John Locke - Now & Then

The way it worked, the victim was tied to two ropes that were looped beneath the ship. One was tied to his wrists, the other around his ankles. Then he was thrown overboard, and dragged under the keel and up the other side of the ship. Since the keel was encrusted with sharp barnacles, sheets of his skin would be scraped off in salt water, which is even more painful than it sounds. Some who lived were subjected to a second trip, if their infraction warranted it.

The Blue Lagoon was owned and operated by a large, nervous man known as One-Eyed Charlie Fine, who got his name after betting one of his eyes on a ten-high straight in a poker game with a pirate named Ginhouse Jim. Jim had a full house, sixes over one-eyed jacks.

Charlie owned a piece of the unnamed whorehouse next door to the Blue Lagoon. As the primary beneficiary of Pim’s inebriated generosity, Charlie had learned long ago that it made good business sense to pull Darla from the lineup when The Fortress was in town, to waitress Mr. Pim till closing. As this had become a time-honored tradition, Pim was surprised to see a different waitress standing before him.

“Darla’s gone,” she said.

“Gone? What d’you mean, gone? Gone where?”

“She died. Want a drink?”

Pim blinked a couple of times and shook his head as if to help her words make sense.

“You mean to tell me Darla’s dead?”

“Dead as a brick, yes sir.”

Pim tilted his head, as if the world were somehow askew, and this would help him see it better. He cleared his throat and swallowed. It didn’t make sense. Two months ago she’d been radiant, full of life. He forced his voice to work.

“What happened?”

“Cramp Colic.”

So out of the blue her appendix had burst and killed her and he’d had no chance to say goodbye. Pim had always assumed that one day he’d give up piracy and make an honest woman of her. And now…

“Sir?”

He looked at her.

“I know Darla’s gone, but I can take her place.”

Pim’s mind seemed to be floating away. He could barely make out her words.

“Take her place?”

“I can serve you till you’ve had your fill, then, if you want, I’ll go with you upstairs like Darla used to.”

Pim tried to comprehend the magnitude of his loss. Darla, the only woman on earth who cared what happened to him. He briefly tried to contemplate a life without Darla in it. But the woman standing in front of him had said something he didn’t quite catch. He tried to focus.

“I’m sorry,” Pim said. “You’re what?”

“A good whore, sir.”

“Oh.”

“Mr. Fine picked me personal, ‘cause I get no complaints. And if it suits you, I’ll stay all night in your bed, just like Darla did.”

Pim stared at nothing awhile longer before finally letting out a huge, mournful sigh. Then he said, “What’s your name?”

“Grace, sir.”

“Did you know Darla?”

“Know her?”

“I mean, were you friends?”

She looked confused by the question.

“We don’t get much opportunity to have friends here, sir. And there’s some competition for the half sovereigns and up. But Darla, well, she was pleasant, never stole nothing I know about.”

Pim nodded slowly.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yellow rum.”

“Okay.”

“And lots of it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Chapter 8

Two hours of drinking had done nothing to diminish Pim’s sorrow. He waved off Grace’s offer to sit with him while he drank, and Charlie Fine stopped by the table to offer his condolences. But in the end Pim put his hands over his eyes, bent his head to the table and cried like a baby. When Martin and Roberts entered the bar and saw their enormous friend sobbing fit to bust they fled the premises as if frightened by fairies. Charlie Fine told Grace to get Pim upstairs before he chased off the rest of the customers.

Grace reluctantly approached the red-haired giant and patted his back. She pushed one side of her blouse down her shoulder and revealed a breast of adequate size and smoothness, which she rubbed against the side of Pim’s impossibly hairy face. He lifted his head and she moved her breast to his lips.

“Come upstairs with me now, sir,” she said, softly.

Pim’s lower lip quivered. He seemed about to burst into tears again, but at the last minute he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. Grace quickly tucked her bosom back into her blouse and took Pim’s hand and led him up the steps.

The room upstairs had belonged to Darla when Pim was in town, and everything about it reminded him of her. Though Grace shucked her clothes off in record time, and despite the fact that most men would consider her body vastly superior to Darla’s, Pim was having none of it.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll undress you now, sir.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Please, sir.”

“Why do you give a shit?”

“He’ll beat me if you leave here unsatisfied.”

Pim frowned and shook his head. It was a bad life. Bad for Grace, and bad for Darla before her. He wondered if Charlie Fine had beaten Darla. If he knew for sure he’d kill Charlie with his bare hands. But he didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter now anyway. He stuffed his big paw into his pocket and felt around till he found a sovereign and a five guinea. He handed them to the naked woman in front of him and watched her eyes widen.

“The sovereign’s for Charlie Fine. You keep the five guinea.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

He pressed her fingers over the gold coin and kissed them.

“Maybe next time,” he said.

Grace’s eyes welled with tears. She stood on tiptoes to reach his cheek. Kissed him and said, “You were special to her. I think she may have loved you.”

Pim smiled for the first time since hearing the news of Darla’s death. It was a sad smile just the same.

“I’ll never forget her,” he said.

Now, standing on the dirt road in front of the Blue Lagoon, Pim tried to decide what he wanted to do. Had it been a matter of what to do for the night, he would have climbed into one of the dories, slept it off and caught a ride back to the ship come morning. But this was a question of what to do with the rest of his life, and for that he needed a sign.

On the pier, in the distance, two of his men were cursing blue blazes and trying to fight a drunken duel using the crudest of implements. The one-armed man wielding the three-legged stool seemed to have an advantage over the one-legged guy with the chicken, but it was hard to imagine them doing much damage to each other. The stool was too heavy for the one guy to swing, and the live chicken was giving the other one fits. Pim had to admire their determination, but wondered what it said about the quality of life he was living.

If only God would send him a sign.

He walked a few minutes, then stopped and looked around. The night air was hot and thick with mosquitoes and fat, buzzing June bugs. Bats and barn swallows darted about with wild abandon, coming from all angles to feast on the bug buffet.

Pim wondered if perhaps the sign was something to be heard instead of seen. He turned his body slowly, making a complete circle, listening intently. But all he heard were peals of drunken laughter, assorted curses and squawks from the ongoing pier battle, and the occasional shriek of whores feigning orgasm.

Any kind of sign would suffice.

He waited a moment longer and then started walking aimlessly down the road.

Toward St. Alban’s.

And just like that, the course of history was about to change.

Chapter 9

Captain Jack Hawley bade George Stout goodnight and knocked at the door to the room where Johanna sat waiting. Moments earlier he’d been shocked to see George’s ghoulish daughter, Rose, hanging by her heels from a rope in the center of the store.