The Lobster Kings (42 page)

“It’s not one of ours,” I said.

“I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” I said, cutting her off. “You heard what George said. Not all of them. They took care of the bulk of James Harbor, but there’s always some that do what they want.”

Kenny reached out and pulled the microphone from its rest on the side of the radio. I grabbed his wrist and stopped him before he keyed it. “No.”

“Come on, Cordelia. You know we’ve got to call it in. You know what Woody said.”

“I know what he said, Kenny, and we’re going to take care of this ourselves. The boys went to James Harbor this morning and they took care of something that I should have taken care of. With Daddy gone, that was my job to do this morning, and while I appreciate what the boys did, I’m not calling for help every time there’s something scary out in these waters.” I didn’t let go of Kenny’s wrist. He stared at me and I stared back, and then, after what seemed like a long time, Kenny put the mic back on its clip.

I didn’t say that Daddy wasn’t here to take care of me anymore, and I didn’t say that I was sick of things, that I’d had enough. I was tired of doing things the right way. I was tired of the ocean dictating its terms to me. And I was fucking tired of James Harbor. The ones who wouldn’t listen? I planned on making them listen. These were the Kings’ waters. These were my waters.

The fellows in the other boat saw us coming and were waiting. They weren’t surprised when I turned the
Queen Jane
broadside, but even though I shouldn’t have been, I
was
surprised to see Eddie Glouster looking back at me. I’d left a hefty gap between the two boats, almost a boat length, but suddenly it didn’t seem hefty enough, and I began to regret not having Kenny call it in. I glanced over at the radio, and Kenny saw me. He lifted his eyebrow.
Let’s see how things pan out
, I tried to say to him with the way I shook my head.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Eddie called across. He had his arms down at his sides. I couldn’t see his hands. The same went for the other man on the boat. I didn’t know his name, but I recognized him as one of the men who’d been there the night we burned Eddie off the island. At the thought, the image of Oswald Cornwall, face blown through, came to me. It wasn’t hard to imagine Oswald on his knees, begging, crying, saying it was only money, and Eddie standing behind him, gun to the back of his head, pulling the trigger. I kept thinking of the other body, too, the one that went with that finger.

I looked over the water. Near as I could tell, all of my buoys were still there, but Daddy’s had been thinned out. I expected to see yellow buoys with a triple ring of sky-blue and a band of green, and I wasn’t disappointed. “You’re in the wrong waters,” I called back.

He shrugged, but he still kept his hands down. I couldn’t figure out if he was holding a rifle or a shotgun or something smaller. But I didn’t think his hands were empty. If this was the same boat that had fired on George—and at this point, I was willing to put money on it—then there was a good chance Eddie was holding a
shotgun. But maybe it was a pistol. I was hoping pistol. I wasn’t sure how good a shot he was, but most people aren’t as good at handling a firearm as they think they are, and pistols are a bitch to aim, particularly with the motion of a boat.

“I’ve heard you’ve got an opening, what with your daddy finally kicking the bucket. Besides, you’ve got plenty of lobsters,” Eddie said. “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

“Sorry,” I said across the open space between our boats. “We’re full up on assholes, Eddie.”

He seemed to be enjoying himself, but he was also bouncing a little, like he was full of a nervous energy, and for the first time I had the thought that he might be hopped up on something. He was thinner than when I’d last seen him, the night of the fire, and I tried to remember what I knew about meth. “You know, I pulled those traps and emptied them before I cut them.” His voice faded in and out over the idle of my motor, but his words were still clear. “I don’t know what the fuck your Daddy was using for bait, but the lobsters sure love it.” He finally showed one of his hands, lifting it up to cover his mouth in mock surprise. The other hand stayed firmly down, out of sight. “Oops. Did I say that out loud? I didn’t mean to let you know that I was cutting Woody’s traps. I guess he isn’t using them anymore, so no harm, no foul.”

“Hey, fuck you, Eddie.” Kenny brushed past me and leaned on the rail. He spit the words out. Eddie flinched at Kenny’s forward motion. “I get my hands on you, I’m going to kill you.”

I reached out and pulled Kenny back by the sleeve. “This is on me,” I said to him quietly; and then, louder, I yelled across to Eddie. “Basically, what he said, Eddie. Fuck you, fuck your piece-of-shit boat. I get near you, and I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Eddie seemed to recover himself. He looked at his buddy and then he started to laugh. “Man, you should see yourself. You look so pissed off. But I don’t think you’re so tough without your crew of friends. And you’re definitely not so tough without the old man there to take care of everything for you.” He shuffled sideways
until he was near the cabin. “It’s hard work, you know. I thought it would be kind of fun, pulling traps, working the water, but I’d forgotten how much work it really is. Oswald and I argued about it. You remember Oswald, right? I hear you’re the one who found him. And Joey’s finger.” He laughed. “So scared you had to call in your daddy. Shame Daddy’s not here to come to the rescue?”

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

He grinned. “You’ve already said that. Nice cast, by the way. Must be hard pulling traps with a broken arm. I guess I made your life easier by cutting some of your daddy’s traps.” His buddy laughed at that and Eddie tilted his head to him. “Yeah, I’m funny, aren’t I? It really is hard work. That was Oswald’s problem. He wasn’t willing to work for it, and then he just thought he’d go off and do his own thing, and that didn’t play so well with me.” Eddie stared at me, trying to intimidate me. “But we’re doing just fine without Oswald. Hard work, but nothing taking a few bumps can’t help us get through. We’ve both been tweaking the last couple of days, and I know that when I come down I’m going to be sore as shit.”

