AU: 2011 Help Wuornos

[amichan]

The second day in a row I'm being drug kicking out of sleep by someone banging on the cabin door yelling my name. I suppose I better get out there, but this time I'm at least grabbing cigarettes before I go to the door. It's not Wuornos though. I peer out of the door, cigarette in hand. It's Mike Gallagher.

He looks relieved.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“You are alive.”

“Yes,” I mutter, “Now, what do you want?”

“Vince asked me to come up here because you didn't check in...properly after yesterday.”

I snort.

“Well, you just called to say the job was done and then we didn't hear from you. He...” he at least looks apologetic, “...needs the report.”

“Really? What the fuck does it matter? The guy's dead. The Trouble is done. I'm not writing shit up for him.” I light my cigarette.

Mike gets this look I could swear it's a smile but what do I know?

“You could just tell me what happened and I'll turn things in.”

I sigh the smoke out. At least the aching will be going away soon, “Fine. What the fuck ever. If it'll get you gone and I can go back to sleep. Sit there.” I point to the crate by the door, and come out onto the deck and close the door behind me and sit across from him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Now, then. Fuck. How to tell this, best leave certain people out of this, I suppose. I rub a hand down my face and take another drag of the cigarette. Mike shifts a little. He's looking out towards the town and then coughs a little probably afraid he's lost me.

“Okay,” I say, “So, yes—well, day before yesterday I heard this old high school “friend” of mine might have some sort of “connections” you know?”

“I can guess,” he says, dryly.

“So, I was figuring I could check it out yesterday. Extra sources are always good.”

Mike shakes his head. I give him an appropriate glare.

“If I could find out where he lived. So, I was making my way into town given I was actually up trying to think of how I could find this out when who should call?” I give him a look given he knows damn well who called. Of course all of this is complete bullshit. Given what actually happened is that I was woke up by Wuornos hammering on my door.

 

%%%%

 

“What the fuck?” I demanded as he's standing there on my deck for once not actually looking pissed with me but...nervous? Worried? Either way it's fucking weird. Though when I yank open the door he does stop banging and shouting mid, “Crocker!”

“Uh...yes...” he manages.

So, there's me glaring at him, and him with his fist in the air looking uncomfortable now.

“Yes?” I return, “I didn't ask for a wake up call so what the fuck do you want?”

“I...I need your help.”

“Sure you do. This is some really weird new police harassment—wait, where's Parker? You guys are usually attached at the hip.”

His expression darkens then.

“That's,” he sighs, “That's why I need your help.”

“I'm in no way going to fix some relationship trou—difficulties for you.”

Now he glares at me. This—this is more normal. This I can deal with.

“Duke, please,” he retorts.

My stomach freezes and knots itself up. This—this I can't fucking deal with. We stare at each other.

“Du--” he starts again.

“Don't,” I tell him, “Don't you--”

“She's been taken—and--”

“And what? How the--” Shit. Why am I even? I close my eyes for a moment. Fuck.

“Please I need your help to get her back.”

“I seem to recall you having an entire fucking police force.”

He sighs and looks at his feet, “Yes, but I doubt they could get anywhere near where I'm pretty—where she most likely is. Do you remember Nick Fletcher?”

It does sort of sound familiar. Wuornos pulls out his phone and messes around with it for a moment and turns it towards me. There's a picture on it but I can't make out the details. He is fine handing the phone over to me so I can get a better look though which is also fucking weird. Now I know who the guy is though.

“Yes,” I say, carefully, “I remember him.”

“We were looking into him, and she's been missing since yesterday. I'm—I'm hoping he's just got her somewhere and—and not...” Not dead. Right, “he's—well he's got connections to some drug people,” he's sounding more awkward, “which is why I hoped that you...might be able to track him in ways my “entire fucking police force” can't hope to.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, “Just because he knows drug people doesn't mean I automatically know where he is.”

“I know that,” Wuornos snaps, “but it'll be a lot easier for you to weasel your way into there and track him down.”

He does have a point. Some junkie trying to make a connection with a drug guy is a lot less suspicious. Fuck, I'm getting a worse headache than normal in a morning. Oh, and now I hear Spit on your grave from inside the boat.

“What's--?” Wuornos asks.

“It's a phone, genius.” I mutter, and go and get it, “What?” I demand though I somehow doubt it's actually Vince he hasn't spoken to me directly on the phone in ages, or in person really either and lo it's Mike.

“There's a job,” he says, at least sounding apologetic.

