Drunk on a Boat

by Zane Mitchell

  “You’re bringing a gun to a boat ride?” I asked.

  “You can never be too safe,” she said, her voice dead serious. She strode around to the back of her vehicle and swung the back door open. She pulled out a duffle bag and slung it over one shoulder before slamming the door shut again.

  “What’s in there?”

  She patted the tote. “Basic necessities. Flashlight, rope, radio, batteries. Stuff like that.”

  “You do this kind of stuff a lot?”

  She smiled. “Drunk, I’m a cop. I’m always prepared. You’re a cop, aren’t you the same way?”

  “I was a cop, and honestly, no, I wasn’t like that at all.”

  “Probably part of the reason you had a hard time making it off probation,” said Al.

  “Ouch,” I said, rubbing the sting from my shoulder. “You give your own kids this much tough love?”

  “Not as much. Of course, I raised them to have a good work ethic.”

  I winced. “Geez, Al. The hits just keep coming.”

  Francesca chuckled. “You two are funny. Come on. Solo and the boys are in the marina office. They’re waiting for us.”

  “Solo and the boys?” I asked as Al and I took up a spot on either side of her.

  “Yeah, five of my brothers are here. Solo’s the oldest. He and Beto work here at the marina. My brother Miguel runs his own charter boat fishing company. Rico and Diego work for him.”

  “Didn’t you say you had six brothers? What about the sixth?” I shot her a cheesy grin. “Does he own a fish cleaning company?”

  She shook her head without bothering to smile. “No, Jaime’s a model.”

  “Oh.”

  “This way,” she said, pointing up the wooden walkway towards a small shack-like building where the lights inside glowed brightly, illuminating the night sky around the building. The air was eerily calm as muted Latin music rolled down the gangway. The water in the harbor was glassy with the moon and the marina lights reflecting off its inky black surface. The vague silhouette of ships still out to sea looked like an oil painting hanging in the night sky.

  “Nice evening for a boat ride,” said Al, reading my thoughts.

  “What did Evie say about you riding along with us tonight?” I asked.

  “She said not to fall overboard.”

  “Good advice.”

  Al nodded. “I thought so.”

  Francesca tipped her head sideways. “Now how is that you two know each other again?”

  “Al and I were on the same flight here from Atlanta,” I explained. “We rode the shuttle to the resort together, but we actually met at the resort’s swim-up bar.”

  “It was love at first sight,” said Al with a hint of a chuckle. “Drunk couldn’t keep his hands off me after that.”

  “Evie jealous?” I asked.

  “Not really. She said I could do worse.”

  I laughed. I knew Evie loved me.

  Francesca stopped at the harbor office door. Without bothering to knock, she pushed open the door and barged inside, where we discovered five burly, dark-haired, dark-skinned men sharing a beer and laughing like they had nothing better to do than to enjoy life. They all stopped talking the minute the door opened and turned their heads. When they saw it was Francesca, they all raised their beers and cheered. “Ayyyy!”

  “Panchita!” cheered a couple of them in unison.

  Francesca’s face lit up. “Hey, guys. Thanks for helping us out.”

  “No problem, anything for our kid sis,” said one of the men. Despite the fact that he was the shortest of the brothers, he still clocked in at least five inches taller than Al.

  “Thanks, Rico,” said Francesca. Then she turned to let Al and me in. “Guys, these are friends of mine. This is Al.”

  “Al Becker,” said Al, extending a hand to each of the men in turn.

  “Hey, Al,” said one of the men.

  “And this is Drunk. He was a cop in the States.”

  “What kind of name is Drunk?” said the one I recognized from the pictures as her oldest brother, Solo. His voice was deep and commanding and immediately drew silence from his brothers.

  “A family name,” I said with a shrug.

  “Yeah? I never met another Drunk before,” he said somberly.

  “Oh yeah? I’ve met lots of Drunks,” I laughed at my old standby joke.

  Solo didn’t seem to think it was funny. He glanced over at his sister. “Where did you meet these guys, Francesca?”

