Flotilla

by Daniel Haight

  My first view of Stacy in five months was her running in from the back screaming “Fire!” What do they say about the best-laid plans? Never mind.

  Stacy lands in my arms, screaming about the fire. Flames were already popping out from somewhere to the rear. Dad and Miguel immediately charged aft holding extinguishers while Stacy and I watched from the dock. People came running, including one guy holding a salt-water fire hose, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Miguel emptied his extinguisher down the small porthole in the engine bay and ended the emergency. Of course, now the boat and the produce were smoke-damaged. Of course, no one wants a tomato that smells like burnt plastic but that was only the beginning.

  After demanding they be reimbursed for the now-unsellable produce, the hydroponic farmers decided they would rather work together and create a small storefront that ‘wasn’t so stuck-up’. In less than 20 minutes, Dad had lost his boat and most of his vendors. Then the Pac Fish Rescue Team arrived ... they wanted an accident report on the operation they were part owners of. According to Pac Fish, if you set your own boat on fire, they give it a shrug and maybe a funeral. If something that belongs to them happens to burn, then it becomes a Loss Management issue.

  They asked questions about the boat itself, how 'it arrived on Colony D when the accident investigation was still more or less in progress on Colony B.' Like that was our fault … Miguel got permission to take the thing from some admin guy he knew on Colony B. But wait, it gets better.

  It turns out that the boat was involved in a wrongful-death lawsuit filed against Pacific Fisheries because someone died of smoke inhalation trying to put the fire out. Their attorneys wanted to haul the scow in to shore for an inch-by-inch investigation on how the fire started.

  When the boat became the Cooger & Dark, any evidence they were planning to use disappeared and they were screaming ‘cover-up!’ Pac Fish was very unhappy that a key piece of evidence was now unavailable to be used to help their case.

  Their unhappiness landed like a rotting carcass in the office of the Asset Manager on Colony B who had given it to Miguel. That person was afraid for his job and was burning up the air between Colonies B and D demanding that Dad and Miguel help get him out of this mess. Dad wanted to spend the afternoon with me, but instead I was stuck farting around on the Horner. Dad and Miguel returned around seven or eight that evening. Dad immediately poured a drink for each of them. A double-shot of tequila each ... the meeting had not been pleasant. Dad tossed his back and grunted as the alcohol hit him. “Those guys are a cross between a CPA, a lawyer and a cop,” he said darkly.

  “What’s a CPA?” That was a new one, to me.

  “An accountant.” There was a brief, ominous pause.

  “What’s an accountant?” Give me a break, I’m 14.

  “Look it up!” Dad suddenly roared. Over by the console, I could see Miguel hiding his mile by ducking his head and massaging the bridge of his nose. This should have been funny to me. Under normal circumstances, I would have been cracking up at this little sitcom. Instead, I was depressed. It was just as crazy here as it was at Mom’s house … maybe more so. I didn’t know it at that the time but it was about to get a lot worse.

  Our current position is: 34°55'16.74"N 120°42'26.90"W

  Chapter Eleven - A Cane-Sugar Coke and the Trash Man

  The next day, I was stuck having to restocking the cold case with water, beer and soda at the Gun Range. I wouldn't have minded, but I had to listen to yet another conference call between Dad, Miguel and the admin guy on Colony B. The Cooger & Dark was a smoky and sour-smelling hulk tied to the fishing porch. If I had a choice I would have gladly been elsewhere.

  “What about all the remodeling we’ve done?” Dad complained.

  The asset manager was aghast. “You remodeled it?”

  “Of course,” Dad sounded puzzled, no surprise there. What did Pac Fish think they were going to do with it, set up a floating ‘don’t play with matches’ museum?

  “So now the boat can’t be investigated because all the original wood, flooring and paint have been removed.” The manager’s question wasn’t really a question at all…more of a statement.

  “Uh…I guess.” Dad still sounded bewildered. Since when was this an issue, much less their issue? I heard the manager sigh and it sounded like a weak fart on the speakerphone line.

