by Cap Daniels
Clark had my attention.
“When you detect a threat, don’t give your opponent any opportunity to succeed. That’s speed of reaction. If a punch to the throat is all it would take to defeat an opponent, deliver two to the throat, and then seven more to the body, ending with the family jewels. That’s abundance of force. And violence of action is pretty much self-explanatory. Don’t just cut your attacker—cut him until you run out of flesh, and then cut his bones.”
I drained what was left of my beer as the waitress arrived with the next round. She placed our drinks on the table and Clark motioned for her to lean in.
“Have those two young women at the end of the bar been alone all afternoon?”
The waitress glanced over her shoulder at the two sunburned young women in bikini tops and cutoff blue jeans. They were giggling and looking straight at us.
She turned back to us. “Oh, yeah. They’re alone, and they’ve taken full advantage of every opportunity to check you guys out.”
I shook my head. “What are you doing, Clark? I’ve had enough trouble with women for ten lifetimes. I don’t need a fresh batch today.”
Clark grinned. “Those two don’t look like a fresh batch of trouble to me, old buddy.” He gazed back at the women and threw on that crooked grin women are incapable of resisting. “They look like a couple of women who are a long way from home and itching to do something they’ll consider their dirty little secret for years to come.” Clark raised his glass in a salute to the two sunbaked beauties. “Put whatever they’re drinking on our tab.”
“No, Clark,” I argued. “I’m not ready to become anyone’s dirty little secret.”
The waitress smiled. “Yeah, I already did that. They’ve been drinking on your tab for the last two rounds. Now what can I get you boys to eat? It looks like you’re going to need your strength.”
I didn’t like how the afternoon was shaping up, and it seemed I was quickly becoming powerless in the matter.
“In that case,” said Clark, “you’d better bring us a couple dozen oysters.”
The waitress scribbled on her pad. “You got it, guys. They’ll be right out.”
“What are you doing, Clark? After Anya, the last thing I need is some tourist girl thinking I’m her ticket out of Milwaukee or whatever godforsaken place she’s from.”
Clark took a long swallow of his beer and leaned back in his chair. “Some tourist girl is exactly what you need. Look, man. I know you’re screwed up over what happened with Anya or Ana or Ekaterina or whatever the hell her name was, but you gotta live, man.” He pointed toward the bar. “And sometimes, girls like that are what living is all about.”
There was no chance of winning the argument, so I changed the subject. “I know you’d rather be kicking down doors in the sandbox, but I’m really glad they called you home. I couldn’t have pulled off the sub snatch without you.”
“Ah, it was fun, but I knew there was some serious stuff going down when they hauled me back here after this bullshit with Anya. Since I’d been running with you two, they had to debrief me as part of the whole cleanup. You know how the bureaucracy works.” He raised his bottle to the young women and motioned for them to join us.
Our oysters arrived, and the girls from the bar were seconds behind. Without asking, the girls slid into a pair of seats across from each other, beside Clark and me.
The waitress grinned. “More drinks?”
“It looks like we’re going to need another round for the three of them, but no more for me,” I said, accepting the fact we were about to have lunch with our two new friends from wherever.
The look on Clark’s face made it clear he was much happier about the situation than I was.
He refreshed that smile of his and began introductions. “Hey, ladies. I’m Clark, and this pitiful guy over here is my buddy, Chase.”
“Aw,” came the sympathy from both young women. “What’s wrong, Chase?”
Clark didn’t give me a chance to answer. “The woman he loved just broke his heart. It turns out she had a little trouble telling the truth.”
That’s an interesting way to put it.
“Well,” said the brunette, “we’re not her, and we’re gonna make you forget all about her. I’m Kirsten, and this is my best friend, Chloe.”
“It’s nice to meet you both, but it’s not quite as simple as Clark put it.”
“It’s as simple or as complicated as you decide to make it,” Kirsten said. “Have an oyster and forget about her . . . even if it’s just for a little while.”
She shoved an oyster-laden cracker into my mouth and picked up her drink. “Here’s to learning from it and moving on!”
Clark raised his glass. “Here, here!”
We destroyed the two dozen oysters before Chloe called to the waitress. “Hey, Jamie, can we get some more oysters?”
“Hang on a minute,” I said. “You’ve got to try the pear ravioli. Let’s do a couple orders of those before we have more oysters.”
“Cool,” said Jamie. “I’ll be right back.”
“Pear ravioli?” Kirsten’s face distorted in apprehensive disgust. “That sounds nasty.”
“I know, but you’ll love it. I promise.”
The look on her face said she didn’t believe me, but I was confident.
“So, where are you guys from?” asked Chloe.
That was an interesting question, and I didn’t know how to answer it, but Clark, in his typical style, wasted no time. “I’m from Virginia Beach, and Chase lives on his boat.”
Well, that ought to open up a floodgate of questions.
Both women eyeballed me. “A boat?”
“Yeah, I live on my boat. It’s right out there.” I pointed through the trees toward Aegis II, my catamaran anchored a hundred feet off the bank of the Tolomato River.
They leaned precariously, peering through the trees.
“That’s gorgeous,” said Kirsten. “I love boats.”
