Chapter 1 My Uptown Girl

99�� Fan Pricing until MIDNIGHT, July 17th




















Chapter One
Fulton��

The first few drops of rain landed, making little wet spots on my faded threadbare T-shirt. The thinner the shirt, the quicker it dried. At least, that was what I told myself. I didn���t wear my good shirts to work. They would just get snagged, torn, and covered with grease and god knew what I came into contact with on an average day.��

The few drops turned into a lot more. Big heavy drops splattered on the deck, and instead of a couple of wet spots on my shirt, my shoulders were getting soaked in the rain.��

I gave my head a good shake, trying to remove the water from my hair that was clinging to my forehead. I needed a damn haircut. I lifted my shoulder, wiping the sleeve against my cheek in a futile move to try and wipe the water from my eyes so I could see clearly.

���Got it,��� I grunted, pulling the lobster trap onto my thirty-three-foot lobster boat.��

Stanley Gilbert, my best and only friend and righthand man, opened the trap and pulled out the few lobsters that were inside while I got the bait ready to throw in the pot. He quickly banded the few lobsters we managed to catch after making sure there were no females and they were the right size. The rope was dipped in the steam before I hung the bait and threw it over and quickly grabbed the last pot on my string.

���Last one,��� he shouted, looking up at the sky. ���We are cutting it close today!�����

���Good, because this weather is about to open up and give us hell,��� I said, working quickly but paying attention. One little mistake and I might find myself going over the side.

We worked well together. I baited the pot before I threw it overboard. We had worked together so long, we didn���t need to talk about what we were going to do. We just did it. That meant we had lots of time to talk about everything else under the sun.��

With the last pot set, the hard part was done.��

���Anyway,��� he said, picking right back up where he left off before we started pulling the string. ���I think I have to get one of those big ones.���

���Big ones?��� I asked, trying to remember what it was he was talking about. Stanley tended to ramble about the weirdest shit. It was hard to keep up with the way his brain worked. I usually let whatever it was he said go in one ear and right out the other. I didn���t have the brain space to hold all of the useless information inside.

���Those remote thingies, you know? Because I lost mine. Weren���t you listening to me? I need a new one. I can���t watch TV, except for that one boring channel. That���s kind of an emergency in my world.���

I moved around the deck, securing my equipment in preparation for the trip home. Normally, Stanley would spray the deck while I drove the boat in but not today. I was only half paying attention as I moved about, which was dangerous, but it couldn���t be helped. My focus was on the dark clouds making their way inland. My poor boat couldn���t handle much and I really didn���t feel like becoming fish bait.��

���Yes, I was listening,��� I answered, knowing if I didn���t say something he would pester me about his remote for the next hour.��

���Have you ever lost your remote?��� he asked.��

As it turned out, he was going to regardless. He was unfazed by the ominous clouds. I supposed that was a bonus to being a bit flighty.��

���No,��� I said, wiping the back of my hand over my eyes once again.

���It sucks. I was forced to sit and watch a couple of guys wearing suits and rambling on and on about shit happening on the other side of the world. Like I give two shits about that. They had stupid pictures that didn���t even make sense flashing behind them. They were so boring.���

���That���s called the news, Stanley. People like to know what���s happening around them. They watch the boring news to be informed.���

���Stupid. Can���t change it.���

I shook my head and kept working. Stanley wasn���t the smartest bulb in the box. He was smart about anything related to fishing, but book smart, he was not. I used to call him Bubba until he told me he didn���t like that nickname anymore. I didn���t want to insult the big guy and refrained from doing so, but in the back of my mind, when Stanley talked, I thought about Bubba the shrimper in that movie.��

���It���s good to be informed,��� I told him. ���It gives you something to talk about with other people. It���s called conversation.���

���It���s boring. I wanted to watch racing. I can talk about racing with others.���

���If you didn���t want to watch the news, you should have gotten your ass up and flipped the damn channel.���

���I don���t know where the buttons are. They don���t make TVs like they used to. I���m just going to get me one of those big thingies.���

I nodded, knowing we had worked through his latest crisis. ���You do that. You know, there is one other option.���

���What���s that?���

���You could look for the remote. It isn���t like someone came into your shithole house and stole just the remote to your TV. Retrace your steps and find the damn thing.���

He slapped the lid down over the lobster bin. ���I did.���

���I���m sure you did.���

���I looked in the shitter. I looked in the fridge and I looked on the couch. It isn���t there.���

���Maybe look under the couch or under the cushions,��� I suggested. Sometimes, I felt like I was talking to a child.��

���Shit,��� he said, looking up at the sky. ���Looks like we are getting one hell of a storm.���

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. ���No shit, you think?���

He turned and frowned at me. ���I didn���t think you were serious.���

���Come on. Let���s get this shit tied down. I need to get ahead of this.���

We worked fast, but it wasn���t fast enough. It started with the heavy rain pounding the deck and splashing up. My bibs were slick, the rubber-like material squeaking as I moved. A gust of wind came through, sending the ocean spray over the deck, washing over my feet and nearly knocking me on my ass.

