Kelly, particularly with his line handling.
'Next time let your blowers work for a while before you light off the engines,' Kelly said after Rosen started up.
'But it's a diesel.'
'Number one, “it” is a “she,” okay? Number two, it's a good habit to get into. The next boat you drive might be gas. Safety, doc. You ever take a vacation and rent a boat?'
'Well, yes.'
'In surgery you do the same thing the same way, every time?' Kelly asked. 'Even when you don't really have to?'
Rosen nodded thoughtfully. 'I hear you.'
'Take her out.' Kelly waved. This Rosen did, and rather smartly, the surgeon thought. Kelly didn't: 'Less rudder, more screws. You won't always have a breeze helping you away from alongside. Propellers push water; rudders just direct it a little. You can always depend on your engines, especially at low speed. And steering breaks sometimes. Learn how to do without it.'
'Yes, Captain,' Rosen growled. It was like being an intern again, and Sam Rosen was used to having those people snap to his orders. Forty-eight, he thought, was a little old to be a student.
'You're the captain. I'm just the pilot. These are my waters, Sam.' Kelly turned to look down at the well deck. 'Don't laugh, ladies, it'll be your turn next. Pay attention!' Quietly: 'You're being a good sport, Sam.'
Fifteen minutes later they were drifting lazily on the tide, fishing lines out under a warm holiday sun. Kelly had little interest in fishing, and instead assigned himself lockout duty on the flying bridge while Sam taught Pam how to bait her line. Her enthusiasm surprised all of them. Sarah made sure that she was liberally covered with Coppertone to protect her pale skin, and Kelly wondered if a little tan would highlight her scars. Alone with his thoughts on the flying bridge, Kelly asked himself what sort of man would abuse a woman. He stared out through squinted eyes at a gently rolling surface dotted with boats. How many people like that were within his sight? Why was it that you couldn't tell from looking at them?
Packing the boat was simple enough. They'd stocked in a good supply of chemicals, which they would have to replenish periodically, but Eddie remembered the spot, well enough, and the water was still clear.
'Sweet Jesus!' Tony gasped.
'Gonna be a good year for crabs,' Eddie noted, glad that Tony was shocked. A fitting kind of revenge, Eddie thought, but it was not a pleasant sight for any of them. Half a bushel's worth of crabs were already on the body. The face was fully covered, as was one arm, and they could see more of the creatures coming in, drawn by the smell of decay that drifted through the water as efficiently as through the air: nature's own form of advertising. On land, Eddie knew, it would be buzzards and crows.
'What do you figure? Two weeks, maybe three, and then no more Angelo.'
'What if somebody -'
'Not much chance of that,' Tucker said, not bothering to look. 'Too shallow for a sailboat to risk coming in, and motorboats don't bother much. There's a nice wide channel half a mile south, fishing's better there, they say. I guess the crabbers don't like it here either.'
Piaggi had trouble looking away, though his stomach had already turned over once. The Chesapeake Bay blue crabs, with their claws, were dismantling the body already softened by warm water and bacteria, one little pinch at a time, tearing with their claws, picking up the pieces with smaller pincers, feeding them into their strangely alien mouths. He'd wondered if there would still be a face there, eyes to stare up at a world left behind, but crabs covered it, and somehow it seemed likely that the eyes had been the first things to go. The frightening part, of course, was that if one man could die this way, so could another, and even though Angelo had already been dead, somehow Piaggi was sure that being disposed of this way was worse than mere death. He would have regretted Angelo's death, except that it was business, and ... Angelo had
'Next time let your blowers work for a while before you light off the engines,' Kelly said after Rosen started up.
'But it's a diesel.'
'Number one, “it” is a “she,” okay? Number two, it's a good habit to get into. The next boat you drive might be gas. Safety, doc. You ever take a vacation and rent a boat?'
'Well, yes.'
'In surgery you do the same thing the same way, every time?' Kelly asked. 'Even when you don't really have to?'
Rosen nodded thoughtfully. 'I hear you.'
'Take her out.' Kelly waved. This Rosen did, and rather smartly, the surgeon thought. Kelly didn't: 'Less rudder, more screws. You won't always have a breeze helping you away from alongside. Propellers push water; rudders just direct it a little. You can always depend on your engines, especially at low speed. And steering breaks sometimes. Learn how to do without it.'
'Yes, Captain,' Rosen growled. It was like being an intern again, and Sam Rosen was used to having those people snap to his orders. Forty-eight, he thought, was a little old to be a student.
'You're the captain. I'm just the pilot. These are my waters, Sam.' Kelly turned to look down at the well deck. 'Don't laugh, ladies, it'll be your turn next. Pay attention!' Quietly: 'You're being a good sport, Sam.'
Fifteen minutes later they were drifting lazily on the tide, fishing lines out under a warm holiday sun. Kelly had little interest in fishing, and instead assigned himself lockout duty on the flying bridge while Sam taught Pam how to bait her line. Her enthusiasm surprised all of them. Sarah made sure that she was liberally covered with Coppertone to protect her pale skin, and Kelly wondered if a little tan would highlight her scars. Alone with his thoughts on the flying bridge, Kelly asked himself what sort of man would abuse a woman. He stared out through squinted eyes at a gently rolling surface dotted with boats. How many people like that were within his sight? Why was it that you couldn't tell from looking at them?
Packing the boat was simple enough. They'd stocked in a good supply of chemicals, which they would have to replenish periodically, but Eddie remembered the spot, well enough, and the water was still clear.
'Sweet Jesus!' Tony gasped.
'Gonna be a good year for crabs,' Eddie noted, glad that Tony was shocked. A fitting kind of revenge, Eddie thought, but it was not a pleasant sight for any of them. Half a bushel's worth of crabs were already on the body. The face was fully covered, as was one arm, and they could see more of the creatures coming in, drawn by the smell of decay that drifted through the water as efficiently as through the air: nature's own form of advertising. On land, Eddie knew, it would be buzzards and crows.
'What do you figure? Two weeks, maybe three, and then no more Angelo.'
'What if somebody -'
'Not much chance of that,' Tucker said, not bothering to look. 'Too shallow for a sailboat to risk coming in, and motorboats don't bother much. There's a nice wide channel half a mile south, fishing's better there, they say. I guess the crabbers don't like it here either.'
Piaggi had trouble looking away, though his stomach had already turned over once. The Chesapeake Bay blue crabs, with their claws, were dismantling the body already softened by warm water and bacteria, one little pinch at a time, tearing with their claws, picking up the pieces with smaller pincers, feeding them into their strangely alien mouths. He'd wondered if there would still be a face there, eyes to stare up at a world left behind, but crabs covered it, and somehow it seemed likely that the eyes had been the first things to go. The frightening part, of course, was that if one man could die this way, so could another, and even though Angelo had already been dead, somehow Piaggi was sure that being disposed of this way was worse than mere death. He would have regretted Angelo's death, except that it was business, and ... Angelo had
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