Edward shrugged and took the gift. He had smoked marijuana about half a dozen times in his life, when it was being passed around at a party. He felt no need for it, but wanted to be friendly to the first stranger who’d ever admitted hanging his artwork up.
“Maybe you come by and bring some of your painting. Ask for Mr. Bones. Every-body know me. I live at the top of dah ‘ill.”
“Yeah.” Edward nodded. “Thanks. I gotta get back out to my girlfriend.”
Edward stuffed the roll into a back pocket and went out. He pushed his way through the crowd, filled with the pride of recognition, and stopped behind the group of jumping blondes. There he found a man about his age standing in his spot next to Mary. Greasy pompadour, leather tan, tank top revealing a disastrous tattoo of three dogs on his arm – Edward quickly decided that he disliked the guy. And when Tattoo-boy turned to speak to Mary, Edward came to hate him.
Edward waited, believing Tattoo-boy would order a drink and leave. But he continued speaking at Mary, rubbing a finger across his bottom lip. Mary was turned away, ignoring him. When Tattoo-boy leaned over the bar, and looked down at her, taking in what was revealed by her open shirt and bikini top, Edward pushed through two of the blondes and stepped up to him.
“Sorry, man, she’s taken,” Edward said.
He didn’t turn. Holding a plastic hurricane glass, he anchored himself to the bar and swayed, his face stayed on Mary, gawking into her cleavage.
“Girl, you hear what I’m saying? I’m running out of time.” His words slurred together.
“I said she’s taken.” Edward said louder.
“Bro! You her master? Why don’t you relax – it’s a party,” Tattoo-boy said without turning, his gaze stayed stuck on Mary’s breasts.
Mary turned around to face Edward, and in this misread movement, Tattoo-boy winked at her. She looked at Edward and nodded toward the door. She wanted to leave, but Edward ignored her, needing to respond to the man.
“Bro, maybe you should go call your parole officer.” Edward shot back.
“That’s right cuz I’m definitely a ganstah.”
“More like a guido.”
“Damn girl.” Tattoo-boy took a drink from his hurricane glass. “You is hot! I’m so tired of all this white meat on the boat.”
Mary frowned at Edward. And suddenly he could see the blame in her eyes, and he wanted to scream out that it wasn’t his fault. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t control every jerk in the world, but he just gave a little smile. Suddenly, it felt as if they were back on Saint Martin in that bungalow during that crazy trip, screaming at each other because she didn’t want to go out on a nude beach.
“Are you ready?” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration of her disappointment.
It was like the disappointment his father had when Edward had told him he needed to move out – he couldn’t live by his father’s rules after graduating. Edward bit down, flexing his jaw muscles. He didn’t want to leave. He glanced at Tattoo-boy’s arm, realizing the three horribly drawn dogs were supposed to be wolves.
“Girl,” Tattoo-boy said, oblivious of Edward and Mary’s mood. “I don’t know how much you’re charging this fruitloop, but I’ll double it right now for ten minutes with that sweet dark ass—”
Edward shoved him with one arm. Tattoo-boy hit the bar with his side, slapping a hand down on the counter to straighten himself again. He laughed like he’d simply been jostled by the boisterous crowd and he didn’t turn. Mary’s eyes went red and she shook her head at Edward. Tattoo-boy continued to stare at Mary, a drop of spittle appearing on the side of his mouth. Ignored by Tattoo-boy and blamed by Mary. It was like a fire in his chest and he wouldn’t take it. Edward flung his arm up, driving his fist into Tattoo-boy’s lower jaw.
It was poetic justice. The man should have faced him. The hit was solid and powerful and Tattoo-boy fell, turning in a circle on his way down as if being screwed into the floor.
For a few seconds the beat of the music pulsed against Edward’s skin synchronized with the blood racing through his veins. Behind him, someone started yelling. He looked down at the pile of trash at his feet, satisfied. When he looked back up, he saw the bartender watching him in a strange way. Mary was now somewhere on the dance floor, behind him. Then the bartender cried out and lifted his hands up. He was either scolding or ordering him. Or he was trying to stop something. Edward looked down at that shoddy tattoo and realized he was in trouble. Dogs always travel in packs.
Something slammed into his skull, knocking him forward. Before he could turn around to face whoever had hit him, he was struck two more times. Once in the lower back with a padded thud. Once in the kidney with a painful shockwave that traveled through his ribs. Someone kicked him in the leg. His eyes closed reflectively, and he turned in time to catch a massive blow to his right temple. Everything became a flash of white and then his legs gave out under him and the throbbing, flashing club rose up as if he was shrinking.
He heard Mary screaming as a foot was driven into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. There were two or three men pummeling him – he couldn’t tell because of the crowd. He brought up a hand to cover his face. The other he put over his stomach. Someone grabbed his arm. Polished cement slid against his back. Colored light floated by above as he passed through the forest of people.
A door frame passed overhead like high arches and he knew he was outside because of the smell of barbecued chicken. His body went airborne. He dropped and landing on a patch of grass. Mary’s face replaced dark sky, taking up his entire field of vision like a silver screen close-up. She was screaming and throwing her hands out, her soft, fragrant hair tickling his neck and face. She pulled him up, speaking in a blur of words to the dogs still around him, shouting them off. Somehow she got him to his feet, guided him away from the club. They crossed the street, walking among tourists, Edward stumbling onto the curb. The film he was watching was still out of focus, skipping in the projector. One frame overlaying another. He looked down at the dark ground and let Mary guide him.
They moved through people, people and more people, down a cement sidewalk and onto wood planks. Mary’s smaller feet moved more firmly than his. He looked up toward the end of the pier and felt sure he was about to step off the wobbling platform and fall into the abyss on the side. He tried to stop, but Mary kept him moving.
“They looked like dogs!” Edward laughed. “He had a tattoo of wolves, but they looked like dogs.”
Mary didn’t say anything. When they were above her boat, she climbed down the ladder first and then helped him. While he took his seat, she cast off and started them moving them away from the pier. A minute later, they were passing the white form of the cruise ship. Voices, music and laughter drifted down from unseen decks above. When they were away from the warm glow of its lights, near the choppy waters that marked the boundary of the bay, his senses reappeared as if something new. Fires of pain started in his legs, lower back, arms and head, and spread everywhere. His skin felt sandy, his elbow swollen. His lower ribs and right eye throbbed. Thinking he had dirt on his lip, he wiped it, and examined his fingers to find them covered in blood.
They hopped waves for a long time, but his vision was foreshortened and he only felt them moving. He squirmed in the hard seat, struggling to find a position that didn’t send pain jolting up his back. When they were at the halfway point between the islands, Edward remembered his duties for the next day.
“The meat. I forgot the meat – we have to go back. Mary, I got to get that bag.”
“You can jump out and swim back if you want.” Mary didn’t turn from the boat controls.
Edward looked at her. Her quick answer made him wonder if she had remembered the meat before him.
“Baby, this is serious—”
“Serious? As opposed to starting a fight and getting all bloodied up?”