Drunk on a Boat

by Zane Mitchell

  “Here, you answer it,” I said, shoving the phone in Al’s face. I had no interest in speaking to that douchecanoe again.

  Al shoved it back. “No way. You answer it.”

  “Ugh, fine.” I pushed the button on my phone and held it up to my ear. “Yeah, whaddaya want?” I growled, reaching down into the lowest register I could find.

  “Well, hello again, Daniel.”

  “Hello, psychopath.”

  “I thought now that you’ve had a chance to digest the situation and perhaps come to your senses, I might give you a call to see if you’ve had a change of heart?”

  “A change of heart? Regarding Pam?” I chuckled into the phone. “Why? Has hell frozen over?”

  The pause on the other end of the phone gave me the sneaking suspicion that hadn’t been the answer the caller had anticipated. Finally, he spoke, his voice a bit froggy now, “Well, then, you leave me no choice, Daniel. I’ll have to kill her.”

  I shrugged. “Hey, man, that’s the breaks. I’ve got a video of the abduction that I’ll be turning over to the island police. We’ve got both the Crown Vic and the dude with the ponytail and tattoo on camera. It’s not gonna be hard to find you. You kill her and you’re going to prison for murder. So, that’s your call. I mean, I hear some guys enjoy the extracurricular activities that go on behind bars, so you do you, man. But the fact of the matter is you’re not getting a buck outta me. So, have a nice life.” With that, I hung up the phone and turned to see Al shaking his head.

  “What have you done, Drunk? What have you done?”

  15

  “You’re no fun tonight, Drunk. What gives?” With my bedsheet covering her bare skin, the curly-haired brunette propped herself up on one elbow and looked over at me.

  I was seated naked on the side of the bed, nursing a fifth of tequila, but I could feel her eyes burning holes into my back. I raked a hand through my hair as my head slumped between my shoulder blades. “Sorry, Mack. It’s just been a long couple of days.”

  I’d invited Mack over for a playdate as a way to push thoughts of Pam’s kidnapping and potential murder out of my mind. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked. Because ever since I’d seen the security footage and been forced to believe that Pam truly had been kidnapped, I’d found myself feeling conflicted and unable to get the situation wiped from my brain.

  While I hated the woman with every fiber of my being, something deep inside of me, whether it was the little Catholic schoolboy who knew right from wrong, or the Boy Scout who’d taken an oath to help people at all times, or the cop who’d promised to serve and protect—whatever it was, something told me I just couldn’t let her die. I had to help. But I didn’t want to help. And I certainly didn’t want to give up my seven million dollars either. But what was a guy to do? Artie didn’t want the authorities alerted. And while I’d been a cop back home, I wasn’t a detective. I certainly didn’t investigate kidnappings and ransom cases. I was out of my league where this case was concerned.

  “Does this have something to do with her?” asked Mack, no doubt referring to Pam.

  I glanced over my shoulder at her.

  She was on her side, my bedsheet pulled across her breasts, held in place by her arm, and her head propped up on her hand. She stared at me curiously.

  I sighed. “No, Mack. It really doesn’t have anything to do with Pam. Not like that anyway.”

  “Then… like what?” she asked, her big brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. I actually found her sweet, innocent gaze to be endearing. She seemed genuinely concerned about me. Had I not had a chip on my shoulder when it came to women, I might have actually wanted to date the woman. Mack was intelligent and witty, and she could carry on a conversation beyond discussing the intricacies of her favorite nail polish or her beauty regimen. She was absolutely stunning, and her assets were out of this world. Plus, she was an island transplant, just like I was, having only recently moved to the island from Bear Creek, Wisconsin after a particularly frigid winter. So we related well to each other.

  Plus, Mack lived in a vacation villa only a few klicks away. Her aunt and uncle owned it and had given her permission to use it until she got herself established in her job and found her own place. I liked the fact that she was so close by. It meant it didn’t take her long to pay me a visit, and she could leave after a playdate and still be home in under fifteen minutes.

