Bahama Breeze

by Eddie Jones

Tommy tried to swallow, but his saliva glands were dry. His arm pits were wet, though, and his hands shaking.

  Without a word, the soldiers moved towards the bay door. The copter banked and hovered over the ship’s fantail, agitating the water around the people bobbing inside inflatable doughnuts. A pair of nylon ropes spooled free; soldiers clipped in.

  The first wave of Rough Riders dropped like wolf spiders. The pilot adjusted the pitch of the nose, holding the copter steady until the last of Strike Team Bravo (Tommy) clipped in.

  Tommy sat on the edge of the helicopter, with his legs dangling high above the listing ship. This definitely qualifies as hazardous duty and deserves a pay grade bump.

  “All set?” the copter’s co-pilot called.

  Tommy was about to tell the officer he couldn’t swim when he tumbled out, falling like a lead weight as the repelling line spun freely. He sank with the speed of a camouflaged fishing lure threaded to a ten ounce lead weight.

  ****

  Anna slumped against the cooler door, heart pounding, fingers trembling. How long could she last in here? Hours? Days? Weeks? What if Boggs forgot her? What if Martinez got rough? What if I have to go potty? For a long time she sat there, bound by fear.

  Then she got mad. This was Sonny’s fault and Boggs’s doing. Her anger took the form of two fists and she began pounding on the door, yelling for someone to let her out.

  “Don’t waste your time,” a voice called from behind her. “I’ve tried already.”

  A disposable cigarette lighter flickered on, illuminating a familiar face shaded by a captain’s cap. Mortarboards decorated the shoulders of his white shirt.

  “You’re the captain?” asked Anna.

  “Not me. Him,” said the man, pointing to a pair of black shoes peeking from beneath a sheet of butcher wrap.

  Lifting a corner Anna stared at the body. “Dead?”

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “How?”

  “Food poisoning.”

  “Where’s the rest of the crew?”

  “Abandoned ship.”

  “So, when the going gets tough the tough walk, is that it?”

  “It’s called salary stagnation.”

  “So it’s just you, me, and him?” asked Anna, covering up the corpse.

  “And us.”

  Will and Betsy emerged from behind a stack of apple pies.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Betsy. “What were we thinking taking another gig after the fiasco at the grand opening? And on this tub, too. But Will had this crazy idea we’d make a few extra few bucks and catch a free ride back to Florida. We need to stock up on supplies and the Bahamas import tax is killer.”

  “But then Betsy saw your congressman friend taking money from Cuban nationals and she threatened to phone the authorities,” Will said. “He threw us in here to keep us quiet. Said if we didn’t do as he said, he’d report us to customs.”

  Anna noticed a fourth person standing behind the pair. “Who’s she?”

  “Boggs’s speech writer,” said the man with the mortarboards. “Ingrid something.”

  “Vandebosch, silly.” She snuggled up to the man with the lighter, running her finger down the side of his neck.

  “Hey, I know you,” said Anna, stepping into the glow of the lighter. “You’re the guy from the grand opening. Joe, right?”

  “Care for a wiener. I was getting ready to build a fire and roast a pack.” With his lighter he torched the flap on a case of frankfurters, igniting the box.

  Anna said, “Won’t we die from smoke inhalation?”

  “This box has great ventilation. See?” Joe pointed to a vent in the ceiling. “Course it also means we can hear the screams and cries of drowning passengers.”

  “And my guitar being mauled by people who have no talent and no business touching our soundboard and karaoke machine,” added Betsy.

  A deafening bass chord vibrated a metal rack of lamb chops. Heads turned upwards as all five prisoners strained to identify the artist.

  “Boz Scaggs,” said Joe, beaming. “Classic.”

  “Who’s Scaggs?” asked the speech writer.

  “Only the whitest guy ever to sing soul music,” Joe said. “When Boz played with Duane Allman and the Muscle Shoals rhythm section, he laid down some serious molten blues. Of course, he was working with some great talent. Tom Scott, Les Dudek, Rita Coolidge.”

  “Rita Coolidge?” shot back Betsy. “You sure?”

