Infernal

5

Whistling the chorus from Alice Cooper's "School's Out"—stuck in his head since the second viewing of Dazed and Confused—Jack arrived back at the dock with two sacks of groceries, a bag of ice, and a feeling that he'd wasted nearly a week of his life. Except for a weird, mysterious piece of junk, Tom was in the same straits now as when they'd set sail.

Despite that he was feeling pretty good. He'd talked to Gia. She and Vicks and the baby were all fine. In two days he'd be back with her.

He'd also checked his voice mail. No word yet from Joey.

In a way that was a relief. Meant he hadn't missed out on anything. His rage had receded underwater. Real-life cares seemed a world away down there. He couldn't help feeling guilty about that.

But soon he'd be home and back to the reality of the streets. Soon he'd rejoin the hunt for payback.

Back at the boat, he found Tom sweeping pieces of what looked like shattered ceramic into a pile on the deck. He looked pale, shaken.

"What happened?"

"Dropped a cup."

"You okay? You don't look so hot."

"Don't feel so hot."

"Sick?"

He shook his head and gave Jack a wan smile. "Nah. I guess I'm not used to the active lifestyle. I tend to eat more and exercise less. Maybe that's why the vodka hit me so hard."

Oh, hell, Jack thought. Am I going to have to drive all the way back to the States?

"You're drunk?"

He shook his head. "Don't feel drunk. But I think I hallucinated a little while ago."

"Yeah? What did you see?"

Another head shake. "Too weird to even talk about." He swept the fragments through a scupper and into the water, then pointed to the neatly dressed, middle-aged black man standing by the pump. "Pay the man and let's get out of here."

Jack pulled out his credit card as he approached.

"What's the damage?"

The man looked at the gauge and said, "Two thousand seven hundred and two dollars and seventy cents."

Jack laughed. "Very funny. Now give me the real number."

The man looked at him. "That is the real number, sir."

"Twenty-seven hundred bucks for gas? You've gotta be kidding!"

"Twenty-seven hundred and two bucks, sir. And seventy cents."

Jack looked at the meter. "Twenty-five hundred and seventy-four gallons! This thing only holds seven hundred!"

"Those are liters, sir. In gallons that would be somewhat less than seven hundred, but not much."

"Liters?"

Jack studied the sign over the diesel pump: 1.05/L. He'd been so happy to see such a cheap price that his brain apparently had registered only the number and assumed it was the gallon price. He handed over his card. "No wonder everyone around here drives mopeds."