  “Drunk was the one I was telling you about. The one that helped me collar those guys at the airport several weeks ago.”

  Rico lifted his eyebrows. “That was you, man?”

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  “Officer Cruz really helped us out,” said Al, beaming at Francesca. “You all should be very proud of her.”

  One of her brothers patted her on the shoulder. “Oh, we’re proud of her. We just don’t really like what it is that she does for a living.”

  I made a face. “Why? It’s not like she’s a stripper or something.”

  All the steely-faced men stared at me.

  I shifted in my boat shoes awkwardly. “I mean, she’s a cop. That’s pretty respectable…”

  Finally, one of the guys stepped forward. “You got something against strippers?”

  I held up my palms and lowered my head, tipping it slightly. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I got nothing against strippers. Most cost-effective therapy out there.”

  “Cuz my wife’s a stripper, yo.”

  The air left the room, leaving a stale, hollow sound in its wake.

  My eyebrows peaked and my body froze. I let out a long low, “Ohhh. Ahhh, man, you know…”

  Francesca rolled her eyes and shoved the guy out of the way. “D, shut it.” She looked at me. “Don’t pay him any attention, Drunk. Diego’s not even married.”

  “Hey, man, I could be married to a stripper,” he said, patting his puffed-out chest.

  I cracked a smile. “You had me,” I said, wagging my finger at Diego. My eyes scanned the room as all the brothers guffawed, except Solo. He still stood staring at me like I was an unwanted intruder creeping on his sister.

  Francesca held both hands up to settle her brothers down and get us back on task. “Okay, okay. Al, Drunk, I’ll give you the formal introduction once, so listen closely.” She drew in a deep breath. “That one is Solomon Junior, Solo for short. He’s the oldest and runs the harbor here.”

  She pointed to a round, pudgy-faced man next. He was the widest of the group, with enormous shoulders, arms the size of my thighs, and a potbelly that hung over the belt of his dirty work jeans. “The next oldest is Miguel. He’s the one whose boat we’re using tonight.”

  “Thanks for that,” said Al.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” I added, feeling once again awkward.

  Miguel gave us a two-fingered salute.

  “Next oldest is Diego. He works for Miguel.”

  “Works with Miguel,” corrected Diego.

  Miguel looked at his brother with one brow lifted. “You pay for the boats?”

  Diego snorted.

  “You put fuel in ’em? You cut the paychecks?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do put fuel in the boats.”

  “You pay for that fuel?”

  “No?”

  Miguel nodded as if he was justified. “Alright, then. You work for me.”

  Francesca sighed and moved on to the next brother. “This is Roberto.”

  “You can call me Beto,” said Roberto, holding out a hand to shake mine and Al’s again. Roberto was almost as tall as Solo, but not quite. He was the lightest-skinned of the men. He wore khaki pants, loafers, and a white polo. “I work for Solo here at the harbor.”

  “Beto does the books,” explained Francesca, though she hadn’t needed to. By his clean apparel and less sun-damaged skin, it was obvious he wasn’t working outside day in and day out like his brothers.

  “And last but not least, this
is Rico. He also works with Miguel and Diego.”

  I stared at the lot of them, four of them laughing and joking, one stone-cold serious, Latin music still playing in the background. I couldn’t imagine growing up in a family like Francesca’s. I imagined it had been loud and boisterous and more than a little crazy. I’d grown up in mostly silence. The only time it was ever loud in my house was during football and basketball season, so it was difficult to relate.

  “Well, it’s really good of you all to help Drunk and me out like this.” Al pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. “Drunk’s found himself in a bit of a predicament again, I’m afraid.”

  All eyes turned to me.

  Unsure what Francesca had told her brothers about the situation I was in, I glanced over at her, seeking any assistance she might feel like providing, which, by the look on her face was absolutely none.

  Alright.

  Go time.

  I cleared my throat and shifted my weight to my other foot. “Yeah, so a quick bit of background on me. I came to Paradise Isle on my honeymoon,” I began.

  Solo stepped forward then, holding up a hand to stop me, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Wait, you’re married?”

