Drunk on a Boat

by Zane Mitchell

  She climbed out of the vehicle then and grabbed her bags from the trunk. When the lid slammed and I saw her walking towards the terminal, rolling her bags behind her, she gave me one last wave.

  I waved back.

  “Goodbye, Pam.”

  50

  The heat of the day was shielded by the palm trees swaying overhead. I wore my Sunday best. My boat shoes, the pair of navy Bermuda shorts I’d purchased in the hotel gift shop and a simple white polo shirt. I also wore the brand-new black fedora I’d purchased in the airport gift shop after dropping Pam off the day before.

  With my hands folded in front of me and my head bowed reverently, I cleared my throat. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Diablo de Reptilian.”

  Francesca stood beside me, her shoulder pressed up against mine. Her head was also bowed and her hands folded. Around us stood Solomon Junior, his wife, Marina, and their children. Beto and his wife, Selita, and their children stood next to Solo’s family. Miguel and his new wife, Kayliana, were there, as were the single Cruz brothers, Rico and Diego.

  Directly across from me, Al and Evelyn Becker stood arm in arm. Al’s hand was still wrapped. He’d already undergone surgery to have his finger reattached, though we were still unsure how useful it would prove to be, and I was half-afraid to lift my head lest I catch another of Evie’s angry stares. She still hadn’t quite forgiven me for getting Al mixed up in the kidnapping. Even Artie Balladares and Manny Velázquez had turned out for the event. Everyone held a flower in their hands.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I continued. “Diablo was a good lizard. Judging by his size, we believe he lived a very long and happy life. Even though we did not know him personally, I’m quite sure that he ate many bugs in his lifetime. He was a good-looking lizard, as far as lizards go, so it’s very likely he enjoyed the company of many female lizard friends. Perhaps he even has children walking around to this day. If so, we offer up extra blessings to those he leaves behind.”

  I pinched one eye open and lifted my head enough to peer around me. Everyone’s heads were still lowered. “And at this time, I’d like to open it up. If anyone has anything they’d like to say about Diablo, they’re welcome to.” I took Francesca’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  She nodded. “Like Danny said, we didn’t know Diablo, but he has been on this earth for a very long time. It’s hard to believe that he didn’t affect someone’s life in some way. So we pray for Diablo’s safe journey to the other side of the Rainbow Bridge and hope that he finds lots of bugs to eat and lots of new friends.”

  I nodded and lifted my head, looking around. When no one else seemed to want to speak, I stepped forward and shoveled dirt back into the hole we’d placed Diablo in.

  “Go in peace, Diablo,” I said, throwing my flower onto the unmarked grave.

  “Go in peace, Diablo,” said the rest of the crowd, tossing their flowers onto the pile.

  Then I looked up at everyone. “I’d like to thank everyone for attending this memorial service today. It was important to Francesca that we honor Diablo in this way. And because of that, it was important to me too. I owe her a lot for helping me find my friend Al and for helping me bring him home to Evie.” I smiled at Evie and was thankful to see her smile back at me. “I also want to thank my new friends, Solo, Miguel, Beto, Diego, and Rico, for everything they did. They made it possible too.”

  “Hey, man, we’re glad we could help,” said Rico.

  Solo nodded. “We are very thankful that Al and Pam made it out of that situation alright.”

  “So I’m glad that we could all gather today to say our goodbyes to Diablo and to celebrate Al being alive and back with us again.”

  Al gave everyone a little wave with his good hand. “Thank you, Drunk. I know what you all went through to find me was difficult as well, and I’m thankful that I got another chance at life. I got to come back to my dear sweet Evie.” He squeezed her arm. “And I’m thankful that the villain of this story will get what’s rightfully coming to him.”

  “Hear, hear!” I shouted.

  The crowd chuckled.

  “And even though this might have all gone differently if Drunk had just given the kidnapper the money to start with,” said Al, lifting his arm.

  I grimaced.

