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One: Dissolution
“I still can't believe you've turned us around!” Evi says.
I haven't, but I tried explaining that earlier and it didn't work.
“If you're going to come yell again at least make it a different tune.”
“You don't need to do this!”
“Says who?”
“You're being such a fucking bitch this morning.” She folds her arms as if that makes her point more accurate.
“Takes one to know one.” What am I five?
“Doesn't mean you need to put my reputation at stake.”
“What reputation?”
“You--” she starts to move towards me, almost sputtering, “I--”
“Just fucking go--” I wave towards the stern, “you don't have anything constructive to say and I'm not changing course.”
She slams the door as she stalks out. I hear the wood on the door frame splinter a little bit and pat the console next to the steering column, “Don't worry, old girl. I promise we're getting rid of her.”
After I hear the door to the bedroom close a little less roughly, I reach under the console for the stash there. It's clipped in the usual spot. I'm going to throw it out. I'm going to throw it out. I open the box; everything is all there. Throw it out. I can taste it. Our heading should be fine for a few minutes. I manage to drag myself out of my chair and set the container down on top of the console. I take the three baggies out and go onto the deck.
My arms are starting to itch, and my hip is throbbing where the bullet is lodged, but I know it's just a trick. I take the packets and start shaking them out over the side and crumpling them into my pocket. I'm trying to ignore the pulsing and thrumming building and building inside my head and I'm almost through but then I find myself snorting the dregs of the third bag. Willpower for fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck a duck.
Once back inside crumpled backs and tin contents all go in the trash, and I throw the needles on the floor and stomp them under my heel before I remember that I don't remember where the broom is, and I'll be damned as much as my willpower is if I go ask Evi where she put it. I scrape the broken bits of syringe towards the back wall. She's stayed fairly well on course, and we're still far enough away that there's no one else about right now. I put a CD on, set an alarm in case I really nod off given I'm not sure how much I really got. I didn't even realize I was shoving it up my nose until it was half gone. Anyway, then I lock the wheel and sit back down to watch the waves.
I'm talking on the radio to port at Senegal and Evi has been wandering around the state room for probably a half an hour not actually doing anything. Now she hears me on the radio, though, she's come towards the door, but because of her earlier bullshit it won't open. She hammers on it instead.
I give her the “wait” sign because as much as I want to give her the finger, she'd probably break a window and that's worse. I finish finding out where I'm going to berth the Cape and how much it'll cost me to stay there.
I step up and yank the door open and then throw myself back in my seat, “Now what?”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Not your business.”
“It's my business if it affects my business.”
“It doesn't.”
“Duke Horatio Crocker.” She snaps.
“Stop making up random middle names for me.”
She leans against the door frame and then jolts up cursing, “I'll stop when you tell me your real one,” she continues pulling broken pieces of wood from her arm.
“Of all the bullshit things for you to get hung up on.”
She's dropping the pieces of wood in the trash can though and distracted, “No wonder you've been in such a pissy mood. Why have you thrown all this away? How much pain are you in?” She waves down at the contents of the can and the broken needles, “If you dropped everything you could have just come gotten something I'm not that much of a bitch I'd keep you from your meds.”
Meds. Right. Like it's fucking antibiotics.
“That happened after,” I tell her, “I'm allowed to just be 'pissed' with you being ridiculous.”
“How am I being ridiculous?”
“Just listen to yourself.”
“You changed course! We have an appointment to keep!”
“We can't keep any kind of appointment if. we. Sink. In. a. storm!” I turn as much as I can when we're getting closer and closer to harbor. I can see lines of ships and boats, and even a few dinghies in the distance now and don't want to risk anything, “and it's thrown us of course by half a day.” Depending on what happens with the storm. Not that she's staying on board any fucking longer. Finishing this job be damned.
“You've said yourself storms are fickle.”
Did I? Damned if I remember.
“If it goes on longer.”
I turn don't look back at her because
“You think they want their cargo at the bottom of the ocean or a little bit late?”
She doesn't say anything because at this point she's lost the argument.
I get back on the radio because we're approaching what appears to be our berth, and I need to signal arrival, so we get assistance from the dock, because Evi isn't likely to help just to prove how pissed off she is. There's some blessed silence for a moment, at least in the cabin, as I slow everything down. I feel the engine groan a little but no sounds of anything that is worth worrying about.
Now we're coasting and I go out to throw the bumpers over the sides as quickly as possible. Evi watches from the helm. As I expected she just stands there. I leave the front door open so I can hear as well as see when to drop the anchor and have to push Evi out of the way so I can get back to the console and the wheel to make sure we don't bump to hard even with the cushions.
“If you're going to be like that--” she says.
“What?” I demand, “You'll get off.”
She takes that as invitation more than the hint I meant it as, moving behind me, and nibbling my ear, “I can get us both off.”
She is more than a little pissed when I push her away but is quick to put a mask on the indignation and go back to pleading and coy again.
“Duke--”
“No.”
“You're being—I can't—this is the—the--” she flails at me with her arms and then punches my back as it's all she can get to, as the anchor clangs into position and we jerk to a stop.
I pull away from her to stick my head out and wave to the people on the dock. I point out to her that if I don't nip down and pay them, they'll be throwing themselves up here looking for coin and that could lead to attention we don't need.
“Fine.”
I had seen them the last time I was out on the deck, but I really take the clouds in this time as they're a deep gray brooding shroud hanging in the air on the port side and getting wider and blacker. We made it just in time. The dockworkers and harbormaster both make similar sentiments about the weather to me when I pay them and quiz them about the forecast because I need to know how long I might be stuck here.
