Continental Drift

“Yeah.” He collapses the empty can and hands it to Ave, who heads forward to the galley. When he returns and passes Bob a fresh can, cold and solid as ice, Bob says, “I’m stuck in a fucking rut, Ave. My wheels are spinning. I can’t make enough from my share of the Belinda Blue to live on, let alone save up a few bucks every month so I can buy a larger share so I can make enough money to live on. It’s what you call a vicious circle. And it’s making me crazy, it’s making Elaine crazy — for Christ’s sake, she’s gone and taken a job working nights at the Rusty Scupper up in Islamorada. I just dropped her off there a while ago. Hafta pick her up at one.”

“Jesus. What about the kids?”

“Baby-sitter. Tonight. Woman across the way. Otherwise, me.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s worse. Ruthie, she’s got … she’s got some problems, emotional problems, and now the school says she’s got to get some kinda special treatments at the mental health clinic down in Marathon, and who the fuck can afford Blue Cross these days? I used to have a great health insurance plan when I was fixing oil burners, but working for yourself like this, you know, you just say forget it, I’ll take my chances.”

“Yeah. I don’t have any health insurance.”

“You don’t have any kids, either. That’s really what I’m talking about. I got to make more money.”

Ave says, “Well, Bob, there’s ways.”

“Yeah, I know. But I got kids and a wife, like I said. I can’t take the kinda chances you take. Anyhow, what I’ve been thinking is, there’s a way I can get a bigger share of the boat, which would let me keep a bigger share of the profits. But I need you to help me.”

Ave listens carefully, like a bank director, as Bob unfolds his plan: Ave will loan Bob forty-five thousand dollars, which Bob will then pay over to Ave for the rest of the boat, and then, with Bob’s increased share of the profits, he will pay Ave back, say, a minimum of five thousand a year, or whatever Ave thinks is right, with interest, which should also be whatever Ave thinks is right. Bob will pay for all repairs and maintenance, operating costs and so on, everything associated with the Belinda Blue, just as if she were his own boat.

“It would be your own boat,” Ave points out. “That’s the trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

Ave sighs heavily. “I owe a lotta money, Bob. A shitload. And the Belinda Blue’s my collateral. I can’t sell her without paying off the bank what I owe. They got the title. For the apartment they got it. If I hadda come up with that kinda money, to buy the title back, plus loan you forty-five more, I’d be talking close to a hundred grand. More, maybe. I haven’t checked lately what I owe on the apartment. And even if I could come up with that kinda money, look where I’d come out. You’d own the Belinda Blue for a total of sixty grand, and I’d be out fifty grand minimum plus my three-quarters of the profits she turns, which ain’t much, I know, but it makes a difference.”

“Well, there’d be five thousand a year, plus interest …”

“You don’t call that money, do you?”

Bob sinks lower into his chair. “Shit,” he says. “I thought you owned the boat outright. I didn’t know …”

“No, man! The bank’s got me by the nuts. Just like everyone else around here. Why the hell do you think everyone with a boat is running dope, for Christ’s sake? It’s not to live good, pal. It’s just to live. It all ends up going back to the banks. I couldn’t run anything with the Belinda Blue, she’s too fucking slow, so I hadda borrow money to buy a boat fast enough to make enough money to pay back the money I borrowed in the first place. That fifteen grand you gave me for your share of the Belinda Blue, man, that gave me the down payment for the Angel Blue. You talk about vicious circles. We’re all in one. Circles inside of circles.”

Bob lights a cigarette, inhales deeply and slouches further down in his chair. “How come the bank let you sell off one-fourth of the boat, if you’d gone and borrowed against it? I never dealt with any bank, I just dealt with you. I got that bill of sale you wrote out, that’s all.”

Ave gets up from his chair and stands at the stern, looking over at the broad bow of the Belinda Blue rocking lightly in the water. Then, his back to Bob, he says, “I suppose you could get me into a heap of trouble with that bill of sale.”