He’s a hook-ker, yes indeed!
He’s a hook-ker, yes indeed!
He’s a hook-ker, yes indeed!
Exactly like his mah-h-ther-r!”
“Shut up, Lee! I’ve almost got it!” Kit crept a little higher in the dirt ridge, but still balancing one Lee’s shoulders. Lee hiccupped. He looked down over his shoulder, giving the famous Howland evil eye to Lee, who was grinning and now humming another verse to his drunken ditty.
Kit tightened his gripping hands on the rough edge of the rock ledge. His reflexes slowly, very slowly reacted to the misty commands of his brain, both being greatly dulled by the quantity of rum he’d consumed. His right leg inched higher up the steep, sandy cliff, until his knee was almost touching his nose. His damp trousers smelled like dirt and crushed grass and... he sniffed once—dead fish, old dead fish.
The wobbly shoulder on which he was standing hiccupped again, and Kit almost fell.“Dammit, Lee! Hold still!”
“Can’t.Got th’iccups.”
“Then hold your breath! You were the one who had to have these damn eggs!”
“Um...hic... um.”
“Murre eggs, for Christ’s sake,” Kit grumbled. “Now give me a boost, I’ve almost got ‘em.” He reached up and felt around the nest until his hands touched the cool eggshells. He carefully handed them down to Lee.
“Now you’ve got your precious eggs.” Kit jumped off Lee’s shoulders and landed with surprising grace for someone whose breath was probably strong enough to crack a mirror. He looked down at his clothes. They were filthy, and soaking, and damn cold. Why he’d let himself get smooth-talked into this escapade was beyond him. He was tired, frozen, and his head was blooming with the seeds of what felt like a real hummer of a headache. He looked at Lee, who clutched his egg-filled hat to his chest like a greedy child holds his first toy. He was still humming.
“Come on, let’s get back to the skiff and off this hellhole of an island. It’s going to take forever to row back to Sausalito.” Kit shoved his icy hands in the pockets of his wool coat and walked along the water’s edge, muttering, “How the hell did they come up with a name like Angel Island? This place is so cold, no angel’d come near it. Or better yet, tread on it.” Kit let loose with a scornful laugh. “I guess we know who the fools are. Right, Lee?”
“Hic.”
Well, at least I know he’s still behind me.Kit stood on one side of the small boat while he waited for his wobbly friend to help him shove off. The snapping cold and the hurt in his head had done a great job of sobering him up. He watched through pain-squinted eyes as Lee gently placed his eggs in a safe corner of the boat.
“Ready?” Kit asked.
Lee nodded, and from his chipmunk like cheeks, Kit assumed he was holding his breath again. They shoved off, both men sprinting into the skiff with a mariner’s ease that even a few pints of rum couldn’t blot out.
“You...hic... row first. I’ve...hic... got to ge—hic—et rid of the—hic—ese.”
Kit rowed, thankful for the warming action. It lessened his headache. The only sounds were an occasional hiccup and the quiet swish of the rowing oars.
Suddenly, Lee started to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was th—hic—inking.”
“About what?”
“‘Bout your face.”
“God, you’re drunk.”
“No...hic... really! You look jus—hic—st like ya did at Millie’s.Hic.”
“And you find that funny?”
“No.” Lee grinned, still hiccupping. “But did you see,hic, Hallie’s fa—hic—ce when the chowder came?”
“She was as red as a snapper, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. That Fredriksen brood is a handful.”
Lee’s face lit up. “Hey, my hiccups are gone. Thinking about that sweet girl cured me!”
