Black Swan Planet

by James Peters

  “Jamaica. We want to go to Jamaica,” I said, staring at a spot in the middle of his forehead, hoping he’d focus on me. “You got a boat?”

  “Capp’n do. Me Dan. Dur’ble Dan, that’s whut dey call me. Dur’ble Dan.”

  “Double Dan?” I said as the language implant warmed up, struggling with his slurred speech.

  “Dur’ble Dan.”

  “Dirigible Dan?”

  “Dur’ble Dan.”

  “Derby Dan?”

  “Dur’ble Dan.”

  “Douche-Bag Dan?”

  “Dur’ble Dan. Capp’n ‘splain. F’llow me.”

  We followed this man onto a shabby boat by the name of Tropic of Cancer. The back of the boat had a crude painting of a crab holding a drink, and in simple block letters, ‘Captain Franklin Rhodes’. A short man, in a dirty shirt stretching over a round basketball of a belly, grabbed a captain’s hat from a hook as he approached and placed it on his head. “Captain Oliver Plank. Nice to meet you.”

  “Captain Plank? I was expecting Captain Rhodes,” I said, looking to gauge his reaction.

  “Ah, yes. Captain Rhodes.”

  “God rust ‘is ole,’” Dan said.

  “God rest his soul,” The captain said. “See, he used to be the captain of this beautiful ship, but he fell victim of the sea.”

  “Fall overboard?”

  “Not exactly. When I say sea, I mean ‘C’, you know, the…”

  He started counting on his fingers. “Third letter of the alphabet.”

  “I see… Cancer, right? I’m sorry to hear that.”

  A wave of trepidation come over me.

  “No, not cancer. ‘C’ is for crabs.”

  “Is this a crab boat?”

  “No, not that kind of crabs. The little lousy biting ones. Did I mention that he had a hook for a hand? No? Well, he lost a hand; got ‘er wrapped up in the anchor chain and lost it on the pulley. Ol’ one-handed Captain Rhodes got hooked up…ha!” He laughed. “Hooked up, with a little whore in Cuba and she gave him crabs. We warned him, even tried to put a cork on the end of that hook every evening. One night it was Dan’s turn to put the cork on, but he had fallen overboard that night; I think it was a Tuesday. Doesn’t matter, it wasn’t anything unusual. Ol’ Rhodes spent a night of drinking and went to bed with the hook still on. Sometime in the night, he went and tried to scratch with the wrong hand. Died a painful death, he did. Bled out in the bed. We wonder if once he realized what he did, or if maybe he just gave up on life.”

  “Ouch. A victim of the C.”

  Marco laughed and pointed toward my nether regions.

  “So, this Dan… You said that for him to fall overboard was nothing unusual?”

  “That’s how he got his name, among other things. Durable Dan.”

  “Ah, Durable Dan. I couldn’t understand his name.”

  “That’s because he lost a bet last week. Dan is so stupid he could fall into a barrel of tits and come out sucking his thumb. So anyway, the guys bet him he couldn’t go a whole week without falling overboard. Dan made it three days. So he had to put a jellyfish in his mouth for ten minutes. His tongue will be swollen for a week or so, I’d guess.”

  “Yuck,” I said, imagining a jellyfish in the mouth. “Isn’t that poisonous?”

  “Meh. I don’t think there’s a poison out there that could kill Dan. When he gets to drinkin’, I’ve seen him chug kerosene until we stop him. Gets up the next morning, stupid as ever, but he gets up. One of the times he fell overboard, a shark bit into him and didn’t like the taste of the ol’ boy. It spit him out and then he was attached by barracudas. The ‘cudas didn’t like him either, cause he floated for days, bleeding and carrying on until we found him again on the return trip. He soaks his toothbrush in bleach, so when Sunday comes around and he goes to brush his teeth, the brush is nice and fresh. Good ol’ stupid Dan doesn’t even rinse that brush off. Just starts using it. One time we had to drain the diesel tank on the boat, so we got Dan to start the suction on the line. We had to stop him when we saw diesel fuel runnin’ down his chin. Then there was the one time…”

  “Uh, not to interrupt.”

  “You just did.” The Captain had a look of dejection on his face; his gaze went to the ground, his shoulders sagged.