  “Do you idiots have any idea what you’ve done?” the manager asked.

  Miguel suddenly straightened up. “No, what have we done?” he asked, sounding concerned.

  “You guys just cost this company a million-two in a legal settlement. Those idiots are gonna walk off with the store and you helped them do it.” The sheer audacity of the man was something new to me. I’m 14 years old and even I know how it works; Dad and Miguel weren’t in the wrong – this guy was. There was no way they could pin it on Miguel or his Dad.

  Unfortunately – Dad didn’t see it that way. “How did we help them do it?” he asked and I winced, hearing the wheedling in Dad’s voice.

  You don't have to be an adult to know that a career middle-manager like that takes anything that sounds like weakness as a signal to go for the throat. I don’t know how I knew that … instinct, I guess. I just wish that it was somehow instinctive for my father, too. He had somehow missed that lesson. Fortunately, Miguel was there to catch it and he handled it neatly.

  The distortion of the manager’s shout into the phone made it difficult to hear. “You idiots just destroyed the one piece of evidence we could have used to prove that it was their fault!”

  “After you gave it to us.” Miguel was calm, almost icy. It reminded me of that day on the dock when Miguel was asking me whether I was ‘through drinking’. I braced myself.

  “I didn’t give you permission to tamper with evidence!”

  “No, you just gave it to us – you relinquished your control over whatever happened to the boat after that.”

  “But not to remodel it!”

  “Says who?” Miguel wanted to know. “I have a ‘Release of Ownership’ signed by you and I’ll be happy to show it to anyone who wants to see it.”

  “You think anyone’s going to care about that after I tell them that you remodeled the boat? They’ll just hear ‘one point two million dollars…lost…by you knuckleheads on the water out there’ and that’s all they will need to know!”

  I was stunned – what a jackass! Did he seriously think he could screw Dad and Miguel like this? When people sounded so certain it automatically made me wonder what they knew that I did not. I tended to believe, by default, that they probably knew more than I did. But this is why it’s nice to have a guy like Miguel around.

  Not even blinking, he replied “What makes you think they don’t already know about the release?”

  “Well – “ the line went silent and I thought they lost the call. I could still hear the hissing of the connection and so I knew he was thinking. Pac Fish staff frequently got it into their heads that the Colony folk were dependent on them for any communication with the homeland offices and it made them arrogant.

  Pac Fish employees tend throw their weight around with us. The more ignorant citizens get messed with in ways that make me ill. Miguel had learned early and often that it paid to have his own listening ears. Fortunately for us, Miguel had already used them.

  “Why don’t you call Sally over in Loss Management and talk with her about it, Bob,” Miguel said. Now I had a name to go with the voice.

  Bob was one of the guys on Colony B that had built a reputation for efficiency and sleaziness that translated over to us. Dad introduced us last summer on the Phoenix but he didn't make much of an impression on me. Bob had his uses … in fact, he was one of Dad’s silent partners on a few scams. He was also was slimy enough to put all that to the side when things hit the fan. When it suited his purpose, he'd throw us under the bus. We were nothing but Colony trash to him. I never liked the guy.

  “You guys better get ready,” Bob sputtered angrily but I
could hear the difference in his voice. The fight was out of him. I had to smile as Miguel calmly explained the situation to Bob: that they were ready for anything Bob wanted to try. If that wasn't enough, they were comfortable solving this in the unofficial way if official channels were not sympathetic. The Cooger & Dark was hauled back to shore to be ‘investigated’ a day later. I never heard a word about it after that.

  Life started to settle back into the pattern I started last year. There were a few differences, though. At first, everyone was cheerful and friendly. It slowly started to be replaced with something silent and tense. People were nice to your face but they avoided the Horner if they could help it. Dad went back to being snappish and reclusive again, just like last summer.

  It bothered me but I didn’t want to signal anything to Madison when I called home. I bored her silly with stories about the crazy stuff we did out here and she was campaigning Mom to come out here.

