Haven: Poker Pitches

[amichan]

 

I follow Julia through the old graveyard looking about, “So is there a reason your grandfather had same tattoo as a guy who died way before his time a month or so ago?” Much as I don't like reminding myself of that time. There was something about it being made by the local tattoo guy but obviously that's bullshit.

“Probably,” she says.

“And where exactly are we going?”

“Just up there,” she points.

I shake my head at her, considering the amount of area 'just up there' covers. Eventually she stops in front of a gravestone for R. Anderson, the damned symbol is below his name, and then it says he died March 3, 1817, which would make him 39 way too old.

“That's...” I point, “1817. There's no way that's your grandfather.”

“It's not,” she says, “He's back there somewhere.”

“Then who is this?”

“I don't know. I also don't know who that is--” she points to graves one after another, “or that, or that, or that. This symbol has been part of Haven for centuries, Duke. Finding the one man with it as a tattoo who's going to kill you is like Sleeping Beauty's parents trying to keep her safe from spindles by destroying spinning wheels when what they should have been doing is finding a way to break the curse.”

“And by curse you mean...?”

“The Colorado Kid was killed the same way. If we can find who killed him...”

“...maybe we can prevent him from killing me,” I breath a tentative internal sigh of relief, “Well, if that works it will be a lot easier on my nerves,” but how are we supposed to do that exactly? It's still a needle in a haystack just a smaller one.

“There's something else,” and it's apparently big because she's not looking at me, “The reason I came back to Haven...you know my birth family is Troubled.”

“Go on,” I mostly doubt she's going to say that it has anything to do with her family but she's so nervous.

“When my Troubled parent died I inherited the Trouble,” she says and then takes a deep breath steeling herself, “I knew it had happened when I looked in the mirror one morning and found this,” she unbuttons her shirt a small amount and I wonder what I might get to see, then she pulls the sleeve down exposing the top of her left shoulder and there are parts of me that are disappointed, and other parts of me that are concerned when I see the symbol on her arm and how similar it is to the one on the gravestone that we're standing next to. That's not. I know it wouldn't be any sort of joke but still...I look at her, and she nods. I run my finger over the symbol on her arm. It's a tattoo, alright.

She pulls the sleeve back up on her arm and starts to fasten her shirt again, “My Trouble is dormant but the mark means I have it. Uncle Vince told me, before I left, that it was like an heirloom and that when I inherited it I'd need to come back but he couldn't tell me what it means.”

“You knew last night,” my voice catches and comes out quiet, “You knew that symbol but you didn't say anything. Why?”

“Because it's not Audrey or Nathan's business. It's yours, so I waited until I could tell you alone. And until I could show you proof that tracking the man through the tattoo isn't the way to do it,” she says, waving a hand around us at the mass of graves.

I nod towards her, conceding, “Point taken. Do you think you can wheedle more information out of your uncles?” I have a feeling that she's already intending to do so but...

“When I tell them you asked me, yes. You know they don't trust you?”

Such a surprised, “Yeah, well I don't trust them so we're even.”

“As long as you only approach them through me they'll think I've got you somehow 'under control'” she says with very sarcastic air quotes, “and give me just about anything I ask for.”

“You are a devious little wench,” I tell her, and I'm sure I'm smiling. I also know how my brain works, and what it's going to do to me if I'm not careful, “Now that's settled can I ask a favor?”

“Look into the Colorado Kid?”

The thing you're doing anyway, no, I wave a hand at her, “You're already doing that. No, just don't let me focus on the tattoo?” and obsess myself to death.

“Sure thing, Boss,” she nods.

“Good,” I rub my hands together, “Let's get back to the truck. I still have a lot of work ahead of me today,” some on the contract, maybe, not to mention the more important securing of all the things that need to be secured and hidden and slightly rearranged before the poker game, strangers and Audrey wandering around the old girl—all sorts of things can cause problems. There's prep before leaving tomorrow I can get done at the same time.

 

 

We make quick time back to the truck because there's less meandering. We're a minute or so down the road when Julia pipes up with, “Does this mean I still have a shot at making dinner?”

Ha! Not a chance. We should have time to do that before the game starts, “No. You have challenged the honor of your host by fixing breakfast. Now I must reclaim it by providing you with dinner. Don't argue with me. I'm making dinner and that's that.”