  “Did what?”

  “Interrupt. Right when I was getting to the good part. Here I was, about to enlighten you with a touching yarn about Dan being locked in the hold for two weeks as the boat was impounded. He was scared, so he kept quiet and lived on chum and sea water that seeped in through the bilge pump line. It’s quite a dramatic and touching tale, brings a tear to yonder eye, but now you’ve gone and ruined the moment. Moments like that don’t come often, and now it’s gone.”

  “Sorry, but we’re trying to get to Jamaica, or more specifically, Saint Elizabeth Parish. Does this boat go there?”

  “This boat goes wherever I point her. For the right price, she’ll go to Jamaica.”

  “What’s the right price?”

  “Hmm. I’d say to look at you, you’ve got about two fifty on ya’. So two fifty it is. Might have been two hundred if you’d let me finish my story.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know how important…”

  “It’s over. We’ll get you to Jamaica on the Tropic of Cancer. We got a deal?”

  “Deal Captain.”

  We shook hands.

  “Oh, just so we’re clear. That deal is to get you to Jamaica. Didn’t say nothing ‘bout bringing you back.”

  The Captain smiled like a cat eating the canary. He clearly thought I’d need a trip back too.

  “That’s fine. Just need to get there. If things go as I expect, there’s a ship there with my name on it.”

  “We set sail in an hour.”

  The captain grumbled as he walked off, then turned back. “Stay out of the way, and keep your hairy girlfriend on a leash.”

  “She’s, I mean he’s not my….” Why am I arguing? I turned to Marco. “Stay out of trouble. Remember, this if for Gina and the entire planet. Don’t screw it up.”

  Marco responded with a smart salute.

  “So, the Tropic of Cancer is taking on passengers now,” a voice said from behind me.

  I looked around to find its source; a wiry sailor with thick glasses. Strapped to his arm I saw the largest wristwatch I had ever seen. “I ain’t sharing my bunk with ya’.”

  “I wasn’t planning on taking anyone’s bunk,” I said, then quickly added, “And you are?”

  “They call me Skippy. Took a harpoon to the knee a while back. It healed up pretty good, but every once in a while, when I’m in a hurry, she locks up and I end up skippin’ across the deck.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Damn right, ouch. Cap’n didn’t want to waste the harpoon, so he wouldn’t let us cut the barb off. Had to pull it back through.” He reached down, rubbing his knee as he recalled the trauma. “Ya’ know, you shoulda’ let the Cap’n finish his story. Now he’s gonna’ sulk for the rest of the day.”

  “Sorry.”

  The hatch door opened and another sailor appeared.“What’s a’matter with the Cap’n? He seems sulky!” he said, closing the hatch. He appeared younger than the other men, his hair in a perfect pompadour.

  “Stranger here interrupted his story, Ron. You know, his favorite story, Dan when the ship was impounded.”

  “Oh, jeez. He’ll be pissed for hours. What’d you do that for, uh…”

  “Raka. The name’s Raka. I didn’t know…”

  “Doesn’t matter. Gives us something to bet on. Skippy, you want in on the over or under set at four hours of sulking?”

  “I’m in for ten dollars on the over,” Skippy said.

  “I’ll mark you down. You in, Ricky?”

  “Raka.”

  “Whatever. You bettin’?”

  “I’ll pass. Thanks, though.”

  “I’ll see if Durable Dan is dumb enough to bet on exactly four hours,” Ron said as we walk
ed away.

  About the time the boat left the dock, it occurred to me that I had never traveled by water vessel before. I found the incessant rocking sickening, the repeated changes in my location vertically, how the storm on the horizon looked as if it could rise up to flip this boat over without even trying, and what creatures lay in wait under the surface to consume us. That is, everyone except Dan. They’d apparently reject Dan.

  I very nearly made it almost ten minutes before my stomach rejected everything I had ever eaten. I quickly learned why it’s better to puke from the back of the boat than the front, into the wind, in front of a group of semi-surly sailors. I didn’t appreciate their humor in calling us ‘Marco and Barfo’, but the handle stuck.

  Once I had completely purged every molecule of food and water from my body, I made my way to the front of the boat to see land growing in the distance. I wiped my face and chin with the back of my hand and called out ‘Jamaica!’ as I pointed to it.

