TWENTY-EIGHT
As first light came, a fishing boat with no name rode the swells of the gray water off Long Beach, well out from the shipping lanes. Jimmy and Angel and Drew were at the rails, steadying themselves as the boat climbed and fell. The engines idled and the captain tried to keep it headed into the wind but the ride was rough.
Steadman was forward, directing several peacoats bearing the first of the bodies, strapped with weights, wrapped for sea burial in unbleached cloth. As the bearers carried a body by, every man on deck reached out a hand to touch it. Drew did as the others did. He was back in his blue cap. Then the body was lowered over the side, sucked down feetfirst with hardly a sound.
As the peacoats went forward for the next, Angel and Drew went with them to help. There was a truce now, for this.
Steadman came to Jimmy.
“You know you won’t stop me,” he said. “Even with everything you know, you still don’t understand, do you?”
Jimmy didn’t answer him.
“We’ll win,” Steadman said. “We will win.”
“You probably already have,” Jimmy said.
Angel and Drew and the peacoats came back with another wrapped body. Jimmy reached out to touch it.
Steadman blessed it, too, but left his eyes on the breathing man before him.