Shorty hissed out a laugh. Neither of his two men moved. Their hard glares stayed fixed on Edward.
“Shiiit, mannn, I know dat. Dat why we bring dis boy to you. What you dink he ‘ere for? You give me my cousin and you get your shit with dis stupid boy.”
Edward felt the strength go out of his legs. He caught himself shaking as he gripped the railing, leaning on it with all his weight. He looked over at Mr. Bones.
“You said you’d help me.”
Mr. Bones smiled at Shorty before turning to face Edward.
“Dat right, boy,” he said too low to be heard by anyone else. “I promise I get free your girl. Now id your turn to do your part. You wanna free ‘er? Den you ‘ave to trade yourself.”
They were all watching him. Mr. Bones. His two men. The three Columbians. He sucked in a breath through his mouth with conscious effort. Then another. Everyone appeared ready to jump or run or shoot – depending on what he did. What Mr. Bones had told the Columbian was the truth – except for Mary being his cousin. He had taken their drugs. He was responsible. He was the problem. Had Mr. Bones known that he would be part of the trade all along? It now seemed obvious, and Mr. Bones had done him a favor by not telling him. Edward looked at Mary, keeping her in sight was the only thing that gave him the will to move. He coughed to clear his throat.
“Free her first. Free her first.” Edward spoke to Shorty. “I’ll – I’ll go. But she comes over first.”
Shorty made a slow shrug.
“OK. You and the girl cross at same time.”
The driver maneuvered the go-fast against the trawler. When it tapped the bigger boat, the man next to Mary reached for her, grabbing her arm. She flinched and cried out under the sack. He shook her and she stopped. He lifted her to stand and Edward could see her hands were tied with nylon rope in front of her. The stain on her collar was blotches of dark red. Moments passed, Edward didn’t breathe.
Shorty spoke in Spanish to the man holding her. Then he turned to Edward.
“Come,” he commanded. He motioned with his hand for Edward to step across. “Come. You come, she go. Same time.” He kept gesturing. “Hurry, pendejo!”
Edward’s hands and knees shook as he stepped over the rail. He forced his wide eyes to blink. He had to look down to command each step. All his body’s automatic responses were malfunctioning. But he kept moving. For her. His life would mean nothing without her. All for her. He pressed his hands into his thighs. The sweat from his palms darkened the material. Mr. Bones appeared next to him. He had his glasses off and was smiling again. His big sandalwood eyes glittered in the daylight. Mr. Bones put a foot on the gunwale and held out a hand to grab Mary. As Edward stepped into the boat, Mr. Bones pulled Mary up and over the gunwale. She folded onto the deck and lay there until Mr. Bones lifted her.
All for her. It repeated it like a mantra, his heart beating through his skull as he stood in the back seat. The men around him spoke fast and forcefully and he didn’t understand anything. Edward was looking back as Mr. Bones gently working the sack off Mary’s head. He had it at her chin and he could see her neck looked sweaty and dirty. But before Edward saw her face there was a POP! It wasn’t very loud, but it seemed to emanate from the entire universe. And then there was nothing.
Nothing but blackness. And thick, viscous numbness. It felt like he had fallen into a vat of glue. The wind, sky, water and sun were a million miles away inside a single point of light and a calmness settled over him as he realized that, for once in his life, he had accomplished what he’d set out to do. And now it was time for his life to end.
He remained there floating, waiting for something to change for a while. Then the point of light rushed toward him, growing and swinging from left to right. Edward wondered if, after death, thoughts continued on for a while like fingernails and hair continued growing on a corpse. The white, blazing point grew and shimmered as if passing through a sieve. He held out his hand toward its fantastic warmth. It engulfed him and sounds began. One at a time like actions on a movie studio set. Wind began blowing. Birds from a cliff above shrieked. Men commenced speaking their lines.
“Amigo, I think you forget one bag. We have four bags. Why you no throw over the last bag?”
A throbbing pain formed in the back of Edward’s head. He reached up and felt the spot with a hand and found it damp. When he looked at his hand, he saw the blood. Above him, the large Columbian was holding his rifle like a canoe paddle. The Columbian looked from his boss to Mr. Bones, obviously bothered by their conversation.
Edward lifted his head to look over the side, pain throbbing near the back of his skull. He might have looked like a frightened cat sticking its head up from inside a box. Mr. Bones, beaming, glanced at Edward.
“No, look like you ‘ave your three bag.”
“Three bags, yes. But we lose four bags.”
“Yeah, dat right, my frienh. Hah hah haaa! You lose four bag. And I help you find ‘em. So, you know id not free all dis work. You know we not runnin no free findin service!”
Edward turned his head enough to see the three bags next to Shorty in the front of the boat. Through the windscreen, he could see Barry. The large man was standing at trawler’s bow, staring angrily at Shorty, holding his assault rifle with two hands.
Shorty’s mouth hung open. His eyebrows rose up, crinkling his forehead.
“Amigo, we no want trouble, but you can’t take no twenty five percent—”
“What dah fuck you talkin ‘bout – I take it all if I want. If I doonh find id, you ‘ave nah-ding. You ‘ave nah-ding if I doonh call your frienh, tell ‘em I finh it. You dink we work for free?”
The man behind Shorty had been resting his rifle against his chest. Mr. Bones’ harsh tone made him slowly move his weapon off his shoulder. The barrel grip dropped into his free hand. Shorty saw the barrel from the corner of his eye and threw out a hand.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey! We just talk.” Shorty put his hand on the barrel of his man’s rifle and pushed it down. “We just talk.”
“Dat good. Dat real good. I like juss talk,” Mr. Bones said, his smile never faltering. “Talk good for all people. When people talk, dey stay good frienh. Now, we talkin, so I tell you id dis way – that stupid boy you ‘ave, you know he a tourist.” He stepped up to the gunwale and leaned over, looking down at Edward. “You know I only live by two rule. And number one is doonh fuck wid dah tourist. Dat my business, you know. Haah haaa! When tourist get run over or drown, id big trouble in newspaper all month. So, what you dink ‘bout a trade? You give me dat stupid tourist and I give you dis big, fat bag of coke. Hey, how ‘bout dat?”
What was Mr. Bones doing? Mr. Bones was negotiating, he was saving him even though he didn’t deserve to live.
Shorty rubbed a hand over his head, moving it back and forth several times in a violent scratch. When he had finished this action, he fell back into his seat and said a couple words in Spanish. The man standing over Edward argued, but Shorty repeated his words in a sharp clip. After that, all he did was stare through the windshield at the waves over the bow of the boat.
The Columbian next to Edward jabbed him with the rifle’s barrel. “Go.” He motioned toward the trawler, the look of murder hanging in his eyes. “Go!”
Edward stood and slowly turned, keeping his eye on the man. He turned to look across at Mr. Bones holding the fourth backpack, dangling it proudly like a fish he’d just caught. When Edward moved, the pain shot down his spine. Muscle spasms yanked at his neck. He reached for the trawler’s side, pulled himself across and fell onto the deck. Mr. Bones tossed the fourth bag over into the red boat.