  But, all that being said, the truth of the matter was, I did have a chip on my shoulder when it came to women and relationships. So all I was in the market for now was meaningless no-strings-attached sexual encounters. And if that made me a bad guy, then paint me red and slap a pointed tail on my ass. I was happy to take the title.

  I put the bottle of Patrón on the floor and rubbed my face with the palms of my hands. I really didn’t want to talk to her about Pam again. We’d already been through the topic once, and now things were only more confusing. “You just have no idea, Mack. It’s a really, really, really long story,” I said.

  “Well, as luck would have it, playtime went quicker than anticipated, so we have a little extra time on our hands.”

  I glanced back at her over my shoulder to see the sly smile she had on her face. I let out a little sigh. “I said I was sorry.”

  She laughed and reached out to swat me playfully. “Kidding, Drunk. Geez. Lighten up! I was just trying to make you smile.”

  “Thanks.” I rolled my eyes as I turned away from her. There were few men I knew that enjoyed being teased about their short performance time. Me included. But I’d had a lot on my mind, and I’d found it difficult to put it out of my mind during my performance.

  We were both quiet for a while when she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

  “With Pam?” I bellowed, jumping to my feet to spin around. “Hell no! Not even a little. You’ve gotta believe me, Mack.”

  “I don’t know, Drunk. She pays one visit to the island and you’re acting all shook up.”

  “It’s not that, I promise. Honestly, our relationship didn’t end as well as I’d led you to believe earlier,” I admitted. I couldn’t tell her about the kidnapping, but at the very least I could tell her the truth about my relationship with Pam.

  “Then why’d you tell me it ended well?”

  “Vanity, I guess,” I said with a wince. “The truth is she cheated on me.”

  She was quiet for a couple beats. Finally, she plumped out her bottom lip at me. “Oh, geez. I’m really sorry. That sucks. I’ve been cheated on before, so I know how it feels.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want her pity, and I didn’t want to commiserate about our similar experiences. I just wanted to clear the air and take back the statement I’d made the day before about knowing that I’d always love Pam. It was as if that statement had brought bad juju upon us. “I found her in my bed with her ex.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. So, I have no idea what she thought she was going to accomplish by coming to the island, but it got me a little pissed off, I guess. I’m just trying to forget she was ever here,” I said through a clenched jaw. Tension radiated through my shoulders and into my back.

  Mack saw it. She patted the edge of the bed. “Sit down.”

  I didn’t feel like sitting. I felt like pacing the room until the answer magically appeared in my brain. But Mack looked so sweet sitting there. I felt bad in that moment, using her as my magic eraser. So I sat down. Immediately, she crawled behind me and began to massage my shoulders.

  “Wow. You are tense.”

  Her fingers kneaded expertly into my muscles. I closed my eyes and tipped my head from side to side. “Yeah.”

  “You really don’t love her anymore?”

  “It’s not that I don’t love her anymore. It’s more than that. It’s that I loathe her now. Like truly loathe.”

  “She left the resort this morning, right?”

  I let out an uneasy sigh. “Yup. She left alright.”
>
  “So, then forget about her, Drunk. She’s over. The two of you are done. She’s not around anymore. The relationship is history. It’s time to move on.” I felt her lips on the slope of my neck. Her hands slid down over my shoulders to massage the raised outline of my pecs.

  I turned my head slightly to the right, to meet her dark eyes. “Move on?”

  She nodded, her face barely an inch away from mine. “Yeah. Move on.” Her breathy whisper had barely left her lips before I found them on mine.

  16

  “Rawck, no morning kisses, no morning kisses, rawck!”

  My eyes fluttered open. I felt the need to swallow, but my tongue was dried out and my mouth felt empty of spit. Once again, there was an empty pillow beside me. I couldn’t remember much after the last go-round with Mack, as I’d emptied the remainder of my tequila bottle, but I had the distinct memory that she’d complained about my snoring and had decided to go back to her place to spend the night.

  As had become the norm, my head throbbed inside my skull. I wondered if it was the alcohol in general that had done it or if my body had decided it was allergic to tequila specifically. With one hand I rubbed my temples and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. I squinted. Did that say ten?

