Molokai Reef (21 page)

Andrea
knew that Amber could protect herself. Training in the martial arts
was part of each girl’s matriculation, but the rules – as
laid down by Andrea – were to sound the alarm at the first sign
of trouble. Amber had pressed the button, clearly visible to the
clients, as soon as Les struck her.

Gybe’s
fist drove most of the cigar down Les’s throat; the slightly
off-center blow spun the jerk around. Les landed face down on the
bed, butt up. If this were a movie, the tough-guy hero would lift Les
by his hair while twisting his arm high behind his back for control,
then ask Andrea where she wanted the scumbag.

This
wasn’t a movie. Gybe reached down, grasped the face down man’s
family jewels with his right hand, and lifted him from the bed.
Steadying him with his left hand clamped to the back of his neck,
Gybe duck-walked the now-docile Les up into the saloon and out onto
the aft deck of
Lagoonabago
. Leaning at a precarious angle
off the stern while Gybe tightened his grip, Les squeaked, “I
can’t swim.”

“
Hold
on Gybe. Lindsey, go get Tiffany.” Gybe held Les on the edge
of the deck as the girls took turns inflating Tiffany, an
anatomically correct vinyl doll.

When
the unappealing, unless you were an inflatable man, doll was firm to
the touch, they handed her to Les. Buck-naked, Les and the doll,
also naked, hit the water. Either the rush of blood returning to his
scrotum, the half-swallowed cigar, or fear ignited the projectile
vomiting.

“
You
can’t do this, Andrea.” Les shouted between hurls. He
said something else but no one understood. With one arm around the
doll, he puppy-stroked towards land.

Andrea,
the girls, and the other clients knew that Les hadn’t a leg to
stand on so to speak. The contract that all clients signed was very
explicit. Finally, when cooler heads prevailed, no client wanted to
discuss their problems aboard
Lagoonabago
in public,
especially when doing so would reveal that they paid upwards of
seventy-five hundred dollars per night. Les, being a first time
client had paid nine thousand one hundred dollars – the new
demand driven rate.

On
the nearest beach, a loud luau was in progress. The beach stretched
between two rocky points and presented the only logical place for Les
to land. It fronted the Papohaku Resort hotel where many of seed
corn conventioneers, Les’s peers, were staying. Andrea hoped
that his friends would see his pasty body stagger ashore, blow-up
doll under his arm. She offered Gybe a spare set of binoculars.

“
Amber,
would you get us a round of drinks. Melissa and Thomas, I apologize
for what has happened. As you know, I screen my clients very
carefully. Thomas, you’ve been here before. You know what it
is like.” Andrea sighed.

Thomas
nodded one arm around Pamela. He wore only the sultan’s turban
and stood next to Pamela in her harem pants. Gybe’s eyes
crossed at the image.

Businesswoman
that she was, she continued, “Your accounts will reflect a
twenty-five percent credit towards your next visit.”

Neither
of the clients, Melissa or Thomas, had liked Les. Andrea could have
charged them extra for the entertainment. Instead, they got a good
discount. Happy campers were they.

Loud
applause and laughter drew their attention to the beach. Even
without binoculars, they could see Les’s waddling up the beach,
clutching the doll in front of him as a shield to his modesty. A
lose-lose effort. For added emphasis, Gybe aimed a two-million
candlepower spotlight at his pale, hairy butt.

Amber
released the anchor at 1:35 a.m. in Lono Harbor and fed out
seventy-five feet of chain. Andrea backed the engines to dig it into
the bottom.
Ferrity
rode at her anchor fifty yards to the
east, the two dinghies bobbing astern.

Thomas
and Pamela were quiet in the harem room. No sounds escaped the
dungeon room where Lindsey and Melissa stayed. Amber said goodnight
and went to her cabin.

Andrea
poured two cognacs and asked Gybe to sit with her on the aft deck.
No cars, no people, no houses on the shore, only the distant swish of
the small ocean swells against the shore pierced the silence.
Lagoonabago
’s lights were silent; no synthetic light
competed with the stars overhead.

