Robert Browne - Down Among the Dead Men

Maybe she was a prude.

She hadn’t been lying earlier when she said that she sometimes envied Jen’s freedom. Even if much of her fearlessness was a mask for insecurity, maybe it was better than the one Beth herself had chosen.

She was, she had decided-long before today, in fact-a boring woman who led a structured, predictable life. She had taken the job with the DA because it had promised to be exciting, but she soon discovered that it held no real surprises.

There were laws; they were broken. You broke the law, you went to jail. Prosecutors rarely dealt in shades of gray.

The position was more about stats than truth and justice, about keeping your conviction rate high, and Beth was long past the thrill of winning a case. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt butterflies before closing argument.

It was a job, plain and simple. And it didn’t fulfill her any more than her marriage had.

Or her sex life, for that matter.

While Jen was working toward orgasm number two thousand whatever, Beth was still working on number one.

And who knows? Maybe that was why Peter had cheated on her.

“Oh my God,” Jen said, “look at these.”

They had been wandering the streets for what seemed like hours now, moving from shop to shop, finding a lot of interesting little trinkets but nothing they’d felt like spending actual cash on. The latest stop had been a right turn down a narrow alleyway lined with street vendors.

Beth, who had been pretending to admire a stack of Mexican blankets as she ruminated on her humdrum life, turned and saw Jen stopped at a small table lined with jewelry.

“What did you find?”

Jen held up two thin silver-tone rings, each with a small, flat black and silver carving of a hooded skull in place of the stone. The workmanship was borderline crude but oddly affecting.

“They’re wonderful,” Beth said.

Jen nodded and gestured. “Put out your hand.”

Beth obliged, offering the left one, and Jen slipped the ring onto her newly bare fourth finger.

“Perfect.” Jen took the second ring and slid it onto her own finger. “We’re officially best friends forever,” she said, then smiled. “With the devil.”

Beth laughed. “Been there, done that.”

She started to pull the ring off, but Jen stopped her.

“Consider it my way of apologizing for being such a bitch.”

“Jen, you don’t have to keep-”

“It’s either this or a pack of horse shit cigarettes. Which would you prefer?”

Beth smiled. “The cigarettes might be more appropriate.”

Jen stuck her tongue out, then turned to the vendor, a slender man in a T-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses.

“?Cuanto cuesta esto?”

She’d told Beth earlier that she only knew two phrases in Spanish: “How much does this cost?” and “Where’s the bathroom?”

Beth suspected she butchered them both.

The vendor’s accent was thick, but at least his English was better than Jen’s Spanish.

“Sixty dollar for two,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“On especial today. Forty-five.”

“I was thinking more like ten bucks each,” Jen said, and started to take hers off.

“Thirty dollar,” the vendor told her.

“Make it twenty-five and you’ve got a deal.”

He nodded, and Jen dug into her purse for the cash. She rooted around for a while, then said, “Shit.”

“What?” Beth asked.

“I must’ve left my wallet in the cabin.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I could’ve sworn I had it, but all I’ve got is my seafarer’s card and a bunch of loose change. Can I borrow a few bucks?”

Beth rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” Jen said. “I’m good for it, I swear. Soon as we get back on board.”

Beth looked at the ring on her finger, the tiny hooded skull staring up at her. It belonged on the hand of a punk rocker or a goth girl or a wild child like Jen. Certainly not her. But she liked it and thought, what the hell, why not do something unpredictable for once. Maybe she’d even wear it for her next opening argument, see what the jury made of it.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her wallet, opened it, and extracted a twenty and a five, handing it across to the vendor. He quickly stuffed the cash into his pants pocket, then turned his attention to an elderly couple who had just approached.

Jen grinned at Beth and held up her hand, admiring the ring. “Big sis to the rescue again.”

“Don’t even start.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Beth heard a faint gurgling sound and Jen frowned, patting her stomach.

“You hear that? I’ve got the growlies. Let’s find some food.”

“I’m tired,” Beth said. “Why don’t we just go back to the ship and eat there?”

“Now why would we want to eat assembly-line hamburgers when we can go for some authentic local food? Come on, you can pick the place.”

“ And pay the bill?”

Jen offered her a sheepish smile. “Don’t you still have a couple of Peter’s credit cards?”

“Ha-ha,” Beth said. “You’re hilarious.”

They chose an outdoor cafe called Taqueria Tapatia, an oblong open-air enclosure that ran the length of the sidewalk, the chef’s station smack in the middle of half a dozen tables.

Jen, being Jen, became immediately enamored with the chef, a curly-haired twentysomething hunk with a nice body and an even nicer smile. But to her credit, she kept it low-key, in an effort, Beth supposed, to avoid upsetting the prude. And Beth suddenly felt guilty for always trying to suppress what came naturally to Jen.

Why couldn’t she just accept her sister for who she was?

“I’m thinking about going back to school,” Jen said as their waitress set their taco plates in front of them.

Beth was surprised. “Since when?”

Jen took a bite of taco, then took a moment to chew and swallow. “I know this’ll sound like bs, but you’re not the only one who’s jealous. A lot of times I look at you, look at what you’ve accomplished, and I think, What the hell? Why am I such a loser?”

“You’re not a loser.”

“What else do you call it, then? I’ve spent the last decade bouncing from guy to guy, job to job, party to party and I’ve got nothing to show for it but a failed marriage, an empty bank account, and a constant hangover.”

Beth had to admit she had a point.

“It could be worse,” she said. “You could be crippled. Or blind.”

Jen laughed and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No direction, no ambition. And I can only blame so much of it on Mom and Dad.” She paused, took another bite of taco. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but last night kinda opened my eyes.”

Beth stiffened. “Meaning?”

“Marta and I spent a lot of time talking about things I don’t usually bother thinking about. It might be hard to believe, but she and Rafael are very spiritual people.”

“If you consider witchcraft and phony psychics spiritual, sure.”

Jen shook her head. “I really wish you could be a little more open-minded. Some people believe there’s a man in the sky watching over us. Does that make them con artists?”

“Not all of them. No.”

Beth wasn’t the most religious person in the world, but she did believe in God. A belief that was based on gut, not intellect. But she also knew that there was no shortage of people in this world who would try to exploit that belief.

“Despite what you think of her,” Jen said, “Marta really believes the things she talks about.”

“Like what?”

“Like the power of the dead, for one. She says they’re always among us, ready to guide us, counsel us when we ask for help. And I know this’ll sound stupid, but when she told me that, it was the first time I’ve actually felt like there might be some hope for me after all. Like maybe since they died, Mom and Dad have been watching over us. Maybe it’s time for me to stop disappointing them.”