  “I might be wrong about her. They both recorded We’re All Alone, so I get them confused. Plus, there’s that name, Boz Scaggs. Is that cool, or what? I remember listening to Silk Degrees my sophomore year in college.” Joe said. “Met this girl at Myrtle Beach. Short dark hair, dimpled cheeks, baby-doll button eyes. At night, I’d bring my portable eight-track player down to the pool and we’d float around and listen to Silk Degrees over and over again. I can still hear those ‘Harbor Lights’ calling me. She was my siren song.”

  “Siren song?” asked Anna.

  “Greek mythology,” Betsy added. “Sirens were dangerous bird-women. Sirens lived on an island surrounded by cliffs and rocks. Legend has it that any sailor who dared to come near her shores was seduced by the Sirens’s songs and sultry voices.”

  “That girl broke my heart,” said Joe. “And fractured my pelvis.” He unsheathed a pack of hotdog rolls and spread them around the fire. He turned toward Anna. “Ever been married?”

  “Me? No.”

  Joe pulled a crate of asparagus close to the flames and sat. Looking over at Will and Betsy he asked, “How long ya’ll been together?”

  “Coming up on five years,” said Will.

  Betsy corrected him. “Six.”

  “I’m surprised you never got married,” said Will, spreading out a blanket of pizza crusts for his wife.

  Betsy sat, looping her arm around Will’s waist.

  “I almost did. Once,” said Anna. “But he left before I had a chance to say yes.”

  “And you didn’t go after him?” asked the speech writer.

  “Wasn’t my place.”

  “I heard that,” said Betsy. “Play hard to get. You got to make them want you by playing hard to get.”

  “Did it work? Did he come back crawling on his knees?” Joe asked.

  Anna thought of Sonny stranded on the island, trapped by the storm. She mentally listed all the ways he’d tried to apologize, all the candy and fake flowers, the Hawaiian sling and the book on dangerous underwater sea creatures he’d given her as a token of his love. She sighed deeply. “Not right away. And when he did, it was too late.”

  “Gotta strike while the iron is hot,” said Joe. “Speaking of which, anybody see a coat hanger? Might want to roast some marshmallows in a few minutes. No?”

  Joe wandered off and began to disassemble a metal storage rack. His speech writer friend hurried to help.

  Anna took her seat on the box of Idaho baking potatoes. Tucking her knees tight, she thought of Sonny. Of all the things he could’ve done with the last days of his life, he’d come searching for her. My God, what an idiot, I am. Who says no to a man dying to love you?

  Betsy took her husband’s hand and pulled it to her chest. “Will?”

  “Yeah, B.,” Will said, warming his feet over the fire.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “I’m all éclairs.”

  “I swear, you make one more joke...”

  “I wasn’t kidding. This box I’m sitting on, it’s full of éclairs.” Will licked cream filled goo from his fingers.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Will stopped sucking his knuckles. “How? I mean, I know how. But…”

  “I stopped taking the pill. That’s why I’ve felt so lousy. Didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

  “Really? That’s awesome! But I thought we decided—”

  “I’m tired of playing gigs like this where nobody is sober enough to remember the words to 70’s hits. I want us to have kids,
and a dog, and a house on a lot so small we can see into our neighbor’s living room because we’re in a cookie-cutter-development where everyone’s trying to build equity so they can move into a custom home without vinyl siding. Is that asking too much?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Joe, straightening a pronged spear.

  “Me, either,” added the speech writer.

  “Can I have a TV in the garage?” Will asked.

  “Why the garage?”

  “I’ve seen other men in their garage on Sunday afternoons watching stock car races, football games, and bowling, and I always thought it’d be cool to have my own TV mounted over the work bench.”

  “Will, you can have anything you want if you can find a way to get us off this ship and back home.”

  Will wiped chocolate icing on the side of his shorts. “Pregnant, huh? That’s so cool. And I thought you had a touch of food poisoning.”

  “Might have been some of that, too.”

