Salt Water Tears

by Hopkins, Brian A

  Afterward, while he’d lay there lecturing her, staring up at the centerfolds taped to the roof of the cab, there’d been several minutes in which she could have grabbed one of his handguns and blown his head off. It would have been so easy as he was fumbling for his cigarette lighter to just slip one of the nine millimeters out, point it at his face, and pull the trigger over and over until the deafening sound of the gun erased the hammering in her head.

  The only thing that stopped her was that she wasn’t sure she could drive the truck.

  Einstein squirmed in his tub, uncomfortable against the cold stainless steel, his weight supported by just eight inches of water.

  “It won’t be long now, Einstein,” she whispered. “Another hour or two, and we’ll be there.” She bent and kissed the sensitive skin around his blowhole.

  “Time to be moving, Darcy!”

  She knelt over the rim of the tub so that her face was level with the dolphin’s eye. “Not long. I promise.”

  • • •

  “What we’re going to do,” said Bogart as he worked back up through the gears, “is put this behind us. Forget it ever happened. You understand? The next time I tell you to stay in the truck, you’ll damn well stay in the truck. Right?”

  “You said you were going to trade him for oranges.”

  “I made that shit up, Darcy. You think someone’d really want to trade food for a dolphin? Hell, even Carl knew I was lying. Ain’t no use for a trained fish in these days—these last days. I ought to pull over and shove his ass out on the side of the road. Would you listen to me then?”

  “You promised to take him to the ocean.”

  “And that’s where we’re going. But if I don’t hear what I need to hear right now, I’m gonna dump him out beside the road. How long do you think he’ll last in that sun?”

  She shuddered, her gaze never leaving the cracked dash in front of her. She was afraid if she looked over that he’d see the hatred seething in her eyes.

  “Darcy?”

  “I’m sorry, Bogart. I promise I’ll listen to you from now on.”

  “Good girl. You know I love you.”

  “You told that man Carl that he could take me in your sleeper if he wanted.”

  Bogart shrugged. “If a taste of pussy woulda bought us a way out of that situation... well, we’d have paid it.”

  There was silence in the cab for some time then.

  A sign flashed by.

  “Don’t get all excited,” he told her. “That’s a lake. We’ve got about 45 more minutes to the bay and there’s another roadblock at Stinton. Seems like all your little redneck Texas towns are run by highwaymen these days.”

  • • •

  Darcy stayed in the truck at the Stinton roadblock, fretting while Bogart walked to the back of the truck with two of the locals, wondering what was being said and what they might be doing to Einstein. A half dozen barrels of gasoline and three large boxes were unloaded from the truck. She heard the doors slam shut and the latch drop into place. Bogart climbed back into the cab and released the brakes while the men rolled away a tanker truck that had blocked the road.

  “Piece of cake,” said Bogart as they pulled away.

  One of the men by the tanker blew her a kiss. Another grabbed his crotch and waved.

  • • •

  “You’re looking on the twilight of civilization, Darcy. You know that? I mean, how much longer can we keep things going? Take me, for instance. I’ve managed to get hold of spare parts for most of the important stuff on my truck, but what about when those spares are gone? What about fuel? It’s for damn sure them Arabs ain’t sending over any more.”

  She watched the markers, knowing that they must count down from somewhere along the coast where 1-37 began. She scanned the roadside for gulls and marshy meadows, sniffed the cool air flowing from the vent in the dash for a hint of brine.

  “And when I’m gone, what about all these little towns? Instead of spending all their time manning roadblocks on the Interstate, they ought to be figuring out how to rebuild the industries they need to survive. Think about it. Who’s studying to be a doctor? Who’s replacing the Campbell’s Soup on the shelves? Who’s making toilet paper? By God, that’s an issue that oughta be looked into seriously!”

  He looked over as if hoping to make her laugh, but her face was set like stone. She’d caught a glimpse of it earlier in the side mirror. Her lip was swollen and split. Her nose and cheek were turning blue. Her eyes were devoid of emotion.