“Do you sail?” I asked.
“No, I’ve never been on a sailboat, but I love regular boats.”
“Regular boats?” I laughed. “What’s a regular boat?”
She playfully tossed a pinch of ice from the oyster tray at me. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. You mean those noisy, gas-guzzling powerboats.”
“Yeah, those.”
Clark said, “So, now it’s your turn. Where are you two from?”
Chloe spoke up. “We’re from a little place you’ve never heard of in Alabama.”
“Try us,” said Clark. “I’m from Tennessee and Chase grew up in Georgia.”
“No way,” Chloe said. “We live in Florence.”
“Florence ain’t no little place,” Clark said. “Everybody knows Florence is right across the river from Muscle Shoals.”
“Roar Lions!” the girls bellowed.
Clark and I looked at each other, dumbfounded.
Chloe giggled. “We just finished our master’s degrees from the University of North Alabama. We’re the Lions.”
“Oh,” I said, a little ashamed I’d never heard of that school. “In that case, go Dawgs!”
Clark let out a proud, “Roll Tide!” Even though he’d grown up in Tennessee, he was an avid Alabama football fan.
Our pear ravioli arrived, out of place among the remains of oyster shells and beer bottles. The appetizers were served elegantly as if we were in a five-star resort. They were beautiful in the creamy cheese sauce on pearly white plates, and everyone stared at them.
Without hesitating, I sliced into a ravioli and slid it into my mouth. Just as I remembered, it was spectacular. “That’s right,” I said. “Sit there and stare. They’ll be gone soon if you don’t jump in.”
Kirsten picked up the remaining half of the ravioli I’d cut and cautiously put it to her tongue. I was reminded of how Anya had been afraid to try cheese grits for the first time.
Kirsten’s eyes flashed toward me, and she slid t
he bite from her fork. “Oh my God . . . flavorgasm. These are amazing.”
Chloe followed suit with a nearly identical reaction, and Clark was seconds behind. It didn’t take long for the ravioli to vanish.
“Who would’ve thought pear ravioli would be so good?” said Clark.
“Everything’s amazing here—even the tourists,” I said, raising my glass to Chloe and Kirsten. “I’ve never been disappointed.”
Lunch followed and the conversation continued. I doubted I’d ever forget Anya, but Kirsten was a pleasant distraction, even if only temporarily. Clark and my new friends had another round of drinks with lunch, but I opted for water. I decided another drink wasn’t a good idea if I was going to be running the boat after lunch.
“You’re taking us sailing, right?” said Kirsten, obviously excited.
“Are you sure you want to go sailing with a couple of guys you just met?” I asked her.
“Yeah, when you quit drinking after two beers, I knew you were an okay guy. A lot of guys don’t know when to quit.”
“I didn’t want to quit,” I said, “but it’s a big boat and I like it, so I’d hate to run it into a bridge just because I was too stubborn to stop drinking.”
“So, yeah,” she said, “we want to go sailing with a couple of guys we just met. Right, Chloe?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m definitely in.”
I paid the check and we headed for the beach where my dinghy waited, tied to a tree. It was a rigid-hulled inflatable with a forty-five-horsepower outboard that could carry six people a short distance without getting them too wet. The four of us made the short jaunt out to Aegis II, following a somewhat sloppy push off and boarding by Clark, who managed to get himself soaked to his waist. When we arrived at the anchored boat, Clark held the dinghy while Chloe and Kirsten climbed aboard my catamaran.
We clipped the davit lines to the dinghy and I secured the engine. Once aboard the cat, I hoisted the dinghy into place on the davits and set about welcoming our guests aboard.
“This is Aegis II,” I said proudly. “She’s a fifty-foot sailing cat. Make yourselves at home. There’s plenty to drink in the galley and tons of places to get comfortable.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Kirsten said, admiring the cat. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Can we go inside?”
“Of course. Go anywhere you’d like.” I pointed into the cabin. “The main salon and galley are through there. The heads and staterooms are in the hulls to port and starboard.”
I started the engines and hauled the anchor aboard while the girls went exploring. They wound up exactly where everyone goes their first time on a catamaran: the trampoline at the bow. It was, by far, the best seat in the house. It stretched across the bow, giving unobstructed views of the water below, and made for a great spot to enjoy an afternoon nap.
Clark made some daiquiris and delivered them to Chloe and Kirsten.
When he returned to the cockpit, I asked, “What have you gotten us into?”
“Me? This is your doing. I was going to buy them a few drinks. You’re the one who invited them to go sailing.”
“Actually,” I said, “they sort of invited themselves, and for the record, I bought the drinks.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got more money than I do.”
“I won’t for long if this keeps up.”
Clark laughed. “I think you’ll be just fine.”
Seeing only four knots on the wind instrument, I decided to motor south toward the Usina Bridge and St. Augustine Inlet. Across the cabin top came two pairs of cutoff blue jean shorts, flying through the air like wounded birds. We stared at the shorts lying on the deck and couldn’t resist peeking toward the bow. The girls were giggling and showing off string bikini bottoms to match their tops. Needless to say, Clark and I were not disappointed.
