Echoes From The Sea CHAPTER 2

Echoes From The Sea
CHAPTER 2


We woke in the early morning—I had set the alarm. I let Marta use the toilet first and would wait until the room was free before using the bathroom myself. However, Marta had other ideas. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, not after seeing me in the tub and not after last night. Oh no, Mister—get in here and pee now.”

So I did—I peed while she watched. “Happy now?” I asked her. She shook her head “yes” and brushed her teeth with my toothbrush. She was dressed quickly—I still had to shave, but we were done and ready to go in less than an hour. Once again, we stopped at the deli for breakfast and lunch. I ordered a roast beef sub this time while Marta ordered a chicken salad. I still had the worms from yesterday kept fresh in the refrigerator, so we launched the boat, and I parked in the first stall I could find. Again, the engine started, and we headed out of the harbor.

“It’s wonderful,” Marta commented. “It’s much nicer on the water in this little old boat than on David’s big yacht. Why is that, do you think?”

“You like me better,” I joked, but one look from Marta told me I was right. I extended my hand to her while accelerating through the inlet, following the GPS’s directions to the sunken yacht. I found it easily using the combination of the GPS and sonar fish finder. I anchored and allowed the boat to drift back over the wreck. I tied off the anchor line and made it ready, working my way into the wet suit and checking my regulator, mask, and fins. I also took my light. I expected visibility of ten to twelve feet, but having my light source would be helpful in dark areas. I hung two fishing lines into the water so anyone passing by would think we were fishing. In reality, the hook-less lines turned just below the surface. I tied the thin nylon line to my belt, instructing Marta. Finally, I loaded the Glock and clipped the holster to my weight belt. I wouldn’t use a buoyancy compensator on this dive—too bulky to explore the yacht's interior. I took my first breath from the tank and jumped over the side.

I finned down easily. The water was only thirty-five feet deep, so the yacht's top was less than twelve feet below the surface. It had sunk in a virtually upright position, making inspection of the hull challenging but enabling a leisurely inspection of the boat’s interior. First, I checked the hull; it was exactly as I expected. So was the boat’s interior. Next, I found Marta’s purse, exactly where she told me it would be.

Then I began my search; in less than ten minutes, I had found exactly what I wanted to know to break the news to Marta.

I broke the surface right behind my boat. I called Marta to help. I handed her the sodden purse, water dripping from the seams. She might need her ID; almost everything else would be ruined, although it might be possible to dry out any cash. She took my fins and mask, placing them on the deck inside the boat. Next, I removed the tanks and pushed them into the stern's engine well. Now, I was able to climb up the ladder. I peeled off the wet suit and toweled myself dry. I placed the Glock in my bag, unloading it in the process. I secured the tanks and pulled in the anchor. We left the area in less than ten minutes. I anchored in a prime fishing area just off Crane’s Neck and baited two hooks, lowering them to the bottom; I handed one to Marta.

“Sorry, Marta, I wanted to escape the wreck so others wouldn’t know it was there. I know you’re curious, so I’ll tell you what I found—nothing…absolutely nothing. There wasn’t a single bullet hole in the hull, deck, or anywhere, but the sea cocks had been opened. That’s what flooded the boat. Also, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Last night, I was thinking—how did this other boat find you at night in the middle of the Sound? This is much harder than you think unless you want to be found. I think your “boyfriend” faked the whole thing. I don’t know for sure that you were supposed to die, but I do know he left that boat in good condition. Those guys were probably friends of his. I can prove it with a phone call.”

I pulled out my cell. Now that we were only a few hundred feet from shore, I knew I’d pick up a cell tower. I called my childhood buddy Jimmy. Last time I'd heard, he was high up in the Long Island mob through his father, who was only a step or two below the Don. He answered on the second ring. Hey Pete, how’s the teacher?

“Great, Jimmy, how’s…what the hell are you doing, anyway?” We both laughed at that until I got to the point. “Jimmy, I need to know something. Did anyone from the city take out a guy named…” I looked at Marta for the name before continuing, “David Cartwright. From what I'm told, I hear he’s a gambler in the hole…big time. No, I can’t explain now, but I think I will be able to when you call me back.”

