“When you catch a ketch, the ketch is caught.”
“Aw, the hell,” Velasco said, and proposed a toast of his own, to Señora Pinkass and her girls of Tijuana.
The final toast was proposed by Ocho to Whitfield, or rather to “his money, which keeps us all afloat.”
But the party lacked the festive spirit of the previous day and night. The imminent arrival of Whitfield cast a pall over the deck as thick as a summer fog. In addition, the stuff that Ted and Velasco had purchased from the man outside the pawnshop turned out not to be hashish but ordinary marijuana mixed with tea leaves.
They smoked it anyway, of course, and eventually Velasco played his harmonica, though Ted declined to sing. He was pretty confused by this time and wanted to go ashore. But Cleo sat on his lap and Donny brought him another tumbler full of Johnny Walker.
“Come on, Ted,” Cleo said. “You’ll spoil the party if you don’t sing.”
“I don’t remember the words.”
“Sure you do. What about that one, ‘Dirty Gertie from Bizerte’?”
“Madame,” he said with great dignity, “I am not accepting any requests from the audience.”
“Not even from me?”
“And who are you?”
“Me. Cleo.”
“Aw, leave him alone,” Donny said. “He’s got a lousy voice anyway.”
Donny remained the soberest of the partygoers. He dreaded meeting his father and trying to explain how he’d gotten away from Holbrook Hall. He might be able to convince him that Mrs. Holbrook had given him special permission to go to Ensenada on the Spindrift. But then his father might remember that the school wasn’t allowed to do anything like that without an investigation and report by the probation department and a lot of other crap. No, words weren’t going to work, none that he’d thought of so far.
At six o’clock Manny Ocho turned on the radio to get the news and the weather report. It was then that Cleo found out about Roger Lennard’s death. Roger Lennard, thirty-three, had been found dead, possibly a victim of foul play. A description was given of Lennard’s visitor, who had been heard quarreling with him. Cleo knew at once it had to be Hilton and she phoned the police and told them. Then she went back to sit on Ted’s lap again.
But there was no lap. Ted had passed out on a couch and was lying on his back with his mouth open, snoring. Cleo listened to him for a few minutes, frowning. She wasn’t sure she wanted a husband who snored; it might keep her and the baby awake.
Manny Ocho and the two crewmen watched an old movie on television which Cleo had seen half a dozen times before. She went up to join Donny, who was sitting on the bowsprit, brooding.
“Do you snore, Donny?”
“You ask the stupidest questions. How the hell would I know?”
“You don’t have to shout.”
“You don’t have to listen. Go away and leave me alone.”
“I have nowhere to go. Ted’s asleep and the others are watching a movie with a lot of cowboys which I don’t like in the first place.”
It was dark by this time and everything on board was wet, even Cleo’s hair. She shivered with cold and sadness.
“Poor Roger,” she said. “He wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for me. Does that make me a sort of murderer?”
“You did the poor slob a favor.”
“Maybe they’ll put me on probation like they did you.”
“Lay off, will you? I’m trying to think.”
“I hate to be alone.”
“You’re not alone — you got the baby. So why don’t you and the kid go below and have a nice heart-to-heart talk?”
“You can be real nasty, Donny.”
“Bug off.”
She watched the rest of the movie with Ocho and the crewmen. Then all four of them went to bed after a final nightcap.
Donny sat on the bowsprit for a long time trying to straighten out his head. He feared his father’s power but he wanted the same thing for himself. He despised Whitfield’s collection of young women, yet he lusted after every one of them. He hated the sound of his father’s voice, but he wanted to hear it.
He watched a lone star trying to break through the overcast. When it was no longer visible Donny went below to the captain’s cabin and took the phone out of the red leather case and called the house in Palm Springs.
It was eleven o’clock. Donny let the phone ring a dozen times in case his father was drunk or in bed with some chick or asleep.
Eventually Whitfield answered and he didn’t sound drunk or sleepy. “Who the hell’s this?”
“Donny.”
“Donny? What are you doing up so late?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you.”
Whitfield was immediately suspicious. “Listen, son. You know the school has a limit on spending money.”
“I don’t want any money.”
“Well, that’s a switch. Don’t tell me you simply wanted to hear my voice.”
This was so close to the truth that Donny couldn’t speak for a minute. No sound could get past the sudden lump in his throat.
“Son? What’s the matter, son?”
“Nothing.”
“How’s school going?”
“Fine. I’m even taking stuff like — ah, Latin.”
“Latin? That’s terrific. Amo, amas, amat, right?”
“Listen, Dad, I heard the Spindrift is going to Ensenada.”
“Now where did you hear—?”
“I’d like to go along. The school will give me special permission because I’m doing so well in my studies like, you know, Latin, I’m working real hard.”
“Yes. Well, you realize I’d like to take you, son, but the fact is I’ve invited other company.”
“You wouldn’t have to tell them I was your son. I could pretend to be one of the crew.”
“You’re putting me in a bind, son. I’d certainly like to reward you for your change in attitude and behavior but I honestly can’t. This is very special company, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure. It’s okay.”
“Donny, you remember that BMW you wanted me to buy you as soon as you get your driver’s license back? I’ll get one for you, how about that?”
“Thanks.”
“Now Donny, it’s obvious that you’re disappointed. But be patient. Wait a few more years until you’re off probation and you and I will take the Spindrift all around the world. Tahiti, Bora Bora, Fiji. How’s that for a deal?”
“Screw you,” Donny said and hung up. By the time he got off probation he’d be an old man.
He went to bed alone in the captain’s quarters. Getting up at dawn the next day he showered and dressed for the new role he was about to assume. The clothes came from his father’s mahogany wardrobe.
The white tailored slacks were too small, so he wore his own jeans, threadbare at the knees and seat. The navy-blue blazer didn’t come close to buttoning but he put it on anyway. The captain’s hat was too large, so he stuffed some toilet tissue in the back to make it fit. Then he opened one of the drawers of the rolltop desk and took out the two guns his father always kept there, a Smith & Wesson .22 and a German Luger. Donny used his limited knowledge of firearms, gained during a short session at a military academy, to make sure the guns were loaded and the safeties in order. Then he dropped the .22 into the pocket of the blazer and tucked the Luger in the waistband of his jeans. Already he felt like a new person, and the image in the mirror beside the wardrobe reaffirmed the feeling. It was a captain who stared back at him, a commander, a leader of men.
He went back to the galley.
Velasco was at the stove, mixing up a batch of huevos rancheros in a large iron frying pan. “Hey, Donny. You looking good all dressed up.”