Desapo’s harsh outlook softened toward Pike and convinced the furious Desapo another thousand wouldn’t be necessary. “I’ve already met and arranged with your good friend, Gustav, to take up residence with his business until my dealings are complete in Lightning Harbour.”
“In that case, Mr Desapo, let us load your luggage into my automobile and make for the small vessel that awaits our arrival dockside. The tide should be low enough to enter the Barrett Passage safely and observe the hazards you and your team will face, should you decide to tackle our villainous monster.”
Desapo wasn’t about to become spooked at Pike’s off-handed job description. He and his team had tackled impossible jobs before... AND won. “Lead on, Mr Pike,” Desapo commanded.
The Cadillac Sixteen turned sharply into a small parking space beside a tin building. A few feet away, lapping sounds sleepily resonated from the waters of Lightning Harbour as the playful liquid gently toyed with the hulls of moored vessels. Pike pointed toward an old diesel powered, wooden fishing boat.
Desapo glowered back at Pike. ”Another one of your boss’ cost saving ventures, Mr Pike?”
“Not this time, Mr Desapo. Mario was the only one we could find to accept the challenge to take you out to the passage.”
Desapo eyed Pike for a long moment. “Take me out to the passage? Do you intend to abandon me to my fate, Pike?”
“I am afraid I don’t cope too well with sea motion and become quite ill onboard vessels, Mr Desapo.”
“You are an executive of a sea freight company and you mean to tell me you get seasick?!” Desapo shot Pike an accusatory expression.
“I take journeys aboard our vessels if and when the need arises, and yes, I do suffer for my commitment to my company, Mr Desapo,” Pike's strange confession made him appear vulnerable. “If, however, my assistance is mandatory, then I will accompany you out to the job site.”
Desapo smiled at the discomfort he was inflicting on Pike, but it was also Desapo’s practice to have an executive representative to point out exactly what their expectation was before he could accurately work out the cost estimate for the job. “I do require an association representative to be present to give me an accurate picture of their expectations.”
Pike eyed Desapo, trying to work out whether this was yet another attempt to humble him. “If that is what you require, Mr Desapo, then let us get on with it.”
Pike carefully and unsteadily stepped off the dock and onto the small fishing boat, closely followed by Desapo, then with a perfunctory wave up at the vessel cabin, Pike resigned himself to his fate. “If you please, Mario!”
By the time Mario cleared the harbour heads, the early afternoon sea breeze had lifted the swells high enough to make the small fishing boat buck like a horse. The wind-driven water crashed into the craft, cascading over the deck as Mario’s trawler hit the swells head-on, turning Pike an unusual shade of green with the action. Desapo signalled to Pike that he was going to join Mario in the cabin, leaving Pike nodding and holding his stomach before heading for the vessel’s stern to be alone with his misery.
As the cabin door opened, Mario acknowledge Desapo’s presence.
“Hello, Mario, my name is Magellan Desapo,” Desapo volunteered, steadying himself by holding onto the chart table.
The old man’s brown leathery face turned to face Desapo as he shook his hand and smiled a toothless smile.
“Have you been out to Black Dean before, Mario?” Desapo tried to engage the old man.
“Many times. I’ve been a fisherman in these waters for nearly sixty years,” Mario’s gushing English washed over his tonsils and escaped through the space where his teeth should have been, but the heavy accent gave away his ethnicity.
“How come you are the only one who would take us out to Black Dean? Is the hole in the ocean as bad as everyone is telling me?”
Mario’s face brightened. “You have to respect the sea, Mr Desapo, just like a tiger. Black Dean sleeps and just like a tiger, if you want to approach and take hold of his tail, you must approach when he sleeps.”
“When does Black Dean sleep, then?” Desapo’s scepticism became harder to hide.