Still staring at the girls, he said, “I think I’ll go check on them. I wouldn’t want them to get cold up there all by themselves.”
“Oh, you’re quite the humanitarian.”
“I really am. It’s good you see that in me.”
He disappeared toward the bow and I stayed at the wheel. The current was running south and adding a couple of knots to our speed. We’d make the two-mile trip to the inlet in a little over ten minutes. I motored under the bridge and made the turn to the east and out the St. Augustine Inlet. The wind was blowing twelve knots from the southeast once we cleared the inlet into the Atlantic. I stuck the bow in the wind and unfurled the big genoa headsail. Letting the bow fall off to port, the sail filled with wind and the big boat responded as she was built to do.
Aegis II handled like a dream. She was responsive and sporty, but still incredibly comfortable. Soon, the bows were cutting through the waves and sending sprays of water through the trampoline and onto the girls who were laughing and screaming with enjoyment. Once we were clear of other marine traffic, I set the autopilot and joined the others on the bow.
I joined the party on the trampoline. “I hear a lot of shouting going on up here. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, it’s amazing up here!” Kirsten said. “I never want to leave.”
Clark reclined on the trampoline and put his hands behind his head. “I have to get myself a boat.”
“You don’t need a boat,” I said. “I’ve never known you to have any trouble finding women to latch onto you.”
He tilted his head innocently. “It’s the baby face.”
Clark was thirty-four years old but looked twenty-four. His boyish looks had earned him the nickname “Baby Face” from his days as an Army Ranger and Green Beret.
“Wait! If you’re up here with us, who’s driving the boat?” asked Chloe.
“It’s on autopilot,” I told her. “There’s nothing to hit out here, and I’ll have plenty of time to get back to the helm if we see another boat getting too close.”
“I didn’t know boats had autopilot,” she said.
“Some do. It comes in handy when I want to hang out with beautiful women on the trampoline.”
Kirsten eyed me suspiciously. “So, is this a regular thing with you two? Luring unsuspecting women aboard your boat to have your way with them?”
“Oh yeah. It’s practically a daily thing for us. You’re the next in a long line of unsuspecting, innocent victims.”
“I didn’t say anything about us being innocent.”
“Touché,” I said. “And you weren’t lured. If I remember correctly, this was your idea.”
She smirked. “The devil’s always in the details, isn’t he?”
“Or she,” I retorted. “In my experience, it’s far more likely that old Lucifer is really Lucy and not Luke . . . if you know what I mean.”
She slid toward me and propped her chin on my knee. With sunburned cheeks, she looked at me with sincere concern. “That girl really did a number on you, didn’t she? Wanna talk about it?”
“It’s a long story.”
“So, show me how to steer the boat, and tell me about this girl who’s such a long story.”
She stood and reached for my hand. I wasn’t ready for whatever Kirsten had in mind, but it didn’t look like I had much choice in the matter. We walked to the cockpit and I watched her climb onto the captain’s chair.
“Wow, there’s a lot of gadgets here. What do they do?”
“Do you really care what all those gadgets do?”
She grabbed the collar of my T-shirt, pulling me toward her for a very nice first kiss. I was surprised by the kiss, and even more surprised that I didn’t resist.
“Okay,” she confessed. “I really wanted to get you alone, but now that I’m here, I am a little curious about how all of this works. And. . . .”
“And . . . what?” I asked.
She thought for a minute. “Well, you’re what . . . twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven? I know it’s not polite to ask, but how can you afford a boat like this?”
I sighed. “It was a gift from a family friend.”
“Some gift,”
she said. “But seriously, what do you for a living? You have to do something other than living on your boat and picking up strange women in restaurants.”
“I don’t think you’re strange.”
“Don’t change the subject, boat boy.”
“Okay. I’m a writer. It affords me the freedom to travel a lot and gives me plenty of time off to do the things I enjoy . . . like picking up strange women in restaurants.”
“That sounds like a great job. Are you hiring? Like I told you, Chloe and I are recent graduates, and now we’re ready to take on the world.”
“You wouldn’t like the training program.”
“Yeah.” She lowered and softened her voice. “Maybe you could train me.”
“I’m not much of a teacher,” I said, trying to change the subject. “I’m more of an out-in-the-field kind of guy, you might say.”
“So, tell me about this girl who’s such a long story.”
I grimaced. “It’s really complicated.”
“It’s always complicated. But life’s complicated. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but it’s obvious it really bothers you. Sometimes it’s good to let it out.”
How could I explain Anya? I certainly couldn’t tell her the truth.
I’m an assassin and I fell in love with a Russian intelligence officer after I’d killed a hit man in Cuba, and then we killed his brother and an American CIA agent. Then we killed the man she claimed was her mother’s murderer shortly before she got shot in the back rescuing my former coach’s daughter from a porn set in Miami. And it turns out she was lying about the whole thing to infiltrate American covert operations.
I needed to come up with something far more believable than the truth.
I took a deep breath. “It was a pretty crappy situation. She wasn’t an American. We met when I was working overseas. She had the same kind of job as me, just for someone else. I fell hard for her, and I really thought she was the one. It turned out she was lying the whole time.”
“What was she lying about?”