“How you boys feelin’ this mornin’?”
“Great,” Manuel said. “My first deep sea fishin’ trip. I’m ready to butt fuck the Gulf of Mexico.”
Cobb already had his mouth open to apologize, which was something he’d grown used to hanging around Manuel. But Cobb was surprised when Uncle Pete laughed so hard he nearly toppled over.
“Ah, shit. That’s good. I like that. That’s one way to look at it, I guess.” He pulled a hand-rolled cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it between his lips, still chuckling. He didn’t light it, just let it dangle there.
“How long you been sodomizing the sea, Mr. Pete?” Manuel said.
“Since I was strong enough to hold a pole. Shit, if it was up to my daddy, he’d a turned my pregnant mama upside down and shoved that pole right up her cunt if she’d a let him. Never too young to learn, that’s what he believed.”
“What about Ben’s dad? Your brother? He as good a fisherman as you?”
As Uncle Pete’s smile deflated, eyes going hard and intense, Cobb knew Manuel had gone too far. He couldn’t imagine what possessed his friend to say the stupid shit he said on a regular basis, and as Uncle Pete lit his cigarette and blew the first puff of smoke toward Manuel, he could tell Manuel was thinking the same thing.
“I didn’t mean any offense, I was just curious…”
“Our friend…Ben, he’s been talking about it nonstop. He has a lot of questions about his dad, about this town, about—”
“Sean.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My brother’s name was Sean. And how good a fisherman he was or might’ve become don’t mean shit now. He’s dead.”
“I’m, uh…I’m sorry.” Cobb wanted nothing more than for Ben and Gentry to come walking into the room at that moment. He’d even take Clyde right about now.
“It’s fine, boys. Just fine. Today, we remember him. Maybe not the way he wants his sons to remember him, but by God, they gonna know.” Pete blew smoke from both nostrils, lightly spat a bit of tobacco from his lip. “Now hurry it up. We shoulda been gone by now. Tell the others I’m waitin’ in the truck, all right?”
Before waiting for a reply, Uncle Pete exited the house, let the screen door slam behind him.
“Is it just me?” Manuel said. “Or is that the scariest motherfucker you’ve ever seen.”
“You’re an idiot, Manuel. I mean, seriously.”
“What the fuck did… Ah, shit. Yeah. Yeah, you’re right about this one.”
“But you’re right about one thing. Today’s about Ben and his dad.” Though Cobb’s nightmares would probably forever remind him of the beach that day, and though the idea of getting on a boat and heading out into the middle of nowhere in it scared the living shit out of him, he knew he had to buck up. At least for now.
Maybe I’ll head into town tomorrow. Talk to the deputies, see if they can tell me more.
“So you’re comin’ on the boat, right?”
“I’m coming in your mouth, bitch.”
“I’m bein’ serious. Because for a minute, I thought you were gonna pussy out on me, let me go out there alone. With Clyde. And Uncle Feed-the-Mexican-to-the-Sharks out there.”
“That’s why we came out here, isn’t it? That’s why Ben invited us. I won’t mention what happened last night again. Not today anyway.”
“Thank God for that. Now let’s find a place where we can smoke really quick. These fish fuckers think I’m gettin’ on that boat sober, they got seaweed for brains.”
Cobb wanted to protest, wanted to say why it was a bad idea, how they shouldn’t.
“Let’s go to the bathroom. We can turn the air vent on in there.”
“This is why I love you.”
—7—
The seagulls circled above the dock, shrieking and searching for any morsel of food. The water was a brownish, green color like an endless bowl of stew, but it looked calm. No strong wind that day.
They all followed Uncle Pete as he stomped down the dock toward his boat, which was parked toward the end. He was a good bit ahead of them, walking quickly and with purpose, as if he couldn’t wait to get started. They passed a few fishing boats bobbing on the surface, each with its own clever name, each with fishing poles mounted along the rails like antennae.
“It seem to you there should be more boats out here?” Gentry said, scratching the back of his head. He was no expert, of course, but for a town so fond of its fishing, he figured the dock would be packed full of boats, their sides rubbing up against one another.