“Legend passed down from my father and his father before, warns us that Black Dean is endless. The water is a dark blue-black colour, a fearsome sign that Black Dean, if not bottomless, is very deep and very unpredictable. The time to approach is at the very bottom of the tide when the water stops moving for about fifteen to twenty minutes... and then Black Dean is asleep. I have approached this sleeping monster many times and peered into its inky eyes, but be warned if you are close by when he wakes and the tide turns. The whirlpool will start again with such ferocity that anything in his grasp gets drawn down to the black depths.”
Bewildered with Mario’s description, Desapo begun to wonder what he had gotten into. Staring over the bow while the tiny fishing boat plied the waves, Desapo watched the water crashing against the boat, deep in thought. Could this hole in the ocean be as powerful as everyone thinks?
Mario stole a quick sideways glance at the cynical but towering muscular presence of Desapo. “I see, Mr Desapo, you don’t understand our beast and that you are dubious about his power. I show you how to grab the tail of a sleeping tiger and what happens when he wakes up.”
The hour long journey out to Black Dean had been an absolute nightmare for Pike. He had surrendered his breakfast to the fishes more than once and was relieved when Mario entered the calm Barrett Passage. Desapo joined Pike on the deck and watched incredulously as Mario stopped his boat over an eerie and black section of water. The passage walls stood like a mountain against the height of the boat, with the roof invisible to the ocean side, hidden by the calm channel walls. Desapo peered down into a massive but calm, black hole that stretched the width of the channel, directly over the point of the bow and used the sheer walls to gauge Black Dean's depth, but shuddered when the rocky barrier disappeared into blackness, leaving Desapo to wonder how far this sleeping tiger’s reach descended.
After a while, Mario started his engine again and spun the tiny boat around, heading just outside the passage and leaving Pike to suffer as the tiny boat pitched up and down on the mounting swells. “Now, Mr Desapo, you will see what happens when our tiger wakes.”
Mario walked past Desapo and Pike to the stern of the boat, staggering like a drunkard on the heaving deck. Reaching an empty barrel tied down to the inside of the boat, Mario untied the barrel and heaved it overboard. The barrel drifted aimlessly on the swells while Pike and Desapo stood on the bow deck, watching the barrel bob up and down.
Feeling a desperate wave of nausea overcome him, Pike leaned over the side, but as he did the boat lurched violently, throwing him off balance. As if in slow motion, Desapo watched Pike disappear overboard, but before his body completely vanished under the swells, Desapo grabbed his foot and unceremoniously hauled him back in, banging his head on the deck as he landed.
At the same time, the barrel that Mario had dropped over the side raced into the passage at great speed, up the channel and into the turbulent waters where they had just been not ten minutes earlier. A tumultuous whirlpool churned the waters of the channel, trying to pull the small fishing boat into its snare. Desapo’s mouth hung open as he watched the tiger come back to life and the unfortunate barrel swallowed in Black Dean’s tenacious appetite.
Staring in disbelief at the raging phenomena, Desapo’s attention was diverted by a hysterical gibbering emanating from directly behind him. Turning to untangle Pike’s manic fear, Desapo slapped his face hard, bringing the senseless executive back to his normal mind.
A harried, traumatic giggle erupted as Pike slowly found his senses. “I..I owe you my life, Mr Desapo, and I am eternally grateful,” Pike stammered, trembling pathetically and watching the whirlpool from his position on the deck. “Can we get out of here please, Mario?” Pike's shaky voice pleaded.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 21
&nbs
p; A commotion drifted up the stairs and into her sleepy dreams, waking Marguerite abruptly as the intensity of the voices filled with passionate volume and then drifted back to earth, whispered and unintelligible. What was the commotion about and who did the voices belong to? Quickly she turned over to face Katarzyna, trying to gauge the threat level by her reaction to the noise, but she had already abandoned her bed, leaving it neatly ordered as if she hadn’t slept in it at all. Holding her breath, Marguerite tried to identify the sounds, attempting to distinguish specific male voices, but when she recognised Mr Lieberman’s laugh, she let the breath go, relieved there was no evil intent and that she was still safe.