Of course there is. So now it's desperate Wuornos or kill some poor fucker.

“So, what's going on?” I ask him.

“Meet me at--” he starts.

“Just tell me. I'm sure it's urgent. It's always urgent.”

He sighs, “There's a Fletcher.”

“Nick Fletcher?” Well isn't that just...

“Yes,” Mike sounds slightly surprised.

“I went to school with him,” I explain, “You went to school with him,” I can't resist adding.

There's silence for a moment and then, “...well, he's been--”

“Just tell me where he is.”

Mike gives me the address and I hang up on him and turn the phone off. Wuornos is looking at me. I'm shaking my head at the phone.

“Should I ask who that was?” he asks.

“Do you really want to know?”

He shakes his head.

“What's important is I know where Nick Fletcher is,” I have to snort, “I'll just need a minute or five.”

“What?”

“To get my shit together so that you can drive me up there.”

“If you know where he is then just tell me--” he says.

“I can't,” I tell him, “and you know why. You'll get your Parker back. Isn't that what's important?”

I go back inside and get knives and my coat, put my boots on and check for a pack of cigarettes and lighter. I close the door and light up.

"You're not smoking in the truck," he tells me as soon as I turn around. 

“Fine,” I suck down the cigarette and drop it on the deck and grind it out under my boot, “Happy?” I ask exhaling the smoke.

“Fine,” he answers, “Where are we going?” 

%%%%

“So, your call was extremely helpful,” I tell Mike, having left out all of Wuornos' involvement, “Given you gave me Fletcher's address so I didn't have to try and wheedle it out of anyone so I could just get myself a taxi to the area.”

“The area?”

“I never have anything drop me off right in front of someone's property that's just ridiculous.”

“Right, of course. I wasn't sure if it'd be different though,” he says, typing on his phone.

“Well, it's not,” I snap, “I went went up the road slowly, walking my way back and forth as though I was more out of it. For some reason I know how to pull that off,” I tell him.

He gives me one of those looks. I flick the spent cigarette over the side of the boat and toy with the pack for a bit before setting it down between us.

“As it happens guy's property is kind of a farm, but I imagine you knew that even before everything was finished.”

He nods, “Yeah. We did.”

I nod too. Of course they did. Maybe they'd have told me that if I'd not hung up on him. Never know now, “He's out in the front screwing around with something and sees me stop to lean on his wall. He's all 'Duke? Duke Crocker?' and comes scurrying across the driveway. I'm all 'Wait...wait...I'll get it. Mi—no...' and I stop and think for a minute, putting my hand on his shoulder and searching his face and he's egging me on with his expression, but kinda wanting to fill me in too. 'Neh...no. Nick?' 'Yup,' he says all happy.” I shake my head, because that didn't last of course, “and he's all how he'd heard that Crocker was kinda into 'it' pretty deep, but it didn't look like I was into the stuff he was doing, just like that, but I mean whatever, and what brought me out this way? And I tell him I'm trying to get as far away from the PD as possible because they just let me out of the tank, and then he's like well, you know I don't have any smack connection that would open me up, I just have coke, and I'm like fuck? Really?” I shake my head, “The idiot drags me right on up to his barn to show off his stash. I mean, seriously? But he probably figured I wouldn't remember.”

Mike's just expression of mind-blown, and shakes his head. He's not typing at the moment, but it really doesn't need to be in there.

“So, he's babbling about what dealers do I know and I'm all I don't know if Beck or them will trust any random guy I bring to them they like to find people themselves, and as we get in the barn side I stumble towards some of the hanging tools hoping he'll try to catch me which he does and I can lean him into something so he'll cut himself and I can check, you know?”

Mike nods.

“And well, he scrapes himself and bleeds and I'm like, 'Shit, man, sorry,' and grab his hand, and the blood and yeah, the fucker's Troubled, and then he's all, 'what the fuck?' because of course my eyes light up like they do, and that's—well, that's when it all goes really freaking whacky because then there's shouting from the other side of the barn.”

“Oh?” Mike says.

“Yeah,” I pick up the pack of cigarettes again and tap it a few times until I'm satisfied and then take one out and put it in my mouth, “Yeah, this voice calling out 'Hey! Hey! Is someone else out there?' fucking Officer Detective whatever Parker.” I cup the cigarette to light it.

Mike whistles, “Really?”

