The Sail

by Landon Beach

  The shot warmed Jill’s insides like a fire in the hearth back home in Traverse City during a Michigan winter—not some bullshit winter down south, a real winter. She gave Missy a mischievous grin while another shot of Jack was placed in front of her. Own it, girl. She tipped it back and smacked her lips.

  Some of the amber liquid spilled out the corner of Missy’s mouth.

  “Foul, MP,” Jill said.

  Missy laughed and then leaned back, revealing four empty shot glasses next to her purse. “Catch up, bitch,” she lovingly fired back.

  Jill felt a prickle on her neck, and seconds later one of the boys who had dared to venture beyond the pack appeared over her right shoulder. He wasn’t bad to look at, maybe her height, black hair swept across his forehead to his ear, stuck in place by perspiration beading above his eyebrows. A polo shirt neatly tucked into his jeans, deck shoes, and leather belt declared that this frat boy was in full form tonight.

  “Hi, I’m Todd,” he said and put out the hand for the customary friendship greeting to Jill first and then to Missy, with a wink he intended for Jill not to see, but she did. He jerked his thumb toward the group of similarly dressed boys all working on a fresh pitcher of beer—probably Molson Golden. “Those bastards back there giving you trouble?” He said in a tone that tried to exude both contempt for his dipshit friends and concern for the two girls he was now in between.

  Three years ago this might have been fun, but she was twenty-three now and just wanted to cut loose before her final summer semester started in a few days. Her volleyball career was over, and it was time to get serious about law school.

  “No, they’re just having fun,” Jill said, “You should go back and join them.”

  Thrown off his game, Todd managed a, “Oh, I’m not with them.”

  Missy enjoyed his misery. “Whatchya up to tonight, Todd?”

  He enjoyed the reprieve from Jill’s direct gaze. “Depends on what you two are doing?”

  Missy smirked. “Oh, the two of us?”

  His confidence roared back to life, “Of course.”

  “Todd?” Jill said.

  He gave Missy another wink and turned to Jill. “Yes?”

  She bore her eyes through his own, then gave a quick smile, and said, “Get lost.”

  He turned to Missy for help, but all he got was a wave goodbye from her as two more shots of Jack arrived on the bar.

  The boys at the pitcher table let out a laugh after overhearing Jill’s exclamation.

  Todd’s face looked like a stove burner that someone had turned on high. “Fuck you both,” he said.

  “Now that’s something you’ll never do, asshole,” Missy snapped back.

  Jill sensed danger. Todd took a step away from them and then spun around ready to launch his drink at Missy.

  His hand never made it, for it was caught in the grip of a man a few inches taller and about twenty years older than he was. The man squeezed enough to make Todd almost drop to his knees in pain, and then the man let up the pressure. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” the man said.

  Todd hesitated, and the man applied the pressure again.

  “Okay, okay. Jesus,” Todd said.

  The man released his grip, and Todd backed away.

  Jill and Missy exchanged glances with each other.

  Seeing Todd depart, the man turned toward them. “You both okay?”

  When he had turned, Jill had caught a whiff of his cologne, and compared to the cheap fruity shit that boys like Todd wore, this was subtle and strong and...intoxicating. “We’re fine,” Jill said. “Thank you.”

  He gave a slight grin and approached the bar where he ordered a glass of scotch with a splash of water. Jill had never heard of ‘a splash of water’ added to scotch before.

  “What’s the water for, Mr. Wonderful?” Missy said.

  The man looked at her, not in an annoyed way but not in a friendly way either. “To open the bouquet,” he said.

  She nodded as if she had a deep understanding—a mutual admiration for non-college-student libations.

  The drink arrived. He took a sip, let it sit in his mouth, and then swallowed. “My name is Stephen,” he said and shook their hands. “From across the bar, it looked like the little frat boy might never go away, and then I would miss my chance to finally meet our star volleyball player.”

  Jill blushed. “You know who I am?”

  Stephen raised his hands as if she had a gun pointed at his chest, “Guilty,” he said.

  She had a strange phobia about bad teeth, and she squinted ever so slightly as his grin went wide. Thank God, she thought. His teeth were white, perfectly proportioned, and straight with no gaps. She felt a tingle—her phobia could also do an about face on her and become a turn on if the smile was right. His was.

  “I’ve been following you for the past two years, and I must say that I was sad to hear that you were not going to try out for the Olympic team.”

  “Not quite good enough,” she said. “And there’s law school.”

  “That is a matter of opinion,” he said and took another drink of his scotch. “And why in the world would you ever want to become a lawyer? With the way this economy is starting to take off, there are about a million better professions out there.”

  “I think it all comes down to job security,” Jill said.

  Stephen laughed. “Now that’s the most honest answer I’ve ever heard from a lawyer-to-be. They’ll try and beat that out of you in law school, you know?” He grinned. “In fact, I saw a billboard the other day with some greasy lawyer’s face on the far left and a quote bubble coming out of his mouth that said something like, ‘When a person enters my office, I don’t see a client...I see a friend.’”

  Jill couldn’t help but titter.