Satisfied the darkness held no fear, she switched on her bedside lamp and glanced at the clock above Katarzyna’s bed, realising it was still early and she wasn’t due up for another thirty minutes. Relaxing her head back to the pillow, Marguerite counted down the days, realising today was her fourth day grafted into the Lieberman family fabric and their kindness and warmth made her feel like she belonged... a feeling she hadn’t experienced for such a long time.
As she lay pondering the situation, she heard Mr Lieberman’s infectious laugh among the voices and gradually realised it was Thursday and at this time of morning, he and Majiv should be down at the bakery, raising another bout of puzzling questions. Her curiosity exploded and Marguerite threw off the comforter and quickly dressed, deliberately wearing long baggy dresses that disguised her figure, saving the embarrassing enquiries she knew one day soon would demand an answer. Catching her image in the mirror, she ran her hands over her stomach, and like she’d done since she discovered her pregnancy, she began to talk to her baby.
“Hello, little one. Are you okay? We are safe for now, but I am sure the time will come when we will have to leave, so Mummy is working hard to build a life for us and you can be assured no one is going to take you away from me,” Marguerite whispered, all too aware what happens to underaged unwed mothers and their illegitimate progeny in this state.
Running her hands through her blonde curly locks, she checked the bruise around her eye and discovered it was fading, unlike the resentment she still harboured for the boy who had inflicted it upon her. She would only need a slight brush up to keep it hidden and as soon as she could, she would discard the makeup altogether. She was done with men, their selfish lust at her expense and their lies. Her baby was now her focus and she intended to live the rest of her days raising a healthy child in an environment that she controlled... whatever it cost her to get there.
The sound of frivolities erupted as Marguerite opened the bedroom door, greeted by a large crowd of people bustling around the apartment and a table full of wonderful smelling food. She recognised Majiv and Mr Lieberman among the jubilant party, with Katarzyna holding her own crowd among the younger members.
Expecting Marguerite to wake at any moment, Katarzyna scanned the room and then the staircase, immediately recognising Marguerite’s figure standing uncertainly on the landing. Beaming with delight, Katarzyna ran up the stairs. “Marguerite, you’re awake! Come, there is no work today. It is Majiv’s birthday!” Almost dragging Marguerite down into the crowd with her overflowing exuberance, Katarzyna came to a jolting pause and stood directly in front of Majiv. “Custom is for all young women to greet the birthday boy with a kiss,” Katarzyna danced around, excitedly watching Marguerite and waiting for her to respond; but both Majiv and Marguerite blushed like two red flashing lights.
“I’m sure Majiv wouldn’t appreciate that from me, Katie,” Marguerite tried to diffuse an embarrassing situation.
However, the crowd had quieted at Katarzyna’s announcement and became involved in the interlude. “Aww, go on!” rippled through the room.
Feeling like there was nowhere to run, Marguerite steeled herself and moved closer, leaning into Majiv. As she closed her eyes, her lips touched the soft skin of his face and a zap of electricity struck her, stunning her silent while the cheers of the crowd muffled and time seemed to stop. Marguerite made the mistake of opening her eyes, staring straight into his innocent blue eyes and heightening her embarrassment. Burning with awkwardness and searching for a safe place, Marguerite disappeared into the crowd to hide.
*~*~*~*
The eyes that steered the flabby six-foot frame shuddered open, the first time they had been any place close to clear for a week, while the darkened room where the intoxicated carcass had fallen smelled of putrid body odour and dirty clothes. A heavy scent of a severely anesthetised mind hung impertinently on his breath, and given a source of combustion, the alcohol-soaked sponge would ignite, vomiting forth a catastrophic rancorous explosion. Somehow he had made it back onto the bed that she had shared with him before she decided to die and leave him to deal with life on his own. The reminders were everywhere, with the room appearing much like it had that day, that awful day nearly twelve years ago. He couldn’t even look at his child, the spitting image of his beloved wife, but instead his hate-filled ravings had driven a wedge in between father and daughter.
Marguerite despised him and he could feel it.
