The Night Charter (3 page)

T
HEY LAY NAKED
together in the forward compartment, the sheets twined around them messily. Parker slept, his breathing slow and even. Camaro slipped free of the bed and went to where his shorts lay on the floor. She came up with his wallet and leafed through it. There were fifty-seven dollars in cash, his driver's license, a trio of business cards from other fishing outfits, and a photograph.

She looked at the picture. It showed a young girl of eight or nine on a beach, corn-silk hair blowing in a sudden gust off the water, and a more youthful Parker half-caught in the frame. The girl was laughing, and he was laughing, and the entire moment was washed in sun and pleasure. Camaro touched the girl's face once and then put the picture away. She returned Parker's wallet to his shorts and then climbed back into bed.

Parker murmured slightly and took a shuddery breath through his nose. Camaro looked down at Parker's feet, at the colorless bands of skin that marked where his sandal straps lay, and she nudged one foot with her own. She felt him wake. He chuckled. “Watch it,” he said. “I'm ticklish.”

“Where?” Camaro asked.

“All over. Don't get me started.”

“I won't.”

She could feel him watching her, but she didn't look back at him, choosing instead to look out past their feet to the galley beyond and the wooden door that closed off the back deck from below. The door had a circular window, and through that she could see the fighting chair waiting.

“You know, when I said you could earn a little extra, this wasn't what I was talking about,” Parker said.

“I know.”

“I can't really remember the last time somebody…you know, gave me an invitation.”

Now she did turn to him, and she saw that the nerves were gone from him for the first time. His features were softer, the stress lines shallower. He was more handsome that way. “I don't do that for everybody,” Camaro told him.

“I wasn't saying anything.”

“Okay, then. Don't.”

Her left leg was above the sheets and Parker pointed at a spot on her midthigh. It was a long scar with a head like a comet at the end, and it stood slightly raised from the tan skin, marring her. “What's that?” he asked.

“A scar,” Camaro said.

“What kind of scar?”

“A bullet scar,” Camaro said.

“A bullet scar? You got shot?”

“Yeah. I have another one right here, on my shoulder. See that there on my side? That's one, too.”

“Holy shit. When did you get shot?”

“In the war,” Camaro said simply. She glanced at the scar once, then looked away again. She examined the roof of the compartment and the rows of little lights, switched off now, that gave off a soothing yellow glow in the night.

“Which war?” Parker asked.

“Both of them,” Camaro said.

“Both…? You mean like Iraq and Afghanistan both?”

“Yeah. I was there. Two deployments each.”

“What branch were you in?”

“The army.”

“But you weren't a
soldier,
right? I mean, women don't serve in combat.”

“Tell that to the Taliban,” Camaro said.

“So you were shooting it out with them? Like with a real rifle and everything?”

Camaro glared at him. “What do you think women do in the army? We're not all secretaries. Some of us picked up a weapon once in a while. Some of us picked up a weapon a
lot
.”

“What did you do?” Parker asked. “In the army, I mean.”

“I was a Sixty-Eight Whiskey,” Camaro said.

“What's that?”

“It's a combat medic. I went out with frontline troops and got it done. Sometimes I got shot at. Sometimes I had to shoot back. If the enemy figured out what I was, I'd be the first one to take fire.”

“Why?”

“You shoot a soldier, you put down that soldier. You put down the medic, and suddenly you put down two, three, four other soldiers. It didn't matter if it was Iraq or Afghanistan. They both had the same idea.”

“Jesus,” Parker said. “That's crazy. And you did this for how long?”

“I was in twelve years,” Camaro said. “I enlisted right after 9/11. My dad was superpissed. I think he got over it after a while, but…I don't know.”

Parker was quiet. Finally, he said, “I never served.”

“Lots of people don't.”

“It's not because I didn't want to. I used to play football in high school, you know? Anyway, I didn't get a bunch of concussions or anything, but I did manage to tear the hell out of my ACL. That was the end of that. No more football, no army, no marines, no nothing. I still can't run right.”

