Chris Grabenstein - Whack A Mole

“Whataya mean?”

“Tell people I made my mother proud. Tell them I finally finished my mission.”

Gus raises his shoulders to tell us he doesn't know what the hell Pete's talking about. Or what to say next. He dabs some sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm.

“Uh, what's your mission there, Pete? Over.”

There's this pause.

“Gus, I will not tolerate sinners. I cannot abide those who defile His laws.”

“Hey, I know what you mean, pal. I used to be a cop, remember? Laws should be obeyed. I agree.”

“And yet I, myself, did not fully fulfill all His Commandments. My mother told me so. She said I was being selfish.”

“When'd she say all this? Before she passed on?”

“About a month ago.”

Gus shoots Ceepak a look that says he's hearing the cuckoo clock down in his den counting off midnight.

“Mother told me I was a greedy tub of lard. Always choosing the young girls. Disobeying His Commandments. Violating Ezekiel's law just so I could caress their supple flesh. Flesh already sullied and stained by other men. This is why I never completed my task, Pete. Do you understand?”

Ceepak nods. Suggests Gus continue to play along.

“Sure, pal. Sometimes a pretty girl can turn your head, make you forget your own name.”

“These girls were gorgeous on the outside, Gus, but their souls were wretched and ugly. Yet, repulsive as they were, I needed to fondle them. To feel them. And so, I never did all I was meant to do. Do you understand?”

“Sure, pal. Sure.”

“I fear, by being selfish, I may have allowed certain sinners to relapse. Is Ceepak with you, Gus?”

Ceepak is about to speak. Gus holds up his hand.

“Ceepak? Nah. He's from freaking Ohio. They don't do deep-sea fishing in Ohio.”

“Are you lying to me, Gus?”

“Lying? Me?”

“Gus, did you know that Johnny Ceepak forces himself to tell the truth, no matter how injurious it might be to his own personal well-being?”

“Yeah, I think I heard him say something about that once or twice back when I was….”

“Did you also know that he will not tolerate lies told by others? Did you know that, Gus? Oh, he's quite rigid about that one. But he's the true offender, the foul….”

Ceepak grabs the mike out of Gus's hand.

“This is Ceepak.”

“Of course it is. Hello, Johnny. How sweet to hear your voice. Yes, indeedy. Johnny Ceepak. The last honest man on earth. Oh, yes. You would never bear false witness against me, would you, Johnny?”

“Where is Rita?”

“The lovely Miss Lapczynski?”

“Where is she?”

“Did you know she once fornicated with a young man to whom she was not married and then gave birth to his bastard? A child she named T. J.”

“Where is she?”

“Reverend Trumble encouraged Miss Lapczynski to renounce her sins and beg God's forgiveness. But Rita left the church and has become something of a backslider. What we call a ‘recidivist.’”

“Where is she?”

“Here, Johnny. Here with me. But I suspect you already knew that. Am I right?”

“Did you hurt her?”

“No, Johnny. No. Of course not! Not yet. She needs to repent first. God granted her a new life-free from the stigma of her original sin. Yet she chose to throw it all away, to spit in His holy face, to copulate once again outside the sanctity of marriage. Oh yes, Johnny. I know she has shared your bed on a regular basis. I suspected it for months. Your partner, young Danny, he confirmed it.”

Damn. I did. I made that stupid crack about Rita sleeping over at Ceepak's. I said it to Pete that night at his dock.

“Rita is the unrepentant, shameless harlot the Lord has placed in my path as a final test.”

“Mullen, if you harm her….”

“If I do so, it will be the Lord's choice, not mine! I am but His hands here on earth! I do but His bidding! Tell him, Miss Lapczynski, tell Johnny why you must be punished!”

The radio cuts out. Cuts back in.

“John?”

It's Rita. Her voice weak. Terrified.

“John?”

“On your knees!” The charter skipper from hell rattles out of our radio. “Beg the Lord for forgiveness! Tell Him how you sinned! How you spread your whoring legs and took this man, this man who is not your husband, this man to whom you are not even betrothed! Confess how you took him inside your loins over and over and over….”

Ceepak is pale, straining to hear.

I hear a tremendous gush of jagged breath rasp out from the radio speaker. Cap'n Pete exhaling or worse.

The radio goes silent.

“Forgive me, gentlemen,” Cap'n Pete says finally. “Sorry for that little outburst. It has been quite a long day. I'm certain we're all very tired. And so, we must say good night, gentlemen. His will shall be done. Sleep well, Johnny. Gus. Sleep well, my dear ones. Over and out.”

I don't think the ocean has ever looked so dark.

It's bleak and endless and unrelenting.

“I'm sorry,” I say to Ceepak who's standing next to me on the flying bridge, staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on some distant constellation. “I'm the one who jammed us up inside this hell hole. I never should've said anything about you and Rita in front of Pete.”

Ceepak turns to face me. “You had no way of knowing how he would interpret your remarks. Furthermore, you cannot be held accountable for his actions.”

“Yeah, but if I had told you about the redhead. If I had told you earlier that I picked her up hitchhiking….”

“The girl was a distraction, Danny. A red herring meant to throw us off course. If we had apprehended her earlier, some other young woman's Polaroid would have ended up in that final hole. Peter Paul Mullen's primary target was and always has been Rita Lapczynski.”

“Still, I feel I'm the one who got us into this. If I had….”

“Danny, I repeat-I do not hold you responsible for our current situation. However, at this juncture, I would appreciate a modicum of silence. We need to concentrate. Focus. Strategize our next move.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Brings a hand up to his head. Massages his temples.

Down below, the engines hum. The waves whoosh. Lady Fran 's nose plunges up and down.

Ceepak opens his eyes. Stares at me.

“What did you say?” he asks.

I shake my head sideways, hold up my hands, and mime a quick and silent Nothing.

“No. Earlier.”

“I'm sorry?”

“You mentioned how you felt. You inadvertently echoed a phrase Mullen used in his communiqué.”

“Hell hole,” says Gus. “They both said ‘hell hole.’”

“Yeah,” I say. “I feel like I jammed us up-put us in so deep we can't crawl out, in a hell hole.”

Ceepak is starting to look more like himself.

“When you two were discussing fishing spots, Mullen advised you to stay clear of the Hell Hole.”

Gus nods. “Sure. But he didn't need to bother. Everybody knows it's the worst freaking fishing spot there is. Can't catch nothin’ out there but a good nap.”

“Where's this dead spot, Gus? If it's a location the local boats know to avoid….”

Gus gets it. “Then it's the perfect spot for Pete to drop anchor with the girls! No one would drift by to bother him.”

“Precisely.”

“Scoot over, Danny.”

I slide sideways, keep both hands clasped on the wheel, keep us heading due east.

Gus hovers over the control panel and starts plunking keys on the GPS monitor. The green screen flashes. The nautical charts change like a quick-flipping slide show.

“I got it stored in the memory here. Patch of most unproductive water in the whole freaking Atlantic … maybe it's the spot where they dump the medical waste … you know … the hypodermics that wash up on the beach … maybe the fish faint when they see needles … my wife does….”