  Whenever I talked to Mom or Marty I kept it simple. Everything was fine, Mom … I’m not having any trouble staying sober. No wino soccer moms out here, I wanted to say. Dad told me about a small group that did AA and NA stuff out here but I never got around to going. I was staying out of trouble, why waste my time?

  If I have one piece of advice about Pen Patrol, it's this: Don't take a break. My first day back was absolutely miserable. I thought at first that I was reacting to the cold - I felt my arms and chest getting tired and starting to burn. The ache continued to build when I was halfway through Pen 2 and by the time I jumped into Pen 3, I was feeling like a drowned rat. I took a lot of breaks and Dad started yelling at me like it was my first day on the job.

  "Get that skinny butt moving!" he shouted so loud I could hear him through the water. I could see him gesturing at me from the docks, arms moving like an angry Italian grandmother. I didn't bother coming up to straighten things out. Knowing Dad, the best course was to get things done as quickly as possible. Down at the bottom of Pen 2, I could see old repairs I performed last year. Dad had really let the nets go while I was gone.

  "Com'on, com'on!" I heard faintly. Nothing ever changes...you'd think he'd just be happy to see me again. It took over a week for the soreness to subside and then I was diving like a pro once again. I was pleased to see the flab I'd built up over the winter come melting off again. I was back to eating whatever I wanted to. I saw a lot less of Dad with his job on the Dixie and I was getting creeped out with some of what I was seeing around here. Where did he get the money for the Horner C Minor, anyway?

  One morning I was out hauling a couple of sacks of trash over to the Trash Man. They got rid of the garbage barge and put in a complicated recycling system. Whatever you couldn't recycle, you were supposed to take to the Trash Man and let him take care of it. He rolled a large-wheeled cart around all day long. An old white dude, flowing white hair covered with a greasy trucker’s cap…faded blue flannel shirt, jeans and old work boots. He was enjoying a cigarette in the morning breeze when I came up with the bags.

  “Got two more,” I grunted.

  “You’re Rick’s kid, right?”

  “Yeah.” I never spoke to him but I guess he was a friend of Dad's.

  He smiled, like we were old buddies. “Rick’s kid,” he said cheerfully. “Now that almost makes us family. Smoke?” He held out the butt to me, offering it.

  “No, no thanks,” I said, grossed out by the thought of sharing a cigarette, especially with this guy. Whatever … just another nut in the bin.

  “You’re Dad and me were doing some business,” he said. “Know where I can find him?”

  “He’s back on the boat.”

  “I mean when he wants to do business.” He peered intently at me.

  “Business?” I was puzzled. What was up with this floating funny farm? Couldn’t people make sense?

  “Never mind,” he said quickly. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He picked up the handles of the cart and started moving off down the docks, whistling something. I turned to see Dad watching us both quietly.

  “What did he want?” Dad said stiffly.

  “Nothing,” I said. “He was asking for you.”

  “Nothing?” he asked. “You sure?”

  “Uh…yeah,” I said. That guy was weird but Dad's reaction was even stranger. Too much going on that I didn’t know about – I didn’t want to get sucked into it.

  “Stay away from that guy, Jim,” he said. “I mean it. He’s trouble.” Dad didn’t explain more until we were back inside, but had a lot to say about people running scams that cut him out of business and how things had become a lot more stressful since my last visit. That was saying something…I thought things were full-on crazy the first time I visited. I hadn’t seen anything yet.

  The actual fishing being done by the Colony had dropped off considerably. People were still busy but they were running their own scams instead of raising fish. Pac Fish Admin had a bunch of memos out there complaining that ‘the metrics had fallen’ and the Security teams were making daily trips out here to crack down on the ‘non-mariculture-related businesses.’ The Trash Man was around more often. After our little chat, I started seeing him almost every day. He was always near our side of the Colony even though he was supposed to be taking care of everyone.

  Riley summed it up this way: “Yeah, it's different. But it isn't bad.” We were delivering produce for Grandma Alice and Marie – it gave us a chance to catch up. Little by little, I started learning more about the changes that had taken place since Christmas.

