The Dust of 100 Dogs - A. S. King [66]
Twice, when a large Spanish fleet had passed them on its way to Havana, they disguised the Vera Cruz as an English patrol frigate. Emer called her officers to the deck and put on her best pirate voice.
“What does a pinnace offer us now, me lads? What fun be sacking surrendered ships? Is this not our sea? Our turf? Let us soon capture that fleet, says I! Let us finally get what we come for!”
The prosperity of the past year, and the ease of each battle the Vera Cruz fought, had made her lazy. She forgot about once being poor and hungry, and forgot about her lifetime of running—as if each jewel she robbed erased a same-sized portion of her memory. She stopped joining David in daily officers’ chores and instead spent most of her time sleeping. Which was exactly how the Frenchman would find her, two weeks later.
After Winston revved up the old pickup truck and sped off to the airport, Fred Livingstone was alone again. He preferred it that way. Once accustomed to gala balls and posh parties, Fred could now barely make a trip to the bank in Black River without panicking.
He rose late the next morning—after eleven—still thinking about his perfect bikini girl. His head played tricks on him. In the shower, under the slow trickle the local water supply allowed, he closed his eyes and tried to see her, but saw other things instead. He saw Winston in a coral-colored thong, then naked on a coral-colored bedspread. He opened his eyes and shook the image out of his head and tried again. This time it was Mother in a coral bikini, sitting on his bed crying. So Fred just opened his eyes and hummed until he was dried, dressed, and ready for the bank. He fetched the folders he needed from the safe and went to his office window.
He heard Rusty wincing somewhere downstairs, but ignored him. He spun his chair to face away from the million-dollar view and closed his eyes again.
“Join me for lunch today,” he started.
She smiled at him, then morphed into his mother. He opened his eyes, shook his head, then closed them again.
“How about one o’clock? The Island Hotel?”
But you have to go to Black River, Fred. You have to get to the bank.
Fred waved off the idea with his hand. “I can go to the bank tomorrow.”
You’ve put it off long enough, don’t you think? his mother said.
“Mum?”
Yes? What?
Wow, Fred, you must have really lost it now.
“Shut up.”
Can’t see any women in your head but a dead one, eh?
Fredrick, what are you doing? Are you telling me to shut up?
“Shut up! All of you!”
Fred opened his eyes, but his mother still spoke. She’s not our type. You won’t find a Livingstone sort of woman in this bloody place, I told you.
“I said shut up!” Fred screamed, and Rusty stopped whining at the front door. “Well, if I have to go to the bank, I’d better have a drink first for my nerves.”
That’s good, Fred. Don’t think about that stupid girl anymore!
He fixed a drink and sat down again, facing the beach.
You have to do something about this, Fred. Something must be done.
“I know.”
You have to do it today. You can’t go banging that Jamaican anymore and thinking it’s normal. It’s not. There are cures for these things.
Oh yes! his mother echoed, sitting naked in a coral Rolls Royce parked on the beach. There are ways to get rid of such unspeakable thoughts.
You should go see a shrink.
Oh no! his mother said. No professionals necessary! Fredrick, just come to the club with me on Saturday and you’ll have your pick of lovely, well-bred daughters. I promise you. They’ll be dying to meet you!
“Shut up! All of you! Shut up!”
After two more drinks, Fred felt numb enough to begin the journey to Black River. He gathered his things and went downstairs. When he opened the door, Rusty raced past him to pee on the nearest flowerpot. Fred tried to order the dog back inside, but Rusty was already in the vegetation so Fred closed the door and left. “Starve, for all I care,” he said.
He drove the single-lane