5
The station was rundown. Their pumps were rusty, and their sign looked like shit. There was only one other car pumping gas. A woman behind the counter gave me a quick, unpleasant look through a window covered with dust and dead bugs. I didn’t pay any attention and went on my way down a wooded road with rows of evergreen shrubs. The smell of salt was in the air. That and the realization that I was at least ten miles away from the Havana School for Boys brought a smile to my face. I doubted they would search outside a five mile radius for at least the first few days. My mind drifted to the interior of the cop car and the large computer he had in front of the dash.
I wondered what they did with it. Probably printed out tickets, sent information back and forth to their headquarters. Pictures. That wasn’t good. That cop was definitely going to see my picture. When? Havana was run by the state. Our info was in their computers. They would send out an alert, email names and photos to the police headquarters, which would trickle to street cops like that guy. It would have to be soon.
I stopped for a moment and slowly looked back at the gas station, which was now almost a quarter of a mile away. It looked clear. There was an eighteen wheeler, no cops. I was about to continue walking but waited just a little longer.
A bright, blue flash. Damn. Instantly, I sprinted to the nearest bush and dove in. Something sharp went into my bad eye and it gushed tears. I took the bottom of my t-shirt and pressed it against my eye. Sirens blared. The sound grew louder. I watched the blue lights approach from an opening in the branches. The cop car flew by. It was him of course.
Why’d I say the marina? I could have said anywhere. Stupid. I poked my head out and and watched him cruise down the road, brake lights flashed. I ducked back into the bushes. A sudden flash of blue lights, and he flew by again, heading back toward the gas station.
“What the hell?” I whispered. He didn’t even go to the marina. It didn’t make any sense. It made me wonder. He could have thought that I lied. Yeah, that would make sense because why would I tell him where I was actually going? That would be stupid. Really, really stupid. He’d be even more stupid to believe me. They were probably going to look for me back on 72nd. I bet he wouldn’t say shit. How embarrassing would that be for him if he told his bosses that he picked me up and dropped me off ten miles away? He would probably get fired for doing something like that. It wasn’t like they were supposed to be a free taxi service. Screw it, I kept walking.
Within minutes, I heard an odd, high pitched sound approaching. Like the sound of a thousand bees. I turned around and saw Forest and Becca on the scooter flying down the road toward the marina. They passed by, and Forest gave me a thumbs up. He didn’t look at me or slow down. Becca didn’t either. But there wasn’t space for me anyway.
The double gates at Matthews Marina were rusty and always open. It felt good to be there. I walked through the entrance and looked toward the C Dock. The mast of the 27 foot O’Day stood tall and slowly rocked with the breeze. Sam said it had been sitting there for over a year now without moving. I looked up at the palm branches to determine wind speed and direction. It looked like we had a strong north wind. That would get us moving at four knots, at least. In a few hours we could be ten miles offshore. At that point we would be tough to find, another speck in the ocean. It suddenly hit me that the shit was dangerously close to actually going down. Each second that went by without us getting caught made the plan seem less and less impossible.
Around the back of the main office there was a large window overlooking the docks. The shades were all the way down. I peeked through one of the cracks and saw Sam right where I knew he would be, leaned back in his chair with his hands folded over his stomach. His snoring was drowning out the sound of the TV. When I turned around a streak of blond hair in the sunlight caught my attention. Becca.
Forest was trying to pry the license plate off the scooter. The two of them were under a pavilion that looked more like a shack without walls. There was a metal roof and rusty picnic table, and on it was an ashtray full of cigarette butts. The place was deserted. We were lucky.
“Long ass walk. You knew a shortcut?” asked Forest.
“No I got a ride.”
“With who?” he asked.
“A cop.”
“Bullshit,” said Becca.
Her first word to me was bullshit.
She may have said it with a smile, but I didn’t look. Forest managed to rip off the small metal license plate, and I took a closer look at the scooter. It was tan and glittery. There was a basket in front of the handle bars with a wide ass seat and armrests.
“Dude. It’s for old people. You stole an old people scooter,” I said.
“It’s fast,” said Forest.
I shook my head, “That’s like stealing a wheelchair or something. You’re wrong for that. Now if we get caught everyone’s gonna hate us.”
Forest seemed to be ignoring me anyway.
“So you got it from Florida Grocery, get any food there?”
Forest shook his head no.
“How did you know that?” asked Becca.
“It came over the radio in the cop car.”
“You seriously got dropped off by a cop. How?” asked Becca.
“Well, the cop that chased you. This cop could have kicked his ass. But he was really naive.”
“Who cares, which boat?” asked Forest.