  “The important thing is that I believe Drunk learned a very valuable lesson.”

  I bobbed my head. “Indeed I did. I’m very sorry about what happened to your finger. I’ll forever be in your debt, Al.”

  Al lifted a shoulder. “I know you will,” said Al, pointing at me with his good hand. “And it can’t be all bad. At least I’ve got a story to tell now.”

  I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Oh, now it begins.”

  “But I’m thankful to everyone that brought me back, and I’m glad we could all get together and celebrate.”

  Evie nodded. “I’m also thankful to all of you for bringing my sweet husband back. Without him, I don’t know where I’d be. So thank you, Cruz Brothers. Thank you, Francesca. And thank you, Terrence.” She strode over to me and gave me a hug while the crowd cheered. When she’d let me go, she looked around. “Now, with all of that being said, everyone make your way back to Terrence’s cottage. There’s a feast fit for a king waiting up there. Everyone help yourself!”

  Several people clapped and began to head back to my place for the picnic we’d invited them to join us for. Before he could get away, I stopped in front of Al. “Hey, buddy. Once again, I’m really sorry. I hope you know that.”

  “You’re like a broken record, kid. I know you’re sorry. I already accepted your apology and told you none of this was your fault.”

  “I know. It’s just… you had your finger cut off! I mean, I know you got it back and all, but that’s a big fucking deal.”

  “Yeah, it’s a big deal, but kid, here’s the good part of the story. I’m still alive. And even if this finger proves to never be functional again, at least I had a good eighty-seven years with it.”

  I smiled at him. “Alright. I’m just glad to have you back, Al.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad to be back.” He shook his head. “I got bad news, though.”

  I curled my lip. “Yeah? Worse than finding your best friend’s finger in a box in your kitchen?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Worse than that.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Evie says I don’t get to do missions with you anymore.”

  “Yeah?” It didn’t shock me in the least.

  His head bobbed. “Yeah.”

  “You gonna listen to her?”

  “Of course not.”

  I smiled. “Alright, then. We’re good.”

  Al patted me on the back. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  He lumbered back towards the cottage, leaving me with the last two partygoers at Diablo’s grave site, Francesca and Solo. I walked over to them.

  “Hey, thanks for coming, Solo,” I said, shaking his hand.

  He actually smiled at me as he shook it. “I gotta hand it to you, Drunk.”

  “Hand it to me?”

  “Yeah. There’s not a lot of men out there that would hold a funeral for a lizard that wasn’t even someone’s pet.”

  I grinned. I wondered if I’d catch some flack for that. I shrugged. “It was important to Frankie, and I made her that promise.”

  Francesca smiled up at me.

  “And that’s why I gotta hand it to you. My sister used to make us hold funerals for every pet we ever had. From the dogs all the way down to the goldfish. It used to drive all of us boys nuts, but we did it because we loved our sister, and it was important to her.”

  “Yeah?”

  Solo nodded. “So for some other man in her life to do that for her?” He threw an arm over his sister’s shoulder. “Well, I guess it just means that you appreciate her as much as we do.”

  “Of course I appreciate her. I told you, Solo. Francesca’s a kick-ass chick. She’s sweet and smart, and I’mma be honest, she
ain’t too hard on the eyes. Plus, you saw her skills on that yacht for yourself. She can take care of business.”

  Solo’s brow raised and his lips tightened as he nodded his head. He almost couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in his eyes. “I know she did,” he whispered. “Our dad would’ve been so proud of her.”

  “Solo!” said Francesca, her own eyes now filled with tears. “Quit, you’re making me cry.”

  He shook his head. “No, Panchita, I won’t stop. You handled yourself like a pro on that ship. I’m so proud of you, and I just want to say that the rest of the guys and I are going to give you the respect that you deserve when it comes to your job from here on out.”

  She smiled from ear to ear. “For real?”

  He nodded. “For real. We love you. And we just want you to be safe.”