  Francesca got between us. “Solo!” she chastised. “Let him finish, alright?”

  I took a deep breath as Solo slid up onto the top of his desk. Folding his arms over his chest, he nodded at me. “Fine, go ahead. It’s not like we all have things to do and places to be.”

  “Solo!” she barked.

  He pressed his lips together as if to say, I’ll be quiet. He reached over and turned off the radio. The room fell silent.

  “Right, so anyway, to answer your question, no, I’m not married.” I swallowed hard. I really didn’t want to share the next part, especially with Francesca’s brothers. But I knew for them to have any kind of buy-in into my situation, they were going to have to really understand my plight. “The night before my wedding, I caught my fiancée in bed with her ex-boyfriend.”

  All the men in the room winced, except Solo. He sat expressionless.

  “Oooh, man!” cried Rico. “That’s gotta burn.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. “Definitely. So, anyway, I ended up flying out for my honeymoon by myself. That was almost two months ago. That was when I first met Francesca. She was very helpful with everything that went down. Like Al said, you should all be very proud of her.”

  “So, what’s the problem now?” asked Miguel.

  “Okay, well, my ex-fiancée, Pam, showed up a few days ago. Of course she had her excuses, but ultimately she just wanted to get back together.”

  Several of Francesca’s brothers made pained faces, as if they’d been in my shoes before.

  “Yeah, so, I was upset that she’d followed me out here. I told her to leave. I even made arrangements for our resort concierge to drive her to the airport for her flight out. But then I found out she didn’t make the flight, and lo and behold, I discover that she’d managed to go and get herself kidnapped.”

  All eyes shot open then. Even Solo’s. It was as if he hadn’t been able to stop it.

  “No way, man. Is she okay?” asked Rico.

  “Is she still alive?” asked Beto.

  “Yeah, as of yesterday, she was still alive. The same guys that took Pam got their hands on me yesterday. Hit me over the head and next thing I know I’m waking up locked in a room on a yacht.”

  “A yacht!” said Rico.

  I nodded. “That’s where they’re holding her.”

  “Can you describe it? The yacht?” asked Solo. “Maybe we’ve seen it in our waters.”

  I shrugged. “I mean, it was white. And long. I couldn’t tell you how long. It had windows. And maybe three levels… more?”

  “Did it have a flybridge, an open bridge with a hard top, a skylounge, maybe? Like, can you give us a little something to go on?”

  I balked. The man wasn’t speaking my language. I rubbed a hand against the back of my neck. “Honestly, I didn’t get much of a tour of the inside. I only saw it as it sailed away, leaving me to swim back to the island.”

  “Oooh,” sighed Diego. “They made you swim back?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” I lifted the sleeve of my shirt to show them my blistered shoulders. “Hence the sunburn. Let’s just say yesterday wasn’t that great of a day.”

  The men all nodded their sympathies.

  “So, anyway, these guys, they want money. And, you know, I’ll be honest. When they first called to ask for the ransom money, I was a jerk. You know? I didn’t care what happened to my ex. She did me wrong. I wasn’t in the mindset of helping her.” I tried to gauge the guys’ reactions. Were they able to see my side of things? Or did they think I was a horrible guy for not rushing to my ex’s aid? Their faces weren’t very telling. A bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades. “But when I saw her on the yacht, and I saw that they’d knocked her around, I realized that her life really was in danger. It still is. So I’d like to try and rescue her. I know they want money, but what if I get the money together, give it to them, and then they kill her anyway? I just feel like I don’t have a lot of options.”

  When I was done talking, I looked around the room. It had fallen completely silent. No one moved, no one said a word. They only exchanged uneasy glances. It was as if they felt bad for me but weren’t sure if they wanted to get involved.

  After what seemed like minutes, Solo finally slid off the desk and onto his feet. He let out a heavy sigh. “How can we help?”

  Without missing a beat, Francesca spoke. “The kidnapper called today while I was with Drunk and Al. He wants to do the ransom and hostage exchange on Gull Island in two days.”

