Until you’ve been beside a man
You don’t know what he knows.
Oh, blame it on midnight
Oh, shame on the moon.
–Bob Seger, “Shame on the Moon”
Blake climbed onto the row boat and shrugged into the long jacket that Frank had provided for him. Blake was naked, it was fucking cold, and the jacket was a leather-canvas slicker that covered his body but did nothing for warmth.
“Good hunting?” said Frank as he started up the engine.
“Great hunting,” replied Blake. “Scott restocked the island. It was worth it.”
“No other hunters out there today? I saw a boat at the docks.”
“Avoided them,” said Blake. “Somebody’s gonna blab that the island’s full of deer.”
“This is Canada,” said Frank. “Everyone politely asks if they can hunt first.”
Blake shivered in the coat and hunkered down in the boat. “Still, Canadian waters. Not my island, though if any wolf goes on there they know not to mess with my stuff.”
“Which is basically everything.”
Frank picked out the yacht in the water and got the boat up to it. Blake climbed into the yacht, heading below to get some proper clothes while Frank tied up the boat. “I want to get back into port tonight,” said Blake. “I have a meeting at 9 am.”
“Yes, sir,” said Frank, as he went up to the bridge and started the engine to get them going.
Blake sat up on deck, letting the cold spray hit him gently while he wore the thick-cabled fisherman’s sweater and jeans. He put on work boots as he thought about Scott. He felt badly missing him for Valentine’s Day. He had, quite honestly, forgotten it until he saw a plethora of roses come in for one of the secretaries that afternoon. By then, it was too late.
He’d not had a Valentine in years, so it was easy for him to forget. But then he had other things on his mind, like his impending change on Friday night.
Frank’s voice came over the squawk box, “Coast Guard coming in, sir.”
“All right, slow for them.”
It was a few minutes before their spotlights shined in his eyes, blinding him. “This is the U. S. Coast Guard. Shut off your engines, anchor, and prepare to be boarded.”
Frank took care of all that while Blake stood up on the deck, waiting. The Coast Guard cutter sullied up next to him and hooked lines to both boats, then three men came aboard. “Evening,” one said, flashing his lights into Blake’s eyes, then Frank’s.
“Yeah, evening,” said Blake.
“What’re you two gentlemen doing out so late?”
“I was heading back to St. Claire’s.”
“Can I see your manifest?”
“We have no cargo,” said Blake, but nodded to Frank, who led two men up to the bridge.
“This your boat?”
“Yes.”
“Registration?”
“Follow me.”
Blake took the man down below, and got out all the necessary papers. “Mind if we search the vessel?”
“Go ahead.”
“What were you doing out here?”
“I told you. Heading to St. Claire’s.”
“From where?”
“West Island.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Camping.”
The man raised an eyebrow.
“Look, I’m thinking of going there for hunting in the fall. I heard they got deer there.”
“You know they’re going to be turning that into a national park.”
Blake swallowed. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“There’ll be mounties there. It’s a stop for some dealers.”
Blake looked out past him to see Frank bring the two men down and open the hold. “You can search the boat.”
“Thanks,” said the man, handing the papers back. The three Coast Guard men did search the boat, but it was precursory and they weren’t intensely looking for anything. Blake shook the man’s hand when they left. They gave him the admonishment to go back to port as soon as possible, because there were probably some drug dealers around. Blake nodded, accepted the warning, and watched them take off.
“Well,” said Frank, “That wasn’t too bad.”
Blake only nodded once, and headed back below. “My island,” he muttered, before shutting the door.