“Okay,” she says, more than a little too easily—what's her plot? “Dibs on making breakfast tomorrow.”

“Damn it!” because I'm sure she has absolutely no problem getting up early enough to compensate for when I'll have to leave.

She cackles victoriously and it doesn't take long before my fake angry head-shake turns into a laugh as well and then I shake my head in a different way because I'm being ridiculous.

“How early are you leaving tomorrow?” she asks, “So, I know how to work breakfast.”

“I have to leave by seven,” I tell her, “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Is it for you?”

I look at her to eye roll and she has a shit-eating grin on her face, “I get up early for pay and thus for Gull prep...” that dawns on me then. Gull prep for the next four days, shit.

“Yeah, but that's like, what? Eight-thirty, nine, and even then you look like you hate life itself.”

“Well, that's why Mother Nature created coffee and why I continue to search for the strongest known to humanity.”

“Right,” she says, taking a turn to roll her eyes.

“I don't see you complaining when it's brewed.”

“Fair enough,” she shrugs.

“Would you be willing to do Gull prep for me on the days when I'm away?”

“I've helped you a couple of times I'm sure I can do it. I certainly get up early enough,” she teases.

“Are you going to argue with me if I say I'll pay you?”

She seems to be considering this, “Are you going to dock my pay if I make breakfast with Gull supplies? I already cleaned out the fridge at Mom's house, and I'll be there early in the morning anyway.”

I can't help but laugh a little, “No, that's fine considering I'm running off with your food source.”

“How about if I make breakfast for the uncles? You know, to butter them up since I told them I'd be living with you and now you're running off without me,” she gives me an innocent look.

I grumble a little, “In the interests of bribery fine.”

The innocent look deepens, with wide eyes and fluttering eyebrows and stop it brain, “You sure you don't want to dock my pay?”

“Do you really think they'd be okay with you running off on my insidious criminal activity?”

“Oh so it's insidious criminal activity this time? I thought you were just picking up a box.”

“I'm going on how your uncles think,” I point out.

“Awww,” she pouts, “I was hoping it was an insidious box.”

“You know I don't look in the boxes.”

“Of course,” she says, “That's why I didn't say insidious cargo. Can't you just see the box sneaking around the Cape with its little box cloak trying to blend in with the shadows?”

“If I have to transport a Troubled box my rates are going up, a lot,” I point out as we turn down the road leading towards the harbor.

She laughs, “Alright, so I'll let you pay me for being your kitchen wench, but I want an advance.”

“Oh?”

“I'll need to buy lunch and dinner while you're gone,” she points out as we park and climb out of the truck to get back on board.

“Ah, right. Well, I can do that. Three days lunch and dinner. One day lunch, at least, depending on the weather...” so say four days just to be safe, fifteen for lunch, twenty for dinner, thirty five per day, four days, “at least one forty, so two hundred just to be safe?”

“More than generous, Boss,” she follows me into the state room, “I'll make sure I have things packed.”

“You are staying for the poker game?”

“Yes, of course,” she says, “I just want to be ready to go in the morning.”

I nod.

She disappears into her cabin and I go into the office and look at the contract I've been drawing up, for a little while, then get out the money I promised her and lock up the office.

Julia appears out of her quarters as I'm heading towards the hold, “Need a hand with anything?”

“It would go faster,” I admit, “and I can show you where certain things are. Strangers coming aboard sometimes things can go wrong.”

“With the quality of people you know?” she jokes, “I could never imagine.”

“Are you saying that there's something wrong with the people I know?” I inquire with an arched eyebrow, “because you count among that number, remember?”

“Exception that proves the rule, Boss,” she says.

“Oh, I see.” I pick up a stack of empty crates and move it by the door.

“So, what are we doing?” she asks.

“Right. Sorry. I'm putting empties over here right now, so I can shove certain things in the back corner out of the way,” I point to a couple of crates that are labeled very innocuously as fruit, which is extremely obvious to anyone who knows me given I never truck with actual food, well, never used to, and certainly not on this side of the business, but that's what they came in and that's what the other end is expecting it as so, there you have it, “We need to keep that,” I point to a metal structure on the wall, “and that,” I point to another area, “accessible but not too obvious. This stuff...” other boxes that are actually loaded with things, “that's not so precious. It can stay up front. Let me know if you need a hand with anything.”