There were a lot of spots where a boat looked like it should have been parked, but it was just an empty niche. Barnacles and other clam-like critters decorated the wooden pillars holding up the dock like bumpy graffiti. Gentry counted four boats total, but from what it looked like, there should have been at least ten.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe,” Ben said. “There’s probably other docks around town besides this one. Who cares?”
Uncle Pete stopped at what had to be his boat. It looked old, rickety, made Gentry wonder if it was safe to get on the thing and ride it into the middle of the ocean. He figured Uncle Pete knew what he was doing, that he wouldn’t take his only nephews out on it if it wasn’t safe. The boat, with the words Queen Nance painted on the front of it, creaked as it bobbed on top of the water.
Uncle Pete had a cigarette in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. Every puff from his cigarette, every sip from his coffee cup came with a grimace, as if both tasted like rotting fish guts. The steam and smoke from each swirled in the air, made it look like the old man had super powers or something. He put the cigarette to his lips, then used his free hand to rub the boat, right over its name. After blowing a cloud of smoke from his mouth, he leaned over and kissed the wood, pressed his forehead against it and shut his eyes as if saying a silent prayer.
“Smells like a hooker’s coochie out here,” Manuel said from behind Gentry.
“Hey,” Cobb said. “Your mother is a nice woman. The smell from her box could boil an egg, but she’s still a nice woman.”
Gentry turned and frowned at them, noticed for the first time how red their eyes were. Cobb and Manuel snickered, elbowed each other. Clyde and Emma walked hand in hand behind them, both quiet. Clyde had his attention on Queen Nance, smiling, then unhooked himself from Emma’s hand so he could stand by Uncle Pete and admire it.
Gentry smiled at Emma when her eyes coasted toward him, then he pushed past Cobb and Manuel so he could stand beside her. “What’s up?”
“Just ready to get this over with,” she whispered. “Sooner the better.” She said this as she watched Clyde and Ben talk with Uncle Pete, all three Nance men talking in hushed tones as if they were sharing family secrets.
“That bad?”
“Same old shit,” Emma said, then turned her attention toward Gentry and raised an eyebrow. “But I’m glad I came, anyway.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Uncle Pete climbed aboard the boat, cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, and then smiled wide with his arms extended to the sides like a game show host presenting a prize in the final showcase.
“This here’s Queen Nance. Been in our family since my great granddaddy built it with his own two hands. Girl’s been through a lot. If she could talk, she’d probably chew my ass out for usin’ her so hard, you know it?” Pete chuckled, took a sip of coffee. “But I guess any gal would say the same.”
Cobb and Manuel burst out laughing, which made Uncle Pete’s smile widen some.
“This boat, and the family business, were passed down from generation to generation. Me and Sean, Ben and Clyde’s daddy, we were supposed to take over. When Sean left, I did my best, and I think I did a damn good job. Would have made my daddy proud, you know it?”
“Here comes the guilt trip,” Emma whispered, and Gentry had to hold in his chuckle.
“My great granddaddy’s legacy will end with me unless one of you boys takes over,” Uncle Pete said
to Ben and Clyde, who now stood directly under him. “The last remainin’ Nance boys.”
“What about your son?” Ben said, and Uncle Pete’s smile dissolved instantly.
Uncle Pete spat in his hand, put his cigarette out in his palm, then placed the butt behind his ear. “Aaron…”
“Touchy subject?” Gentry whispered to Emma.
“Guess so,” she said. “I was wondering why he had a room full of toys and a racecar bed.”
“How do you know they aren’t for Uncle Pete himself? Something wrong with a man who sleeps in a racecar bed?”
Emma snorted and slapped Gentry in the shoulder. Gentry smiled, but when he caught Clyde watching, he quickly loosened his lips and let his eyes coast toward the sea.
“You got a son?” Clyde said, now facing his uncle. “Where’s he at?”
“My mom told me about him. And Aunt Grace, too,” Ben said. “Where’re they, Uncle Pete?”
