Whiffs of gasoline and other noxious fumes blew from the stern in my direction. A roach crawled across the thickly painted plywood wall and I tried flicking it into the ocean, but it disappeared into the folds of Gun’s towel hanging on a nail. I chased it through the folds and it emerged in good position to be knocked down, landing on the deck, the surface of the sea, whatever—I didn’t care anymore! I was furious about the situation! This was a prison alright. We weren’t going back to Miami anytime soon. I hated the crud and slime and constant noise and movement of the boat.

But the divers began returning, dripping and exhilarated. The privacy curtain across the lower half of the berth was open. But, under my own closed curtain I saw sharp clean toenails and dark feet leading to slim ankles, one braceleted, with the appealing shape of a woman’s nude calves, thighs, and the puffy crease inside her soaking bathing suit. It was Ally dripping there. Since I could see her below my curtain she probably saw me last night while I was listening to her. Maybe she was standing there now to show me, making me stare at her fluffy wet tuft in silence. Despite my exhaustion the blood sprang into my dick and I almost opened the curtain to her, but she dabbed her towel in the place between her inner thighs and departed.

“Great morning dive!” one voice exclaimed.

“What about that shark?” asked another.

“You sure it was a shark?” said the other woman, Joni.

“It had whiskers,” someone else said.

“Did you see that Nassau grouper? He was like a curious dog, begging for food. I hadda push him away he was so nosy.”

Tanks and other gear clanked on the deck. Excited talk of the perfect reefs and the abundance of dazzling fish overlapped.

A few minutes later I joined people on the bridge. They dripped water everywhere and engaged in house-buying talk.

“So, how much did you put down on your house?” Joni asked him.

“Nothing. No money down,” Gun replied.

“Have to watch out for those no-money down deals,” said Carl with those laughing black eyes of his.

“Some like to bend the bank rules,” Killis spoke with a no-nonsense face.

“Sometimes you bend the rules to get something done,” Jimmy stated. Joni half-nodded in agreement. Little wonder why I had nothing in life, I didn’t take risks, these people did.

Gun moved in the chair, and his suit made a plunger sound as sea water squeezed out. “I’m not against bending the rules, a little,” Gun said with an ironic grin. As an original Woodstock ‘69 attendee he took pride in his anti-establishment streak. “About time to set down some roots.”

Joni left the bridge to hoist the anchor and Gun cranked up the engines, then he steered with his feet out of the lagoon. A short time later I went astern and there was Joni again with a big smile on her face, gutting open a two-foot long fish from the butt-hole to the head in a single stroke. More large fish flapped around dying on the deck. The slaughter might be a normal thing but it left me downhearted, almost taking life out of me. Nothing felt familiar or desirable out here. Even the breathtaking vistas seemed barren, and a wispy dark cloud of exhaust fumes trailed 100 feet behind the boat. I returned to the bridge.

“That woman,” I began, “she is something.”

“Joni, yeah,” Carl agreed. “She’s a good one.” He folded his arms satisfied.

“How long you two are going out together?” Gun asked.

“A year now. She is great. She’s the top producing Realtor in Orlando.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” I said with little emotion. “She seems to have the real killer instinct.” Nothing here mattered to me—Jimmy was patching his suit with duct tape, Killis was writing notes in a different language, then I mustered enough interest to explain something to Carl. “You know, I misread Joni’s bunk assignment as ‘Jonah and Caleb’. But, that was ‘Joni and Carl’. Not ‘Jonah and Caleb’. Ask Gun, I was adamant about not getting in a tight bunk with a stranger. Especially a Jonah!”

“Well, I’m adamant about you not getting in a tight bunk with Joni, either!” Carl was quite amused. Such a cheerful fellow he was, a good match for Joni.

“Ca-leb, my belle,” Gun sang out. “Blah blah blah.” He laughed. “Ca-leb, mah belle, da da da, dada,” he continued to serenade me.

It sounded so inane I tried not to crack a smile.

Few clouds were scattered across the bright blue sky and the waters seemed alive with sparkling highlights, leaping fish, and dive-bombing birds.

Jimmy and Killis didn’t jump into the conversation, so Carl and Gun traded stories of old Key West where they both lived. It turned out they knew many of the same people. They talked of wild people and the freewheeling hippie days.

“The Keys used to be a tight-knit community,” Carl said. “Not that long ago, God, I’m only 45. Yep, I still feel great, proud of myself,” he stated. “Push-ups, run, keep in good shape.” He had a good jelly-belly with those big arms and legs and the energy to match. “It was pretty wild back then. You remember Barker, did you know Barker?” he asked Gun.

“He disappeared. Nobody’s seen him for fifteen years.”

“Didn’t the IRS take his boat?” Jimmy suddenly entered the discussion. Gun gave him a strong glare and Jim shrugged.