  “No. Cuba,” Ron said, combing his hair into perfection. “Gotta’ make a quick stop along the way.”

  “Cuba?!” I said, louder than intended. “We can’t go to Cuba! There’s an embargo, and the…”

  “Don’t worry about the embargo. Cap’n knows what he’s doing. You know what an embargo is, don’cha?”

  “It’s when the government says it’s illegal for us to be here!”

  “Nah. That’s the snooty Washington answer. In reality, an embargo is an opportunity for profit. Poor tired Cubans are making the best damn cigars in the world, and we help them by circumventing a stupid little law that says we shouldn’t be entrepreneurial spirits. It goes against everything American, everything that is right, and everything that is capitalism. I ask, what would Superman do?”

  “Superman?”

  “You know, blue skivvies, dragging a long cape, giant S on his shirt. Strips down in a phone booth to save the day.”

  “Yeah, I know who Superman is. Where are you going with this?” I said.

  “He stands for Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Truth is, Cubans have cigars to sell. Justice is paying them a fair price, based upon the risks we take in transporting said cigars and the American Way is making a profit on what other people create. When Superman is on your side, how can a silly embargo get in your way?”

  “You do know Superman is fiction, don’t you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s an ideal, concept, and dream. Superman would help us get these cigars and sell them at a tidy profit. Hell, he’d probably just fly in there and get them for us. But since he’s not here, it’s up to us.”

  “What if we get caught?” I said.

  “Criminal charges. Probably ten years in prison and a ten thousand dollar fine. But don’t worry, the odds of the coast guard being at the right place, at the right time to catch us, are one in a million.”

  “I don’t suppose I could convince the Captain to drop me off in Jamaica first?”

  “Not when he’s sulking. Your best bet is to lay low and just wait it out. Cap’n will go on shore, spend about an hour, maybe two if he decides to get his drink on or indulge in some other activities. Then he’ll come back with some donkeys in tow carrying big crates of smokes. We’ll be on our way before you can say, ‘Holy crap that was a fast trip to Cuba to get some smokes, drink, and happy-happy time!’”

  “Right, because that’s exactly what I’d say.”

  I noticed we worked our way around a natural peninsula. “I suppose where docking in that cove?”

  “Exactly. We’ve got a nice hidden alcove where we can hide the boat and nobody can see us. You just sit tight.”

  That’s exactly what I did, except for the sitting part. I paced, walking the perimeter of the boat. I couldn’t sit down. If I tried to sit, my legs twitched, and a sence of dread came over me. The Captain had been gone for nearly two hours. Finally, I saw him return with donkeys in tow. I anxiously tried to help them get the big crates on board so we could get underway again, but I likely hindered more than helped. To my relief, we finally started on our way again.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad,” Ron said from the front of the ship as it started to round the corner back into open waters. “We’ll never get caught, never get…”

  Ron stopped in mid-sentence as his jaw dropped wide. Approaching the cove we saw a Coast Guard Cutter, coming straight toward us. “Turn to starboard, hard!” He said, looking toward the pilot’s station,“Coast Guard cutter ahead! Looks like a three-two-seven foot Secretary Class! Turn us now!”

  The pilot spun the wheel and the Tropic of Cancer tilted hard as her forward momentum fought to continue its linear path and the rudder fought to turn the boat nearly ninety degrees. I watched as Durable Dan slid across the deck, striking the railing and gripping it for dear life, his legs flipping into the air as he struggled. But Dan held, and as the boat rocked back into level, I watched him pull himself back onto the deck. I stared at him, with actual surprise that he didn’t fall overboard. The pilot eased the wheel back and we slipped alongside the cutter, perhaps fifty feet between the ships. The cutter looked huge, much bigger than the Tropic of Cancer, and as we passed, I saw sailors readying scoped rifles. I made it a point to get something solid between myself and that ship in case they started firing.

  A screeching voice came over a loudspeaker. “Crew of the Tropic of Cancer, this is the United States Coast Guard. You are in violation of United States law. This is your only warning. Drop anchor and prepare to be boarded!”

  Captain Plank emerged from below deck, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hat askew. He yelled to Dan. “Quit screwing around and fetch me the megaphone.”

