“Caught in the act, Chief,” Finn slurred, giving me the thumbs-up. The woman in front of him fiddled with the buttons on her shirt, but she swayed from side to side, too drunk for the task. She seemed to realize it and settled for pulling the sides of her shirt closed and crossing her arms across her chest.
She had an angry patch of acne on her chin. She was young, maybe in her early twenties. Her eyes were wide and vacant. Pink lipstick was smudged halfway across her cheek, and when she moved away from Finn, she stumbled and went down on one knee. She used the seat next to her to pull herself up, but it was a slow, clawing process, as if she were climbing out of a deep ravine instead of merely standing up.
“Go wait in the truck,” Finn said to her, and she stumbled over to the side of the boat. She threw a leg over the rail and almost toppled back into the boat. I grabbed her wrist before she fell. Finn didn’t move, just sat in the chair, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes barely open.
She managed to get her other leg over, and when she slid from the boat to the dock, she stumbled into me, her polka-dot bra crushing into my arm. Now that she was in front on me, she seemed even younger.
“Did you come with him?” I asked, bending to look at her face. She pulled her arm away, but I stepped closer to her. Her wrist was tiny in my grasp. I loosened my grip but held her there.
“I’m not letting you go until you tell me you came here willingly with him,” I said.
I glanced at Finn out of the corner of my eye to see if he would react to this, but he sat in the chair, his legs out in front of him. His shirt was unbuttoned and a black tattoo ran the length of his hairless chest.
“Yeah, daddy, I did,” she sneered, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.
I dropped her arm, and she walked backward, still facing me, not bothering to close her shirt. She waved her fingers at me, turned, and weaved down the stretch of dock. When she reached the gangplank, she used the railing to pull herself up the steep incline before she disappeared into the darkness of the parking lot.
The dock dipped, and Finn’s shoulder grazed me as he stumbled by. It was a slow, halting walk, as if he knew he might end up in the water with one misstep.
When he reached the Hope Ann, he paused, his body swaying from the sudden stop.
I was twenty feet behind him when I saw him climb over the side, the boat rocking when he boarded her. My body tightened.
“Ah, the famous Hope Ann,” he said when I reached the boat. “Your wife’s namesake.”
“Get off the boat, Finn.” I stepped over the side of the boat onto the deck.
He ignored me and leaned against the railing, pulled a cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket, fished one out, and lit it. He took a long draw on his cigarette before he stuck the pack out, offering me one. I crossed the distance between us and slapped the pack out of his hands. The lighter hit the floor and skidded across the deck. He followed it with his eyes, then looked at me.
“Relax. You’re the one that interrupted us. I thought maybe you were lonely, looking for some company.”
“I was sleeping before you ran your engines at one in the morning. Idiots like you shouldn’t be allowed to own boats.”
“Simmer down. She asked me to start her up.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “And who am I to say no to a lady?”
The light from the tip of his cigarette glowed in an arc. He almost missed his mouth when he brought it to his lips. He was beyond drunk, his eyes red and watery under the glow of the dock light above.
“But you know what I mean. You never knew how to say no to the ladies either.” He chuckled, his eyes closing for a moment, then his head jerked, and his eyes opened again.
I felt my fist close. “You have two seconds before I help you off the boat.”
He held up his hands, looking amused. “Ah, Kelly. Always serious. I’m just screwing with you.”
“Go home and sleep it off. Last warning.”
Headlights from up above in the parking lot flashed. Apparently, the girl was still waiting for him.
It looked as if he might take my advice. He arranged himself, one leg at a time, into a standing position. I stepped aside to let him pass, but he stopped in the center of the boat and turned, pointing at me.
“I meant to tell you Hope’s pretty. Your wife. And smart. I can tell. One smart, pretty woman.” His words were jumbled, his eyes pinched.
His breath hit me, reminding me of the last time he’d been on my boat. How he’d woken me up that night too. Him and three other morons, drunk and throwing punches at me before I was even standing, before I was even awake.
Maybe it was the burning in my back, or the pounding in my head, but suddenly there was a rage inside of me.
He’d forced my hand, putting his traps in my water. If I’d been thinking straight that day, his traps would have been empty, the door left open. A warning. The smart way to handle it. But I’d cut them. Stupidly. Like an amateur. All because of this asshole. Now he was on my boat, drunk, talking about my wife. How smart she was. How pretty.
I put my hand in the pocket of my pants, slipped my middle finger through the thick brass key ring, and closed my fist in my pocket.
He didn’t see me coming. His eyes were closed when I grabbed him by the collar and tugged as hard as I could. He grunted, and stumbled forward, my fist slamming into his nose. There was a crunch of bone, and my hand lit up, the key ring cutting into my knuckle, but it did what I wanted: the bridge of his nose exploding under my fist.
He dropped to his knees and moaned, cupping his face in his hands, dark blood pouring through his fingers. The sight of it should have stopped me. But I felt my leg pull back and shoot out, my boot connecting with his side. There was a thud, and he rolled across the boat. He didn’t move then, his body a lump in the corner. I walked over and nudged him with my foot, and he held up his hand, as if to ward me off.
“Get up,” I said, grabbing the fillet knife from the sheath fastened to the rail behind him. He rolled onto his knees and tried to stand. But he was either too drunk or too hurt or too stunned, and he stayed on his hands and knees, blood running down his face onto the deck.
“You’re bleeding all over my fucking boat.” I yanked him up by the back of his shirt, but his enormous body just wobbled, his hand slipping in the blood. I leaned over and pressed the knife against the side of his neck. He felt it and froze.
“Get. Up. Now,” I said, and he reached up with one hand and grabbed the rail, hoisting himself up on one leg, then the other. When he stood, he looked at the knife and took a step back.
“Jesus,” he sputtered, his eyes wild, blood splattering against the deck like raindrops.
I grabbed the front of his shirt and held the knife against the side of his neck again. He put his hands up. I pointed the knife at the dock, and he threw a leg over the side, climbed off, and stared at me.
“That was a warning punch. You mention my wife again, I won’t be so gentle. And you come near my water again, I won’t just cut your traps. Next time, I’m coming for you.”