“Yeah. Don't ask me what he was doing with her, but I guess. I mean the PD stumbles into Trouble shit all the time, so I don't know, but I was like '...what the hell, dude?' and he was just 'Fuck. Shit. Fuck.' and well, wouldn't you know, I guess he felt so guilty about that he just got these chains from the barn and hung himself and me being the junkie spazz I am just fled the scene because I don't want to be found in that mess.”

“Of course,” Mike says, typing again, “Is that all?”

“Well, I did almost get hit by Wuornos' truck on my way down the road. Guess he found out where his partner was, but I mean him trying to kill me or shit happens like once a week anyway, so that's nothing new.”

Mike shakes his head.

“Is that enough?” I lean back against the outside cabin wall, trying to scratch an annoying itch on my left forearm, “Will Vince be off both our asses now?”

“Come on, man,” Mike says, setting his phone down next to my cigarette packet, “We were concerned. You hung up without even asking what the guy's Trouble was.”

“I don't care,” I tell him.

Mike stares at me for a moment, “You...need to put it in the book.”

“Why?” I ask him, “You're writing all this shit down. You put it in the fucking book. You take the fucking book even. Why do I even need the damn thing?”

“I...” he trails off.

“Just go back to Vince,” I stand up, scooping up my cigarettes, “I need sleep.”

Mike stands up as I get to the cabin door, “I can't take the book,” he says, after a moment, “and you know why.”

“Whatever,” I open the door and start to go inside.

“Do you need anything?” he asks.

“I need you to go and leave me the fuck alone,” I close the door and lock it behind me.

%%%%

I gave Wuornos the address and climbed into the right side of his truck and stretched against the seat for a moment before closing the door. I didn't want to think about how long it was since I'd been in the front of the truck.

“Don't take me all the way there,” I told him, after a good few minutes of awkward silent driving other than the radio dropping in and out between two channels, “Drop me off at the middle of the next street down, and I'll walk up—see what's going on.”

“I need to--”

“You asked for my help. It's going to go down my way.”

“Thank y--” he starts.

“Don't.”

I can feel him looking over at me but I keep my eyes fixed on the road in front of us and the struggling shrubs in people's yards and the street parked cars here and there.

“But Duke--”

“Stop with that too. Please,” this time I do turn to him, “and don't fucking try to say you owe me or some shit. I happen to have to go this way too and you're driving me. There. You don't owe me shit because I'll happen to find your—Parker so it'll be even.”

“Fine,” he mutters.

The rest of the trip is blessedly silent until he stops the car and I start to climb out he reaches out for me and I pull my hand up.

“Fine,” he says, “Call me when you find her so I can come and sort things out.”

“Sure. Whatever,” I tell him, like I have his number, and get out. He'll realize that soon enough but hopefully he's smart enough not to risk anything by following me.

I walk up the road putting on a “drunken” type weave and stopping every now and then to look around as though I have no idea where I am, and rub at my neck or head. This is one of the few times I haven't actually tied my hair up for a job. Needs must. Feh.

“Duke?” I hear suddenly. There's a guy across in the yard of a house—farm house I see the barn behind and a cluster of trees and expanse of fields behind that. He's wiping hands off on pants where he's been messing around with soil strip that runs next to his paved walkway, and some sort of long handled tool clatters onto the paving stones as he walks towards me, “Duke Crocker?”

I turn and stop and lean against his wall and he closes the distance, “Wait,” I tell him, waving a hand which winds up on his shoulder and I peer at his face, “Wait—Mi,” as though I was going to say Mike or Mitch or something, and I lean back a bit and squint, “No, no, Ne,” like maybe Neil, and I can tell he wants to help me out but at the same time he's eager to see where this goes, “No...wait. Nick.”

“Yup,” he says and he's so fucking happy you'd think I just gave him a hundred bucks.

He pats the hand of mine that's on his shoulder, “How are you? Sit down. Sit down,” he sits on the wall facing towards the house and I sit facing towards the street, and he stabilizes me so I don't fall backwards. Okay, good sign for another idea I had, “I heard you were back around, and you were...” he trails off for a moment, “that you were pretty heavy into some things.”

“Eh,” I shrug, “People say what they say. They don't know me though.”

“Right,” he says, “Right, of course.”

“They don't know what's going on. They just...” I let it trail off and unfocus on a tree just behind him for a moment.

“Duke?” he asks.

I wait until he says my name again, “What?” If there's one thing I can do it's be high. I have enough practice. Though I don't need to pretend to be fucking itchy.

“What're you doing out this way anyway?”