  “Gull Island? Why? There’s nothing on Gull Island,” said Rico. “Just tall grass and piles of bird caca.”

  “Yeah, so, I was thinking. Maybe if we got out there now, we could set up some kind of sting,” said Francesca. “You know? Then we’d be able to grab them while they’re setting things up.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” said Solo, shaking his head. “No. We’re not doing anything that puts your life in danger.”

  Francesca put both hands on her hips. “Solo. Stop. I’m a cop. I’m not some kind of weakling. I can take care of myself.”

  Still, he shook his head. “Absolutely not. And as the head of the family, I forbid it.”

  Francesca furrowed her brows. “¿Qué dijiste?” She took a step towards him and cocked her head slightly. “Did you just say you forbid it?” she rattled off in Spanish.

  He stood up taller. “Eso es cierto.”

  She let out a snort. “¡Estás loco, Solomon! Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean I have to do anything you say. I came to you for help. I thought maybe you could provide us a ride out there. I didn’t come here to ask your permission or for you to interfere in my business.”

  She turned around and strode towards the door. Her jaw was set and her face flushed. “Come on, Al, come on, Drunk, let’s go. We’ll find someone else with a boat that isn’t such a chauvinist, that can take us to Gull Island.”

  Francesca was already out the door when Solo’s shoulders slumped forward. All his brothers looked at him silently. It was obvious that he was regarded as the boss of the family.

  “Panchita, wait!” he hollered, holding up a hand.

  All eyes turned towards the doorway.

  It remained empty for several seconds.

  Finally, we heard the sound of Francesca’s sneakers on the boardwalk. She stepped back inside the harbor office doorway. “¿Qué?”

  “You know it will kill Mami if something happens to you.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Solo. You’ll all be there. Drunk’s a cop. These guys aren’t even going to be there tonight. We’re just scoping it out. See if we can’t think up a plan to trap them.”

  Solo let out a weighted sigh. “Fine. We’ll take you, but only becau
se you’re going to let us protect you if something happens.”

  Francesca smiled. “Nothing’s going to happen, big bro! I promise!”

  28

  Miguel maneuvered the twenty-nine-foot Blackfin sportfishing boat from the pier as the rest of the group all gave a wave to Beto, who had stayed behind on the wharf. He unfolded his arms and gave us a solemn nod before turning to head back into the marina offices.

  Seated on the edge of the flybridge with his legs dangling over the ladder, Rico cranked backwards to look at his brother as we motored away. “Solo, you really should lay off Beto. He’s turning into an old man.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having priorities,” Solo said to his brother. “You’d all do well to take a lesson from Beto.”

  “It’s not about his priorities,” Rico argued. “I mean, I get that he’s got a good job, but it’s late. He should be allowed to take a little time off. You know, roll up his pant legs and get his shoes wet or something.”

  “I didn’t tell him he had to work. Beto chose to stay behind because he’s dedicated to his job and he has mouths to feed. Someday you’ll understand.”

  Rico shrugged and climbed down the stairs as Miguel, steering from the captain’s station on the flybridge, motored us through the narrow mouth of the channel.

  As we picked up speed, the warm night air caressed my cheeks. Seated on the upper flybridge, I leaned against the back of the settee. Al and Francesca flanked either side of me while Solo sat in one of the swiveling helm chairs directly across from us. Miguel sat between us in the other. Both Diego and Rico stood in the lower-level cockpit.

  “Hey, man, I sure appreciate your help,” I said, looking at Miguel. My eyes shifted as they inadvertently met Solo’s. “You know, you guys letting us use your boat to get out there and all.”

  Solo crossed his arms over his chest and before Miguel could respond, he butted in. “What’s the plan when we get there?”

  I cleared my throat and crossed my leg over my knee, leaning forward slightly. I was supposed to have a plan in order to make a plan? I didn’t know a single thing about Gull Island. I’d never been there before. I’d never seen it on a map. So how could I possibly be expected to have a plan? “Oh, the plan?” I cleared my throat.