“Got it.”

And we set too shifting things around, once we're moving things near the area I told her we needed to keep clear I ask her to wait a moment and show her how to open the cabinet. Inside I keep a double-barreled shotgun and a pump-action and several boxes of spare ammunition. Julia picks up the double-barrel and examines it, and checks to see if it's loaded and flips it closed smoothly. I have to bite my lip and look away for a moment. She's definitely a lot more familiar with guns than I would have expected from knowing her in high school. Stop following that train of thought.

“Right, now,” I say, as she puts the gun back, “Over here,” I slide the panel one way and then the one behind it, “this is the back way out of the hold.”

She ducks through for a moment and peeks around taking the lay of where the panel leads out too and then comes back in, “Should I ask what prompted you to build this? It wasn't here when we were working on the old girl.”

“Self preservation,” I point out, “The great motivator of any building project.”

“Ah,” she says, “That should have been pretty obvious.”

“Well, the past more than a decade have more than taught me that my exit strategies need back up plans and more back up plans, speaking of which—I think the hold is arranged enough I'll show you the passage in the state room,” I start up the ladder and she follows me.

“How many of these are there?” she asks.

“Not that many otherwise it would be sort of pointless,” I turn back to her, “Though there is one in your room. I'm not going to show you where that one is. That one's up to you to find.”

“Fair enough,” she says, “but for now...”

“Yes,” I wave a hand around the the state room, which includes the kitchen area and the table we eat at. I reach under there and detach the gun I have stored and offer it to her. Immediate bonus points for her pointing it away from both our faces and bodies. She quickly disassembles it as though she was putting it away, removing the clip, popping the remaining bullet out of the chamber and checks everything over, then puts the free bullet back in the clip and reloads, and checks the sight, aiming towards the kitchen.

“What?” she says, when she sees me watching her.

I shake my head, “Between this and the shotgun...you're a lot more familiar with guns than I would have expected from...but it has been quite a few years.”

“Wild world, Boss. Girl's gotta learn how to protect herself,” she says, and then before I can say something else she adds, “And defend her ship from boarding parties.”

“That's--”

“What self-respecting wench would just stand by while mutineers ran amok? I'd walk the plank myself if the Cape fell into enemy hands because I couldn't defend her,” she continues.

I have to drag my mind out of the gutter again. Damn it, Crocker, she's not interested. Stop it.

“The Cape and I appreciate your devotion to her safety,” I concede.

She gives a slight smile, “Well, I have to keep my home in one piece.”

“Of course.”

“The other main point of safety is the gun out on deck in the orange junction box on the port side.”

She nods, “I've seen it. Well, I've seen the box,” she amends, “not the gun.”

“Okay,” I nod, looking about to decide what to tackle next. What time is it, yet?

“Still got the gun under the bench on the deck?” she asks.

My brain short circuits again for a moment between the fact that she knows about the weapon and the fact that my lower body is once again trying to betray me and my attraction to the fact that she's so prepared and so...and guest possible room mate stop being creepy, damn it.

“Boss?” she asks.

I realize one of my hands is in the air and I put it down leaning on the counter that separates the two portions of the state room, and keeping that counter between us, “Yes. That's—how do you know about that?”

“You remember when we were working, fixing her up,” she pats the counter affectionately.

Like I'm going to forget this. I give her a look.

She laughs, “Maybe I'm triple checking there wasn't another chameleon,” she says, “I'm speaking about a specific time of course considering that took several months and everything. You were on deck when these guys showed up with...issues. I was watching from the side...”

“Is this when you had the boat hook?” I recall dissuading her from future boat hook use given the risk of inadvertent personal or ally injury and the problems of assault charges with the unwieldy thing and showing her where I kept a baseball bat instead given I had a feeling preventing her from trying to protect my “honor” wasn't going to happen and at least the bat was safer for her, and not wanting her to know that there were guns on board back then if I could help it which was a good half the reason I hadn't immediately gone for the gun the other half being talking people down is much preferable than having to wing someone.