  She hugged him then. “Thanks, Solo. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  When he let go of her, he dried his eyes with his shirt. Then, clearing his throat, he shook my hand again. “So if the time ever comes that you want to date my sister, I’m going to trust her judgment.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Solo.”

  “But just because you held a funeral for a lizard doesn’t mean you’re ready yet,” he cautioned, squeezing my hand and pulling me closer to him.

  I laughed. “Yeah, Solo. I know. I still have work to do on myself before I’m going to be worthy of Frankie. But I’m sure as hell gonna try.”

  Hey there, it’s Zane…

  I’m the author of this book. I’ve got a huge favor to ask of you. If you even remotely enjoyed Drunk, Al, and their predicament, I’d be honored if you left a review on Amazon. I’d love to see this book reach more readers, and one way to do that is to have a whole bunch of feedback from readers like you that liked it.

  Leaving reviews also tells me that you want more books in the series or want to read more about certain characters. Or, I guess, conversely, if you didn’t like it, it tells me to either try harder or not to give up my day job.

  So, thanks in advance. I appreciate the time you took to read my book, and I wish you nothing but the best!

  Zane

  Manny’s Blue Hawaiian Recipe

  1 oz light rum

  1 oz vodka

  3/4 oz blue curacao

  3 oz pineapple juice

  1 oz sweet & sour mix

  Combine rum, vodka, blue curacao, pineapple juice, and sweet & sour mix in a hurricane glass filled with ice. Mix well. Garnish with pineapple slice and maraschino cherry. Enjoy!

  For a printable version, click here.

  SNEAK PEEK - Drunk Driving

  The Misadventures of a Drunk in Paradise Book 3

  1

  Valentina Carrizo approached me first.

  Now, I won’t lie and say that I didn’t find her attractive. The woman could set a wet sponge on fire, she was that hot. And truth be told, she did catch my eye. But let’s not get it twisted.

  She.

  Approached.

  Me.

  But despite the fact that Valentina Carrizo was hot, she was by no means the type of woman I would’ve ever hit on in a bar. And not because I thought I couldn’t score with someone that hot. So let’s just drop that notion right now, shall we? There were numerous reasons why I wouldn’t have approached her, none of which being that I thought I’d be unable to score.

  No. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that sex was kind of a given. Her clothes kinda told the story. Red skimpy dress, clinging to every nook and cranny of her body. The slit in the front of the dress riding clear up to her lady bits. Big bulging breasts on display and as inviting as the last two peanuts in a bowl on top of a bar. They dared every man around to grab ’em for a taste, but in the back of that man’s mind, he had a nagging curiosity as to how many hands had been there before him and just where, exactly, those hands had been.

  No. Scoring was most definitely not the reason I wouldn’t have approached Valentina Carrizo. The real reason, I actually attributed to my mother. And she wasn’t even in the bar that night. She was twenty-two hundred miles and an ocean away.

  Go figure.

  But it was her words that rang truth and wisdom into my head that evening. “Only hookers wear that much makeup.”

  Thanks, Mom.

  I was pretty sure her advice saved me several hundred dollars that evening and quite possibly an antibiotics prescription.

  So when Valentina Carrizo approached me at the bar—and in lieu of a handshake as a greeting, her hand immediately grabbed my junk—my head tilted approximately fifteen degrees to the right. I squinted and frowned at the same time, having the instant urge to cough. I imagined the conversation she’d just been having with her girlfriend on the other side of the bar. I figured it had to go a little something like this.

  “Hey, Valentina, you see that hot guy over there?”

  “You mean the one with the big nose?”

  “Yeah. You know what they say, ‘big nose, big hose.’”

  “You know, I’ve always wondered if that was true.”

  “I guess we’ll find out…”

  Challenge accepted.

  “Well, hello to you too,” I said.

  She let out a giggle and then a sultry, thickly Spanish accented, “Just checking.” She ran a hand through her long, wavy black hair, pulling a lock over her bronzed shoulders.