  Dan scampered off.

  “Captain!” the pilot said. “Do you want me to cut the engines?”

  “No. Not until I order it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Dan reappeared with a white megaphone and handed it to Captain Plank. The captain slowly walked to the back of the boat and in view of the Coast Guard Cutter, raised the device to his mouth and talked into it. Nothing came out. He looked at the megaphone, turned it over, worked a couple of buttons and opened up an access panel. He pointed to the megaphone and yelled, “No batteries. Just a minute. Dan! Fetch me Four D-cells from my office desk.”

  “Captain Plank!” The cutter said. “Stop your engines and drop anchor immediately. Prepare to be boarded.”

  The cutter started her turn, preparing to give chase if needed.

  The Captain raised his hands and pointed to Dan, running off to find the batteries. When Dan returned, the Captain fumbled with them, dropped them twice, and finally got them into the megaphone. All the time the Tropic of Cancer moved out to sea. He finally got the megaphone to screech loudly, and he began talking. “Now what seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?”

  “Captain Plank. We watched you illegally enter Cuban territory and have reason to believe you are carrying contrabands in violation of United States law. Stop your ship immediately or we will open fire.” We gained distance from the cutter as it finished its turn, but we couldn’t outrun them. I looked at the Captain and saw a look of deep contemplation on his face; he stroked his chin with one hand while he looked upward and his eyes searched left and right until he curled a crooked smile. He lowered the megaphone and called to Dan. “Dan, I need you at the back of the ship. It’s time for a game.”

  “A game Cap’n?” Dan said, smiling broadly, “Wha’ game?”

  “Simon says, Dan. You know that game?”

  “Yep!” Dan beamed as the Captain led him to the back of the boat.

  “Simon says put your hands in your pockets,” Captain Plank said.

  Dan did exactly as told.

  “Now pull one out and point your finger at my head.”

  Dan didn’t budge.

  “Good. Simon says, pull one hand out of your pockets and point it at my head.”

  Dan obliged.

  “Now, Simon says take to giant steps backward.”

  Dan took
two big steps backward, until he stood less than a foot from the rail.

  “Good. Simon says take two more giant steps backward.”

  Dan did just that, falling over the railing and into the sea.

  “Good boy, Dan. Now, Simon says make it really hard for the Coast Guard to save you. If they throw you a line, don’t hold on to it. Act like you’re panicked. Buy us some time, Dan. When they get you, act stupid. I mean, just be yourself.”

  “Okay, Cap’n! I like this game!” Dan said, as the Tropic of Cancer left him behind. The Coast Guard went into rescue mode as the ‘man-overboard’ call wailed. They threw Dan a life-ring but he batted it away in a Simon-Says-instructed panic. The cutter came to a stop and they started lowering a lifeboat into the sea. All the while, we pulled away from them. The captain took the wheel and expertly steered the ship directly toward the sun until we could barely see the cutter with the ship’s biggest binoculars. Then he cranked the wheel, full speed ahead to Jamaica.

  Chapter 25

  Jamaican Bacon

  Much to my surprise, Marco and I actually made it to Jamaica. The Tropic of Cancer docked at a grimy, tiny port with docks stained with fish guts and bird crap. A smell surpassing putrid and bordering on deathly, with an occasional sickly-sweet aroma I remembered from the shuttlecraft. Marco sniffed the air and smiled broadly. We hadn’t walked ten steps before a too-thin local approached me.

  “Hey Mon! What’choo lookin’ fo’? Ganja, rum, a woman maybe?”

  H nearly jet black skin and dreadlocked hair matched a cheeky grin. “I know this girl, you’ll like her, you see. She’s got a butt dis wide!”

  He held his hands apart at least three feet. “Big Betty. Dat’ butt sticks out so straight you can set yo’ drink on it. She works at the pub. Late at night she’ll serve drinks that way, set the tray on da’ top of ‘er butt, and back ‘em on up to the tables! For a fella’ like you and a little bit o’ ‘Merican money, she’d show you a thin’ or two.”

  “No! Not interested,” I said, a little louder than I meant to.

  “Okay, mon, it’s no trouble. What’choo lookin’ fo’?”