  Anna felt a pang of envy. She imagined what it might be like to have kids, a mortgage, and stupid fights over who left the cap off the toothpaste. She thought of how it would be to curl up on the couch to watch TV with something other than her bathrobe, wake up beside a warm and snoring body and have to remember to check the lid on the toilet before sitting.

  She’d heard the carping from other married women, listened to the whining of how un-appreciated they felt and overwhelmed they were by the responsibilities of career, housework, and homework.

  Marriage, especially after the guys she’d dated in college, just never seemed all that exciting. But maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe she’d never experience that deep longing to share her body and the intimate thoughts that haunted her until she found that one mate who could storm the gates of her heart and sweep her away.

  She couldn’t be sure (how could anyone ever be sure?), but she suspected a knight in rusting armor was at that very moment traipsing around an island searching for a way to save her.

  Startled by the sudden glare of a bank of fluorescent kitchen lights, Anna shielded her eyes.

  Boggs stood in the open door, barking orders. “You four. Out.”

  “Which four?” asked Joe, chewing a burned hot dog.

  Boggs pointed at the group. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”

  Anna jumped up.

  “Not you, doll. You stay put.”

  “We all go, or none of us goes,” Betsy said.

  “Hush, woman. Man says he’s letting us go, we go.”

  “Will, where’s your sense of chivalry?”

  “In your tummy. Now come on.”

  The speech writer cocked her head. “Are those helicopters I hear?”

  “Chinooks. Or maybe SeaHawks,” said Boggs. “I still get my military birds mixed up. Had to do a little fast talking, but I got you all rides off this tub. You’ll have to hurry, though.”

  “If you think you I’m going to keep quiet and leave her in here, you’d better think again,” Betsy said.

  Will clamped his hand over his wife’s mouth. “Which way, boss?”

  “Through those doors and up the stairs. U. S. Marines will be waiting for you on deck. Good luck.”

  Will pushed his wife past Boggs and toward the dining room doors. Joe and the speech writer followed quickly.

  “Please, Bill. Don’t do this.”

  “Trust me. You’ll thank me once you start getting calls from the White House congratulating you for risking your life by going deep behind enemy lines to be our ears and eyes, though hopefully, not our mouth.”

  “But you said you were selling me to the Cubans. Which lie should I believe?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Both leave you with Martinez and me in the clear.”

  “Bill, you need help, you really do. Giving an intelligence data analyst to the enemy? That’s your idea of national security?”

  “Give? Don’t be stupid? You’re worth a million at least. More if I play this right. That’s the beauty of my plan. It’s a win-win for everyone. I get a huge influx of cash, America gets a spy in Cuba—something we haven’t had in like, forever—and you become a national hero. Unless you end up dead. No, wait. Even dead, you’re a hero. See? Told you I’d fix things for you.”

  “Your concern for my reputation is touching.”

  “Now, remember. Not a word to Martinez about our little deal.” Boggs slammed the door shut, leaving her alone to enjoy the aroma of backyard burgers and dogs grilling on a kitchen cooler’s fire.

  ****

  Brute waves smashed into the Wicked Witch, washing over the swim platform and threatening to pull Sonny down and under. He dangled from the food service ladder, one hand clinging to the railing, the other clutching the front of his swim trunks to keep them from slipping off.

  Coast Guard boats circled nearby; voices called through bull horns. Passengers, purses, and carry-on luggage littered the water. Nationally affiliated news helicopters ducked and swerved as they tried to avoid each other amidst the squadron of military aircraft swarming overhead.

  Near the back of the ship soldiers scurried down dark nylon ropes to gather those who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—move, herding the frightened guests into litter baskets.

  Sonny scaled the ladder and flopped onto the deck, but before he could crawl to his feet, he found himself almost run down by an old woman bumping a metal walker as fast as she could go.

  Behind her, a U. S. Marine emerged wearing camo gear. The soldier swept the deck with his gaze and pointed the woman towards the pool area where a cluster of feeble, scared, and seriously confused cruise ship passengers huddled near a diving board painted to look like the end of the Yellow Brick Road.

  Sonny stood and caught the closing door, preparing to step inside.

  “Sorry, sir. We’re evacuating the ship.”

