When we got back to the government dock our life jackets were gone. It was unrealistic to think something wouldn’t go wrong. The boat started, and we were into the open water again.

Immense spider veins of lightning mapped out distant parts of sky. When there was nothing but the darkness and wind and the sea around us again, I commented, “That place back there was definitely the End of the World.”

“One step before you fall off the edge,” Killis replied with more uncharacteristic humor.

Jimmy added, “That was the last lousy piece of civilization, on the last bit of dirt, at the end of the last dark street.”

“If you can call that civilization!” Carl laughed, popping open a new brew.

“Some of those creepy critters I swear you could strap a saddle on!” Jimmy roared laughter.

“No worse than many people in the world have to live with,” Killis pointed out.

Carl broke out in laughter again. “He’s right, too, fifty percent of people never even seen a toilet!”

Full of curiosity, I asked, “So, Killis, who was that redhaired Bahamian you talked to?”

Drunken Carl called out, “Yeah, Killis, that was Andros Red, wasn’t it?” He giggled stupidly.

“What, man?” Killis was miffed. “Not every Bahamian with red hair is Andros Red, you ignoramous!”

“Oh, no? Ig-NO-Ramous! Looked like pictures I’ve seen,” Carl persisted.

“You do not want to be in the same room with Andros Red,” was Killis’s only response.

Jim changed the subject. “What about that obnoxious Seaweed Joe?”

“Hey, hey!” replied Carl. “Joe there, he had that belly-dancing girl real tight.” Then he belched. “If you know whad-dat all means! That all leads to hea-ven!”

“Why do you rag on this guy Joe for?” I asked. “Is he called Seaweed, or is he The Admiral?”

“Both—among other things!” cracked Jim. “They call him the Admiral as a joke. He hates it. He went to merchant marine academy for one term. Flunked.”

“Yeah, so what about the ‘Seaweed’?” inquired Carl.

“Ten years ago he’s running lots of low grade marijuana through the Keys. Mexican dirt grass, the kind of stuff that gives you a headache. They call it seaweed in the islands. He got nailed with tons of it! His picture was splattered on the front page—guess what the headline was?”

“SEAWEED JOE?” Killis replied like he was pretty sure he had the right answer. This guy was funnier than I thought.

“SEAWEED JOE, yeah, so the name stuck.”

“How much time did he get?” I asked.

“None,” Jim said. “No, I shouldn’t say that, I mean, he was gone for two, three months, something like that. Basically he got off.”

Inebriated Carl hollered out, “Right on! I hear you, my bro-tha!” And he glanced at Killis but the black man ignored him.

Killis had a worried frown and demanded, “Jim, power down the motor. Let me listen.” Carl made an apathetic click sound in his mouth and killed yet another brew. Killis waved his hand back for absolute silence. “There’s a boat following us,” he said in a grave voice.

Everyone including Carl scrambled in life and death reactions of crouching and craning their necks to hear.

“Pirates...?” I guessed with an immediate tightening and dread in my throat.

“Running with no lights. They don’t mean well,” replied Killis. “Go ahead, Jimmy, go!”

Killis peered back and forth from the bow. Another motor was barely audible above the wind and waves.

“Much faster boat they must have, too,” Carl thought out loud. “Don’t you think, Killis?” It seemed like a dumb question even to me. “So, what do we do?” Carl asked around. “Fight?”

“Get closer to shore,” Killis ordered. “Get ready to swim for it.”

“They’ll be on us soon,” Jimmy replied.

“Jesus, God, no…” I panted.

Out of the blackness came a blinding rain, pelting our faces. I didn’t know about the other guys but my heart had to be racing two-hundred and fifty beats a minute. In a mad frenzy we dumped water from the skiff, either praying or cursing. We assumed the other boat was still following us but now it made no difference, the weather was more life-threatening.

Then a crashing THUNK walloped flush against the aluminum hull, and we were bounced up and over to one side screaming, about to capsize, but in a miraculous turn big drunk Carl fell back over in the opposite direction and we landed flat in the water again after one harrowing second riding the edge of oblivion.

“Must have been a rock!” Jimmy guessed.

“Flotsam. Rocks don’t give like that,” Killis replied as we composed and repositioned ourselves.

“Maybe just a big fish,” mumbled an unusually-subdued Carl.

I was gasping. “Did you see the way it spun the boat enough to throw Carl back the other way, and save it?”

“We’ll need more miracles. Bail, stupid!” Killis ordered.

What seemed like an hour later, we puttered into the tranquil marina of the out-island, still pumping water with our faces and skin bruised by the hailing rain, all dangers having passed. We could have been fallen upon by pirates, and no life jackets or flares, either, one big wave probably meant drowning, nothing good could have happened out there tonight. None of us talked about it but we had done something insane, basically suicidal. Considering what might go wrong the odds were that something life-threatening would happen. No one even mentioned the faint odor of poop in the skiff but Jim showered off on the dock, and sprayed out the skiff as soon we landed.

NEXT CHAPTER!