“Oh,” I say, “Oh, well, stupid cops put me in the drunk tank and I wanted to get as far away from the PD as—as possible, so I was...I was just walking, you know? Getting some air...” I wave a hand around in front of me so I almost clonk him in the face. He dodges and laughs a little bit.

“You know by the looks of you I don't think I carry what you need,” he says, sounding a little upset about that, “You're on the smack train, aren't you?”

“Hm?” I ask him, as if I'm trying to make out innocent but completely failing.

“Oh, come on,” he says, “We're friends here, right? I want to be able to help you out, but I only have crack and coke back there,” he waves a hand towards the barn, “I'd love to be able to get my hands on some heroin though. Maybe you can hook me up with a contact?” he gives a nudge towards me, “I'd give you a much better deal than you're getting now, of course, and, you know, I don't think there's anyone dealing this local. It'd be a lot easier for you.”

I give him a hopeful look but then go to fearful, “Oh, I don't know,” I tell him, “I mean Beck,” because that's totally his name, “he likes to sound out his own people, and who is going to trust anyone I recommend to them? I'm just some--” I wave a hand, “and you—you're just full of—I just saw you again for the first time.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, “No, seriously,” he tugs at my sleeve, and helps me turn around, “Let me show you. Come to the barn. Come on,” he pulls at me again.

I stand up and follow him cautiously; but while the ground isn't frozen hard it's not slippery squelchy either which is something. He's also already moving now that I've stood.

“You can take a picture if you want. Show your contact I have this stuff and I'm trustworthy.”

“I don't know that's how it works...” I tell him, but it's not like it really matters.

He practically runs ahead of me into the main barn building. Is he taking his own shit? He seems to have way too much energy? Or it could just be who I'm used to being around.

Hm, right by the door here there are a bunch of hanging tools several of them look kinda sharp. Good. He's pulled a hay bale off of a stack and is waving his hand at what was underneath. I can see at least a dozen wrapped clear bundles of white powder. Oh, holy shit. And the way the bales are around it. There's got to be at least another layer if not two.

So, is this what the Siamese Twins were investigating and they stumbled upon a Trouble or were they looking into a Trouble and stumbled across a wannabe Drug Kingpin?

He moves back towards me given I haven't come any closer than by the doorway, “So, what do you think? You think your Beck guy would be cool with me?”

“I don't know,” I say, “Like I said he's kind of a closed...um...” I make to stumble backwards again towards the stuff hanging on the wall and he reaches to grab me I pull us into the stuff so that he jams into it and he curses a bit, “Oh, shit, man!” I say, “Shit!” and I grab him where he just got cut, “I'm sorry!”

“It's okay,” he says, “It's not your fault,” except it totally was, and there's that rush. Fucker's Troubled alright.

“Oh, what the fuck?!” he yells, “What the fuck is going on with you?!”

“Hey!” I hear what is most definitely Parker's voice calling out from the left of us as I grab for Fletcher before the strength burst goes away, gotta be careful not to break his arm, “Hey! Who's out there?! Is someone else out there?! Help me!”

“Is that that lady cop?” I ask him, softly, like I'm going holy shit what are you doing? Even though I'm clearly trying to take him down.

“What the fuck?” he struggles against my hold but there's no way. I cover his mouth.

“You didn't see anything. You didn't see anything,” I babble out, hopefully it's high-pitched enough and freaked out enough it sounds like him, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” I grab the heavy chain that's nearby and drag him on the hay bales, “what am I going to do? Oh, fuck,” he's still struggling some as I wrap it round his neck by one end and throw the other over the rafter then kick one of the haybales down in front of him so he'll be swinging free once I let him go. Gotta break his neck first though. I grab his arm where he's still bleeding and there we go.

Done.

And swinging.

“Hello?” Parker calls, warily given all the noise has stopped, except the creaking of the chain.

I bolt out of the barn and over the wall, and down the street back towards Nathan's truck. He looks surprised to see me as I catch my breath next to his window for a moment and he rolls it down.

“Parker's in the barn,” I tell him, “Left hand side away from the hanging suicide guy. I just...” I put up my hands, “...he freaked out. I don't...” don't lose his face. Everything is really starting to...

“Why didn't you call me?” he asks.

“Like I have your number? Are you crazy? With your...” no, those aren't there. Those aren't there. Stop looking at them. Fuck.

“Duke?”

“I told you to...not...” I pat the window frame, “Just go get her, okay?”

“Get in the truck,” he says.

“I gotta--” I point.