  Bogart sighed. “Just another ten miles or so, Darce. We’ll get your dolphin in the water, and then the two of us can start a new life together. Okay?”

  “Anything you say,” she replied hollowly.

  The miles slipped by and the engine droned on and the tires sang on the asphalt. Bogart shut up and focused on the road. Darcy counted mile markers.

  Finally, the Interstate curved to the east and Corpus Christi Bay hove into view, blue and choppy, glittering in the sunlight. For the first time since Bogart had raped her, Darcy allowed herself to hope.

  Bogart took an exit ramp down to narrow streets lined with warehouses and boat dealerships. He seemed to know where he was going.

  “Have you been here before?” Darcy asked.

  “I’ve traded with some of the fishermen here. How do you think I’ve kept Einstein fed for you?”

  “Oh.”

  The warehouses gave way to a small dockside community, condos and rental homes, a hotel and surf shops. These gave way to the dry docks and the marina. Water lapped at the pilings. Sailboat masts waved to and fro, their rigging tinkling against the aluminum booms and masts like wind chimes. A pelican glided past. Bogart swung the truck around in a wide circle and backed it down a large boat ramp until the waves were lapping at his back tires and the trailer hung out over the water.

  Darcy opened the door and was assaulted by the smell of the marina. I’m really here, she thought as she breathed in the salty air.

  “Go ahead and open up the back,” Bogart told her. “Get all the water bailed out of that tub, so we can slide it to the very edge of the trailer. I’m going to take a quick look around here.” He retrieved his shotgun from the sleeper, jacked a shell into the chamber. “This ain’t your safest place. Understand?”

  She was already halfway out of the truck.

  “Keep your eyes open,” he told her as he dropped down from his side of the cab. “We do this quick and then we’re gone.” With some difficulty, she opened the big doors of the trailer, then crawled up inside. Einstein whistled a greeting.

  “Hang on, boy. We’re almost home free.”

  She went past the dolphin and straight to a box she’d noticed earlier. The side of the box bore a fancy emblem comprised of the letters S and W. Inside were a dozen or more smaller boxes, all blue. The ends were labeled with their contents. She tossed several aside until she found what she was looking for, a rather small Smith and Wesson .38 Special. Ammunition was stacked toward the front of the truck. It only took her a minute to locate the right caliber. She loaded the little revolver with six shells and hid it in the waistband at the small of her back.

  “You about ready in there, Darce?”

  She grabbed a bucket and started bailing as fast as she could. “Just another minute,” she called.

  Sensing her distress, Einstein began to squirm in the tub. “Shush,” she told the dolphin. “It’s going to be okay, boy.” But she didn’t sound confident. Could she kill him? She honestly didn’t know.

  Bogart swung up into the back of the truck, his fatigues wet to the waist, same as her jeans, both of their shoes squishing when they walked. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Took me a minute to find the bucket,” she lied. “It had rolled around some.”

  Bogart looked down at the tub. There was only a few inches of water remaining. “That’s good enough. Help me slide it to the edge. When we’ve got it close, we’ll just pick him up. I’ll get his head. You can get his tail
.”

  Einstein didn’t like the sound the tub made as it slid across the floor of the trailer. Darcy shushed him again, stroked his face, and told him it would be all right.

  Bogart set his shotgun aside. “Get his tail.”

  Together they lifted the dolphin out of the tub. Shifting their feet, straining under his weight, they brought him parallel to the end of the trailer. “Just make sure he clears the bumper,” Bogart grunted. “It’s a bit of a drop, but he’s got almost three feet of water there. He’ll be fine if we drop him level.”

  “On three,” she said.

  Together they swung Einstein back, once, twice, and on the third time they released him. He hit the water with a crack like a kid doing a belly-flop, but he appeared none the worse for wear.

  As Darcy and Bogart watched from the back of the truck, he swam out into deeper water, leaping and frolicking.

  “Damn,” said Bogart. “He looks happy, don’t he?”

  She was surprised to realize that Bogart was right.