“You know what, Eddie? Just do yourself a favour and get out of here before somebody gets hurt. You’re right. It’s a lot of work, and I don’t think you want to be out here any more than I want you to be out here.”

He looked down at the hand that he’d kept below the rail, and when he looked up at me again his face carried an aggrieved look. “It’s not your waters, you know. It’s not just for you. You aren’t anything special. Who gives a shit that your last name is Kings? Who gives a shit that you’ve been on the island for a hundred years or whatever? And you make it sound like being a lobsterman is some noble pursuit. You all are full of shit. It’s just work. Hell, I don’t even want to be out here. I just went along with it when the other boys in the harbour said we should make a play, because I thought it would be worth it to show you and your friends what’s what. And then they all pussied out, said it wasn’t worth the heat. Well, fuck them. Fuck you. Yeah, it’s hard work
hauling, but hell, it’s worth it just to see the look on your face when I said I was cutting your daddy’s traps. I make more money in a day of moving meth than I do in a week on the water, but it’s been worth it. Oh, poor Cordelia, her sainted fucking father’s dead. He wasn’t such a good man, you know. Everybody makes him out to be such a perfect guy, Mr. Loosewood Island, but he was nothing more than a bully. Like you.”

Eddie touched his fingers to his cheek. I wasn’t sure that he even realized he was doing it, and even though we were closer, we weren’t close enough for me to see the small scar that I knew was still there from when Daddy had punched him. Eddie dropped his hand again. “I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting for this,” Eddie said. “Wish I could have seen his face.” He showed his teeth. “Shame the old fucker stroked out.”

The boats had drifted closer together, closing the distance to half a boat length, and I was able to drop my voice into something akin to a normal conversation. “What? You’ve been circling around just waiting to, what, to get back at us? Is that what this is about, Eddie? You’re cutting traps because your feelings were hurt? Because you couldn’t hack it? Is this some sort of temper tantrum? You want me to say I’m sorry?” I took a step closer to the rail and leaned toward him. “Sorry because you couldn’t hack it as a sternman? Sorry that you started dealing meth on the island? These are my waters and you aren’t welcome here.”

“Your daddy ain’t here anymore,” Eddie said. “I don’t take orders from a cunt like you.”

“Fuck you,” I said, lifting my left arm and pointing my finger at him.

“No,” Eddie said, “fuck you.” And what Eddie pointed back at me wasn’t his finger. And suddenly I thought that I didn’t want to take my chances, even if it was only a pistol.

T
he sun burned a hole in my chest. High in my chest. It was up in my shoulder, under the collarbone. No, it wasn’t the sun. It was a fishhook. Somebody had slipped me onto a hook. Something banged, loud and popping. The sun was falling? Was that the sun crashing into the ocean? It fell again, and then again. I couldn’t open my eyes. I opened my eyes and I was under the water and I could see scales and flesh, a mermaid turning toward me. And then she wasn’t a mermaid, she was a selkie, and as she moved toward me she flickered from seal to woman to seal. I blinked, and then I couldn’t open my eyes again. The back of my head hurt, and there was something wrong with everything. I could hear Trudy whining and I could hear Trudy grunting, sniffing at something. There was a coughing sound. Laughing.

I
tried opening my eyes again, and I saw Trudy crumpled against the gunwale. There was something dark and shiny matting the fur near her haunches. I could see her breathing coming fitful between her whines. Her eyes were open and she was watching me, but she didn’t try to get up. There was a coughing sound, coming from somewhere outside of my field of vision. I tried to turn my head to the side and had to close my eyes against the surge of light. I could feel a wet stickiness on the back of my head. I must have smashed my head on the deck when I went down. I’d need more stitches. But why had I smashed my head? I tried pushing myself up, and as soon as I moved my left arm I realized why I was lying on the deck. Eddie had shot me. The sharp hook in my chest—or shoulder, I wasn’t sure where it was exactly except high and left, high enough to have missed my heart, missed my breast—was a bullet hole.

I took a few seconds to catch my breath, and then I tried again, pushing myself up with my good right hand instead. I wanted to puke. I’d gotten a concussion out on the
Kings’ Ransom
a few days ago, on the night of the storm, and I was pretty sure I’d just
gotten another one. Even propped up with one hand, it took me a few more seconds to be sure I wasn’t going to fall over.

I heard a man laughing, and then more grunting sounds. I realized they were coming from over the rail, from somewhere other than the
Queen Jane
. I heard talking and static coming from the radio, which was smashed and half off the console. I thought I recognized Timmy’s voice, even with the static.

The push against my calf scared the shit out of me, and I almost screamed. When I turned and saw that it was Kenny, I almost screamed in relief. He had his leg stretched as far as it could go, his toe against my calf. The first thing I saw was that his face was crusted in blood. His nose was bent, broken, and one of his eyes was swollen almost completely shut. Then I saw that his arms were pulled back, realized that his hands were zip-tied behind him, that he was tied to the base of the captain’s chair. And then I saw that the bottom of his shirt was soaked with blood. There was a ragged hole near his belly, and the blood there was darker. He was sweating, and every time he blinked his eyes it was slow and deliberate, as if he weren’t sure he could open them again. I started to move toward him, but he shook his head. The effort seemed to cost him, and then he motioned with his chin and his head toward the other boat. He mouthed her name,
Stephanie
.