Pirates at Bay

It was hot. A July day opening like a rosebud.

The charter boat captain was anxious.

His fare was due at noon for a four hour cruise onto Lake Erie.

The boat was ready. Fishing gear in place. Bait. Beverages. Cold sandwiches. Engines gassed and idling. Coolers iced. Cashbox on board.

He checked his watch. Glancing toward the entrance to the marina, he paced along the wooden dock.

Finally, a late model vehicle pulled into a parking space.

A man got out of the driver’s side, a woman out of the passenger’s side.

"You Captain Harold?" the driver asked.

"You’re here for a noon reservation?" the charter boat captain asked in return, hoping they would apologize for keeping him waiting.

"We got some stuff to bring along," the driver said.

He opened the rear of the vehicle and pulled out a metal mirror, five feet in length, and an unpainted wood box, standing four feet off the ground, with latches on all four sides holding on a lid.

The captain was puzzled.

"What you got there?" he asked.

"Just a couple of things that will, let’s say, make this trip more pleasurable," the man answered. He looked at the woman, who smiled.

The captain loaded the mirror and box onto the boat. For the first time he noticed the man was unusually tan, and trim and athletic, and the woman was painted with dark makeup, wearing a terrycloth robe over a bikini. He had a t-shirt pulled over swimming trunks.

"You won’t need any fishing gear," the captain said to them. "I’ve got it all onboard already."

"You are right about that," the man answered, again nodding at his female companion.

The captain said: I’d like to settle the finances up front, before we head out."

"Tell us again, what is the charge?"

"One hundred twenty five an hour, four hour minimum."

The man pulled a stash of bills out of his duffle bag. It was rolled up and held with a thick rubber band.

"Go ahead and count it," he told the captain.

The captain climbed up to the bridge, and spent a few minutes laying the bills out by denomination. He thought he made a mistake and recounted.

"You gave me seven hundred."

"You get a tip, up front, that’s the kind of people we are," said the man. The woman seemed only to want to find a good seat on the boat, so she could soak up the sun.

The captain put the money in his cash box, and set it on a shelf under the steering wheel.

He went down to the dock, pulled the tie down ropes off their hangers, and climbed back to his perch and started the slow trip out of the marina.

The inboard engines were loud and throaty and gurgled deeply to show their power.

The man and woman sat back in a relaxing mode, watching the harbor pass as the boat idled out into Lake Erie.

The man climbed up the ladder to speak to the captain.

"Good fishing out there?" he asked.

"There had better be. That’s how I make a living," the captain said.

"How far we going out?"

"About two miles. We’ll start there, see if the fish are biting."

The charter boat engines roared and the 37-foot vessel plowed through the water, leaving a big wake with white-tipped waves from a frothy underwater exhaust.

Finally, the woman said something: "Ken, we are so far out here I can hardly see shore."

Ken turned to look. The horizon had eaten the shoreline and all there was at the bottom was water. A billowy plume of white steam puffed out of the cooling towers of a nuclear power plant on shore. That, in fact, was all they could see of the land they had left behind.

"Stacy," the man said, "This is like an ocean." He looked around. It was a Tuesday. There were no other boats to be seen. They were engulfed by quiet.

"Perfect," Ken said to Stacy.

The captain slowed the boat, then shut if off and dropped anchor.

Coming onto to the deck he said, "Let’s do a little casting first. See if anything is biting."

Ken looked at Stacy, then at the captain.

"Captain Harold. We’ve got some news for you. We ain’t doing no fishing."

The captain thought: And waste a beautiful fishing day like this!

But he said, "So you two just want to sit and enjoy the atmosphere?"

"Not exactly, Pops," Stacy said.

"Captain, we are going to ask for some privacy."

The captain got nervous for the first time.

"What do you want me to do? Jump off the boat?"

"You know," Ken said, getting up now and moving toward the captain, "that is a good idea. But at your age you wouldn’t last long. We’ll be happy if you just go below, down into the hold."

The captain held onto a grab rail. He felt sweat taking over his body. The hairs on his arms were getting wet.

He just looked at the two people. "What do you folks got going here?"

"We’re going to do some filming."

The captain looked at the mirror. Then at the wood box.

"What kind of filming?" He gazed out upon the waters of Lake Erie. The water glistened in the sun, the light dancing across the surface. A freighter was moving slowly in the distance. The only sound was that of small waves slapping against the boat.

While he was waiting for an answer, he thought for the first time about his cash box.

"You’ll be able to see the filming," Ken said. "From that porthole in the hold down below."

The captain looked at the door to the hold.

When he turned back toward his passengers he was confronted by a blue-steel pistol, with a short barrel.

"First we asked, now we are telling you, Captain, get down below."

"C’mon sir," Stacy said, getting off her seat. "We need this light. We need to work now."

"Captain, we paid you, and paid you well, now we want to use your boat for a while," Ken said. "When we are done, we’ll return to shore and you will be safe."

"Unless, that is," Stacy said, taking off her terrycloth robe, "you don’t do as Ken tells you."

It had been laid out now. The captain was clear about it. He grumbled, but moved down the stairs into the hold.

Ken moved behind him, and shut the door, and pulled the latch to lock it.

"Look at the size of this latch," he called to Stacy. "This thing is huge. He couldn’t break out of there with a bulldozer."

Unimpressed, she said: "Let’s get started."

The captain came to the porthole window in the hold’s door and what he saw unfold before his eyes seemed unbelievable.

The two passengers - Ken and Stacy - pulled a camera and tripod out of the wood box. They put the metal mirror on the deck. Then they set up the camera and tripod so it’s lens faced the mirror.

Ken jiggled a bit with the camera, then said, "We’re ready. It’s filming."

The captain looked around the hold. A couple of old life preservers. No ship-to-shore radio. No battering ram. No way to get help. He went back to the porthole window.

The couple was now completely naked, she lying on the mirror, he performing.

The captain was aghast.

The camera stared. And filmed.

They moved in pretzel shapes, knotted, turning, bending, kneeling. Organs aflame.

It was all too much for the captain.

He sat down in the hold. It just didn’t seem right. But now he was no longer nervous, he just wanted it to end. Hell, he’d even give them their money back, because it felt dirty now that he is seeing what they wanted in him.

Thirty minutes passed, and he was resigned to wait it out, thinking of how he could make sure he is never taken advantage of again.

There was another porthole in the hold, this one facing the water, showing the lake from just above water level. The captain peered out.

Suddenly, he tried to stand. There was not enough room. But he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Another boat. An ugly boat. With a metal blade for a bow. Was coming directly at his boat. The speed. The sharp metal edge. It seemed it would slice his charter boat in two pieces.

He started banging on the door to the hold, kicking it from the inside, pushing against it with his shoulders.

Then he remembered: The latch. He took it off a gate post. It was way bigger than needed for such a small door. But he had it in hand. Now it was holding tight, and he thought: "Why, why did I use that damned thing."

Ken and Stacy were busy filming. If they heard the captain banging against the door to the hold they did not respond. They had something more important going. Or so they thought.

The captain looked out the other port hole again. This big, ugly, metal-bowed boat was fast approaching, accelerating. He noticed a black flag being battered by the wind. It looked like a pirate’s flag. The boat was slicing through the water seeming to pick up speed.

The captain just stared. He had never seen such a boat on Lake Erie.

But one thing he knew. In a few moments that ugly pirate boat would ram into his charter boat.

He got on his knees and started praying.

Ken and Stacy? Well, they had been on their knees, too, but they weren’t exactly praying.

But they should have been.

To be continued.