“
You
know Gybe, about Les, he’s married. That isn’t unusual,
as you know; many of my clients are married. But there was something
about his background that tickled my anxiety wheel. Jennifer, who
vetted him from her San Francisco office couldn’t find
anything.”

“
Woman’s
intuition?”

“
Maybe.
Maybe more. Jennifer found that his company needs money and soon.
Perhaps he is under stress from that.”

“
Hmmph.
Les is an asshole. Kara and I saw that when we visited him at his
office. He comes across as a good ole boy, but I think that’s
just a front.”

Andrea
took Gybe’s arm, snuggled, and said. “I’m glad you
are here tonight.”

“
You
could have handled Les.” He hugged her tight. “I’m
glad to be here too.”

After
another cognac, Gybe slipped overboard and swam back to
Ferrity
.
Nestled into his bunk, Gybe recalled a time when he and Andrea would
have done the deed. They had, but soon realized that their love was
of the friendship nature. Best friends. Either would do anything
for the other. All for one and one for all, as Nixon would have
said. That was his last rambling thought before sleep snatched away
consciousness.

Sometime
later, unsure of how long he had slept, Gybe sensed motion aboard
Ferrity
. He heard water drops on the deck and soft footsteps.
Hmm, maybe Andrea felt differently. Friends were allowed to have
sex, weren’t they?

39

Whoever
had boarded
Ferrity
had found the hand shower in the cockpit
and was no doubt rinsing off the seawater. That was a good sign. An
evil person seeking to harm Gybe wouldn’t rinse off. Gybe
closed his eyes.

An
arm lifted the pirate motif sheet and a bare breast bumped his arm as
someone slid into the berth alongside him.

“
Can
I sleep here?” Said a voice, a voice that wasn’t
Andrea’s.

Something
about gift horses drifted through his mind mildly interfering with
his tumescent reaction. “Uh, sure.”

“
Thanks.
I am pretty strong you know. All of us girls that work with Andrea
are. But, tonight after Les, I could use a good snuggle. ’k?”

Amber,
he recognized. Gybe put his arm around her and held the young woman
close. Soon, he heard the soft breaths of the sleeping woman; her
head nestled on his shoulder. So much for sex and/or sleep. Oh
great, he thought, I’m already a father figure.

Gybe
awoke to the smell of coffee. Damn, it happened again. He must be
getting old or deaf. Now, he was worried about the father figure
metaphor. How did these women leave his bunk without his awareness?

He
stepped in the head, relieved himself, brushed his teeth, and pulled
on a pair of shorts.

“
Morning
Amber.”

She
turned, stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, and then poured him
a mug of coffee. “Morning yourself.” She wore one of
his T-shirts.

Like
his coffee mugs, this shirt had a story as well. A story that he
would not share with Amber. The shirt was from Hale‘iwa Joes,
a restaurant on the north shore of O‘ahu.

Gybe
asked Amber about her background. They exchanged histories as two
people might do in a coffee shop meeting arranged through newspaper
personal ads.

The
coffee, company, and conversation were excellent.
Ferrity
sat
motionless, anchored deep in the windless harbor. Gybe thought to
himself, ’tis the good life. Somewhere else, in a place called
civilization, millions of drones raged through gridlock following the
scent of lucre towards a mind-deadening job. Drones powered by a
chemically sweetened, fat-laced, caffeinated, frothy quaff from a
faux-friendly barista. Why? Malls, car dealers, ex-spouses,
electronic stores. He shuddered.

As if
reading his anti-automobile thoughts, the first car of the morning
wound down the dirt road to the harbor then drove out onto the jetty.
Years ago when barges visited the harbor, a landing strip had
covered the top of the jetty. Since the closing of the airstrip,
rains and ocean surf had eroded the edges of the runway. Kiawe trees
grew on the centerline. Gybe recognized the couple who stepped away
from their car.

Almost
every day they drove to the jetty to inspect the sculptures that they
had built from rocks, driftwood, flotsam, and jetsam during previous
visits. The couple had been here a month ago when he last visited
Lono harbor.

