were
still.
Bandanna
had bumped himself off the rail and now, cigarette gone, ashes
clinging to his shirt, stared openmouthed. His gaze went from the
wrench at my side to Shiner, who was now brandishing the other
wrench, and back to the tool in my hand.
"You
better get your stuff," I said to the kid.
Bandanna
settled back against the gunnel, mouth set, arms akimbo.
"Nobody
ever whupped old Buster before. Least not that I seen."
"Nobody
has yet," I said. "Buster just got careless. I couldn't
whip him with a baseball bat."
Bandanna
seemed to agree.
The
kid was traveling light. A long olive-green duffle bag and black
ghetto blaster were all he hit the dock with. I tossed the pipe
wrench in the water. Buster moaned, fluttering his eyelids constantly
now, his extremities beginning to twitch as he came around.
Grabbing
a double handful of Buster's coveralls, I rolled him, one revolution
at a time, over the edge and then toed him over the side. As I'd
hoped, the freezing water instantly revived him. He emerged from the
darkness sputtering and coughing, frantically clawing at the
smooth hull of the Haida Queen for a purchase.
"He
can't swim," blurted Bandanna.
"Even
better," I said.
I
watched as Buster slapped the green water into foam. Wedged in
between the hulls of two boats, he had no choice but to wallow over
toward the dock. He thrashed his way toward me, his eyes now wide
with fear. The second his sausage-like fingers managed a grip on the
dock, I stomped them hard. He involuntarily let go, and quickly
slipped beneath the oily surface, leaving only a striated ripple
expanding on the surface. Instinctively, I stepped back to the middle
of the dock.
After
what seemed like minutes he breached like an orca, blasting up and
out of the water, getting both forearms up on the dock, whooshing
great gulps of air, reaching blind for where he thought I should be.
The wrench had put a jagged split in his forehead. A thin solution of
blood and seawater rolled down
between
his eyes, dripping off the tip of his nose onto the timbers. He used
one hand to wipe the hair and water from his eyes. His sodden
coveralls were floating away behind him, leaving him naked but for a
yellowed T-shirt that had floated up around his neck.
I
drew back one foot. "No. No swim," he gasped. "The
girl."
"What
girl?" he wheezed.
I
kicked him in the head. He lost his purchase and slid back toward the
water. Only by the immense power of his hands did he maintain a grip.
I walked to the edge, resting the sole of my shoe on the fingers of
his right hand.
"Norma,"
I said quietly.
"All
I did was—" I put some weight on my foot.
"Don't
even start with me, Buster. I'm afraid of what I'll do. Just answer
my questions. When you drove her home, where did you take her?"
His
eyes were open again. His lips were beginning to turn blue. His teeth
chattered like discolored
"I'm
not flfffrom here. I dddddon't—" I increased the pressure of
my foot. "Try harder."
"Bbbby
the market," he stuttered. "Which market?" "The
fffffamous one." "Where by the market?"
"Rrrright
accross the street. I llllllet her out right under that LUllllive
Girls sign. She said she could wwwwwalk from there."
I
put all my weight on his fingers. He began to shake.
"You
sure?"
"Swear
tttttttto GGGGGGod," He ratcheted out. As the kid and I started
down the dock, Buster began yelling at the net menders for help. His
luck was no better than mine. They turned a deaf ear to his cries for
help, mending ever faster as he flailed his arms.
"Try
Latvian," I yelled back.
I
nudged the kid toward the north. The smell of fried foods drifted out
over the pavement, mixing with the seawater and diesel fumes that
swirled about us as we walked along the face of the Chinook's
Restaurant.
"How's
your English?" I asked.
"I'm
from Hoboken," he said.
"Then
I'm pretty sure I know where you can find a job."
6
Since
they inherited the house and became slumlords, the Boys were seldom
hard to find. In the
still.
Bandanna
had bumped himself off the rail and now, cigarette gone, ashes
clinging to his shirt, stared openmouthed. His gaze went from the
wrench at my side to Shiner, who was now brandishing the other
wrench, and back to the tool in my hand.
"You
better get your stuff," I said to the kid.
Bandanna
settled back against the gunnel, mouth set, arms akimbo.
"Nobody
ever whupped old Buster before. Least not that I seen."
"Nobody
has yet," I said. "Buster just got careless. I couldn't
whip him with a baseball bat."
Bandanna
seemed to agree.
The
kid was traveling light. A long olive-green duffle bag and black
ghetto blaster were all he hit the dock with. I tossed the pipe
wrench in the water. Buster moaned, fluttering his eyelids constantly
now, his extremities beginning to twitch as he came around.
Grabbing
a double handful of Buster's coveralls, I rolled him, one revolution
at a time, over the edge and then toed him over the side. As I'd
hoped, the freezing water instantly revived him. He emerged from the
darkness sputtering and coughing, frantically clawing at the
smooth hull of the Haida Queen for a purchase.
"He
can't swim," blurted Bandanna.
"Even
better," I said.
I
watched as Buster slapped the green water into foam. Wedged in
between the hulls of two boats, he had no choice but to wallow over
toward the dock. He thrashed his way toward me, his eyes now wide
with fear. The second his sausage-like fingers managed a grip on the
dock, I stomped them hard. He involuntarily let go, and quickly
slipped beneath the oily surface, leaving only a striated ripple
expanding on the surface. Instinctively, I stepped back to the middle
of the dock.
After
what seemed like minutes he breached like an orca, blasting up and
out of the water, getting both forearms up on the dock, whooshing
great gulps of air, reaching blind for where he thought I should be.
The wrench had put a jagged split in his forehead. A thin solution of
blood and seawater rolled down
between
his eyes, dripping off the tip of his nose onto the timbers. He used
one hand to wipe the hair and water from his eyes. His sodden
coveralls were floating away behind him, leaving him naked but for a
yellowed T-shirt that had floated up around his neck.
I
drew back one foot. "No. No swim," he gasped. "The
girl."
"What
girl?" he wheezed.
I
kicked him in the head. He lost his purchase and slid back toward the
water. Only by the immense power of his hands did he maintain a grip.
I walked to the edge, resting the sole of my shoe on the fingers of
his right hand.
"Norma,"
I said quietly.
"All
I did was—" I put some weight on my foot.
"Don't
even start with me, Buster. I'm afraid of what I'll do. Just answer
my questions. When you drove her home, where did you take her?"
His
eyes were open again. His lips were beginning to turn blue. His teeth
chattered like discolored
"I'm
not flfffrom here. I dddddon't—" I increased the pressure of
my foot. "Try harder."
"Bbbby
the market," he stuttered. "Which market?" "The
fffffamous one." "Where by the market?"
"Rrrright
accross the street. I llllllet her out right under that LUllllive
Girls sign. She said she could wwwwwalk from there."
I
put all my weight on his fingers. He began to shake.
"You
sure?"
"Swear
tttttttto GGGGGGod," He ratcheted out. As the kid and I started
down the dock, Buster began yelling at the net menders for help. His
luck was no better than mine. They turned a deaf ear to his cries for
help, mending ever faster as he flailed his arms.
"Try
Latvian," I yelled back.
I
nudged the kid toward the north. The smell of fried foods drifted out
over the pavement, mixing with the seawater and diesel fumes that
swirled about us as we walked along the face of the Chinook's
Restaurant.
"How's
your English?" I asked.
"I'm
from Hoboken," he said.
"Then
I'm pretty sure I know where you can find a job."
6
Since
they inherited the house and became slumlords, the Boys were seldom
hard to find. In the
Similar Books
