Sam waited in the wheelhouse the next morning, a dark mood hanging over his head. A light rain fell, making every surface slick and slippery. After he got his waders and boots on, he sat down and took another drink of coffee.
Eve had left nothing behind except for her short note. Not even Judith knew she’d moved out. It was difficult not to feel annoyed.
Before he’d formed partnership with Kyle, Sam used to go through a tender or two a month. The population of people who did this work was itinerant at best, downright irresponsible at worst. Sam had lost more money to flaky tenders than he ever had to bad weather or equipment failure.
Five more minutes until she was officially late. He decided to wait until then to call her. He took out his phone and looked at it, counting down the minutes and formulating what he was going to say.
One minute shy of blastoff, Eve’s bicycle came tearing down Harbor Way. She was wearing his jacket, but her black jeans and sneakers were completely soaked. She sped down the walkway and gracefully dismounted, locking her bike to its usual railing just outside of Judith’s shop. She came jogging over to the slip, her cheeks rosy with exertion, her skin almost steaming in the cool air.
“‘Morning, boss,” she said, climbing aboard. She put her messenger bag in its usual hidey-hole in the wheelhouse. “What’s up?”
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming,” he said, starting up the engine.
“What? Of course I’m here,” she said, unmooring the lines. “I wouldn’t leave you hanging.”
Sam said nothing. “Santa Rosa today. Should be okay once we clear the Potato Patch.”
The wind was fifteen knots when they started across the channel. After a rough passage, they dropped anchor at Ford Point. Eve put on her waders and deck boots. Because of the big swells, Sam helped her unload the hold and get his equipment ready for the dive.
“Be careful today,” he said, as a huge swell exploded over the bow.
It was a nasty spot—five hundred pounds after three hours, barely enough to justify the distance or the effort. Sam took a break and helped Eve re-tie the urchin bags. She was pale and looked weary, but she worked quickly and didn’t complain. He was always surprised by how strong she was—nothing fazed her. When she slipped on some slime on the deck, she landed flat on her back with a bang. She laughed a little at herself then got to her feet and kept on working. She never ceased to impress him, now more than ever, considering she had survived a tragedy whose magnitude he couldn’t even fathom.
After a meal of peanut butter sandwiches and more coffee, they pulled up anchor and moved east to a spot near Johnsons Lee. The kelp was healthy all the way to the coast and raggedy in some places—a telltale sign of the urchin on the ocean floor. Sam pulled up bag after bag here, and when the hold was full, Eve used the hydraulic davit to stack the bags on deck. The boat was getting heavy. Though he hated to leave all that money on the bottom of the ocean, Sam decided to stop harvesting before the Bravado reached capacity. It would be another rough passage back to Santa Barbara and he didn’t want the boat off balance.
****
The sky was still spitting rain when Sam signed the fish ticket on the dock. As the truck pulled away, Eve hosed the spines and kelp off the deck and stowed all of Sam’s gear.
“Almost sixteen hundred pounds,” said Sam with a yawn. “It’s a good payday, but I’m beat.”
“Me, too,” said Eve. “My knees are shaking.”
“Get ready for more winter storms. The weather is going to get worse before it gets better.” He glanced at her bicycle by Judith’s closed shop. “Come on. Grab your bike. I’ll put it in the truck and drive you home.” “You sure?” She cast him a warm, grateful look that cut through his exhaustion.
“Of course. Let’s go.”
Eve walked the bike over to Sam’s parking space behind the antiques shop. He was digging into his pocket for his keys when Eve put her hand on his elbow.
“Sam.”
Just like the Bravado, Sam’s ‘87 Chevy Silverado wasn’t much to look at, but with his careful maintenance, its engine was damn near indestructible. He almost dropped his keys when he saw what someone had done to his beloved truck.
All of the windows had been smashed. Pieces of safety glass covered the interior and sparkled in the puddles around his tires, all four of which had been slashed. Water glazed his dashboard and soaked the floorboards. And there was no misreading the message spray painted on his hood in red paint.
Your Boat Is Next…Where Is The $$$?
Sam immediately turned to Eve and said, “Go into Judith’s shop and wait for me there. Lock the door behind you.”
“Do you want me to call the cops?” she asked. He shook his head “No.”
“Sam, what’s going on?”
“Just go inside for now. Please.”
In the fading light, Sam swept up all the glass and grabbed a tarp from his boat to cover up the broken windows. He bungeed the tarps and used a roll of duct tape to get some plastic sheeting over the windshield to keep out the steady rain.
Delirious with exhaustion, he stood underneath his deck and, with trembling fingers, dialed Kyle’s number. His friend listened carefully as he explained what happened.
“Do you have the next payment?” asked Kyle. “Yes! I busted my ass over at Johnsons Lee to
cover the payment. The cash’ll be in my pocket tomorrow.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Kyle, without the Bravado, I just…I can’t imagine…I’ve got nothing. Nothing.” He suppressed the urge to throw up.
“Calm down, buddy. After this installment, how much more do we owe him?”
“This payment’s five thousand. By the end of May, he needs the last ten thousand.”
“Holy fuck.”
“If I go out four days a week by myself, I might make five…maybe six after fuel and operating costs. But no way in hell can I make ten in that time period without you. You need to call him, Kyle. Call Madrigal and tell him what’s going on. Tell him to send the usual guy to come pick up his five grand in the bar tomorrow. And for Christ’s sake, tell him to call off his thugs.”
“Okay, Sam. I’ll see what I can do.” Kyle hung up.