“OK, Petey, give me an hour or so, and how about calling sometime when you don’t need a favor? Bye.” I explained who Jimmy was, and Marta cringed in fear. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “This whole thing stinks. It’s not a mob thing. They don’t usually kill someone who owes them money—they want it too badly. I think this could be David’s attempt to disappear. You’re supposed to go to the police and tell them about the mob hit and how David is lost forever in the water. Then he’ll be in the clear to start over. I’ll bet he has some money stashed somewhere. Either that or he’s taken a big insurance policy on your life.”

Marta looked down as she realized what a loser her ex-boyfriend was. I was just about to pull her chin up with my finger when her rod bent in two. She jumped up screaming, “What do I do? What do I do?” much to the amusement of the fishermen in nearby boats. I gave her some quick lessons, and slowly, the fish approached the boat. I got it when she finally brought it to the surface. The scale read just over a respectable three pounds when I weighed it. I put it into the live well, congratulating Marta on a well-done job. That’s when she asked how big blackfish can get. “My biggest is a ten-pounder; the world record is twenty-five.”

“Oh God, it was all I could do to pull that one in. What will I do if I get a huge one?” I laughed at her expression before telling her she had to catch it first. That made her determined. She concentrated on great fishing—it took her mind off her asshole boyfriend.

We fished for about two hours, catching a few more fish and losing bait to a lot more. We kept four and threw three smaller ones back. They were big enough to hold, but we could afford to be generous. We were both startled when the phone rang. “Hi, Jimmy,” I began.

“OK, Petey, here’s the scoop. Some heavy guys are looking for this guy…. He owes over a quarter million, not including the vig (interest). Wanna tell me what this is all about?” I explained everything, including my two theories, while Jimmy listened patiently. Then he interrupted. “Listen carefully, my good friend; I’m sending a couple of guys over to keep an eye out. Most people would never see them—they’re delicious—but you probably will. I don’t want to open the paper someday and see you’re a statistic. Don’t tell me to mind my own business. That’s exactly what I am doing. Bye.”

“We’re going to have some company—some of Jimmy’s boys. We’ll be able to sleep soundly. I must return to work on Tuesday, but you should stay. This way, I’ll be sure you’re safe. You can stay as long as you want, and honestly, I’d like you to.” Marta put her head on my shoulder and was about to kiss me when some damned stupid fish took her bait. She jumped to her feet, playing the fish as she slowly brought it to the boat. She was struggling. “It must be a big one. I can barely move it,” she managed to get out between gasps.

Every time she made any progress, the fish would pull the line against the drag. I knew that, in time, she would wear the fish down, but I kept my mouth closed, allowing her to concentrate on the fish. Almost twenty minutes later, I could see the fish about three feet below the water, and it was big. I encouraged her by rubbing her shoulders and back. She had renewed energy and raised the rod, lifting the exhausted fish to the surface. I netted it immediately and brought it into the boat. I weighed it at just under eight pounds. Marta jumped up and down excitedly and threw her arms around my neck. She kissed me passionately as the other fishermen hooted and howled. However, Marta was not to be deterred; she patted my ass when she broke the kiss. The look in her eyes said it all. She’d be having her way with me as soon as we got home.

That would be sooner than I thought—we were out of bait. I pulled the anchor, and we left, taking our time as we enjoyed the mild weather on the glassy sea. We took a half hour to reach the dock. I tied off the boat, and we walked hand in hand to the truck. I spotted two of Jimmy’s boys lounging against a fence. I nodded as we passed. They ignored me, concentrating on Marta; they wanted to be able to identify her. I wasn’t a potential target; she was. It was their job to make sure she didn’t become one.

I was just about to winch the boat onto the trailer when some guy I never saw asked if we’d sell him some fish. Marta was about to agree when I said, “No, but I will give you one of the smaller ones.” I climbed into the boat and gave him a two-pounder in a plastic bag from Wal-Mart. Once we were in the truck, I explained that the fine for selling fish without a license was $500, and I had no idea who that guy was; besides, this way, I’d have one less fish to clean.