Camaro sat up and searched for her watch. She found it at the foot of the bed, swathed in sheets. “I'm running out of time. You're going to have to get out of here,” she said.

“What time is it?”

“Seven thirty.”

Now Parker sat up and made an angry noise. “Goddamn it, I didn't tell Lauren I was going to be late tonight. I'm surprised she hasn't called me already.”

“Then go. My charter's going to be here any minute.”

Parker tried to kiss her, but she turned her head. She got out of bed and put on her clothes. She noticed him watching as she put on her boots. “Is that a knife you have in there?” he asked.

“Yes,” Camaro said.

“You don't take any shit from anyone, do you?”

“Hurry up and get dressed.”

She went up on the deck while Parker scrambled for his clothes. The day was bleeding away, the sun already low in the west. They would be on their way to the good swordfishing waters by the time it was full dark, and then it would be ten hours out where there were no lights except those of the boat and the distant blink of ships passing miles away on their way to port.

Parker stumbled out from inside after a few minutes, still buttoning his shirt. His hair was mussed, and it made him seem younger than he was. He dragged his fingers through it and cleared it away from his face. “I hope this isn't the last time we, uh, run into each other like this,” he said.

“No promises,” Camaro said.

“Okay,” Parker said, and she could hear his disappointment. “I guess that's it for me, then.”

Camaro climbed to the flybridge. “Let me know when you're ready to go out with your people,” she said without turning toward him. “You have the number.”

“Right,” Parker said. “I will. Good night.”

He left. Camaro did not watch him go.

T
HE NEXT DAY
was a half-day at Lauren's school, and Parker waited at the bus stop for her return. He knew she was old enough to make it the two blocks from the stop to the house. But he had been meeting her after school as regularly as he was able since she was very young, and he didn't feel the urge to stop now. Sometimes she told him not to come, that her friends would make fun of her. He came anyway, because that's what dads did for their daughters.

He saw the yellow bus rise out of the silvery heat coming up from the asphalt, and he put on a smile as the bus came closer. It slowed and stopped, and its shadow fell over him. Parker waved to the bus driver, and the driver gave him a little salute. Parker was aware of the eyes of young teenagers watching him from the windows. Lauren came off, and he saw that she was aware of them, too. She clutched her books to her body and hunched her shoulders without looking at him.

“Hey, there,” Parker said to Lauren as the bus left. She was already walking, and he hurried to catch up. “How was school today?”

“Fine,” Lauren said.

“Just fine? Learn anything new and exciting?”

Lauren regarded him with a sour eye. “It was the last day of school, Dad. We're not learning anything on the last day of school.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Still…there's got to be things going on.”

“Nothing, Dad,” Lauren said.

“Absolutely nothing? You guys sat there and stared at the walls all day?”

He caught the slightest hint of a smile, but she stanched it. “They gave us busy work. I had to write an essay on what I'm doing this summer. That's the kind of thing
kids
do.”

“That's tough,” Parker sympathized. “They should have asked you about how we can have world peace.”

“I'm
serious,
Dad! It's stupid. If they don't have anything for us to do, they could cancel classes and let us all go home a week early.”

“I don't know if I'm ready to have you home all day right now,” Parker said. “I could use another week. How about summer school? You ever think about summer school?”

Now Lauren did smile, and she punched Parker in the arm. “That's not funny. Only stoners and juvies go to summer school. You want me to lose
all
my friends?”

Parker threw his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. “I want you to be happy. That's all. Whatever it takes to make you happy.”

They walked like that part of the way. Lauren put her head against him, and Parker was glad. She was so tall now. In only three years she'd grown like a weed. He remembered holding her hand to balance her as she walked for the first time. “Dad?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Did you find a job today?”

The pleasant feeling fled Parker. He sighed. As if it was a signal, Lauren slipped away from him and put her gaze on him. He felt shrunken in her sight. “No, I didn't find a job today,” he said. “But I looked. I really did look.”

“I guess that's good enough,” Lauren said, but she did not come back to his arm again. They walked apart the rest of the way.

