Chapter 4
Captain Kendra’s Log: Buy lightbulbs. Install breathalyzer.
Four weeks later
I thought stomach flu was hell.
But I’d take a week of puking my guts out any day over the trio of trouble on my boat.
“This fucking sucks.”
“It’s the girl’s fault.”
“Waywaywaywayminute.”
I gripped the helm of the Netfish and Chill tighter, my knuckles turning white as I watched the Myquelson men struggle to bait their hooks on the deck. The dim moonlight cast eerie shadows over their unsteady movements.
My First Mate, Decker, did his best to assist, but these drunk idiots were complicating it.
Their fumbling fingers struggled to thread the hooks, and they could barely see straight in the glow of the working deck lights.
It was a wonder someone hadn’t impaled a finger already with their clumsy attempts.
And that reminded me to get replacement bulbs at the store.
As I made a note on my phone, I couldn't help but regret agreeing to this night charter. The Myquelson men had shown up already sauced at four o'clock, violating the boat's rules.
My boat.
My rules.
But Mr. Myquelson offered me an extra $1,000 to take them and look the other way.
Big mistake.
Huge.
I should have refused them then, but now we were out at sea dealing with the consequences of their reckless behavior.
There’s a reason I don’t like drunk idiots on my ship.
“Skipper?” Decker pulled me out of my wallowing.
He grimaced from the lower deck, his furrowed brow pointed toward approaching lights in the distance.
The Gulf of Mexico was exceptionally tranquil at this time of year.
The gentle lapping of the water against the boat's hull provided a soothing rhythm while the air, finally free from the oppressive summer humidity, carried a refreshing tinge of salt.
Beneath the catamaran, the bioluminescent fish created an enchanting, otherworldly blue-green glow, casting an ethereal ambiance over the scene.
It would be downright zenlike if it weren’t for the douchebags on my deck.
And the faint strains of grating pirate music grew increasingly louder, drowning out the gentle sounds of the Gulf.
“Son of a pirate whore!” I swore under my breath.
I grabbed the mic on the shortwave radio. It squealed, and I thumped it a few times to get it to work. I hailed the ship, which was only a few hundred klicks from our current position.
“Pirate ship off my starboard side,” I growled into the handset. “This is the Netfish and Chill. You’re too far into international waters. Please return to your previous course.”
I clicked off the handset and waited for a response.
When none came, I repeated my order in a firmer tone.
The radio squealed and hissed. I heard crackling laughter through the speaker and a possible “fuck you” before the radio went silent again.
“Whassssshappening?”
I looked up to see Drunk Dad standing too close for comfort.
“Sir, I need you to return to the lower deck.” I pointed to the steps. “This area is restricted to my crew.”
"Those idiots are scaring the fish," Drunk Dad yelled, waving his fishing rod toward the pirate ship, a menacing black vessel with its Jolly Roger flying, motoring closer to our position.
He nearly speared Decker in the face with his loose hook.
The cabin lights glinted off the sharp point inches from Decker's nose.
I rolled my eyes. If anyone was scaring the fish, it was the drunk idiots who thought they would catch marlin after dark.
They didn’t believe me when I told them marlin were best caught in the Keys or near Miami.
And night fishing was more for red drum and flounder.
They had their drunk asshole hearts set on catching a trophy fish.
I had my heart set on paying the bills.
So, here we are.
“Skipper?” Decker joined me on the command deck.
“I thought her name was Ken?” Drunk Dad leaned toward Decker. “The only person we’re missing is Barbie!”
He laughed, nearly singing my nostril hairs with the thick cloud of whiskey that rolled out of him. My heart clenched at the mention of Barbie.
Yes. Barbie should be here.
My best friend, Jesse Barbot, and I planned to start a fishing charter right out of high school.
I would get the Coast Guard captain license and find a boat.
Jesse would be in charge of the marketing end of the business, from the website to ads and commercials.
When he got his first wife pregnant, and they got married, he promised we’d still go into business together as soon as his son was old enough for school.
So, I kept up my end of the deal, finding a worn-down boat headed for the junkyard.
I learned everything I could about the Seeger catamaran and spent countless hours getting her working.
All the while taking odd jobs around nearby marinas to pay for parts.
“Old enough for school” then turned into “waiting a few more years until he was in middle school.” I started the charter business and tried to do everything myself, but it was hard.
Marketing is not my area of expertise. Joy helped me for a little while before she made her first million, but then she got too busy to continue.
Everyone else left and moved on, but I was still in Pleasure Point, trying to make this business work without my partner.
I had been waiting for Jesse to become available for decades.
I knew his first marriage wouldn't last, but a month ago, days after his divorce was final, he got engaged to another woman, breaking my heart. The pain of seeing him move on so quickly left me feeling devastated and powerless. That’s the only explanation for the drunken sex frenzy that broke the outdoor shower at Flamingo Cove Marina.
I couldn’t even drive past that town anymore without having flashbacks to the strong-jawed hottie and his thick dick, covered in questionable shower water.
“Skipper’s name is Ken. Kendra Jarrett,” Decker explained as he herded Drunk Dad down the steps to the lower deck, avoiding the third step that needed to be nailed back down.
