Into The Mist

Whelmed with bourbon, Nick’s thoughts traveled with the rocking of the boat. Soon he could envision the boys they once were, and the many nights they had slipped down to the jetty to take old-man-Jenkins boat. They would fish the harbor till daybreak. For the first time in his life, those memories did not deliver a smile, and he felt no connection between that brother he loved as a boy and this man. Numb from the bourbon and grief, he stared into the past.

 

A portside noise refocused his attention a clumsy stance knocked over his empty glass his fingers made an attempt to quiet the object, but he stood empty-handed. The tumbler bounced upon the wood floor, then rolled into the corner. Its clinking sound rousted Ed from his own daze, for he too had traveled back in time.

 

Nick’s walk from the corner chair to the steps felt endless. The simple task required all his efforts reminding himself why he does not drink the hard stuff. Nick placed his left foot on the first step. His entire body shifted toward the railing. The 125-proof fog his mind swam in had a trademark named Booker’s, with just a hint of cedar. His head melted to the wall, “good lord, stop spinning,” he muttered, although he had not decided if his words were meant for his head or stomach.

 

“Nick,’ Ed said, “Nicky, you forgot the gun. Don’t go up there without it.”

 

“Shut-up,” Nick replied, or maybe just thought as he stood up straight to face the stairs and investigate. He shook his head to free the cobwebs, then disappeared from Ed’s sight.

 

Ed moaned as he slowly sat up. The pain in his shoulder out measured the lingering effect the surgery left behind. Ed eased over to the chair where Nick had been and rummaged around. He then looked out the portside window to see two shadows moving. The effort required in walking had drained his energy. He adjusted his sling then returned to the edge of the bed, and faced the stairs and waited.

 

A dull thud reverberated above him. The sound of dead weight hitting the deck.  In his heart, he knew the sound was Nicky. The lethal intruder was not law enforcement. They do not operate in this fashion, but at this moment, the possibilities of ‘who’ seemed endless. 

Soon a shadow engulfed the doorway. A towering figure that made his own 6’1 frame feel small filled it. Light from the portside window illuminated the stony face of Thomason Salazar, a squared jawed man sporting black wavy hair and an cold brown eyes.

 

The two men did not speak. The exchange of words pointless. This was not a game of words but lead. A life for a life the only outcome. Thomason drew in a deep breath, and if possible, he took up even more space. His paw lifted a .45 that he leveled in Ed’s direction. Ed still sat on the edge of the bed with his arm in a sling, and his free hand cradling his wounded shoulder. The sound of the revolver boomed in the tiny space, and smoke fanned across the room as blood trailed over pale lips. That all too familiar smell of gun powder burnt Ed’s nostrils as he fired off the Colt tucked away in his sling.

 

Tony Salazar’s father crumped to the ground. With no regard to the life taken, Ed made plans to cast off to deeper waters and set sail into the mist. He struggled to dress. Trousers and turtleneck were all he had on board, but for now, that was all he needed. He tucked the Colt into his front pocket, then he removed a canvas tarp from the steamer chest and went to step over Thomason. In his mind, he gave the huge Burt a swift kick as he lifted his leg to follow through with his mental image, a giant hand grabbed his ankle. A windy gasp broke the silence, followed by a second bullet. “Why is it, that big men always take two?” He followed through with the kick and cursed the dead man. Ed still needed a pair of shoes, which he would get from the upstairs locker, but first he went to check on his brother.

 

He quickly moved up the steps to Nick, but a glassy stare told him all he needed to know. Ed should have wept for the only person in this world he had ever loved, but instead, his emotions iced over. A firn of compressed and dense hate wintered in his heart. Hatred for the stupid littler do-gooder who had created this entire cluster fortified his resolve for revenge. He would lay low a few days letting his shoulder heal, but this was not over.  

