I didn’t mean it. I need to take you home.’ All of these were met with limited response from Faith. ‘Go away.’ ‘Get away you pervert.’ ‘...o play with yourself.’ In the next block, Faith was still ignoring my pleas and I was still begging her to get back in. A door opened down the sidewalk and four rough looking guys come out of it. One is a long lean black man with a torn denim jacket and jeans wearing a red dew rag on his head. The next is a smallish Hispanic with a scar on one cheek, casually. He had long blonde hair, arms like trash cans, if something needed moved he just reached out and moved it. Years of working on the boats tends to build strong men. He was ready to go, so I called Don, my other sometimes deckhand. He was laid up with a broken leg. I didn’t know who to call, then it hit me. Tara. She was tickled at the idea. I went down to the docks and got my 30 foot day fisher ready to go, the big diesel engine fired up with little effort. Old George was way ahead of me, he. More

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