On a boat with company
“In life,” Stewie was warming to the theme, took a sip of beer. Which meant his next works came out hydrated, with a little spray of spittle. “You got two choices - enjoy it now or work it now.”
I fidgeted with the chicken wings. Looking for a piece Stewie hadn’t already chewed on. He nibbled off the meat. The best part. Leaving the chewed-on tendons for me. I gave up, pushed the plate away. “Well, I think you ought to do something you enjoy. Passion. Passion makes life worth living.”
Stew hrmphed. “Good ‘nuff, kid. You try that, tell me how it works out.” He dragged the plate of nibbled wings back to his side of the table. “I’m just tellin’ you how things work. You can ignore me, find out for yourself.” He found a piece with some meat left on it, a piece I’d missed. A little treasure in a big, messy pile. He held up the piece, which pissed me off a little, since he was kind of rubbing it in. “Anyways, you gotta work now, I got a job for you. ‘Nuff.”
He waved his hand for the check, stood up to go to the bathroom. Second time he pulled this on me. I added up the bill in my head, figured I had enough but I’d need it for the boat. So I stood up too and followed him to the bathroom. Walking tight. Keeping my eyes low. Which probably gave it away.
The waitress wore 3-inch stilettos with a whip at his belt. Like a horny school-boy’s version of the Spanish Inquisition, if you can imagine. Anyway that’s the theme here, so it’s hard, really, to say what kind of a person she would be. As in, would she call the cops on a couple of vagrants who walked on a check, or would she just suck it up and continue her whip-wielding, teetering dance of a shift.
Anyway there’s not many options when you’ve got exactly what you need for a boat, and I wasn’t going to make an enemy of Stewie quite yet. Hell, what happens in Italy anyway, they deport you? I was in the process of deporting myself.
So I walked. Stewie was already in the bathroom, squeezing his sweaty bulk through a window. He was making way too much noise. “Fuckin’ Italian windows!” He grumbled as he shimmied himself. Me, I figured windows are all the same, the ‘fucking’ here was skipping on a check with a kid who needs every penny for his last chance.
Anyway there was no way to block the door into the bathroom, and I didn’t want anybody walking in, so I leaned up against it. It crossed my mind to give Stew a boost, but I didn’t know how he’d react. So I waited. And prayed nobody had to take a piss in the next 5 minutes.
Stewie laughed about it later. After we got to the boat. After we’d caught our breath. After he’d introduced me to Taz. The coyote. I didn’t think it was funny, and Taz was impossible to read. He flicked his cigarette, a long, brown Davidoff, into the breeze and looked out into the harbor. It wasn’t even sun-down and it was already getting cold.
Taz’s eyes flicked to me, back out to harbor. He waved his hand, motioning Stewie away. “Leave us alone.”
Stewie slipped down from a box holding life preservers. “Hell, you two talk all night. I’ve done my part.” He stretched. “What’s to eat?” He waited for an answer, Taz said nothing so Stewie headed to the tower.
Taz turned to face me, his big, dark eyes searching my face. I’m glad you’ve come. “ He watched me like he’d brought me a gift, wanted to see if I really liked it. “Your father’s been in touch with me.”
Me, I was doing my damnedest to hold it together. My hand started shaking on the railing, I pulled it back so Taz wouldn’t notice. “Really?” Despite my best, it came out like a squeak. I cleared my throat. “So, who is my father?”