was Logan who broke the silence. “So,” he asked Marietta, “did you, like, totally sleep well?”

“Just fine,” she said.

“Oh, good,” Logan said. “Yea! Whee! We've all been totally wondering how comfortable that captain's bed is—”

“It's absolutely luxurious,” Marietta said, brushing her blond-streaked hair. “I haven't felt that good in a long time.”

“—but of course,” Logan continued, “since we're all, like, stuck out here in these little bunks, we thought we'd never know. I think you two ought to totally give us updates every morning. That way we'd know if, you know, the mattress was beginning to sag, or if the pillows were losing their plumpness. In fact, I think you should start a newsletter. You could give us the undercover scoop every morning.”

“Or you can damn well sleep in the bunks like the rest of us,” Crystal said to Arthur. “Who the hell gave you permission to move in there in the first place?”

“Who said I
needed
permission?” Arthur shot back. “If it weren't for me, you'd all be sleeping with mommy and daddy
this summer. If any of you are so petty that you're upset over something this stupid, then that's your problem. I mean, we're out here in a boat that isn't ours, we dumped a body overboard without telling anyone he was dead, we're stealing the stuff we need, we all might end up in jail—and you're all bent out of shape because I sleep in the big bed. Well, maybe you all should just grow up. I really don't—”

“Apology accepted,” Dawn said. She faced the rest of the crew. “Listen, everybody. After McKinley died, Arthur moved into the captain's quarters. I agree with Crystal”—she fixed her green eyes on Arthur—“it would have been nice if Arthur had talked about it without just moving in like that. But we're all okay. We just have some talking to do right now. We don't—”

“Oh, please!” Crystal snapped. “Look, gang, here's the deal. From now on, I say we rotate who gets to sleep in the captain's quarters. In fact, I say we rotate who gets to be the captain! Arthur got this trip started, but that doesn't make him Emperor for Life.”

Oh, shit, Arthur thought. Mutiny. Crystal's trying to strip me of my position. What should I do? What would Dad do? “Never show weakness,” he would say. That's it. Never show weakness.

“Forget about it,” Arthur declared. “I'm the captain, and that's my room.”

Good. Strong and forceful. Back her down. The minute you open the door, she'll come charging right through.

“And another thing,” Arthur continued. “I'm tired of having you always whining and complaining about my being the captain. I'm the captain, and the job isn't open. If you don't like it, leave the ship.”

“If I don't like it?” Crystal charged. “I've got news for you, pal. If anyone's leaving this boat, it's you.”

Call her bluff. Force her to play her hand. When she loses in front of everyone, she'll stop being such a pain.

“Let's put it to a vote,” Arthur demanded. “If you win, I'll move out of the cabin and we'll all share the captain job. But if you lose, you have to leave the ship.”

Good one, Arthur thought. There's no way she'll—

“You're on!” Crystal said.

Dawn shook her head. “This is a bad idea, folks,” she said softly. “We're not going to vote on who we'll listen to or where people get to sleep. Crystal, we respect your thinking just as much as anyone's, and we all know that our days on board the
Dreadnought
would be a lot harder if you weren't here. And Arthur, we know you got us started on this wonderful adventure, and we appreciate your willingness to make tough decisions. Let's chalk this up to a minor storm at sea and forget it ever happened. Okay?”

The chilly silence that followed, Dawn knew, was the best response she could have hoped for.

Several days later, the crew staged another raid on lavish yachts. It went flawlessly. Crystal and BillFi were the raiders again, and Jesse worked the oars. The first target was a white cabin cruiser with a flying bridge and a mass of radio and navigational gear blinking expensively all over it. Crystal had been the scout, and she noted that the owners never bothered to lock the door. She and BillFi slipped inside and found a surprisingly stark interior—little furniture beyond a simple table and a sleeper sofa. The fridge, though, was crammed full
of food—mostly sausages and cheese—and the raiders filled a duffel quickly.

The second target was a white sailboat with the words
Never Better
scripted across its stern. The key was hidden under a hibachi grill, and the interior was similar to many others they'd seen: the beds, the galley, the tiny bathroom. There wasn't much food on board, but there was a significant amount of cash stashed underneath one mattress. “Looks like a thousand dollars!” BillFi whispered as he slipped the money into the duffel. “Must be a thousand dollars!”

They went on to hit a third yacht to fill out their bags. It was a powerboat, white and impressive on the outside, with a flying bridge and teak deck. Inside, though, the galley and cabins were cluttered with dirty clothes, empty beer cans, and stuffed ashtrays. The blue smell of cigarette smoke clung to the air, and streaks of ash littered the unmade bed. Food and dishes filled the tiny sink.

“Owners left more than an hour ago. Walked. Said something about a bar with a big-screen TV,” Crystal said.

“This is disgusting,” BillFi said, pushing his glasses and looking around the disheveled room. “It's a mess. It's disgusting. We should steal a lot of stuff, just to clean up in here.”

“Better yet,” said Crystal, “we should take what we want and torch the fucking place. We should—”

Rustle.
Something in the bottom of the small forward closet moved. It rustled again.

“Oh, great,” BillFi said. “Just great. This place has rats. I hate rats. The rats in the shelter where I lived were huge. They were huge. I hate rats.”

From beneath the heap of clothing on the floor of the closet came a sound. Half scream, half whisper. Hoarse and
tired and scared. Not the sound of a rat. More like a mew.

“It's a cat!” Crystal said. “These people keep a cat in their closet.”

She grabbed the clothes and tossed them aside. There, in a small cage, was a tiny kitten. It was gray with darker gray stripes. Its ribs corrugated its sides, and its face was gaunt and tight. It mewed again.

The cage, not much bigger than a shoebox, had an empty water bowl and a small paper plate for food. The food left in the plate was dry and dark brown, and it wiggled.