  “C’mon, are you seriously signing up for that type of life?” Stephen said.

  “B-o-r-i-n-g,” Missy said. “My girl knows what she’s doing.”

  “I’m sure of that,” Stephen said. He drained his scotch and then looked at his watch.

  10:45 p.m.

  “Well, I should be moving along. It was a pleasure to meet the two of you.” He swiveled around and saw that the pack of frat boys had left the bar; he turned back. “Looks like the little boys went home for the night.”

  Jill smiled. “Don’t let us run you off. Stay for at least one more.”

  Stephen thought. The jukebox started in with Dr. Dre’s newest and the dance floor started to shake. “One more, but I need to make a call first.”

  He excused himself and walked over to a pay phone next to the restrooms.

  “Well he’s yummy,” Missy said.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Jill said.

  “Oh, get out of here. You practically begged him to stay.”

  “Well, one of us had to. I didn’t see you stepping up.”

  Missy looked over Jill’s shoulder and saw Stephen talking into the phone. He was leaning up against the wall and looked like the most relaxed person in the bar. Her glazed eyes wandered over to one of the pool tables where she began to stare at a boy wearing a hoodie who had been lining up a corner shot. He stared back at her.

  Jill noticed her gazing and then saw who she was ogling at. “Oh no,” she said. “No. No. No.”

  Missy broke her gaze and took Jill’s hands. “I haven’t had some in a while, lady.”

  “Uh, but with him?” Jill sighed. “Are you two ever over?”

  Missy lit up and hopped off her stool. “Mostly,” she said. Then she laid down a fifty on the bar. “This takes care of our tab and should get you another round with Mr. Cologne—don’t think I didn’t notice that heavenly scent too.” Missy paused. “Now, according to teammate rules, I shouldn’t let you go off with some new guy.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Jill said. “The guy we had to worry about was toddler Todd, and he’s long gone.”

  “You sure?” Missy said.

  “Go enjoy your booty call.”

  They hugged, and
Missy slithered over to the pool table to reel in her prey.

  Jill watched in agony as the boy wearing the hoodie gave Missy a familiar hug and then poured her a beer. College days. Jill turned back toward the bar and picked up the fifty, but was startled as Stephen sat down on the stool beside her.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  Jill nodded at the pool table. “Old habits die hard.”

  Stephen nodded then leaned toward her. “Hey, since it’s just us two, let’s head down the street to Flannigan’s. This place is fun, but I don’t last long in places where I can’t hear myself think. If you come, I’m buyin’. You’ve heard of their wine list, right?”

  She surveyed the bar. Suddenly, it felt cheap. What in the hell was she doing here? It was time to put these days in the past and start focusing on the future. In a few years, she’d be dining at expensive restaurants like Flannigan’s every weekend. “You’re on,” she said.

  He reached for his wallet.

  She shook her head no and showed him the fifty. “Missy’s Good Samaritan moment of the month.” She placed the bill on the bar and they headed for the exit. One last look over at the pool table. Missy was laying her head on hoodie’s shoulder and swaying her hips. Jesus.

  Outside, the night air helped her shake off the buzz. Stephen took the lead, and they headed across the street. She thought they looked like an attractive couple—he was, what, maybe forty, but built to last and she was still in the best shape of her life after her final volleyball season. Where could this lead? She wanted to find out.

  They slowed up by a narrow alley two blocks before Flannigan’s. Stephen seemed to be looking around.

  “I would have thought more people would be out,” he said to her.

  She looked around. “I know. Maybe Flannigan’s will be—”

  Two hands came out of the alley and pulled her off the street.

  She looked to Stephen for help as she was dragged further into the alley, but instead of fighting her assailant, she watched as he pulled something from his jacket pocket.

  Before she had time to process what it was, she felt the full and paralyzing force of the taser. Her body shook and she attempted to scream but nothing came out. Quickly, the man behind her threw her over his shoulder and they sped up the alley.

  They stopped, and she heard a car door opening. Then she was inside. She was gagged, tied up, and blindfolded. She felt the seat next to her sink as someone sat down on it. Stephen? Tears started to leave her eyes.

  ✽✽✽

  ‘Stephen’ took a final look around and made sure that no one had witnessed the abduction. Satisfied, he opened the driver’s side door to the black SUV and climbed in. He started the car and glanced in the rear-view mirror at his employer who was sitting next to the girl and making sure that she wasn’t going anywhere. Well, that wasn’t true. She was going somewhere. But she would never be seen again.

  “Well done,” Eric Bannon said.

  ‘Stephen’ nodded, put the car in gear, and drove for the dock where the boat was waiting.