“I'm not going to the barn until you get in the damn truck. If I have to carry you myself I--”

“Fine. Fine. Fine,” I mutter, “You are gonna be really mad when I throw up.”

“What was that?” he asks as I climb in the passenger side.

“Nothing. Just go with your green swirly clock.”

“The hell?” he asks, but the truck lurches into gear and he speeds off around the corner, everything swims and blurs, green and red with the bubbles around, and the truck frame is melting down the sides, and I feel the bounce as he goes over the driveway and around towards the barn.

Then he calls it in, “Witness claims to have heard Officer Parker shouting for help. Am investigating the location.”

The crackling static of the radio going on and off hurts my ears and I open the door to lean out given my stomach's started churning with the Nascar racing audition Wuornos was doing the two minutes up here.

“Stay here,” he tells me.

“No problem,” I'm trying to get my phone to turn back on anyway, “Go do your daring rescue,” I think he's already gone. Some message thing starts beeping at me but I ignore it and just hit the call “Uncle Asshole” button, of course it's Mike that answers and not Vince as expected.

“Duke?” he asks, “Are you okay?”

“The job's done,” I tell him. Fuck, I can feel things starting to come up now. I pull myself up to standing so I can lean over.

“Uh...okay...what happen--?”

“It's done. Fletcher's dead.” I hang up and drop the phone, and lean against the truck and scrape as much of my hair back as I can to hold behind my neck before the puking attempt starts. Mostly I just wind up with a burning throat and spitting a few bits out onto the grass. I sit back against the step on the side of the truck entrance and lean my back against the side of the seat for the moment. My head is spinning now and my mouth tastes real crappy. I should still have some cigarettes somewhere. I scrabble around to find them in an inside pocket of my coat. I don't remember how many laced ones I have left though I didn't exactly get to prep anything this morning with all this fucking drama.

A small gust of wind blows through as I'm trying to light up which is just perfect. I set my hand with the lighter down for the time being. The waving trees gives me distraction though watching things sway through and the clouds blending with the branches and buds.

“Crocker?” Parker asks, suddenly and I blink at her. She's standing with a hand leaning on the side of the truck next to me, looking down, “You found me?”

“He did,” Wuornos answers from the other side of the truck, “He's the reason you're out here now.”

“Thank you,” she says, reaching a hand towards mine and patting it.

I just stare at her. This is just getting weird now. What does she expect from me?

I pull myself to my feet and move to the side, “Have your spot,” I tell her. There's no wind now I can light the cigarette, hopefully. My hands are getting jittery.

“We'll take you wherever it is you need to go,” Wuornos says, as I pace back and forth a bit and then go lean against the back of the truck bed.

“I can make my way back,” I tell him, “I told you we're even.”

“What's that--?” Parker starts.

“Don't worry about it,” Wuornos cuts her off, quickly, “I'm not leaving you,” he says. It takes me a moment to realize that he's talking to me and not Parker.

“Why?” I ask, “We're done,” I take another drag of the cigarette, grateful I can feel somethings easing up a bit, but I'm still shaky. If I call a cab I should--

“Stop being stubborn,” he snaps, “Just get in the back of the damn truck. I'll throw you out near the harbor. No one has to know.”

I'm about to say something else when he cuts in again.

“I will taze you. Do you really want that right now?”

“Fine,” I climb in the back of the truck and sit down after stubbing out the cigarette. Parker gets in the front.

Wuornos is verifying something on the radio with the police department and I scrub the sides of my head trying to ignore the hash noises of the radio. When the radio stops and I look up Parker has turned around in the front seat and is looking at me.

“I know I said that,” Wuornos is saying to her, “but I know I also told you it would be pointless,” he turns to me, “buckle in.”

“Seriously?”

“You're not in cuffs you can do it yourself,” he says.

“That's not—”

He just fixes me with a serious look until I snap the strap into place and fold my arms and meet his gaze, “Okay?” I demand.

“Yes. Thank you,” he answers and puts the truck into gear and backs out onto the road. There are other cops around now I see. They're moving in and out of the barn and there are flashes of photos being taken which pull me into fireworks.

I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. It's more normal being in this part of the truck, the lulling motion, the limited view of the outside world. Parker's hair is glowing against the top of the seat in front and flickering with red, orange and green. I can hear them talking but it's so much Charlie Brown, and I try to let it wash by and just focus on the movement of the truck as it rolls along and lean my head against the side. I float on flickering colors and follow the trails and listen to them babbling along the occasional word makes it through here and there but I don't pay any real attention until the truck stops moving and the rolling becomes just a dull vibration.