“Over here.” We strolled across the gravel driveway like we had been there a hundred times before. The boats looked lonely and restless on C Dock. It reminded me of how I felt at school. We walked over creaking deck boards, seagull shit, and the occasional bent over nail. The bay in front of us was blue, mysterious, and beautiful. The wind pushed the smell of salt into my nostrils, like a long lost friend that just gave me a big hug. Before we reached the O’Day we heard the sound of tires on gravel and turned around to see a nice Cadillac pull into the parking lot. Definitely not a cop. An old guy stepped out wearing beach shorts, sunglasses, flip flops and carrying a brown bag over his shoulder.
“One of these boats must be his,” I said. He looked our way and I nodded. The man waved slightly and walked toward B dock.
As we approached the 1986, 27’ Oday it was an Oh Shit This is Getting Real moment. The old boat was beautiful, with sharp edges and straight lines. It hadn’t received much attention at all, that was for damn sure. The cabin door was made of two slats of wood that had rotted in some places, enough to form holes the size of silver dollars. It definitely leaked. The deck looked like a seagull dumping ground and had what looked like bubbles under the surface of the fiberglass that were soft to the touch. Not sure exactly what those were, but it didn’t look good.
The mast looked fine and so did the cables stretching down to the deck. The ropes were stiff and looked like they lost their whitish color years ago. We stood quietly for a few moments surveying the old boat. She was sad as hell. It was like that boat was screaming, “C’mon, let’s do this!”
“It’s ugly,” said Becca.
“Nah. It’s a good boat. Strong hull. She can get us to the Bahamas, “ I replied and tried to hide the fact that I was agitated at the rude comment.
Becca looked around and said, “We’re not on a budget. There are better boats here. You picked the worst one.”
I bent down and pulled the rope attached from the boat to the dock to get it close enough to step onto.
“She hasn’t moved in a year. Probably worth less than five grand. They won’t flip out when it’s gone.”
“It looks really bad. Really bad,” said Becca.
“Yeah, but look.” I slapped the bottom of the boat. “The hull, mast, sail, all look fine. Technically that’s all we need. It can get us there, and we’ll have to sink it anyway,” I replied.
“What?” asked Becca.
“Cover our tracks,” said Forest.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Sooner or later they’ll look for the boat. If they find it at the bottom of the ocean, then it’s a cold
case and three missing teenagers considered dead. I don’t have anyone that would keep looking for me. You guys?” I asked.
“Nope,” said Forest, and Becca shook her head.
“Besides,” I said while mesmerized by the old boat. “They’ll just stick her in a boat graveyard. It’ll get covered in weeds, a home for rats and snakes. We bury it in the ocean instead. That’s where she belongs. One last run then make it a reef for the fish.”
I could see Becca giving me an odd look out of the corner of my eye. I cleared my throat, took hold of a cable connecting the mast to the boat, and pulled myself on board. This was real, and it felt so damn good. I reached down and lowered the small outboard motor into the water. So far so good. From what I remembered you just pulled the rope. I gave it a good yank. Nothing happened. The outboard looked pretty old, but not quite as old as the boat. I gave it another yank. Nothing.
“Trouble,” said Becca. I thought she was talking about the motor, but she wasn’t.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Sunglasses walking our way.
“Give me the paddle,” said Forest. I reached for it and almost handed it to him.
“Wait, why?” I asked.
“What do you think? I’m going to knock him out and throw him in the bay.”
“That’s killing him, dumbass,” I said.
“Don’t ever call me that again.”
“Ok,” I replied.
“Paddle,” said Forest.
“Hang on. For all we know he wants to borrow sunscreen. Just chill for a second,” I said.
Forest sat down on the dock with his feet hanging over the side. He stared at Sunglasses as he drew closer to us.
I waved at him, “Excuse me, sir. Do you have the time?”
He walked a few more steps toward us and pulled out his phone. “11:30. Are you guys heading out?”
“Not really. My uncle just wants to take the boat out in the bay and run the motor for an hour or two. Can’t get it started though.” He lifted up his sunglasses and peered over the dock at the small motor.
“Well, you don’t have the choke out,” he said.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
Have gave us all a look over. “Have a good one,” he said and walked away.
I took a deep breath and pulled the choke lever all the way out. Please… I tried starting the motor again. Nothing. I gave it another yank with everything I had, and the motor came to life.
“Yes!” I shouted.
“He’s coming back,” said Becca.
Sunglasses was walking toward us again with his phone to his ear. “Okay, I’ll take care of it,” he said and put his phone in his pocket.
“Hey! I just talked to Bob’s sister and she said no one should be taking the boat out. She also said Bob has one nephew and he lives in Russia. Russia! I’m calling the police!”
I tossed the paddle to Forest.
