Lackbeard

by Cody B. Stewart

  “Someone’s outside,” Carter said. “A boat.”

  Brad shot upright. “Coast Guard?”

  “I don’t think so,” Carter said. “They haven’t identified themselves. Haven’t even turned their lights on. But I hear them.”

  The others began to stir.

  “What’s going on?” Louis asked. “Was it the chowder? Did I poison you? I knew I shouldn’t have used that can of smoked oysters. It expired last month.”

  “Eww, but no,” Carter said. “Someone’s here.”

  Darla and Brad pressed their faces to the portholes, looking for any sign of another boat. They saw nothing, but they heard the idling engine just as Carter had.

  “Something’s not right,” Brad said.

  “Definitely not,” Marcus agreed. “We should book. Slam on the gas, girl,” he said to Yvette.

  “Doesn’t work like that,” she said. “I need to fire up the engines first. Can’t just peel out of here.”

  “Well, we can’t just sit here,” Brad said.

  The crew paced for what felt like a lifetime. Carter immediately pondered every worst-case scenario. Maybe Ms. Roberts chartered a boat. She was a spiteful sort of person. But she wasn’t adventurous. Maybe she hired a bounty hunter. No, she didn’t have that kind of money. What if it didn’t have anything to do with Ms. Roberts at all?

  That scared Carter more. The thought of something totally unknown, just sitting out there in the dark.

  He quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time for fear. Now was the time when a pirate’s true mettle was tested. To sail into the unknown. To tread in uncharted lands. To peer over the edge of the world. To stare into the abyss and laugh. This was the moment when real pirates were made.

  But, despite some preconceptions, the real pirate legends weren’t brutes. They were tacticians. Some quite brilliant. Brilliant enough that they never needed to raise their sword to plunder a prize ship, or protect their own ship. He hoped this was one such occasion.

  He paced the length of the boat, taking stock of everything that may be of use—pots and pans, a stocked kitchen, scuba equipment, nautical gear. He looked at them like puzzle pieces, rearranged them in his mind and put them back together in the most pirate-y of fashions.

  A smile lit on Carter’s face. A smile that immediately put a skeptical frown on Brad’s.

  “Do you trust me?” Carter said.

  Brad sighed. “Here we go again.”

  Carter, Brad, and Darla climbed the stairs to the deck after Carter laid out his plan. There was still a twinge in Carter’s gut, but now it was much less fear and much more anticipation.

  Brad walked out on the bow and maneuvered the spotlight affixed there. Darla flipped it on.

  Two men winced and shielded their eyes from the light. They stood aboard a thirty-foot speedboat, a sleek and luxurious looking piece of modern equipment. The men looked as obnoxious as the vessel they commanded. Hawaiian shirts. Gold chains on their necks and wrists. Sunglasses on top of their heads. Even in the pale light of the moon, their tans were deep and orange. Open collars and buttons showed thick tufts of gross old man chest hair.

  “Whoa, you caught us,” one of the men said. “Consider me embarrassed, right, Nestor?”

  The other man, Nestor, flashed a smiled. “Absolutely, JJ. Caught red-handed.”

  “Caught doing what?” Darla asked, voice tight with caution.

  “Checking out your boat, of course,” JJ said. “It’s a real beauty. We caught sight of it earlier. When we came up on it a few minutes ago, we couldn’t help but take the opportunity to have a closer look.”

  “But we figured you’d all be sleeping,” Nestor quickly added. “Didn’t want to flash our lights and wake you.”

  Brad nodded. From the corner of Carter’s eye, he could see that his big brother was actually considering this fish turd stew of a story. Brad… Brad… Brad…“When did you say you caught sight of us?” Carter asked, obviously unconvinced. “We haven’t seen any boats since we hit open water.”

  “On your way out of port,” Nestor said.

  “Which one?” Carter pressed.

  JJ and Nestor looked at each other. An unspoken conversation passed between them. “Your parents up?” Nestor asked.

  “No,” Brad said. “Still sleeping.”

  “Why don’t you wake them?” JJ said, the congeniality fading from his voice. “We’d love to chat with them about the boat. Maybe come aboard and get a look under the hood.” He smiled, but Carter saw the knife’s edge in it.