  13

  —From the Journal of Robin Thomas Norris—

  Parenting

  I’ve hemmed and hawed over what to say here, Trist. Right now, you are sawing logs in the v-berth hammock, sleeping off a hangover from partying with your friends the night before we left on our journey. Your mom and Uncle Tyee talked me away from the ledge. We’re anchored, and the water is so calm I can’t even feel us move. We might not have another night like this during our entire trip, so I’m enjoying a beer and trying to impart some wisdom to you. You know I’m a fan of brevity, but the joys of parenting and passing on what one has learned in life are anything but brief. As far as being a parent—if you are blessed with a child one day—I think you’ll find it as mysterious, mind-boggling, wonderful, terrifying, and rewarding as this deeply-flawed man has. But, there is nothing that prepares you for the burden of raising a child, and it’s not something you approach in a half-measure way. For instance, right now I want to travel back in time to when you were three and spend an afternoon playing Tonka Trucks with you. At the same time, I could beat you within an inch of your life for driving home intoxicated last night. This is how parenting goes if you decide to do it. As far as getting to be a grandparent, well, that’s a phase of life I’m sure I would have looked forward to, but it wasn’t in the cards. I must keep my thoughts focused on you. Mom will be an unbelievable grandmother; she has been the anchor in our family, and I can’t imagine a better future grandma than her.

  In terms of words of advice, I think I’ll settle on a surprise. Hamlet. I don’t think we’ve had a single conversation about Shakespeare in our time together, and I’m embarrassed. Embarrassed because you know how much I think of books and the wisdom that can come from within even a single volume. Embarrassed because I know that you have studied Shakespeare during the past couple of years and I haven’t engaged you in any conversation. Too busy—horrible excuse—too worried about you leaving our home and now it’s gone by so fast I never even told you half of what I thought I would. I’m down to my last few months, and I feel the weight of trying to capture it in this journal. I set out to be different with you than my father was with me. For the most part, I think I was. I’ll leave you with Polonius’s advice to Laertes. They are still good words to live by and should help you keep life in center field, which is what your old man has always tried to do. The rest of life’s lessons, I hope they have been passed on by my good examples to follow and my bad examples for you to not follow. I could try to paraphrase and summarize, but it would take away the beauty and power of the bard’s passage. So, here I am at 1:32 a.m. copying down word for word from our family copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare that I brought onboard—I don’t even know if you were aware that we have one at the house (it’s usually on the top shelf in the living room bookcase). Here we go: Hamlet, Act I Scene 3, Lines 59-82

  And these few precepts in thy memory

  Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,

  Nor any unproportioned thought his act.

  Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.

  Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

  Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel,

  But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

  Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware

  Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,

  Bear ’t that th' opposèd may beware of thee.

  Give every man thy ear but few thy voice.

  Take each man’s censure but reserve thy judgment.

  Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

  But not expressed in fancy—rich, not gaudy,

  For the apparel oft proclaims the man,

  And they in France of the best rank and station

  Are of a most select and generous chief in that.

  Neither a borrower nor a lender be,

  For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

  And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

  This above all: to thine own self be true,

  And it must follow, as the night the day,

  Thou canst not then be false to any man.

  Farewell. My blessing season this in thee.

  ✽✽✽

  Grant Livingston exited the shower and grabbed a towel that the yacht’s staff had warmed in the vessel’s dryer. The shower light automatically dimmed as he toweled off and closed the door. His footing was solid and he made his way to the double sink with ease. So far, the yacht made way through the water like a dream; he couldn’t even tell that they were making, what—he looked at a control panel mounted on the bulkhead next to the shower—ten knots right now. Calm seas were one thing, but so far the Hatteras was everything it had been billed to be. The wider beam and overall design had the boat gliding through the water. What an experience it was going to be on the trip down to the Keys in this heaven-sent machine. Tomorrow, they would return to his main h
ouse and get the yacht loaded up. In a few weeks, he’d be swimming in turquoise water and sipping margaritas in palm tree paradise.

  At the double sink, with the towel now around his waist, he made a few swipes under each arm with his deodorant stick, combed his thick wet hair back, applied lotion to his face and hands, and then splashed on a small amount of cologne.

  Behind him and outside the head, he heard the hatch to the master stateroom open and then close, followed by the sound of someone sitting on the king-sized mattress. The lights in the master stateroom went out. He looked at his profile in the mirror—acceptable—and exited.

  A terrycloth robe hung over the back of a chair at the stateroom’s vanity. He could smell her perfume already. Small running lights had been placed around the perimeter of the island berth a few inches above the deck, which made the berth look like a floating stage. Livingston’s eyes made their way from the lights up to the gorgeous nude body spread out on top of the covers. His breathing became labored as he met eyes with Madame.

  “This is later than usual,” she said. “Losing my appeal?”

  “No,” Livingston said. “Had to inspect the yacht.”

  “That’s not an excuse worthy of you,” she said.

  She was right. But how could he break the news to her that she would be replaced soon by a much younger version of herself? She still could not be trusted. No doubt before she entered the stateroom she had been searched for any steak knives concealed in her robe; it had been years since she had tried that stunt, but he wasn’t taking any chances—especially now.

  As he marveled at her trim torso and worked his eyes up to her huge breasts, he felt something unknown. She had lasted far longer than any of the others—and she wasn’t even supposed to be his. He could never forget seeing her for the first time. He had stood next to his father and witnessed her being presented to a cartel underboss as a gift. She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and the boss had rejected her. There were no hard feelings between his father and the boss; his father had been misinformed that tall blondes were the boss’s type.