  Bogart put his arm around her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Darce. He’s going to be fine.” He kissed her on the cheek, not noticing when she flinched at the pain. “So are we. Come on, I think we can walk to the end of that pier and watch him for a bit. I know you need to say your goodbyes.” He stepped down out of the truck and turned to give her a hand.

  Holding hands, they walked out to the end of the pier that ran beside the boat ramp. Einstein paced them in the water, leaping and chattering. Darcy couldn’t imagine what he must be experiencing: a thousand new sounds and tastes and smells. Had he already sent his cries echoing out through the bay and into the ocean? Had he heard anything in return?

  Bogart laughed at him. “He doesn’t know what to do first, does he? Look at him. He cant sit still.”

  Indeed, Einstein shot back and forth through the water, out from the pier and then back, leaping in the late afternoon sun.

  “Think he’ll find any lady dolphins out there?”

  She didn’t bother to explain that Einstein’s kind were an ocean away.

  “I sure hope he does. He could use—”

  “That your truck?”

  Bogart spun around, nearly knocking Darcy from the pier.

  There were two of them, both carrying shotguns. The one on the right had lost all his teeth. He wore a fisherman’s cap, bedecked with hundreds of lures, their hooks gleaming in the sunlight. A green vest sported more lures, its pockets bulging. He made no pretense with the shotgun; it was pointed directly at Bogart. His eyes were wary, dark beneath the brim of his hat. The second guy, considerably younger, was a bit more relaxed. His hair was long and unkempt. His cheeks were sunburned and the skin was peeling back from a large, cancerous-looking lesion that ran from the elbow to the knuckles of one hand. His shotgun was pointed at the ground, but his finger was on the trigger.

  Bogart smiled and showed them his empty hands. He’d left his shotgun in the back of the truck, having set it aside to help Darcy with Einstein. “Name’s Bogart,” he said. “You’ve probably heard of me.”

  The young one looked to the one in the fishing cap. “Don’t look like much, does he?”

  The older one shifted something around in his mouth and spat a stream of black juice out on the pale wood of the pier. “Not for someone that’s supposed to have killed Charlie Razorback.” Bogart’s feet shifted. His hands came down. A subtle gesture from one might have been meant to tell her to move away from him, but Darcy’s feet were glued in place. Behind her, she could still hear Einstein celebrating his freedom.

  “That true? You the Bogeyman what killed Razorback last spring?”

  “Heard about that,” Bogart said, noncommittal. “Was Razorback a friend of yours?”

  “Ah, hell no. No one liked Charlie Razorback. Sumbitch was always stealing something offa the fishermen. Did a lot of other nasty shit, too. He gutted a whore once on this very pier. I was actually rather fond of that whore.”

  Bogart smiled a little. “Then it’s a good thing someone killed him, eh?” He lifted a hand, pointing at the shotgun, his hand hovering near one of his pistols. “Don’t suppose I could get you to point that 12 gauge in another direction?”

  The old man spit again. “Now how the hell am I gonna blow your fucking head off with the gun pointed somewheres else?” Bogart drew and shot the old man in the face. The fisherman’s cap flew off, its lures flashing in the sun, the depths of the cap still holding something of his scalp. The second guy’s shotgun came up, but Bogart was already firing again. His bullet caught the guy in the shoulder before he could bring the shotgun level. When the shotgun roared, however, Bogart folded at the waist and crumbled. Ignoring his bleeding shoulder, the guy with the sunburned face worked the pump on his gun, expelling a smoking casing that Darcy watched bounce and tumble across the pier and then splash into the water. The guy pointed the shotgun at Darcy.

  She held up her hands.

  He nodded. “Stay that way, bitch.” Then he stepped up to Bogart, his gun pointed at Bogart’s head. He kicked away the nine millimeter. Darcy heard it hit the water. With a boot, he turned Bogart over. Bogart’s face was ashen, his teeth clenched, his abdomen a mess of blood and something darker, something that stank worse than an outhouse. A puddle was spreading out around him, soaking into the dry wood of the pier, dripping between the planks and staining the water below.

  “Goddamn Quick Draw McGraw, ain’t ya?” He pressed the barrel of the shotgun against Bogart’s forehead. “That how you killed Razorback?”