  I leaned both elbows back against the bar and chuckled. “Checking to make sure I am what the beard says I am?”

  She held out her hand then, her long red fingernails looking like daggers covered in blood. “I am Valentina.”

  Taking her hand, I gave it a small pump and then leaned into her slightly. “I’m Drunk.”

  She put her ear against my mouth then. “What do you say?”

  “I’m Drunk,” I repeated over the pounding bass.

  She giggled. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. Rum and Coke.”

  I turned and flagged down the bartender whom I’d been chatting with before Valentina had arrived. “Rum and Coke.” I held up my tumbler and gave it a little shake, making the ice that was left clink against the sides. “And I’ll have another.”

  The bartender grinned at me. I was sure he thought I was some poor shmuck that didn’t know a hooker from a ho when I saw one. He probably assumed I thought I was getting lucky tonight by buying the woman a drink. But that’s not what I was doing. I was actually buying the woman a drink so she wouldn’t be offended when it was time to excuse myself.

  Is that wrong?

  Well, then, let’s just put it to a vote, shall we?

  Ladies, would you be offended if a man bought you a drink just so you wouldn’t be offended that he didn’t buy you a drink?

  I didn’t think so. A free drink’s a free drink.

  I was playing it safe, folks. I’m not stupid. The bar scene used to be my jam. And I knew how to work a room.

  Rule #1. Keep the women happy.

  Rule #2. Don’t take home hookers. Just don’t. I don’t care how hot they are. Just don’t do it.

  Rule #3. Tip your bartenders well.

  And rule #4. Never eat the peanuts.

  I slid the bartender some cash and handed Valentina her drink.

  She took a sip, then smiled up at me, batting her long dark eyelashes. “Thanks. So what do you do, handsome?”

  “I’m in security.”

  She cuddled up to my side. “I feel safer already.”

  I smiled at her. She was cute. That much was for sure. “I like your accent. Where’s it from?”

  “Colombia,” she said, sounding a little like a cross between Sofia Vergara and Charo.

  “You’re sure a long ways from home.”

  She took another sip of her drink and shrugged. “You’re American?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’re a long way from home too. Maybe we were destined to meet.”

  I could play along
. “Were we?”

  She nodded. “We could go back to your place and get to know each other a leettle better.”

  “Mmm, I don’t think my better half would like that very much,” I said, giving her a tight grin.

  “Aww, you’re married?” Though her bottom lip plumped out when she said it, her body language said the opposite. She cuddled up closer to me as if the idea of me being married had made her more interested.

  “Something like that.”

  She stood on her tiptoes, nuzzled my ear, and whispered, “I don’t care.” Her hand cupped my junk again.

  I glanced over at the bartender. He was smiling. This was his silent I told you so moment, even though he hadn’t said a word. Only his shit-eating grin had spoken for him. Without moving, I looked down at Valentina. “Do I get a discount for all these free feels?”

  She giggled. “Oh, honey, if that’s not a rolled-up sock in there I’ll do it for halfsies.”

  “Halfsies, huh?” I sighed and glanced around, wondering just where exactly my other half was when I needed him. That was when I spotted him.

  Eighty-seven-year-old Al Becker was a small man with hunched-over shoulders that made him barely five feet tall. Aside from the two small patches of white hair behind his ears, he was bald. He wore his usual uniform. Khaki shorts. A white ribbed tank top under a Hawaiian button-down. White New Balance sneakers and long white socks pulled up to his knobby knees. He hobbled over to me at the bar.

  “Al. What took you so long?”

  When he looked up at me, his whole torso moved, like he had a stiff neck or something. “We gotta go, kid.” He said it low, like he’d been chased to the bar by a mafioso.

  “Go? Why?”

  “The line for the john’s too long.”

  “You been in line this whole time?”

  “I mean it, Drunk. Let’s go.”