  “State yer business matter-of-fact,” Carter growled at the men. “What is it ye want? And just know that ye’ll never be steppin’ foot on this here ship.”

  The two men laughed.

  “Get a load of this kid,” JJ said, nudging Nestor. “Thinks he’s Jack Sparrow.”

  Carter gestured to JJ’s outfit. “Do you think you’re Crockett or Tubbs?”

  “Isn’t Miami Vice a little before your time?” JJ responded.

  “Netflix, bro,” Carter said.

  Darla stepped to the edge of the boat, getting between the two sets of men. “Listen, it’s late. Why don’t we all just go on our way? If we cross paths again when our parents are awake, then you can talk to them. I’m sure they’d love to have you aboard.”

  “Listen, sweetheart,” Nestor said, “why don’t you just hush up and let us talk to the man of the boat, there.” He pointed at Brad.

  “Oh, screw this guy,” Darla said through clenched teeth.

  “Man of the boat, my butt,” Carter said through the same.

  Now Brad stepped forward, pulled Darla back from leaping across the open water and punching the strange men in the neck. “I think it’s best if you move on.”

  “And don’t let the fair winds whip yer overly tanned hides on the way out,” Carter added.

  Nestor scratched at his chin. He looked Carter up and down, studied him like he was a specimen. “What’s with you, kid?”

  “I’m a pirate,” Carter answered matter-of-factly. “And, as such, I’ll tolerate no lip from jelly-boned squibs like you.”

  All pretense fell from Nestor’s face. His mouth turned down into a scowl. His eyes darkened. “A pirate.”

  “Kid’s a bit behind the times,” JJ said, a laugh in his voice, but not one born from humor. “Pirates don’t talk like that anymore.”

  “What would ye know about it?” Carter asked.

  Nestor and JJ raised their hands, which, until then, had been hidden behind their backs. Each held a semiautomatic handgun.

  “Quite a bit,” Nestor said. “We’re pirates, too.”

  Carter’s stomach leapt into his throat. Every instinct told him to hit the deck, to run, to scream, to cry. He did none of those things. Because he pushed those instincts aside until one came by that served him.

  He put one foot on the edge of the boat, dug his fists into his hips, and pressed his chest out. “This here vessel’s our home. And no picaroons will chase us from it.”

  Brad slapped his hand over Carter’s mouth. “Don’t mind him. He’s got issues.”

  “Don’t we all,” Nestor said as he pulled the action back on his gun. “Now, unless you also want plenty of holes that God didn’t give you, step aside.”

  Carter dug his fists in deeper, stuck his chest out further. It was uncomfortable. “I prefer a merry life and a short one over one spent cowering to dogs like you.”

  “If that’s what you prefer,” Nestor said.

  The silence of the open sea exploded in a burst of fire and thunder. Light danced across Carter’s vision. Screaming echoed from all around. Carter couldn’t tell where it came from—his own mouth or those around him.

  Until he realized that he couldn’t have screamed. He clenched his mouth shut. He kept his chest out and his eyes open. He refused to give those soulless wannabe pirates the satisfaction.

  A barrage of bullets hit the water just off the ketch’s hull, spraying seawater into the a
ir. When the shooting stopped, Carter realized that his heart also stopped beating. He stopped breathing. He didn’t blink. It had only been a second. It felt like a lifetime.

  Seawater rained down on him.

  Brad and Darla had hit the deck. But Carter hadn’t moved.

  “Ye’ve yet to impress,” he said through a cutting grin. Then he raised one hand high. “Allow me to show you how it’s done.”

  JJ and Nestor laughed deep and heartily. So heartily that they didn’t notice the portholes snap open.

  “On my signal, unleash hell,” Carter ordered.

  The men laughed harder. So hard they didn’t notice the scuba tanks loaded like cannonballs into each of the open portholes.

  Carter dropped his hand. “Fire!”

  From below deck, he heard his orders being carried out. Louis, Yvette, and Marcus smashed the nozzles off each of the tanks. The gas shot into the boat, propelling the tanks outward like silver missiles.