We were home in minutes, and I could see Jimmy’s men in the rearview mirror. They parked up the road where they could see anyone driving near the house. I put the fish into a big, galvanized tub and added a bag of ice, explaining to Marta that a cold fish was easier to fillet than a warm one. I emptied the boat, removed my diving equipment and electronics, and hosed down the entire ship, trailer, and all the gear; I hooked up the motor to a hose and flushed the interior, something I had learned to do as a kid. Then, I pulled up a folding chair and covered half of the fish tub with plywood. I sharpened the knife for a few minutes on a whetstone until it was again razor-sharp. Marta brought out a fork and two plastic bags—one for the fillets and the other for the racks--the skeletons.

I’ve had a lot of practice filleting going back to my days as a teenager. I filleted the four fish in no time, removing the lateral bones that plague blackfish eaters and removing the skin by holding it with the fork and running the sharp knife against it, much like shaving. I ran some skewers through some of the thick meat. I’d add some tomatoes and peppers later for grilling.

Now, I was ready for a shower. I had installed an outside shower in the backyard, especially for times like this. I led Marta to the backyard and removed my shirt and shoes. Marta got involved by removing my shorts and underwear over my “strong” objections. Then she joined me. “Good thing you don’t have any neighbors,” she whispered. We soaped each other, taking plenty of time with those unique places on each other’s bodies. We were almost done when I heard the alarm. I pushed Marta to the ground and dove for my pistol. I looked up in relief—it was a deer! My heart was in my throat as we both sighed and laughed uncontrollably.

I pulled Marta up and dried her carefully as she gave me that look again. I opened the back door, put the fish in the fridge, and walked hand in hand to the bedroom.

We had barely reached the door when the phone rang. I answered it—it was Jimmy. I thanked him for the bodyguards and listened while he asked a question. I turned to Marta, “What’s your surname? Jimmy says he’ll explain tomorrow. We’re going to a party.”

“Vanek,” Marta replied, “but why…?”

“Jimmy,” I spoke into the phone, “Vanek…yeah, V…A…N…E…K, right Marta?” She nodded, and I confirmed with Jimmy. “OK, two at Papa’s…see you then.” I sat Marta on the bed and tried to explain, “Jimmy and his dad have a lot of connections…things and people that you and I could never imagine. I think Papa had an idea why you were almost killed. I get the impression he doesn’t think it was an accident. Oh, I should explain—I spent so much time at Jimmy’s when I was a kid I always call his parents ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa.’”

Marta pulled me to the bed, “Now that you know my name, don’t you think I should know yours?”

“Oh God, you’re going to laugh...let me start by telling you the kids used to call me ‘Peter the Penis,’ and it wasn’t because my organ was any bigger than anybody else’s. My name is…Peter Manning. I have the same first and middle name. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’ve been thinking of changing it.”

“What would you change it to?”

I don’t know…anything would be better. Did you hear that nursery rhyme, “Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater? Well, the kids used to call me ‘Peter, Peter, Peter eater.’ Oh, don’t laugh…not you, too?” I started laughing with her.

She fell back onto the bed, pulling me with her. We laughed for several minutes before she stopped, looked me in the eyes, stared for a few seconds, and pulled me into a sensational kiss. There was real emotion; if I didn’t know better, I would have thought of real love in this kiss. Her lips ground into mine, her tongue sought mine hungrily, sucking it into her mouth and savoring it. Marta broke the kiss, moved to the center of the bed, and spread her legs, raising her ankles high. I moved between her legs, noticing how wet and glistening her pussy was.

I leaned forward for a taste—she was fresh, clean, and delicious. I climbed on as she guided me straight into her waiting cunt. I entered her fully in a single thrust as Marta gasped and wrapped her legs around my waist. We began moving together, thrust for thrust, breath for breath. She leaned up as I leaned down; we kissed as our passion rose until suddenly, we held our breath and exhaled a scream of ecstasy. We came and came; I knew I had never experienced anything like this before. Eventually, it ended, and I whispered to Marta, “Wow!”

“Yes,” Marta agreed, “I think you drowned my poor pussy.”

“Speaking about drowning…should I be concerned about a little Peter?”



To be continued