Parker got the front door unlocked and held it for Lauren before he heard the rumble of the engine. It was as distinctive as a fingerprint. “Hey, go inside and relax a little while,” he told Lauren. “Uncle Matt is coming.”

“Ugh,” Lauren said. But she did as he said and vanished indoors.

He waited on the front walk until he saw the familiar yellow-and-black Charger coming down the block. Matt had the windows down and a tanned arm propped in the window as he cruised the old car to a stop at the curb. He cut the engine and climbed out. “
Hola,
Parker,” he said. “What's up?”

“Not much.”

“Catch you at a bad time?”

“No. I was just getting ready to fix Lauren a snack.”

Matt approached him. He was a lean man, so much so that his skin seemed tight over his flesh and bones. His hair was lank and brown and came down floppily over one eye. Matt was always brushing it back, but it fell in the same place every time. Parker did not know why he didn't cut it. “Lauren, huh? Maybe I should go in and say hello.”

“It's okay,” Parker said. “She only got off the bus a few minutes ago. She needs some downtime.”

“Sure, whatever,” Matt said, and he brushed his hair from his face. “I came to talk business anyway.”

“What about it?”

“Well, do you have the charter all set up?”

“I'm still working on it.”

Matt frowned. The expression pulled taut skin even more tightly. “Parker, we don't have all the time in the world. Now is this lady going to take our money or not?”

“I don't know. I'm trying to work my way around to it.”

“There's no more time for that. The Cubans are getting antsy, and they want to get this done soon. They're waiting on us to give them a window. I can't stall them forever.”

“I'll get on it,” Parker said.

“Okay,” Matt said, and the frown vanished. “And there's one other thing: I wanted to throw the guys a little bit of money to keep them happy. So I need about a thousand right now.”

Parker stood with his back to the door, aware of the house and Lauren and everything inside. He did not let worry cross his face. “I can't do that right now. You know how it is.”

“Hey, come on, Parker, who's the man in charge of all this?”

“You are.”

“Right. So I need some of the money. Like right this minute.”

“It's not where I can get at it,” Parker said.

Again Matt swept the hair back. Again it fell into place. His eyes had darkened. “Where did you put it?”

“Somewhere safe. Even I can't get at it right away.”

“Did you put it in a safe deposit box or something?”

“You told me not to say,” Parker said. He thought of the loose piece of wainscoting. Even if Matt looked, he would not see it. “You told me to take the case, put it somewhere where only I knew where to find it, and sit on the money until it was time to divide it up. So that's what I did.”

“How are you paying the rent on this place?” Matt asked.

“We get assistance. And I had a little money saved up. It's enough to get us through until this pays off.”

“Until it pays off,” Matt said. “I guess that's all up to you now.”

“I'll get us the boat.”

Matt scrutinized him. The darkness had not gone away. “I want to meet the captain. Can I do that much, or are you keeping her all to yourself?”

“Sure, you can meet her,” Parker said. “Just don't…don't push too hard. I get the feeling she'll say no if you push too hard.”

Now Matt smiled broadly and spread his hands as if to take Parker up in a hug. His arms were spidery, the muscles long and raw. “Hey, do I look like the kind of guy who'd screw up your thing? I put all my trust in you, man. We're partners for life.”

A tension eased in Parker's chest, and he breathed a little more deeply. “I'll call her up and see when we can see her. Maybe tonight. I'll have to check.”

“You call me with the time and the place, and I'll swing by to pick you up,” Matt said. “Okay?”

“Absolutely,” Parker said.

“I can't wait to lay eyes on this chick. Is she hot, or what?”

“Yeah, she's good-looking.”

“Does she have big, giant titties?” Matt asked, and his smile turned wolfish.

“They're okay,” Parker said. He imagined Camaro beneath him and above him. He imagined her beside him in the little bed at the bow of the boat. These were things Matt could not know.

“All right, then. See you later, bro.”

“Bye,” Parker said. He went inside and closed the door, and then he watched Matt through the peephole until the Charger drove away. He relaxed only when he couldn't hear the engine anymore.