I open my eyes just slightly. Parker is mostly out of the front seat.

“Stay there,” Nathan tells me, pointing in my direction, “I'm just dropping her off here, as it was on the way and taking you to the docks now.”

I lean forward slightly, as much as the belt will allow before digging into my neck and burning, and there's the red brick wall of the police station. Is the town going to crumble now that Wuornos is driving away from the department with me still in the truck and Parker not?

I lean back scratching the belt away from my skin and close my eyes thwup-thwup thwup-thwup cobblish streets, not a flat tire.

“We are going to the docks, right?” I ask him after a moment where it seems like things are taking too long. We're apparently stuck in a weird amount of traffic.

“Yes,” he says, stiffly, “We're going to the docks.”

“This isn't--”

“This isn't anything.”

“I'm not gonna--”

“I'm taking you to the docks, Duke, okay?” he turns around for a moment and then turns back and it's quiet.

“Okay, I just don't want to wake up strapped to some cot at Gloria's.”

“I said I was taking you to the docks,” he mutters, as we start to move again.

“Fine. Okay,” I tell him, leaning back and shifting about trying to get comfortable, “I think you'd understand why I might not trust bei--”

“Why—what now?” he asks, like he didn't call his Dad to help kidnap me before, “I'm sorry,” he turns back to look at me again, “You don't trust me is that what you're going to--” and then he stops and turns back to face the road once more and just waves one hand at me.

“Yes,” I tell him, “I don't trust you.”

He makes a noise but doesn't actually say anything for the moment, drumming his fingers across the top of the steering wheel and resting the other arm against the edge of the truck window so his hand is somewhere against his face. It's getting too bright. I shift around trying to block the angle of the windows and move my hand to block the sun from my eyes as well as pulling my hair more over my face trying not to aggravate my itchy head, because it's just this one spot in the right side in the middle there so if I ignore it—and the fucking—Nate's still drumming his--

“Duke!” his face his leaning over the back of the seat.

“You're gonna crash the damn truck,” I tell him.

“We're stopped,” he says. He leans back a little, nodding towards the window, “We're at the docks. If you really want to stay in my truck now I'm going to be very confused given everything else you were--”

I push at the door and he opens it with some smarmy ass look on his face and grabs my elbow as I come out of the truck. I miss when I try to push him out off me. Fuck. The ground isn't quite where I thought it was, but I don't hit it because Wuornos does have a hold of me.

“See the boats?” Wuornos says.

I look about but everything the way I think he's pointing is blurry, but it's blurry blues and bluish-greys with splashes of color, and I can hear keening gulls and smell salt and something sort of fishy so I have to admit we're here.

“Hrm,” I tell him.

“What was that?” he asks as I push up from him to be more upright, “Where are we?”

“The docks,” I tell him.

“You're welcome.”

“I am breaking one thing I said though,” he says.

I knew it.

“I'm not throwing you out here,” he says with this tone that's very similar to the one he had when he offered to taze me, “I want to make sure you get to the Ursa. Don't need you dropping your keys in the water or something. You might drown trying to get them back and I'm sure as hell not diving in for them.”

I am not going to say thank you even though I cannot tell the difference between any of the boats around here right now. I just make a grumbly noise and grudgingly allow him to help me along the harbor side. I reach into my pants pocket to find my keys. Wuornos, I guess, hearing them jingling holds his hand out to take them as we turn suggesting we've reached the slip where the Ursa is. I reluctantly hand them over and he leads me up the boat ramp on to the deck. I feel like a landlubber because as we make it on board everything starts spinning even worse and I'm being held over the side rail all of a sudden as I try to puke but there's nothing more to come up than there was earlier so it doesn't happen.

“How about you stay there for right now?” he says, “I'll get the door unlocked.”

“Whatever,” fucking boat getting revenge on me now. Great.

“Come on,” he says.

“What?” He's got his hand on my arm again, “The door's open.”

“Already?”

“Just come on.”

I give up and brace myself against him and we cross to the cabin door and inside. Once through the door he stops looking around.

“It's fine now,” I tell him, pulling away to lean against the kitchen counter, “...thank you.”

He makes a sigh noise but the way the shadows are moving I think he's nodding, “If you say so. I'll—okay, fine.” There's a clattering thud of my keys landing on the counter, “Thanks, again,” he says.

“I told you--”

“I know, but thanks anyway, for Parker,” and he leaves.