“No! No!” yelled sunglasses. Forest jumped toward him, and the man took off running. The two sprinted down C dock while seagulls squawked and flew off the dock pilings in a panic. Forest would normally catch him immediately but he was running slower with a large wooden paddle up in the air. Becca and I stared silently at the unusual scene. He got close and swung, but Sunglasses was surprisingly fast and just out of his reach. He took a quick turn on A dock and yelled, “Help! Help!” Forest swung again but just barely missed his head and hit the man’s shoulder. The sound reverberated throughout the marina.
“Ow!” he screamed.
The chase was nearing the end of A dock, where it was sure to finish with untold drama. But instead of turning around and confronting Forest, Sunglasses just jumped off the end of the dock and dove into the bay. He lost his sunglasses, his phone, and swam in a panic straight out into open water. Forest stopped and looked our way. He shrugged.
“That will work! Let’s go!” I shouted.
“We have to untie the ropes!” I told Becca.
The two of us started scrambling around the deck to free the O’Day. I forgot about the scooter. I jumped off the boat and put the scooter in neutral. I rolled it right off the edge of the dock.
“Wait!” Forest screamed from the dock across from us. The thunderous splash soaked me with saltwater and got Becca's hair wet.
Forest stood like a statue with his hands on his face, which looked unusually red, even from a distance.
“He wanted to keep that,” said Becca.
“The scooter?” I asked.
“Like really, really wanted to keep that,” she said.
I put my hands in the air wondering what the big deal was.
“Well what the hell did you do that for?” he shouted.
Forest charged toward me, and I wondered if I should join Sunglasses.
“There’s nowhere to put that big ass, old people scooter on a sailboat,” I said.
“The hell there isn’t! Freaking tie it to the front or something,” said Forest. He took the paddle and threw it as hard as he could at the O’Day.
“Go get it man!” he shouted pointing at where the scooter went in.
“It’s gone,” I said.
Forest pointed at the water that was still slightly swirling from the thunderous splash.
“Oh you’re gonna get it,” said Forest while he gritted his teeth.
I leaned over and of course couldn’t see anything. It was probably 20 feet to the bottom and being inspected by fish already.
“Joey’s right,” said Becca. “It will get in the way.”
Forest shook his head and threw his shoes into the boat. My heartbeat started to slow back to normal. I looked back at the marina one last time and realized we were actually going to do this. I turned my attention to the East. The horizon looked clear, and Sunglasses was still swimming directly out into the bay. The clock was ticking, but I bet we had at least an hour or two before they started searching for us on the water. We could get at least six miles offshore in that time if the motor didn’t crap out on us. They would focus their search on Biscayne Bay. There was no way they would think we headed out into the Atlantic.
I moved the tiller back and forth to get used to the feel.
“Are we untied?” I asked.
They looked around the boat, and Forest nodded. The parking was close quarters and there were nice boats on either side of the O’day, separated by no more than five feet.
“Go to hell, Havana School for Boys. So long Sam,” I whispered and put the motor in forward gear. I sat back with my hand on the long wooden tiller. Forest and Becca stood on the opposite side of me toward the front. The boat moved forward, and it felt like I had a thousand butterflies in my chest.
Forest pointed to his left, “You’re gonna hit that boat, Joey.”
I pushed the tiller hard right and rammed directly into the side of a yacht. The impact threw Becca to the deck and she busted her lip on the metal plate under the mast.
“Damn it!” she yelled.
“What the hell? You just steered right into it!” shouted Forest.
“I forgot it’s backwards, man. Pull it left it goes right, push it right and it goes left.”
I quickly pulled the tiller to the left and eased by the yacht where there was now a jagged hole and enormous crack that ran along the starboard side.
“It’s wood,” said Forest.
“Yeah. Weird,” I replied.
“That’s what they get for having a wooden boat. Idiots,” said Forest.
“Is ours’ good?” I asked.
Forest moved to the bow of the O’Day and leaned over the side.
“Yeah, looks fine,” said Forest.
“I’m sorry.” I told Becca. The bleeding had slowed and she nodded. But now her lip was swollen, and she looked pissed.
We pulled out of the marina and into the open water of Biscayne Bay. It felt like it should not be happening. Sunglasses was still swimming and nearing a small wooded island. He must have thought we were chasing him. I put the motor on full throttle, and it push
ed us along quite well. I guessed seven miles an hour, maybe a little less. Forest stood at the bow of the boat. He looked back at me and Becca and threw both of his arms up in the air,
“Hell yes!” he said. I smiled and Becca laughed.
“Next stop Bahamas, bitches!” said Becca.
I couldn’t help but laugh, but deep down I knew playtime was officially over. They didn’t seem to share the sentiment. Maybe it was because I was the only one who had at least a slight mental grasp of what we were attempting to do with pretty much zero planning and experience.
The Less Fortunates Page 5