Author's Note

this is a almost

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Sorry I have not been steady enuf to stick with the longer reads at the cafe in 2020! Even tho I can't remember the earlier parts of this story, I simply loved this chapter as a stand-alone. I love the way the shootings felt matter-of-fact in a world where it seems over-dramatizing is the trend. Since I don't like a lot of violence in the stories I read, I don't like for it to go on & on with gurgling details! Your approach is perfectly balanced, yet definitely as fierce as a story needs to be! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Cherrie Palmer]

Yes, I'm with you no gurgling, I hate that and dosen't go good with cookies. I love the old black and white movies, and really try to fold tension and the sense of mood, light and shadows into the tale. I like it to have just enough weight to keep the reader in my mini world, another thing I like to do is write each chapter as a mini story of its own. I think I do that for my own pleasure as much as anything. I find it easier to build upon a story that way. You have been a real sport sticking with this tale.

[Robert Trakofler]

I loved it... and I want more:) I have always been a time delay mourner too something kicks in when I lose someone im close to my mind puts the sadness on ice and hits practical on all cylinders. Sometimes it is months before I cry or mourne... it will hit me out of nowhere:/ give me more:)

[Cherrie Palmer]

The next installment and I cannot agree, but I should be ready soon:)

[Einstein Noodle]

hooks me good ... dives right in the center of something .. this line "“Nick,’ Ed said, “Nicky, you forgot the gun. Don’t go up there without it.” sunk the hook ;) smooth build of drama and tension .. the scene and characters are clear enough .. i see them all ... more details on their appearance wouldn't hurt .. perhaps i will find it in previous chapters .. which i am going to read right now. :) no wonder you are a published poet and writer
E.

[Cherrie Palmer]

I have written this story unlike any other. Normally I set mental perimeters, mood, location, main event, opening line. Once I'm turned out the gate I whip it out until my internal tv screen says, 'the end.'
I love this little story but will wtite a chapter or two then set it aside until, that internal wheel begins again.

[Einstein Noodle]

:) ............

[Neville]

this is a darn near very near start of something very big indeed and with so much bloomin potential .. captivating storyline and dont take this bit the wrong way, writ with a mature hand, mind and spirit... like a pro.................................... Neville :)

[Cherrie Palmer]

I need to finish this story off I just haven't been in the mood.

[Neville]

I know that feeling well.

[Jimmy Yetts]

Intriguing.
A chapter that ably sets the scene and deftly poses crucial questions.
The adventure begins!

[Cherrie Palmer]

Yes, I can't wait for me to decide what happens next.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I was getting into the story, wanting to know the characters and their personalities, their sins and redeeming qualities. That's the best sign I can think of for a good production, catching the reader's attention and holding it. This read like a scene out of The Sopranos. Well done.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Thank you so much, I been working on it this morning and I think it's in the neighborhood. Any way for now, I am ready tackle the next chapter.

[Davidgeo]

Every line you write has gravity. It's very impressive. One doesn't even have to like what you're laying down to be impressed. That's so very hard to do.

You should write more even if you think you already do so... you should write more.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Thank you, so much.
I'll tell you I have always wanted to use the word 'whelmed' in a story and was excited, then the idea came to me ( nutty I know) .

[Patricia Wedel]

dearest Cherry... you have the talent of a writer who
wrote Casablanca... the mystery and intrigue ...
"this may be the beginning of a great Novel" truly, Pat

[Cherrie Palmer]

Pat, the funny thing about this story is I love it. Normally I stay with a story plot till the end, but I keep putting it on the shelf until I cant help myself. I let the next step just swirl around my head.
I have no idea why I am writing it this way, but I just keep writing something else till the next step screams at me. I do plan on writing more this weekend.

[Cherrie Palmer]

PS I love those old movies :)

[Patricia Wedel]

Thanks Cherrie... writing itself is an intriguing endeavor... fascinating how you catch a moment that screams. gently, Pat

[Cherrie Palmer]

I think I have fixed this chapter, and ready to see what happens next.

[Hayllie]

wow I really like this..Very mysterious and keeps you on your toes until the very end. "The simple task required all his efforts reminding himself why he doesn't drink the hard stuff.." MY..haven't we all be in that position a time or two? lol It would be very interesting to see where this story would go from here.

[Cherrie Palmer]

well, I don't know how I missed this review from you but I really apricate you for reading this chapter, even though I'm not finished revising yet:)