���Shit!��� Stanley shouted, diving for the lid to one of the lobster-holding tanks that had obviously not been secured.��

���Get it!��� I yelled at him over the howling wind.��

Another gust nearly toppled me to the floor. I spread my legs wide to hold my footing, waiting for the wave coming in to pass under us. It was a lot bigger than I anticipated. The boat lurched to the side, the topless bin dumping out the lobster we���d worked so hard to catch.��

���Fuck!��� Stanley shouted, trying to pick up the lobsters that were making a break for it.��

���Leave them! We need to get out of here!���

���I���ll secure the bins. Get your ass in there and get us home!���

I scrambled to get my footing, my muck boots slipping over the deck that was covered in an inch of water. I got myself to the wheel, fired up the engine, and headed inland. I struggled against the waves and the wind that were determined to tip over my boat. I refused to give up. I fought hard, knowing a capsize would kill us. Fishermen lost their lives every year to storms.��

It was my own fault, I silently lectured myself. I knew better than to gamble with the weather. It could come up on you with no warning, and Mother Nature moved a hell of a lot faster than my tired old boat. But a man had to gamble if he wanted to put food on the table.

Stanley came to stand beside me, holding on as we bounced up and down, thrown back and forth as we moved over the turbulent waters. I didn���t want to ask him what the damage was behind me. I could tell by the look on his face it was bad. Some days, it just seemed like all the forces of evil were against you. Today was one of those days. With sheer will and a refusal to give up, the harbor came into view.��

Stanley slapped me on the back, all three-hundred pounds of his giant body in the slap. I jerked forward, holding myself upright by holding on to the wheel. ���Good job, Captain Fulton.���

���That���s Mr. Hannes to you,��� I replied with a small smile. ���We���re alive.���

���Hell yeah, we are. I thought we were goners there for a minute.���

I didn���t say it aloud, but I did too. ���We just lost any money we would have made today,��� I told him, my voice grim.��

���It���s all good,��� he said in his usual nonchalant way. ���After a good storm, there will be all kinds of fishing to do. Hell, if we���re lucky, some of the competition will have boat problems and all the lobster will be for us.���

I said, knowing that would never happen. ���We can���t afford to keep losing money.���

I navigated my boat into the harbor where all the other smart captains had already moored their vessels. There was a sense of relief and dread as we limped along. I had nothing to sell, but I was alive. My luck could not get any worse. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind when the engine choked and sputtered.��

���Oh, not again,��� Stanley groaned.��

���Don���t you die on me,��� I whispered, throttling down to give the overworked John Deere engine a little break. ���Come on. We���re almost home. Just a little more.���

���Do you think it can hear you?��� Stanley asked.��

I turned to look at the guy that was about an inch shorter than I was at six-four, but he had a good hundred pounds on me. He was the epitome of a big oaf. ���Do engines have ears?��� I asked dryly.��

���Fuck if I know. I���m not the one talking to the damn thing.���

I shook my head again, something I found myself doing a lot when I spent time with Stanley, which was every day for a good twelve to twenty hours a day. ���Maybe you should rub it. Give it a kiss or something. Coax the old girl in.���

���Who?���

���Not who. The engine. Shit, man. How do you forget what we are talking about a minute later?���

He shrugged a beefy shoulder, moving to the side of the boat in preparation to jump onto the dock. ���Because I don���t really pay much attention to you. You ramble a lot.���

I groaned, remembering he couldn���t help it. The guy was wired just a little differently than everyone else. It was why I loved him and why he drove me absolutely crazy some days. My poor boat limped along, but thankfully, we docked. Stanley tied it up while I took care of the last things on the boat. The storm that had kicked our ass offshore was right on our heels.��

The rain was just starting, a precursor to the fury that was blowing in behind it. ���Let���s go get a drink,��� Stanley said.��

���I probably shouldn���t.���

���Sure, you should. What else are you going to do?���

���Wallow.���

���We���ll wallow together. We need to talk about you getting a new boat. That thing is going to sink one of these days and I���m not a great swimmer.���

���I don���t know if I can afford to buy myself a beer, let alone a new boat. She���s solid. It���s just that damn engine that needs some help.���

���Then buy a new one.���

���Sure, you got the twelve grand or so that I will need?���

He chuckled. ���All right, all right. I���ll buy you a beer. Damn, you sure are needy.���

I wasn���t needy, but damn if I wasn���t tired of getting shafted every time I turned around. A guy needed a break now and again. If shit didn���t change, I was going to find myself a captain without a boat.��

99�� Fan Pricing until MIDNIGHT, July 17th