He squeezed his eyes closed and thought of Mary. When he opened them, he looked around frantically as if he had forgotten how he had arrived, as if he’d suddenly been transported to the forsaken place. Edward prayed she would not pay for what he had done. He prayed and he cursed himself, making a vow that if he didn’t get her back, he’d swim out as far as he could into the deep and drown himself.
Edward turned to step onto the ladder and saw it. It looked like a shooting star, a streak of white cutting across the plane of blue. He squinted and brought his hands up to see it better. The red boat was moving fast, skimming the surface. He could just make out four forms inside.
“The boat is coming!” He gripped the top rail hot with the day’s sun, and hung out over the ladder, pointing in the direction of the go-fast with an outstretched arm.
“OK! Get back down. Get back into dah boot.” Mr. Bones was looking at him, waving him down.
Edward climbed down as fast as his nerves allowed. He kept his eyes on the rungs rising in front of his face. When he was halfway down, he turned his head and looked out. The red blade had already cut its distance by half, and the trail behind it had started to curve, turning toward the mesa island. They had made a wide loop, swinging out further than needed to get a peek at the far side of the island. He watched for a few seconds as the go-fast jumped, its hull grounded by the heavy motors and foils.
Edward hurried down the rest of the way, sliding the last few feet, plopping into water covering the ledge. He grabbed the side of the trawler and hopped it like a pommel horse. He was huffing when he stepped up to Mr. Bones.
“Yeah, id look no good wid you up dere. Maybe scare ‘em off.” Mr. Bones leaned back on a center console covering the engines, a big smile stretched across his face as he watched the go-fast approaching. “Hmm. Now, we gonna ‘ave a real biz-ness meet. Remind me of old times. We use to get shit from dah south. Back den all dat Columbian shit was cheap.”
Edward only saw two of Mr. Bones’ men. One leaned against a rear mast. The other stood in the middle of the deck under some roping. Barry was either inside the cabin or standing on the deck in front of the wheelhouse. Everyone in the back watched the approaching boat. The red go-fast crossed the length of the island in seconds with its bow up and the middle of the keel skipping over the surface. When the boat was about sixty yards away, the driver throttled down its power. The bow dropped, slicing through a wave. The three men inside stood up and looked out at them, each holding on as their craft bobbed.
The two younger men held assault rifles at their waist. These looked like AK-47s – as if they all shopped at the same illegal arms market. Edward leaned over the rail, straining to see Mary. She was in the back seat with a burlap sack over her head. A flash of something on her shirt collar stopped his heart – a thick dark splatter. His hand came up to his own collar and he pressed his fingers into his flesh. Nobody moved for a minute. The three Columbian’s might have been speaking, but he could not hear anything over the four gargling motors.
“What the hell are they waiting for?”
“Shut your mouth.” Mr. Bones snapped under his breath. “Dey come when dey come.” Mr. Bones’ smile fell away, but his teeth still showed.
The driver inched up the power and the go-fast idled forward at a walking pace. It moved into the shadow of the island. When it was about thirty yards away, he cut the engines and Shorty spoke.
“Hello! Amigos!” Shorty waved, his raspy voice straining over the breeze. “Hello! How you? How you?”
As the boat floated closer, Shorty’s scarred ear and the burned patch of his head became more apparent, even behind his large sunglasses. Edward could see a pistol tucked into his waistband behind the windscreen.
Mr. Bones returned the wave, nodding like a man acknowledging the mailman walking up his front yard. When the go-fast was twenty yards away, Shorty waved again.
“Look like you fishing today.” Shorty looked across the trawler from bow to stern. “You catch anything?” Shorty turned to his two men and they all laughed heartily.
Mr. Bones laughed with them. “This ain’t no fishin boot, mannn – id a race-in boot like yours.”
Shorty didn’t laugh. He just smiled, his gaze passing over the boat again like an arctic wind, examining each man on board. He stopped on Edward, and Edward could feel it as a tingling in his spine.
“I think you more comfortable in a big boat. I can’t go out in no storm. It make me sick, you know. The small boat no good for big seas.”
“Dat right. But I know in dat ding you get dere right quick. Dat ding look as fast as lightning to me,” Mr. Bones laughed. “How long id take you get ‘ere? Thirty minute?”
Shorty flashed a smile. He rested his forearms on the windscreen, and looked up at the cliff behind the shrimper then back at Mr. Bones.
“Amigo,” Shorty said. “Our friend say you find something no belong to you. He say you find something that belong to us.”
Mr. Bones’ expression didn’t change when he pushed himself off the console and took a step toward the side of the boat. He held onto a line running down from the mast to keep himself upright as the boat swayed.
“Yeah. Dat right. We got your shit. Got it all right ‘ere.” Mr. Bones turned to his man in the back. “Yo, Gerome, hold up one of dose bag for our frienh.”
Gerome picked up one of the backpacks from off the deck, lifting it into the air over his shoulders. The sand dropped off it like ancient dust. He let it hang in the air a few seconds before setting it back down and moving his free hand up to his rifle’s strap.
“Amigo, I know you no take our shit. We catch this girl in her boat at the place we put it. We take her, you know. But I tell you I no think she take it.”
Mr. Bones laughed again, turning his head up, his voice echoing off the rock.
“Nooo, mannn. This stupid boy right here take your shit. He come down ‘ere dink-in he gonna ‘ave some fun like all dem tourist. Why you take dat girl, anyway? You know she my cousin, right?”
Shorty faced him with a fixed smirk.
“Ohhh. Your cousin.” Shorty said in a singsong manner. He glanced back at Mary behind him in an apparent look of sympathy, forming a slow exaggerated shrug as he turned back. “We sorry about that. But, you know, even if she your cousin, if she take our shit…”
“And she didn’t take it, mannn. Dis stupid tourist took your bags. He tell me he hide it on other side of dat island. Haah ha haa! So, your shit right dere under your nose and you take my cousin.”
Edward felt the blood draining from his head. It was clear what Mr. Bones was doing by calling him a tourist. Mr. Bones was making him an outsider, not part of the team, blaming everything on him. By saying Mary was his cousin, he was putting value on her, telling them she was important and Edward was nothing. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting Mary back. Edward watched her. She hadn’t moved since the boat stopped and he was desperate to see her face. To see her better, he stepped down the railing. Mr. Bones gave out a sharp whistle that stopped him cold.
“Ohhh.” Shorty’s tone rose and fell in mock pity. “That very sad, amigo. Very sad. We get wrong person. But you know, we can’t find our shit and then we see someone in a boat so close, and she the only one around. So, you know, we have to think she take it.” Shorty turned his palm up as if to say mistakes are made, before wiping under his nose with a finger and sniffing. “And then you call us. And then I thinking maybe taking her not so bad. We real sorry, but…” He turned his gaze onto Edward “You know someone has to pay. Even you give back our merchandise. Someone has to pay for taking it. Today one hijueputa take it, tomorrow everyone want to take our shit. They take it like a free loan and we don’t give no free loan. We ain’t no bank, you know.”