  Bogart choked up some blood, tried to spit.

  “Don’t matter,” said the guy with the sunburn. “You want me to kill you now or let you bleed to death while I rape your old lady?”

  Darcy shot him in the back of the head. The .38 slug popped out of his skull just above and to the front of his right ear, taking a fair sized piece of bone with it, popping out the eye on that side so that it hung down against his cheek, spinning him around on the balls of his feet. He had time to look at her, his remaining eye wide and his mouth gaping, before she shot him again in the throat. As he was falling, she emptied the little revolver, pumping the four remaining bullets into his chest. He fell on the edge of the pier, hung there for a second, then his feet went up and he went over the side.

  The hot gun slipped through her fingers and thudded to the boards.

  Bogart coughed up more blood. “Gonna be more of them after all those shots,” he croaked. “Help me get to the truck.”

  She glanced at his wound.

  “That bad, huh?” Reaching down, he probed the shredded shirt around his middle. It parted and his hand sank into his bowels, ushering forth a new gout of blood and greenish fluids. “Fuck,” he said.

  Bogart reached for the other nine millimeter, but she brushed his hands aside and took it from him.

  He smiled. His teeth were red with blood. “Where’d the .38 come from?”

  “Out of the back of the truck.”

  He tried to laugh, but that started him to coughing. “Good girl.”

  “I was going to use it to kill you,” Darcy confessed.

  He nodded. “Even better. You’re learning.” He tried to sit up, managed only to get halfway, but that gave him a good look at his wound. He fell back. “Fuck,” he said again. “Gonna be a long time dying like this.” Looking at the expanding puddle of blood beneath him, she didn’t think he was right. He looked at the pistol in her hand. “You need to get out of here, but you need to do me a favor first.”

  She pressed the magazine release. The heavy clip thudded to the pier.

  “Still one in the pipe,” he told her. “Use it on me and then take the truck.”

  “I don’t know how to drive it,” she said as she worked the slide. The remaining shell spun away in the sunlight. Bogart’s eyes tried to follow it, but he seemed to have a hard time turning his head. She placed the empty gun on the warm, wet boards beside him.

  “You’re too weak. You won’t survive
on your own,” he said, and that threw him into another coughing fit. By the time he was done, she was walking away. “Darcy!” he called weakly.

  She wasn’t listening. All she could hear was the music of the sailboat rigging. All those masts waving like metronomes above the choppy water, little flags flapping, wind indicators arrowing into the breeze coming in off the bay. Somewhere a wind chime was tinkling. A loose sail added a discordant undertone. The water lapped the pier and sighed over the pebbles on the beach.

  A boat would allow her to stay with Einstein.

  She knew nothing about sailing, but there was bound to be a library in Corpus Christi. They would have entire books dedicated to that very subject. One of the local boat shops might even have books.

  She’d get the things she needed from the truck and then start looking. What had the guy at the Oakville exit said?

  I think a man could learn most anything if he set his mind to it.

  Well... so could she.

  She was almost to the truck when she also remembered something Bogart had said.

  No one really knows if they’re a survivor until put to the test.

  She’d passed the test. As soon as the opportunity had presented itself, she’d shot that guy in the back of the head without hesitating. She knew she had Bogart to thank. Much as she might hate him... she owed him. He’d taught her how to survive.

  She turned and walked back to the end of the pier, knelt beside him in the puddle of blood.

  He looked up, eyes narrow, his face twisted with agony. His breath came in short, ragged hitches. It was clear that every gasp was a struggle and caused him great pain. “Forget something?” he asked.

  “You did,” she said. “You left your shotgun in the back of the truck. Why’d you do that, Bogey?”

  “Just forgot to take it with me.” He might have shrugged if he’d been able.

  “But you were always so cautious. How could you forget? How could you screw up like that?”

  Too weak to spit, he let his head loll to the side so the blood drained from the corner of his mouth. It hung between his lips and the boards, a long strand of crimson. “I was thinking about you, Darcy. Wanted you to have a little bit longer with your fish... wanted you to be happy.”