  “You know that Mitch is dealing, right?”

  “Yup,” I replied. No real shock there, after that run last year.

  We stopped down at the new 'Restaurant Row' that had appeared on C-Ring. Some boats had taken a page from the Dixie Star and opened a pho place, a taco stand and a grill. Pac Fish tolerated it and the food was good … I started swinging by for some fish tacos at lunch every day. The Phoenix Grill was still around, but Jeb was busy with his job on the Dixie Star and someone else was running it.

  “There's a lot more going on but it's cool,” Riley explained. “Let's face it, this place was always weird.”

  Maybe from Riley's perspective, that was true. For me, there was weird, there was Colony weird and then there was this. It really was getting more dangerous out here. Not everything had changed, though. Miguel and the Gun Range were still a popular destination and I resumed my duties as counter jockey / range master. Julian the sniper was still out there practicing with the two rifles – they didn’t bother me as much as they used to.

  Then there was Stacy. We had that little reunion on the dock while the Cooger & Dark almost burned down but it was a bit distracting, what with the fire and screaming. I planned to get to all that catching up we planned on over email and chat but then it seemed like she got too busy with everything her parents were working on. If I got to spend an hour with her, it was a good day … the rest of the time I had to wait for her to finish helping Ethan with Pen Patrol or run an errand.

  Pen Patrol got more difficult. New people had moved in next to us, on the other side of the Key West Forever. They were die-hard partiers that kept a situation going 24/7 on their boat. I’m serious: nonstop partying … it slowed down around sunrise but then started back up again in the early afternoon. It sounds awesome but when you have to get up at five and jump into freezing cold water to do your job, you want some peace and quiet. I wasn’t going to find it with nonstop noise, boozing and clouds of pot smoke going on next door. Dad tried hollering at them a few times but gave up and advised me to invest in some ear plugs.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this?” I finally asked Stacy one afternoon. We were on the top deck of the Seas of Cheese and watching her dad snorkel through pen chores. She shrugged and continued working on the toenail she was painting. She finished one foot and set it in my lap to dry while she worked on the other one. Stacy was looking hotter every day – my hormones were slowly overcoming my fear of her dad and his machete.

/>   “It’s always been weird, Jim,” she said. “You told me that on my first day.” This was true, I had to admit. It’s weird, but in a good way, I had told her. I took her around and made the introductions to people I thought she’d like to know. Partly out of courtesy and partly because I wanted guys like Mitch and Riley to know she was with me and therefore ‘hands off’.

  “There’s weird and then there’s weird,” I said, splitting my attention from her green toenails and the rest of her. Stacy was wearing a pair of short-shorts and a green bikini top that matched her nail polish. Do girls know what guys think about when they do that? I looked up to see her watching me with a mysterious smile. Yeah, they probably did. “It wasn’t always like this.”

  “That was before the accident,” Stacy said.

  “Accident?”

  “Yeah, a couple of guys got killed on the other side of the colony,” she explained. “My friend Ricky says they were killed at the Gun Range.”

  I was shocked … Dad had never mentioned this. “Killed at the Gun Range?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, so matter-of-fact that it scared me. “It’s a dangerous place, right?”

  “I know, but … “ I said. Then something else clicked with me. “Who’s Ricky?”

  “No one,” she said in a sing-song. People dying … random guys around my girlfriend? Girls, I thought darkly.

  So I guess people died at the Gun Range. Nice of Dad and Miguel to tell me. Following that, people started acting like hooligans and shattered the calm that we all worked to preserve last summer. How do you get from there to here in only a few months?

  I wanted to tell Mom about all of this but we were barely on speaking terms. Madison was dead set on coming out here and I could only drop so many hints. When she did get permission to visit, Dad started going crazy ‘getting things ready for his baby girl.’ Madison would be coming to join me for a few weeks and then we would be going back ashore together at the end of the summer. Dad had me running around cleaning up and fixing minor problems.