Uncle Pete scratched the scruff on his cheek and neck, spat into the water and squinted his eyes at Ben. “Things between me and Grace didn’t work out. She up and left me, took my boy Aaron with her. It ain’t nobody’s business but my own, so I kept it to myself. Now you know about it.”
“What, she left all this behind?” Cobb muttered to Manuel whose shoulders began to bounce as he laughed under his breath. Gentry kicked him in the back of the foot.
“Sorry,” Ben said.
“Well,” Clyde said with a smirk. “I didn’t know either one of them existed till just now. I sure as shit won’t miss ’em.”
“That’s real nice,” Ben said. “Real nice.”
“God I’m glad Clyde’s here,” Gentry said, and got another slap in the arm from Emma.
“It’s fine,” Uncle Pete said. “This life wasn’t for them anyhow. My boy…he wasn’t much of a fisherman.”
They all stood there in silence for about a minute, the only sound the screeching gulls, the crashing water, and the creaks from Queen Nance as she bobbed on the surface.
“Well!” Uncle Pete said with a loud clap of his hands. “We’re wastin’ time, kids. Get y’alls’ asses up here and get ready to ride.”
Ben climbed on first, followed by Clyde who immediately looked toward Emma and Gentry, waved them over with a quick jerk of his head.
“Is it true that fish can’t feel pain?” Manuel said as he followed Cobb onto the boat.
“What’s that?” Uncle Pete said.
“Just what I heard. It’s not cruel to stab them in the mouth with hooks and rip their guts out because they can’t feel it. You never heard that?”
“Manuel,” Gentry said as he stepped onto the boat. “Please shut up.”
“I don’t know if that’s true or not, son, but I can tell you I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if they can feel it or not. This here’s my livelihood, you know it? I’ll slice open a pregnant whale’s belly if it meant the difference between me eatin’ or not. You some kind of faggot animal activist?”
“What? No, no. I was just sayin’, I heard—”
“Nobody cares,” Ben said through a grimace he had aimed in Manuel’s direction, then turned back to Uncle Pete. “Think we’ll catch anything big out there today?”
Uncle Pete held his scowl on Manuel for another few seconds before letting his eyes roll toward Ben. He took another sip of coffee, grimaced. “We ain’t fishin’ for perch, I tell you that much.”
“Yeah?” Clyde said, his arms now wrapped around Emma’s waist from behind. “So what’re we going for today?”
“Whatever’s swimmin’, boy. But I got a surprise or two for you kids. I tell you this much, we ain’t gonna be bored today. No, sir. We’ll put a dent in that fish population yet. And you know what else?” He finished off his coffee, crushed the cup. “I hope those little fuckers feel every bit of it.”
***
It never occurred to Gentry that riding a boat toward the middle of the ocean might be terrifying until he stepped foot on the deck. Not just because the boat looked barely strong enough to hold all their weight, but imagining being surrounded by nothing but water for miles and miles in either direction, the water churning with massive beasts that could tear him apart as easily as he might a fish stick got his heart thumping. But once they got moving, once that briny, damp ocean air flowed over him, all of his trepidations disappeared. It felt great out there, the boat lightly bouncing over the water as it sped toward the middle of nowhere. They had been moving for a good two hours now, and there was nothing but water in sight on all sides of them. The sun was out now, still a dark yellow color, but it was growing brighter and hotter by the minute.
Clyde and Emma stood toward the front of the boat, Clyde’s arm around her shoulders. The scene reminded Gentry of Titanic, and when Clyde leaned down and kissed her, Gentry wished for a glacier.
Ben had been appointed honorary deck hand by Uncle Pete, and was assigned the duty of cutting up squid for bait, which shone and sparkled in the strengthening sunlight and smelled like rotting fish. Gentry reluctantly offered to help, but Ben waved him off, smiling wide. “I got it,” he said. “I love this shit, man. Isn’t this great?”
“Actually, it is. It’s peaceful out here. Except for, you know, the smell.”
