The diesel roared to life. I let her warm up and took one last look at the place that had been my escape, my home, and my salvation for the past few years. I would miss it dearly, but it was time. I cast off the bow lines. KAMALA was impatient, ready. We were alone, but we would make it.
I pulled the stern lines on board and put her in forward. She began to move gently, but insistently. Then I heard something behind me.
“T.K. Hold it. I’m going.”
Sunny was running down the dock, her blond waves shimmering in the light breeze. She had a royal blue knapsack tucked up under her arm.
“Where?” I said.
“With you. She threw the blue bag at me and bounded onto the port rail, grabbing the shrouds for support. Then she settled into the cockpit. The corners of her mouth turned up and became a smile . . . one that shamed the yellow sun as it rose into an azure sky.
“You sure?” I asked, “It might be a while.”
“I damned sure hope so.”
She leaned back into the coaming and took a deep breath. It sounded like the breath of God.
Prologue
That night I had a dream.
We were all there, cold beer and laughter rife at the Roundtable. A few jokes, but mostly wry comments about our vulnerability, amply filled with stories of screwed-up boat repairs and miscellaneous other oversights. Louis had spilled Bloody Marys all over a couple of high rollers at the Raw Bar. The dry cleaning only left a fashionable pink on their clothes. Whipsaw had dropped his harmonica in a nasty toilet at Schooner’s. One of our newer attendees had filled his fuel tank with water, and I had spilled Sekken’s teak stain all over my deck. Each tale brought a howl of laughter and the imminently predictable shake of several shaggy heads. We looked to Captain Sal, waiting for another tale of “the one that got away”. There was a pause. Then the blond giant shuddered and forced some words in a grave tone that was very much unlike her usual raucous dialogue.
“Did you see? It was on the VHF this afternoon. A bunch of bodies of immigrants washed up on the beach just north of Miami. Another so-called life-boat that didn’t deliver life.”
Again, silent heads shook. Scarred hands clutched the cold cans in resignation, or just stacked the frustration. Some put the cold cans quickly to their lips, hoping to wash away the acid reality.
Then the thing was there again. Suddenly my consciousness sunk into that night I had seen the hellish hosts of death . . . the lifeless flesh floating . . . the agony highlighted in the wicked flash of the storm. I saw the leering face of Francisco . . . the rest of the Messageros begging to see me sacrificed on their throne of evil. But he was dead and Carlos with him.
Then I thought I heard the fierce growl of a Harley accelerating to warp speed in front of the Parrot . . . probably some doctor or accountant on mechanical steroids . . . but maybe Francisco was right. Maybe it was his replacement . . . a man uglier and more violent than his predecessor . . . one whose god was leafy and green.
Sunny knew. She put her hand on my thigh and squeezed lightly. I spit out a sigh. I knew she would hold me later . . . try to banish the demons. I also knew she could . . . at least for a while.
A line from a childhood rhyme my mother had taught me many, many years ago crept into my mind. “. . . if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
Perhaps I would return to Key West someday, but maybe not. Maybe there was never any escape.
So be it.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends