A couple seconds later a glass object smashed below deck, followed by rumbling which sounded like an all-out physical struggle between Carl and the other man, Killis.

“Hey-hey!” yelled Gun. “What’s going on down there?”

Carl re-emerged on deck, grinning, but there was a small cut on his arm. “That guy can’t take a joke. I just said he was the Brown Bomber.”

“Ignorant redneck!” Killis barked from below deck. “I warned him not to call me that!”

Jimmy came over to check the cut on Carl’s big bicep, dismissing it as nothing.

Carl tried explaining to the rest of us, “That guy, Killis, we were on another dive trip, he’s an ex-Navy SEAL…you know, a commando like the ones that got bin Laden, they’re demolition guys, too. So, he’s, you know…a person of color. Just making a joke, that’s all.”

“Beat-down fool!” shouted the ex-SEAL Killis.

“You’re too sensitive, you know that? You got a bad-ass anger problem there, pal!” Carl shouted back down the hatch.

Gun chimed in with a single loud strum of his guitar, and sang out in his best raspy voice, “War—what is it goo-od for?”

“It’s good for kicking ass where it needs to be kicked,” Jim answered in a crusty tone. He examined the razor-sharp barbs on his fishing hooks.

“War this, war that. You’re just an old war hea-ad!” Gun joked. “You can’t kill every bad guy. Christ, we got bad leaders in this country.”

“Not all bad,” Jim declared, meeting Gun’s skeptical expression dead on.

Carl unsheathed a gleaming long knife, adding with a smirk, “Oh, I don’t know. War is fine...” He twirled the knife like a toy, then blurted out, “As long as you got the baddest weapons in history!”

“Amen to that, brother!” Jim shouted, and he high-fived with Carl. “But don’t let anyone else have ‘em. That’s where I disagree with these Washington Big Wigs, giving our weapons to bad guys who use them on us down the line.”

Gun got up quick. “Yeah. Even teaching those foreigners to make nukes at places like MIT.” With his knee, he shoved a cooler across the gritty deck in front of us, and lay down on top with the guitar resting on his chest. Behind him, the refugee roundup continued but the authorities seemed to have it well under control.

Jim blew dirt off a fishing hook, then he picked out another hook and compared their array of barbs. “All these ungrateful countries, they turn on us no matter what,” he said like he just couldn’t figure out why.

Carl drew a string of fancy fish lures from his tackle box. “That’s the nature of the beast,” he concluded. Each lure was eye-catching, made of tiny separate parts hinged together and shimmering. Bit by bit, he knocked hardened sand and dried bait off them. “Sure, America should keep its weapons to secure the homeland, instead of trying to make a better world.”

“See there, you’re right for once! He’s right!” Jim got all enthusiastic. “We don’t need anyone else. Even our economy’s better off without worrying about the world.”

When Carl began to polish his intricate lures I could see that fish had Zero chance against these people.

Gun plucked a few more guitar strings and added, “Those Big Wigs don’t care. They just build better weapons destroy the ones we sold off.”

“Fine!” Jim exclaimed. “But don’t share our technology. And keep kicking ass now and then to keep everyone honest.” He wagged his finger in different directions.

“You’re just an old war heayd!” Gun repeated. “Whatever goes around comes around, that’s all I know.”

Police lights continued whirling in the background. Feeling like it was my turn to either leave or participate, I weighed in. “Other countries want our fancy weapons even more than they want our food, or medicine.”

“The leaders do,” Carl replied in my direction like mine was a decent comment. “They don’t care if people starve.” Sweat soaked through his Hammerhead cap and beaded on his face and neck.

Across the channel people already had spotlights focused on The Rapture’s hull to check for crash damage. Such a contrast between the poor refugee spectacle and the pressing priorities of wealthy types. No one seemed struck by it. Gun practiced scales on his guitar and everyone else except for Killis went about their trip preparations like nothing was happening.

“Leaders only care about one thing, keeping their power,” mentioned Gun.

Carl responded with an excited expression. “Speaking of which, nothing says ‘Power’ better than nice weapons!” He held up what resembled a sawed-off speargun with two barrels. “This is my brand new baby, very compact. Shoots these little spear bolts.” He admired the shiny weapon. “Yes, you like?”

Jim sucked his cheek. “Oh, sure. Not bad. But, how about all them super weapons the government’s working on, eh? Newfangled electron beams. Conquer the world with those things!”

“Da-aamn!” hollered Carl. “Everyone’s looking to get those mothers!” He adjusted his cap again. “I know someone who’d pay big money.” He winked as if it was joke, and practiced aiming his new pistol at a police boat, or at the flailing Haitian refugees it was chasing.

“They already used something like those ‘electron beams’ in Iraq,” Gun replied, tuning up his guitar. “Why do you think it cost so much to rebuild the place?” He played a chord. “They burned through every transformer and generator in the country.”

Carl loaded spear-like darts into his gun’s barrels. “That’s two different weapons you’re talking about,” he pointed out.

“How do you know?” Jim inquired like he was both annoyed and interested.

“Two different weapons? Oh, I don’t know…” Gun spoke in a quiet tone. “What’s the difference, two new weapons, ten new weapons? It’s all the same problem.” He twisted a guitar screw, and picked notes.

Jimmy stood, however, and wagged his finger again. “What our fighting boys need most is a weapon to knock out these improvised bombs. Put a big dent in this terrorism, by God.”

I jumped in again, proposing, “Why stop there? How about something that blows the bombs back up in their faces!”

“Yippeeee!” Gun bellowed.

“Count me in on all those new weapons, you know me!” Carl laughed, and ratcheted back the firing mechanism on his new sawed-off toy. He aimed over the side, and fired a shot into the water. “Agh! Missed ‘er…lucky little fish.”

Gun sighed. “I don’t know about this trip. Someone’s looking for weapons of mass destruction, someone else is hunting for treasure. Another guy just wants sex and adventure.” He stared at me and shook his head pessimistically but almost amused, too, like he was ready for anything coming over the horizon.

***