“I like it! And I was thinking. About what Uncle Pete was saying earlier.” Ben slid the now chopped up squid aside with the blade of his knife, then pulled a fresh one from the bucket and slapped it to the table. The pinkish, translucent goo splashed, some of it sprinkling Gentry in the arm. “You know, about taking over the business.”
“You sure about that?” Gentry nearly said that if Ben’s dad ran away from it, maybe he should reconsider, but decided to keep his mouth shut about that. For now at least. “You’re gonna be like Forrest Gump?”
Ben snorted. “Something like that. Maybe minus the retard part. Think you’d be up for that, Lieutenant Dan?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you being my partner. My co-captain, or whatever it’s called. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Me and you, running a business together? Going fishing every day?” Ben wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, scraped the cut up squid aside, set the knife down.
“Isn’t it supposed to be a family business?”
“What, you think Clyde would agree to that? And even if he did, I’d rather cut my wrists and jump into shark infested waters. And you heard Uncle Pete. His son isn’t around. It’s just me and you, man. You were always more of a brother than Clyde, anyway.”
“Ben, I—”
“Hhhaaauuurrrggghhh!” Manuel’s feet kicked as he leaned over the side and hurled into the sea again, moaning between gags. He sat on the deck floor, vomit stains on his shirt and lap, his glasses upside down beside him. He pulled his head back in from over the side and let his chin rest on his chest. Pink chunks sat on his bottom lip, and his head rolled loosely on his neck as the boat sped on. He looked like he was concentrating hard not to puke again, and just as Gentry was thinking this, Manuel’s eyes burst open, his cheeks puffed out, and he leaned back over the side. His jeans had fallen down to about mid-thigh and his ass hung out, a cluster of zits on each cheek.
Gentry had an urge to grab one of the squid heads from Ben’s cutting table and stick it between Manuel’s butt cheeks, but decided to leave his friend alone. The guy looked and sounded miserable.
Manuel’s feet knocked against the deck as he choked and spewed more hot vomit into the water, and when he finished, pulled himself back into the boat, he wrapped his arms around his belly, lay on his back, and moaned. “Fuckin’ kill me. Please. Just fuckin’ kill me.”
“Hey, Manuel,” Ben said, and flung a spray of squid juice from the tips of his fingers. “How about a little perfume to help cover up your smell.”
“You-you motherfu—”
Manuel’s cheeks inflated again, and he leaned over the rail so far that Gentry nearly ran over and grabbed him before he went overboard. As another stomachful of puke splashed
into the water, Ben roared with laughter and went back to cutting up bait.
“So?” Ben said.
“What?” Gentry said, though he knew exactly what his friend was talking about. He was still trying to figure out a way to explain he would rather die than live in Palacios, no matter how much he was enjoying the boat ride and the smell and sound of the ocean. Your dad left for a reason, Ben. Didn’t you ever think of that?
“Tell you what, man,” Ben said as he finished up with the squid, wiped his hands on his jeans. “Let’s see how this trip goes first, cool? Get some fish in this fucking boat.”
Gentry smiled and nodded. “How much longer do we have to ride before we can start fishing, you think? Seems to me we’re already in the middle of it. Can’t see land anywhere.”
“Uncle Pete knows what he’s doing. Just be patient, you’ll see. We’ll be catching so many fish, we’ll all smell like sloppy pussy for a week.”
“But…but I don’t wanna smell like sloppy pussy,” Gentry said with a smile.
Ben flung a spray of squid droplets at Gentry with his knife. “Too late, Captain Cunt.”
“Dick!”
***
Cobb stepped out of the small restroom, pulled his finger out of his belly button, and sniffed it. His high had already worn off, and watching Manuel puke for two hours had started to make him feel sick, made only worse by the cramps twisting in his gut, begging him to empty his bowels. Once he was in the cabin, the nausea only intensified, and he pushed the shit out of his ass as hard and fast as he could. The musty scent from his belly button actually made him feel slightly better, but he still wanted to get back outside, back to the fresh air.
He nearly lost his footing as the boat swayed, but he used the wall to keep himself on his feet, and just as he was about to walk back out, the door swung in and Clyde stepped into the cabin.
Parasite Deep Page 10