She nods with a slightly rueful smile, “Yeah, anyway, when I was watching to see if I needed to come out, hook blazing, I guess, I saw your hand kinda drift towards the bench, before you managed to talk them down and get rid of them and I was wondering why you were reaching to the bench as a means of aid so...later on I looked under there.”

“And found the gun.”

“And found the gun, yes.”

I shake my head. Well, one out of...two back then, and many more now.

“You still have my baseball bat?” she asks.

I lean my head down towards the counter managing to disguise things with a laugh. It is so good the counter is between us. Vince and Dave in boxers. Vince and Dave in bathing suits, “Yes. Yes, I do. There's that and a big piece of metal pipe out on the deck down behind some of the crates up there but you can move it to somewhere that'll be better for you.”

“I'll check it out when we're setting up for the game,” she says.

“Alright,” I take a deep breath, “Well, I am going to check how clean and stocked up the bathroom is and probably,” definitely, “take a shower before I start making dinner...”

“I'll pack then,” she says, with a determined look that also says she'll have found the slip passage from her cabin before long too.  

 

We keep the bathroom fairly clean so there's not much to do there which is good because I need a shower, and release. So, much...thoughts to purge, especially if we're going to be sitting there all night with poker cards, beer and all that bending and leaning and banter, and yes, bad Crocker, do you want to fuck up your friendship this badly?

This calls for me to conjure up things that are the better to get rid of the lust and there isn't much in recent memory I can think of that's better for purging things than the Russian. The last time I saw her was the day of the Farmer's Market. I can see Ylsa stalking across the room in her leather corset, and black lacy briefs with those long laced up high-heeled boots which come all the way up over her knees, while I can't move, strapped down to the bed, tracing the crop up my leg, telling me off in that thick accent of hers. Running the crop up under my chin, teasing that she might actually grant me a kiss but then smacking me instead, and so it went teasing parts of my body, running the crop or nails tantalizingly against my skin or nipples, gently pressing heels against me, licking the very tip of my penis and then blowing against it but then no, it was not for me, I knew that.

She was teaching me that lesson. That I couldn't have her until I—and as I finish I realize that Ylsa has been replaced in my mind by Julia which is not what I was going for, but it's too late now.

You're betraying me brain, or is it you penis?

Either way I scrub myself off and I can see I'm actually going to be wearing underwear, maybe two pairs to be safe while we're at the poker table. Why are we doing this again? Oh, right, helping Audrey investigate these two jerky poker guys. So, therefore I've had to get the hooks into them to invite them to play and hopefully we can keep them on the line and play again depending on how things go.

I set up the game because she would walk in there smelling of so much FBI/cop that...yeah.

On the boat though she can be cop-in-pocket or something and we can all work our own angles and whatever Trouble they're using can be sorted out and winnings—or money left lying around that's just the cost of business.

In the mean time I need to come up with something to make for dinner as I dress before Julia takes it upon herself to make it. All this bullshit is at least a good distraction from everything else. Shit with Vanessa, with the pick-up I should be out of town for her funeral too, which is good, and there's this tattoo and then Ju—come on we just got through all that.

Dinner. Dinner.

Dinner.

I can hear Julia shuffling around in her room as I make my way to the galley. I wonder if she's found the passage yet.

What to make?

Something simple, quick and tasty given we've still got table and chairs to set up. I rinse and slice some small potatoes and set them to boil in lightly salted water, chop up half a small onion and put the rest into the fridge, then start to sautee it with butter in a pan, and then set to work with the steak that's in the fridge rather than the chicken, slicing it thinly with one of the sharper knives I have and adding it into the sautee pan after I take the onion out. Just enough that it's not raw.

Once the potatoes are soft I put them back in the pan with the onion and some herbs, and then mix up some eggs, and cook them in another pan. Steak and eggs is more a “breakfast food”, but it's quick and tasty, especially with the right seasonings.

“Does this mean I make dinner for breakfast?” Julia inquires as I hand her a plate.

“Did you find your escape route?” I ask her.

“I guess you'll find out if the ship gets boarded won't you?” she says, but then her expression softens to serious, “I rearranged the wall hangings and my dresser to make things a little more accessible and less conspicuous at the same time. Nice ladder.”

“Good,” I nod, “especially with strangers coming on board...”