  Fuck. If I didn’t get up soon, I’d miss breakfast in the dining room, and my stomach was already rumbling.

  I heard tapping on the windowsill again. “Rawck, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” I could hear the bird’s feet tapping in time to his chant.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I hollered. I was definitely going to put buy a fucking gun on my day’s to-do list.

  As Earnestine echoed my latest interjection, I rolled over onto my back. Fighting the throbbing in my head, I sat up and stared at her. She rocked forward and backward on her feet as she sang. I grabbed Mack’s pillow and, rearing it back over my head, launched it at the window.

  She ducked and it sailed over her head.

  The fact that she hadn’t been hit seemed to make her more determined to piss me off. She kept dancing. “Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and stared at her. Then without moving too quickly, I raised my pillow over my head. This was my last chance. I had to have perfect aim. Then in one quick movement, I launched it. It sailed over my head, across the room, and hit Earnestine square in the center of the body, bowling the parrot off my windowsill.

  My eyes widened. “I did it!” I said, a dumb smile covering my face. And then instantly, the guilt hit. Had I seriously just killed a fucking bird? A beautiful green-and-blue parrot? One that actually talked and danced and would probably earn me a bundle if I recorded her and put her videos on YouTube or some shit like that?

  I sighed. The thought made me realize that this was exactly what was happening with Pam. As much as I wanted her dead, there was no way my conscience would allow me to sign her death warrant. With guilt riding heavily on my heart, I stood up. I strode naked over to my window and looked out.

  Beyond my cottage was a tropical jungle, and beyond the jungle was the ocean. It was far enough away that I had yet to attempt to walk there. Though, during particularly quiet evenings and when the wind blew just right, I could hear the faint whoosh of the ocean in the distance.

  Looking down, I saw both of my pillows lying on the ground. Underneath one of the pillows, a bright blue feather stuck out. I wondered if the bird was dead beneath the pillow.

  Fuck.

  I’d killed the fucking bird.

  What kind of godforsaken human being had I become? My mother would be so upset to know that I’d turned into a lustful, bird-killing drunk. The worst of the worst. The lowest of the low. The thought gnawed at my brain, and it turned my stomach to think that I’d killed a beautiful fucking bird, no matter how annoying.

  I groaned and tugged on a pair of Calvin Klein underwear. In my normal life, back in the States, Hanes underwear had worked just fine for me. But here on the island, the only kind of underwear they sold in the upscale clothing boutique was Calvin Kleins, so I’d been forced to pay the outrageous prices for the small garments.

  Opening my drawer, I discovered that I was out of clean shorts. So I rooted around in the pile of dirty clothes on the floor to find the least offensively dirty pair of shorts. I pulled on a pair of black Nike athletic shorts I’d worn to the beach a few days prior and plucked a bright red tank top that had the Red Cross insignia on the front along with the words “Orgasm Donor” from my top drawer. Slipping it over my head, I slid my feet into my flip-flops, plopped my fedora on my bed head of hair and pulled my shades down to cover what I could only assume were a pair of disgustingly bloodshot eyes.

  Without even bothering to run a spot of toothpaste across my pearly whites, I walked out of my cottage and stood on my little covered front porch. I yawned, stretching my arms out wide. The weather was as it always was. Warm. Sunny. A little breezy. But perfect.

  I strode around the back of my cottage to where my two pillows lay on the ground beneath my bedroom window. Unease squeezed the lower portion of my stomach into a tight ball. Squatting down, I moved each of the pillows carefully to discover the single blue feather alone on the ground beneath the pillows. The feather had been just that, only a feather. Earnestine was nowhere to be seen.

  Finally, a bright spot! I wasn’t a bird killer after all! Pleased, I let out a loud “Whew!”

  Buoyed by the fact that I hadn’t murdered Earnestine, I stood up, holding my pillows, and turned around. No sooner had my vision spun to face the side of my cottage than a loud thudding noise accompanied a sharp jolt of pain to the back of my head.