Again. “This is her ship. She’s the Captain.
What she says goes. And if she tells you to get off a deck, you get off the damn deck, understood? ”
“What a joke,” Drunk Older Son snorted. “Girls don’t know shit about fishing.”
I bit my tongue to avoid telling him he didn’t know shit about fishing either because I didn’t need another bad review on my website.
I took deep breaths and tried to calm down as they attempted to catch something “worthwhile.”
Was it wrong that I hoped these guys caught nothing but crabs? Not the kind you eat.
The pirate ship was so close I could see people dancing and laughing on the top deck, their silhouettes swaying in the moonlit night.
There were calls of "arrr" and "ahoy matey," blending with the sound of the waves and the salty breeze while peals of laughter echoed across the dark waters from the inebriated patrons.
This was the third time Pegleg Pete’s Pirate Extravaganza had trespassed into my domain, a shadowy figure in the night.
This was my secret spot for night fishing.
Yet every time I staked my claim, the pirate ship would emerge as if summoned by some unseen force, encroaching upon my realm and compelling me deeper into the treacherous waters of the Gulf, making my night that much longer.
It was taking a toll on my fuel budget and last good nerve.
“Maybe I could sneak over there and set off the fire alarms?” Decker suggested.
“Fire is nothing to joke about,” I chastised.
If the pirate ship wouldn’t move, we’d have to change course and find another spot. “Decker, pull up the anchor. We’re going to move.”
I flipped the switch to fire up the engine, only to hear an empty clicking sound. My stomach twisted. Not again.
“I thought you fixed that, Skipper,” Decker said as he reached for the weathered rope affixed to the anchor. He yanked hard and then fell on his ass, the frayed end of a broken rope in his hand.
“Shit,” I cursed and flipped the engine switch again.
Nothing.
I reached for my toolbox underneath the console and knelt on the fiberglass deck. I pulled the metal handle on the compartment to expose the ignition wiring. Decker hovered over my shoulder and pointed to the sea of electrical tape.
“Is that up to code?” He whispered.
I smacked his leg. “Shh. It’s just until we get back and can get a good repair.”
“You said that last week.”
“And I meant it then, too. Keep the clients busy by reeling in their lines,” I hissed.
“Stonefish? Was it something I said?” A ridiculous voice crackled from the speaker of the shortwave. “Things were about to get interesting!”
I flipped the bird at the pirate ship and twisted the wires until a shock zapped my fingers. The diesel engine roared to life, belching acrid smoke as it did. I winced. This was no way to be a friend to the environment.
I stood and twirled the helm away from the pirate ship. When we had enough distance between us, I stopped the engine and ordered Decker to lower the backup anchor.
“That was the backup anchor.” He waved the frayed rope in a circle.
I wiped my greasy hands on my pants and sighed. Of course, it was.
My phone dinged in my pocket. We must be close enough to shore to get a signal, so I pulled out the phone and blinked at Jesse's text.
Jesse
You haven’t answered my question.
There was only one question I had wanted to hear from Jesse all these years, and “Will you be my Best Ma’am” wasn’t it. It wasn’t his fault that I pined away for him. He didn’t know. Even though I was pissed off as all hell, it wasn’t fair to my childhood bestie to leave him hanging.
Me
How could I let my best friend walk down the aisle without me?
My stomach dropped as I typed. How indeed?
Jesse
The groom doesn’t walk down the aisle.
Me
Duh.
Jesse
Just messing with you. So, will you stand beside me?
Ugh. He was killing me.
Me
Wouldn’t miss it. See you in a few days.
“Skipper.” Decker kept a wary eye on our charter guests. “As much as I hate these assholes, they have a point.”
“Not you, too.”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to put your full name and picture on the website.”
“Yes, it would,” I sighed. “How many times have we been over this? Sport fishermen expect a man to take them into deep waters.” If Jesse finally came into the fold, this would solve the business problems. We could make him the face of the operation, and men would line up to throw money at us.
It would solve everything. “We need that man bait to bring in the big charter money.”
“What if it didn’t?” Decker asked.
“Didn’t what?”
“What if it didn’t rely on these guys? You’ve been talking about offering something different. Eco-tours. What if another group wanted exactly that?” My First Mate explained. “We wouldn’t have to bend to the whims of an overweight banker who only wanted a fish trophy for his vacation home wall.”
“Hey, my brother’s a banker,” I warned.
“No offense, Skipper.” Decker held up his hands in surrender. “Just saying, maybe you should share your story.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Isn’t it, though?” He cocked his head to the side, then frowned as he sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
I hunched over to smell my pits. When was the last time I showered? And why did I smell like— “Fire!” I yelled, grabbing the marine fire extinguisher lashed to the side of the boat. Flames were shooting up the side of the stairway. “Decker! Get those assholes away from the flames!”
“Hey!” Drunk Younger Son grumbled. “I didn’t sign up for this abuse.”
As the fire grew, a sharp tinge of ozone filled the air. I sprayed the flames as Decker radioed for help and shot off a signal flare.
The fire extinguisher wasn’t working fast enough, and no one would get here in time to help us. I yelled over the roar of the fire, “Abandon ship! Abandon ship!”