RELEASING THE CATCH

“Oh, for chrissake!” Faith said, disgusted, and all three men jerked their attention toward her, as if slapped. “My father,” she gestured at Mack. “Is an asshole. It’s not his fault, he was just born that way. He didn’t tell me about any of this.” She waved a hand at them and the table. “Until I got here, a little over an hour ago.” She flicked an accusatory glare at Mack, who had the excellent sense to stay quiet, and went on. “Look, I don’t have time for any of your good-ole-boy superstitious bullshit. I’ve lived on a crab boat since I was eight-years-old. I became a full share deckhand at sixteen, and I’ve worked as deck boss and as an engineer.” Her glare now fell on Jake, who stared back in fascination. “I just left my last job because it was time for a change, not because I couldn’t hack it. I work well on the hydraulics, stack, rail, bait, wherever the hell you want to put me. I’m a fast learner and I don’t expect to find your boat to be the space shuttle. Either you want me or not. I’ll be on the pier tomorrow at seven a.m., so you have the night to decide. Right now, I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”

She grabbed Jake’s drink, the closest and fullest, with three fingers of some strange, yet horrific alcohol, she discovered. She drained it in one large gulp, turned on her heel and left the bar. All three men stared in her wake, open-mouthed. Her stomach roiled by the time she got upstairs, and puked.

“What the hell was in that?” she asked out loud. The idiot didn’t even have the sense to drink whiskey. She shuddered with disgust at the lingering taste in her mouth of vomit and licorice, and sat down next to the toilet, flinging her arm across the closed lid. At least the first pissing match went to her. She grabbed her toothbrush off the counter, smiled for a few seconds, then put a hand on her stomach as it roiled again, and she lifted the lid for another digestive pyrotechnic experience.