  And that was when the lights went out in Paradise.

  17

  I woke up facedown in a pile of drool. The ground beneath me rocked back and forth like a pendulum advancing time, causing my stomach to lurch and delivering the urge to purge whatever toxin had brought on my current state. But a throbbing in the back of my head stopped me from moving. I pried one eye open to discover that I lay in complete darkness. Had I slept through the entire day?

  Fuck.

  What the hell was going on? Why did my head hurt so bad? And where had the moonlight that usually seeped in through my open bedroom window gone?

  I groaned as I rolled over onto my back, again fighting back the dire need to vomit as the ground continued to sway beneath me. I wondered why I wasn’t on my bed. Had I passed out on the floor? Was that it? Had I drunk myself into a stupor, and I was now passed out on the floor next to my bed? Or in my cottage bathroom? Had I hit my head on the way down?

  My fingers crawled out like spiders, radiating out from my hips across the hard surface beneath me. The floor was bumpy and rough; its sinewy fibers scratched against my backside where my shirt had ridden up. It felt like cheap motel carpet. Not that I had firsthand knowledge of what cheap motel carpet felt like against my backside or anything. No, this definitely wasn’t my bedroom floor. I had hardwood floors in my cottage.

  In the otherwise quiet room, I heard a faint, gentle slapping sound. It was rhythmic and steady. Slap, slap, slap. It moved in time with the rocking and swaying that I felt. Almost like I was on the water. But that wasn’t possible. Was it? Was that the briny ocean air I smelled?

  As I lay flat on my back, I tried to rouse my mind enough to focus. What was the last thing I remembered? I certainly didn’t remember boarding a boat. I didn’t even know anyone with a boat. So how could I be on the water? The last thing I remembered, through the pain in my skull, was waking up and getting dressed to go to breakfast. But I couldn’t remember the actual breakfast. Had Al gone with me? I vaguely remembered leaving to go to breakfast. I’d stretched on my porch, and then what? I remembered walking around to the side of my cottage.

  And then I remembered the bird in my window. Earnestine. I’d killed Earnestine! I’d walked around to the back of my cottage to retrieve my pillows and to see what had become of the parrot,
and I’d stood up and … I sucked in my breath. I’d been hit in the head!

  Both eyes flashed open when the lightning bolt hit me. Was I dead? Was this what being dead felt like? Why did heaven sway, leaving me feeling nauseous?

  And then the thought hit me. Maybe I wasn’t in Heaven. Maybe all of my wicked ways had caught up to me. Maybe this was hell.

  “Oh God,” I groaned, my scratchy voice resonating in the dark. My hand went to my head, and I touched the lump on the back of my skull where I’d been hit. My hair was dry, no blood, but I definitely felt a stinging pain. Could dead people feel pain? Could they talk? Were there floors in hell? If there were floors, this was definitely the carpet for them.

  I rolled onto my side and then into a sitting position. Slumped forward, I held my head between both palms. What the ever-living fuck was going on? I sat quietly, engulfed in my own thoughts about heaven and hell, when mindfulness finally kicked in. Heaven would be better than this. Hell would be worse. My rational mind told me I was still alive, but this was simply a holding cell I’d been placed in… a purgatory on earth, of sorts.

  I had to figure out where I was. I managed to get to my knees and crawled around. The sandpaper-like carpet dug into my knees and shins as I crawled, the friction providing a heavy dose of carpet burn as I slid. With one outstretched arm, I felt the ground and the air in front of me like a blind man, waving my hand, just waiting to touch something, anything, and hoping I wouldn’t crawl onto a nail or a rake.

  It was my knee that slid against something first.

  I froze and brought my hand to the object. Gingerly patting its shape, I felt the familiar soft brim and indented crown. It was my fedora! I put it on my head and only inches away discovered my sunglasses. Of course wherever I was, it was dark as the ocean floor, but I was still glad to find my sunglasses. At least I wouldn’t have to go buy new ones wherever I was. I shoved the sunglasses into the pocket of my athletic shorts, put my hat on my head, and kept crawling.