Across
on
Lagoonabago
, Andrea, her guests, and her girls were having
breakfast.

Finishing
her coffee, Amber stood to leave. “I better get back over
there. They’ll need
da Dink
to take Thomas and Melissa
ashore.” She stood and started to peel off the borrowed
T-shirt.

“
Take
the shirt. You can give it back later.”

“
Thanks
Gybe. See ya.” She hugged him in a full-body embrace,
enfolding him in sensuous girl parts.

Gybe
and parts thereof were left standing as she stepped aboard
da Dink
and cast off the painter.

Moments
later, a large SUV, maybe a Lincoln Navigator, plowed down the grade
surrounded by dust. The wheels weren’t turning but the vessel
was still moving when Les popped out the driver’s side and
strode to the water’s edge.

Gybe
signaled Andrea that he would row ashore to handle Les.

Les,
cigar smoking like a farm tractor pulling out a stump, stood above
Gybe as he shipped the oars and tied the dink to the face of the
wharf.

Due
to the low tide, the top of the wharf was nearly seven feet from the
floor of the dink. To reach the wharf Gybe would have to climb the
somewhat rotten horizontal planks bolted to the face of the
structure.

With
one leg up on the wharf, the other foot still on a plank, Gybe saw
Les’s foot en route towards him. The boot connected with the
back of his head as Gybe spun and kicked off into the water.

40

Andrea
and the girls later told Gybe that it looked like he bounced from the
water back onto the wharf. That wasn’t possible of course, but
faster than a rat leaving New Orleans, Gybe scaled the wharf to a
surprised, unprepared, laughing Les.

By
the time Andrea reached shore, Les lay curled up in a fetal position
next to the front wheel of the SUV. Blood streamed through the
fingers of a hand held mid-face. “Enough,” she told
Gybe. She tossed Les’s clothes, wallet, and shoes from the
previous night to the ground next to the Navigator.

“
Don’t
even mention
Lagoonabago
again. Don’t try to visit. If
you see the girls or me on the street, turn around and walk away.
Understand?”

Les
nodded and grunted.

After
Gybe and Andrea turned towards the harbor, Les emitted a shrill
scream. When they turned, Les had released his nose and was now
shielding his crotch. Still wearing Gybe’s T-shirt, Amber
stood at the rear of the SUV and shrugged her shoulders to the
unasked question.

After
lunch aboard
Lagoonabago
, Gybe bid farewell to Andrea and the
girls before rowing back to
Ferrity
where he readied her for
the return sail to Kaunakakai.

During
the morning, the trade winds had climbed to fifteen knots out of the
northeast. Sailing out of the harbor, he estimated that it would
take four tacks to reach Kaunakakai. That was fine. He was sailing,
alone as he preferred, on a good breeze, in warm weather. The island
of Lāna‘i stood off his starboard bow, Moloka‘i on
his port beam, and Maui at about ten o-clock.

For
perspective, he pictured the cubicle monkeys cowered afore their
one-eyed electronic gods while caged in a synthetic environment of
re-breathed air and artificial lighting. The Sheetrock had never
been a tree, the carpet had never seen a sheep, and the plastic –
well, who knew where plastic really came from? Not a single item in
a modern office had originated from a life form. Hell, even the
plants, if they were real, came from faraway fields. The blast of
upwind whale’s breath blew the nightmare from his thoughts.
Foul though it was, the whale’s discharge was sweeter than the
ass end of a San Francisco commuter bus.

He
spun the wheel to port and
Ferrity
hove to while he watched
two mother-calf pairs of humpbacks. The sail, the whales, the wind
scoured the vile image from his spirit.

Outside
of Kaunakakai Harbor, he furled the sails then motored through the
entrance. A container laden interisland barge rested alongside the
pier. Forklifts, capable of hoisting forty-foot long shipping
containers, removed the large metal boxes and distributed them to
waiting trucks. Several vehicles sat on one end of the barge where
drivers waited to drive across the ramp, completing their journey to
Moloka‘i.