  The fools’ laughter was cut short. One of the tanks slammed Nestor square in the chest. Another hit JJ’s shoulder, spinning him like a top before he hit the deck. The third tank punched a hole straight through the fiberglass hull of their fancy-pants speedboat.

  Water flooded through the gaping hole, and the speedboat began to tip.

  Nestor gasped for air, struggled to stand. JJ yelled in pain each time he tried to move his arm. Dislocated shoulder, most likely.

  Hard to swim if you can’t breathe and your arm’s busted.

  Carter stood triumphant, gripping a line with one hand so he could lean over the edge and talk down to his humiliated foes. “You aren’t pirates. It’s men like you who put men such as me to sailing under the black flag.” He stared down at them as the water rushed up around their ankles, knees, hips. Then he turned to his crew, all of whom had joined him topside. “Save the drowning bilge rats,” he ordered.

  The crew looked stunned.

  “Seriously?” Marcus asked. “These guys just tried to kill us. I thought we took no quarter and gave no quarter.”

  “That’s not the kind of pirate I want to be,” Carter said. “Not the kind of pirate like them, anyway.” He gestured to the floundering miscreants below.

  Two life jackets splashed into the water. Darla looked proud to have tossed them. “Not the kind of pirate I want to be, either.”

  Murmurs of agreement passed among the crew.

  “But don’t mistake our mercy for weakness,” Carter called to Nestor and JJ as they scrambled for the floatation devices. “For if we meet again, I shan’t be so kind.” Carter turned back to the crew. They all looked to him and, Carter realized, waited.

  They waited for orders.

  He tried to catch Brad’s eye, but his big brother did not look away from the floundering pirates below. His face was wrought with worry.

  So he turned to Yvette. “Fill our sails, matey. Let’s put some distance between us and these filthy smears on the pirate code.”

  “Aye, sir,” Yvette answered. She called out commands to the others.

  The crew bustled about the deck, unfurling sails, untying lines, hoisting anchor.

  And they were away.

  11

  Adrift in a sea of hatred, caught in a riptide of loathing and humiliation, drifted two pirates, although calling them pirates was a stretch. They honored no code and sailed under no banner. They served no greater purpose, sought no grand adventure that didn’t line their pockets. Indeed, they’d sooner avoid the adventure and jump straight to the treasure. But, sail these seas long enough and, no matter how hard you may try to avoid it, sooner or later adventure will find you. And find them it did.

  Kids!

  Sunk by a bunch of kids. Some wannabes who’d seen too many movies. Had no idea what being a pirate really was. They still thought it was all about treasure and adventure and having a merry old time sailing the seven seas. Singing shanties and doing stupid little dances as they swabbed the deck.

  They’d never seen behind the silver screen. They’d never seen what real pirates do. No, they wouldn’t have the stomach for that.

  Kids!

  “What’s the plan, Nestor?” JJ asked as he floundered like a fish. “We swimming for shore?”

  Not bloody likely. There was no turning back for Nestor. He couldn’t let this slight stand. He couldn’t let that snot nosed brat of a kid get away with putting him in the drink.

  The kid caught him off guard is all. Who would have thought some prepubescent know-it-all would have the stones to put a hole in the side of a boat like that? The kid was nuts, plain and simple. No way could Nestor have planned for that.

  “No,” Nestor answered. “We are not swimming back to shore. This is a high traffic area. Someone will be along sooner or later.”

  “Before my legs cramp, and I drown?” JJ wondered aloud.

  “Better hope so,” Nestor answered, venom in his tone.

  They’d been treading water for close to an hour, but the pain in Nestor’s legs hadn’t even registered in his brain. His mind was too crowded with thoughts of revenge. Of all the things he’d do to that kid once he found him.

  You wanna play at being a pirate, kid? No problem. I’ll happily show you some of the torture methods they were famous for.

  Somewhere among the shouting voices in Nestor’s head was a little one, barely heard above the others. A squeaky voice, like that of a church mouse or a whiny kid with teary eyes and a bruised cheek. A voice from long, long ago.