Evi is sprawled on the couch when I come back in trying to look seductive and maybe if I wasn't so pissed about everything it would hook me in. It has before. All it does right now is make me more annoyed and more determined to go to Ju—the spare room and get something to put Evi's stuff in and get her off—overboard if I have to.
“I believe we were talking about getting off,” she purrs.
“No, Evi. I meant you getting off the damn boat.”
“This is my--” she stands up.
“I'll pay you what you'd get from your damn precious drop—get your shit and go.”
“But--” she reaches for me again, catching up and putting one hand the same place it went when she was talking about the other type of getting off when I was at helm.
“I said stop.”
I remove her hand. She starts punching at my chest.
“You're an asshole, Duke Madrigal Crocker,” that one's a bit more inventive. Another few thumps, “a fucking asshole! After everything we've been through.”
I pick her up and move her to the side and walk back to the bedroom to gather her things.
She starts to follow but then I hear clattering from the kitchen, nothing actually breaking. I'm half-surprised. I find the collapsible suitcase under the bed in the other room. Evi's curiosity is piqued given she doesn't have access to this room, and she runs over too late to get in, and I just manage to block a cast iron skillet from hitting me. It doesn't hit the wall because it deflects off the suitcase and instead slides down it and hits the floor after bouncing off my toes.
I curse her.
“If anything, that's your fault.”
“Really? Where were you aiming in the first place?'
She picks up the pan before following me to the master bedroom and watches me fold out the suitcase and then blocks me from the closet.
“You were serious?”
“Yes. Why would you think I wasn't?”
She snorts, “How many times have we broken up before?”
Three. She has a point.
“You're getting off the boat.” I dump her drawers into the case before she can block me from those as well. I'll have to roll the jeans and few shirts that were in there later. There're other things which are very lacy and don't take much room.
When I forcefully move her from in front of the closet, she starts taking things out of the suitcase which I should have expected. I pull her away and that leads to me getting hit on the back and about the face instead.
“This isn't you. This is that junk you're putting in your body!”
“And whose fault is that?”
The hesitation in her tirade of fists that causes is long enough for me to shove her in one of the empty storage contraband cubbies that lock from the outside.
“Duke Crocker!” she is apparently too incensed to come up with a fake middle name for me, “Let me out right now!”
Her shouts, begging and screaming become the backdrop to me finishing rolling up her clothes and toiletries and getting them in her suitcase. Then I go to one of the stashes of cash and find also the box with her passports and things in it and get them all together as well as a receipt book. Damned if I'm falling into that trap. Hopefully my brain will stay focused enough to write out a legit seeming receipt for work that will cover the correct amount of funds for this.
The rain had started by this point, and it had changed Evi's tune to, “Duke, honey, please. At least let me stay until the weather's calmed down. Surely you won't kick me out in the rain.”
“I'm sure you can find somewhere to stay. You're good at that.” I push the receipt book under the door, “I know you have a pen on you. Sign that.”
“I haven't seen the money.”
There's that greed.
“Think of me as the bank. You're signing to approve the withdrawal. Sign it and I'll let you out.”
I hear the scratching but I'm still cautious. I don't think she's going to actually try to stab me with the pen but there's that still that 5% chance. Evi slowly pushes the piece of paper back out under the door. I half expect it to have “fuck you” scrawled on it, but she has signed it. She does want her money and she knows I'm enough of an asshole this is the only way she'll get it even if she somehow stays on board which she is not.
I put the paper in my pocket—she has kept her side—and open the door slowly. She's standing where she doesn't have to bend or crouch in the small room.
“We're really done this time?”
“Yes.”
“I don't want that.” She moves towards me out of the room, and I back up.
“And?”
“Please don't make me leave, especially in this weather.”
“Like I said before I'm sure you'll find somewhere to stay. You always land on your feet.” I open the top drawer of the dresser and grab a few condoms to put into the go-bag of hers I'd also pulled out of the closet.
“Really?” she narrows her eyes at me, “That's just--”
“For when you find somewhere.”
“I don't need those,” she says with forced urgency, “I'm pregnant. I didn't know how to tell you—you've been so apathetic with that junk in your system.”
“Right.” MY tone is as dry as her lie, “So you pick now. Very convenient and very no.” I grab the Ziploc bag that has the paper bag of cash inside it and hand it to her.
She blinks for a second having still been focused on a comeback.
I'm picking up her other things.
“What?” she asks, and thankfully appears to have dropped the baby bullshit.
“Your wages. Don't forget them. For being the most useless boatswain ever.”
She sputters at that.
“Count it if you want but then you're leaving.”
“If there's anything I trust you about,” she sighs, as we get to the cabin door and with apologies to Cape I kick it open, “It's money.”
“Fair enough,” she comes towards me again and I start to move away again.
“I just want to put in the bag,” she says, “I promise. I'm not carrying this into Senegal. Bad enough I have luggage.” I get a pointed look, but I don't do anything. I have to admit I do feel guilty to a certain degree, but she needs to be gone. I don't want to keep this downward spiral continuing.
“Good. Bye. Evi.” I tell her, “Don't make me throw your shit overboard.”
She hastily takes the suitcase and go-bag from me, whining that it's heavy. I remind her that it has wheels and back away further towards the Cape's cabin and shoo her towards the gang plank.
“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me,” she tries.
“We're the worst things to each other.” I point out, moving towards the shade of the canopy and out of some of the heavier rain, “I mean, we bring out the worst in each other, even if we have good times. Get off my boat.”
“How dare you?!” she starts shouting, “Help!”
“There's no audience, Evi. Just go.”