There were burger joints all over the port but I was too depressed to grab one.
Shortly after we returned to the ship, Mido started on dinner and I navigated us out to sea under a cloudy sunset. Our departure gave me one less worry, but only one, and the smallest one to boot. The hurricane was nothing compared to the dissent Jacobi and Jessie would cause. Every last one of my crew was loyal to me, even Jacobi. However, they all had their breaking points.
Rammus was on the wheel while I joined my crew to dinner. Mido had cooked up penne noodles with garlic butter sauce, herb-roasted chicken chopped up and thrown in, spinach, sun-dried tomatoes, and mozzarella cheese. Jacobi was confined to his bunk for at least a week, so meals would be peaceful for a while. Cancer acted like his usual quiet self. He’d even politely nodded to Jessie and said “madam” when they crossed paths on the way to the galley. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with her, so he was going about his business as if she wasn’t there, and without going out of his way to be rude or spread his dislike to others. More than good enough.
Everyone but Jessie, Mido, and O’Toole were seated at the table. Ed and Ted had tried to coax her and her fold-up chair over but she’d firmly declined.
“I’m not ready,” she admitted. I admired her courage to admit that much. “However, Captain, I’ll take the job.”
“Very good. Welcome to the Pertinacious.”
Ed and Ted high-fived and I saw Mido grinning away over a huge tray of toasted bread. He’d turned an entire loaf into cheesy garlic bread.
“What job?” Cancer asked politely, then took a sip of coffee.
“Bodyguard,” I said.
The doc barely managed to swallow his sip before going into a coughing fit. Sam and Sauna patted his back until he caught his breath. “That’s a new one,” he said. He raised an eyebrow at Jessie.
Scully said, “Just give her an oar and we’ll all be plenty safe.”
Everyone but Cancer, Jessie, and I laughed. Cancer pursued his lips and shrugged.
Scully said, “Aw, lighten up, doc.”
He let out an old man grunt. My men laughed again, then let him be.
Mido held out a mountain of cheesy garlic toast to O’Toole and Jessie. They each took a slice, and then all that cheesy garlic goodness was set in the middle of the table. Ten hands shot out in an opportunistic free-for-all. In the few seconds it took Mido to return with the five-gallon pot of dinner, the bread plate had nothing but crumbs and butter smears on it. He set the pot down with a thump. “Aw, come on, guys. You forgot to leave some for me and Jacobi.”
My men laughed again and even Cancer smiled. Ed and Ted partook in all this like they’d been here for years. Good. They were fitting in nicely. On top of that, they were wooing Jessie into sticking around. Very good.
Chapter 9
Ashes and Sneakers
The humor died shortly after dinner. We had nothing left to distract us from the hardest part of our dangerous lives. I sailed out for a good hour before forcing myself to shift into neutral and call everyone to the stern.
It was dark out; just a few clouds, ample stars, and no moon. We’d escaped the clouds for now. The stars being out while we freed their ashes would bring good luck to their dearly departed souls. I decided to spend stored energy on lights that lined the railing, making the flanks glow like a bottom-dwelling fish. I switched on two flood lights hanging from the corners of the wheelhouse, too. Time to say goodbye to two good men.
The stern was fifty feet of open deck, interrupted by the weapon crate sitting against the wheelhouse, which rose twenty feet above the deck. Gave me a gull’s-eye view of my ship.
All of us gathered on starboard side, even Jacobi and Jessie. Cancer and Mido had carried broke-leg boy up. Jessie stood apart from us and near Ed and Ted, her old sneakers dangling from one hand by the laces.
Sam approached her with four ten-pound weights. He pointed to them. “For you, Jessie, so we can give ‘em a proper burial.”
“Thanks.”
He held out a hand. “Mind if I tie ‘em on for yeh?” Make sure they don’t get away.” She handed them over and watched him set to work. With aid of some fishing line, he tied two weights to each sneaker, then connected the sneakers with more line, using the lace holes to hold everything together. He handed over his final product. Jessie took and placed them by her feet. “Now just be patient, miss.”
“Don’t call me ‘miss,’” she whispered.
“Oh, that’s right,” he whispered back. “I forgot. Sorry.”
Everyone but Jessie, Sam, Rammus, and I lined up along the glowing rails. Rammus had a cloth sack slung in front of him. He meticulously handed out a pair of objects to each crew member. Anyone unfamiliar with our funeral ritual might laugh, but every last one of us would beat up the offender without hesitation. The objects were wood sticks, metal pipes, metal rods, a set of spoons, and a a set of drumsticks. Ten pairs in all. Together the objects would create a band of sounds for the drumming my crew was about to tap out. Rammus folded the empty sack and set it by the railing with care.
Sauna spoke to Ed and Ted, who were as confused as Jessie and none of them near laughing. “Just join in once you catch the rhythm. It’s not hard.” He and my seasoned crew members used their elbows to space themselves out. Jacobi was seated near the railing, sticks in hand and leg propped up on the lower rail. They all settled in place and waited for me to start.
I handed a jar to Sam. I’d thought of giving one to Sauna but he’d done that just five years ago. It was too early to drive home the loss of close friends again. The techies all got real close to each other, and same for my cargo pushers, yet we were all one unified crew. Still, Sauna was feeling the two losses the hardest right now. I’d been through this service far too many times, but at least most of the ashes I’d cast into the sea had died of old age, a fact I took pride in, despite hating how unnaturally long I’ve been alive.
Sam and I stood on opposite ends of the line. Rammus pulled out a book of poems from his jacket and opened it to a choice page, then took his post behind the middle of the line.
I took a deep breath to keep my voice steady. My throat was constricting. “To Jim Norman, better known as Jersey. Born October eighth, 2383 in Cape May, New Jersey. Died October twentieth, 2412. K.I.A. He will be missed.” My impromptu drummers rapped out a short rhythm.
Sam said, “To Michael Jones, from Atlantic City, New Jersey. Born April sixteenth, 2381. Died October twentieth, 2412. K.I.A. He will be missed.” The crew repeated the two-measure beat and fell silent.
I set Jersey’s jar on the deck, then crossed to the iron chest Rammus stood by. I chucked Jersey’s favorite deck of cards in there, along with the tattered shirt Mike had worn the day I’d hired him. It was hard to let the objects go. They were pieces of friends I’d known for five good years. I nodded to Rammus to begin.
He fished two objects out of his jacket, then cleared his throat. “I’d like to read ‘Sea Fever’ by John Mansfield, to bid them farewell on this night.”
Jacobi tapped out four beats, then the drumming began. It rose and fell in volume with each line, ebbing and flowing like waves on beach.
“I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.”