  Nestor tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t stop whining. “The big kids took my book,” it cried. “My favorite book about Calico Jack Rackham.”

  And a deep, slurred voice answered, “So what? What’s a book good for anyway? It pay the bills?” And the man who spoke with the deep voice shoved the whiny kid away and turned up the television.

  Nestor slapped the water like he was trying to shoo the memory away, and he splashed salt in its eye.

  Moments later, Nestor heard the faint whirring of an engine. He turned toward it to see a modest, aging fishing boat bouncing over the waves.

  “See?” he said to JJ, who was seconds away from sinking. “Told you someone would come along.”

  They waved their arms in the air and shouted for help. The fishing boat changed course and headed to their rescue. The two grizzled men aboard tossed Nestor and JJ a line and pulled them close to the hull. Then they leaned over and hauled the two men out of the water.

  “What the heck are you guys doing out here without a boat?” one of the men asked. He was older, grandfatherly. “Y’all tourists or something? Get sucked out here by a riptide? No matter. I ain’t one to judge. Especially if a person is in trouble.”

  The other man handed Nestor and JJ towels and draped a couple blankets over a railing for them to use when they were ready. The other man was younger, maybe the older one’s son. A family business, this must have been. How quaint.

  That whiny little voice started crying again. Wailed as his father slapped a book out of his hand. “Told you, books ain’t good for nothing. You want to be useful, get a job, pay some bills, stop crying all the time.”

  The little boy swallowed the anguish and wiped away the tears.

  “Just like your mother,” the father said. “All she ever did was cry. ‘Til she up and took off. Worthless, the both of you.”

  The father was a fisherman. Not a very good one. His hands were rarely steady enough to steer his ship toward anything resembling a bounty. It was questionable whether the rusty, old boat would get them where they were going, anyway. But, even so, the boy dreamed of sailing the decrepit ship alongside his cuss of a father. Didn’t matter how often he imagined the both of them on the bottom of the sea.

  Maybe that’s where the father and that boat were. They both took off one day and never came back, leaving that boy alone with nothing but his books. But, like the father said, books don’t pay the bills or put food in your belly.

  Nestor dried his face, and spoke through the towe
l. “We did have a boat. It sunk.”

  “What the heck from?” the older man said, surprised. “No storms recently. And nothing to run into. We’re in open water.”

  Nestor dropped the towel to reveal the nasty smile on his face, the kind of smile that immediately puts another on guard. The kind of smile full of malice and ill intent. “Pirates,” he said.

  The younger man scoffed. “Right. I suppose they put a cannonball through your hull?”

  “Matter-of-fact,” JJ said. He’d slipped behind the younger man without him noticing. JJ grabbed his wrists and pinned his arms behind his back. “That’s just about right.”

  Nestor stepped to the older man, jutted his chin up, and stared through large, wild eyes. “And now we find ourselves in need of a new vessel.”

  The fishermen didn’t put up a fight. They were both tired, probably been out at sea all day. Nestor and JJ tied them up with a length of rope they found in the cabin, tight knots binding their wrists and ankles, and gagged them with rags.

  “So, what now?” JJ asked as Nestor acquainted himself with the helm.

  “Drop these two at the nearest port, and then track down those kids. I watched where they went. Straight for the Bahamas.”

  “Why?” JJ asked. “They don’t have anything we want. No money. We can snag another boat like that somewhere else.”

  Nestor shot JJ a glare like a rusty cutlass. “For what they did. They sunk us. Put us in the water. Our code demands we seek retribution.”

  “We have a code?” JJ seemed dumbfounded.

  Nestor grabbed JJ by the collar. Then he reached into his own collar and pulled out one of the gold chains hanging around his neck. Dangling from it was a skull and crossbones pendant.

  “No retreat, no surrender, no mercy,” Nestor recited. “That is our code, and I take it very seriously.”

  JJ straightened his collar and laughed uncomfortably. “Right, that code. I know that code. I thought you meant some other code.”

  Nestor pushed the throttle and steered toward the kids’ path. “We’re the last of a breed. It’s time we acted like it. So, you’re either with me.” He pointed overboard. “Or you’re back with the fishes.”