Unable to deal with life, he hid himself in a bottle and with a quickly deteriorating mind, imagined all sorts of evils about his dead wife and her involvement in refugee and migrant rights. Marguerite had taken the brunt of his manic racist ravings, as he tried to get back at his wife at his daughter's expense. On the rare occasions he was sober, people reminisced with him about his wife’s kind heart and her drive for justice, but the act only served to make him more angry, driving away his closest friends while the rant expanded, hating everyone and everything.
Especially migrants.
Unsteadily, he staggered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, noticing dirty dishes and empty bottles lying where he’d discarded them.
“Marguelerite...! MARGUERITE!” he bellowed unsteadily, upset she hadn’t cleaned up after him and the place was a mess. “Where is that lazy baby cow? If you think I am going to let you sponge off me, girl, you’ve got another thing coming!”
He started to climb the stairs to her room, stumbling and breathing heavily at the exertion until he stood outside the closed door. Without warning and fuelled with hatred, he kicked the door in a violent move, thrusting it open and smashing the heavy door as it crashed forcefully against the wall.
“Why haven’t you clea...?!”
He paused in mid rant and noticed the bed hadn’t been slept in and then anxiously checked her wardrobe and drawers. They were empty and all traces of Marguerite were gone, realising he’d ultimately driven her out of his life, too. The finality of her rejection was evident with the stuffed toy dog she’d loved as a child lying crumpled on the floor of her dresser. It appeared she’d deliberately closed the book on their relationship by leaving the dog behind where she knew he would find it. In happier times, when he was still a father and Marguerite’s mother was alive, he’d given his little girl the dog. Still able to remember the delighted smiles and exuberant hugs from his tiny daughter, she adored her father for giving her the toy, refusing to sleep or be seen without it.
Feeling paranoia swiftly rising, he aggressively kicked the dog into the back of the cupboard, ripping the side out of the flimsy wooden structure with a poorly aimed blow and making connection with his foot to the wall behind. With damaged pain sensors firing off and connecting a scrambled pathway to his brain, trauma eventually registered, but the alcohol in his system stifled a response. When the toy dog defied his rage and tumbled out onto the floor unharmed and in full view, he erupted, turning Marguerite's room into a pile of rubble.
Panting and sweating after his tirade, he vowed to find Marguerite and bring her back to settle the score. After all, she was a minor and someone had to pay for the destruction he had been forced to make of her room.
*~*~*~*
Dressed in his best clothes, the steps leading up into the police station made him sweat, and when he stood shaking at the entrance to the police building, the crump
led suit stank of dankness exuding every thread and was strong enough for even him to notice. He hadn’t worn these clothes since the day of the funeral and remembered throwing the suit into the bottom of the wardrobe afterward, hoping to discard the hurtful memory just as easily. Combing his hair had been a mission too, almost forgetting how it was done, yet the finished product had improved his look but the unshaped bush growing on his cheeks made him look like a bum in unwashed clothes. Breathing in a nervous breath, he contemplated going for a couple of beers just to calm his nerves before attempting to report Marguerite’s disappearance.
The thought of her abandoning him—just like her mother—threw him into another rage and fuelled his desire to find Marguerite. A new found energy flowed through his veins and he stumbled to enter the police station and swaggered for the front desk. A sadistic smile crossed his face when after many questions and raised eyebrows, Marguerite was officially listed as missing.
Swaying on the sidewalk and desperately needing a drink, he determined the next time he and Marguerite met, she would never defy him ever again.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 22
Attempting to navigate the social classes’ expansive boundaries at breakfast to see how the other side lives had left Katrina exhausted. “I think I need a rest before we attempt any further adventures,” Katrina insisted. “Let us return to our room.”
Tess acknowledged Katrina’s exhausted need for solace and was only just beginning to understand the degree of Lady Katrina’s resolve at adventure. Her idea of scandalous behaviour was to eat in a diner where the common people ate, and now the cracks in her motivation were becoming wider, making it plainly obvious Katrina wasn’t cut out for the common world. For someone like Katrina to be cast into common society would mean certain death, having been raised to be pampered and to have everything at her beck and call without having to do anything for it.