  Eyeing the soldier’s shirt sleeve, Sonny said, “Corporal, is it? This won’t take but a second.”

  “No time to argue, sir. This way.”

  The soldier pushed Sonny toward the pool area.

  Sonny braked and spun. “I need to check on someone. Make sure she’s safe.”

  “Trust me, sir. We’ve swept the ship from bow to stern. You and the others by the pool are all that’s left.”

  “Gotta see for myself,” said Sonny, pushing past the soldier.

  A second commando came jogging up the side deck, his armor clattering. “Corporal O’Malley, what’s the problem?”

  “He refuses to leave, sir.”

  The square-jawed officer pressed his face close to Sonny’s. “Mister, our orders are to evacuate everyone from this ship, not just those who want to go. Got it?” The officer gave Sonny a hard shove in the chest, driving him towards the evacuation area.

  “I can’t leave until I know for certain she’s safe.”

  “Can and will,” he said, pinning Sonny’s arm behind his back and driving him forward. “Corporal, see that he gets on that helo. Then, once he’s safely aboard, make another sweep of the ship just to make sure. See, mister? This is how the few, the proud, the professionally trained stand in the gap for you civilians.”

  Reluctantly, Sonny joined the others by the pool. Large rescue baskets landed on deck. Soldiers secured the passengers and sent them skyward towards the helicopter. Sonny eyed a door on the other side of the pool area marked DINING HALL.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Corporal O’Malley said, stepping in front of Sonny to block his escape.

  An empty basket returned. Holding the rope steady, O’Malley said, “In you go.”

  Sonny was about to step into the basket when a well-tanned man came running toward them wearing a yellow rain coat. “Hey, I’m next!”

  “After him,” said O’Malley.

  “But you promised!” The man protested.

  “I’m in no hurry,” said Sonny, stepping out of the swinging seat. “Women and children first.”

  The man glared at Sonny. “Who’s this clown?”

  “The guy who’s kee
ping you from getting off this ship, Congressman. In you go, sir.” O’Malley held the basket steady, nodding for Sonny to sit.

  “Hey, didn’t I see you on the dock yesterday?” asked the man in the raincoat. “You were on that sailboat, right?’

  Sonny, at last making the connection, said, “I—ah—hunted for that phone. Didn’t find it.”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it. It turned up. Was actually on…” Sonny noticed the man’s expression change. “Never mind. You say you’re searching for someone?”

  “A woman. About five-six. Curly-haired brunette.”

  “She left a few minutes ago,” he said. “I helped her find her way topside, myself.”

  “You sure? You’re absolutely positive she’s not on this ship?”

  “My God, man. I’m a presidential candidate and a United States Congressman. Would I lie to you?”

  35

  Anna’s fists were raw and sore from banging on the cooler door. Her throat ached from hollering. The pungent odor of charred burgers and franks hung in the air. She’d doused the fire, leaving only the smoldering embers of corrugated industrial packaging. Her world was definitely slip-sliding towards chaos with each shuddering groan of the ship.

  Metal racks tipped and fell, dumping drumsticks onto her shins. Boxes skidded across the floor. Chickpeas bounced on the cement flooring of the cooler like pebbles.

  Anna tried the door, again, pounding until she heard what sounded like the murmur of voices in the kitchen.

  “Is there someone out there?” she yelled, hoarsely.

  Another rack fell over, drowning out her cries. The Wicked Witch moaned as the metal hull twisted. Anna crawled from under the rack, wiping apple pie filling from her face.

  More murmuring and then a second voice, closer. “Better get topside, O’Malley. While we still can.”

  “Wait!” yelled Anna, kicking away cases of crab legs. “I’m in here!”

  The footsteps faded. “I’m in here,” she repeated, scratching on the door. “Please, come back.”

  ****

  Sonny sat on the floor of a Sea Hawk helicopter, his back against the bulkhead, knees tucked to his chest. Through the open bay door, he watched as mountainous waves swept across the harbor, up the beach and over a sea wall. The Wicked Witch canted severely to one side, the storm surge washing over the lower decks.