Me and the Devil

3.

We head over to The Wreck for a bite of food. Delinquency apparently makes everyone hungry. The Wreck is owned by Kiara's parents, so we usually get free, leftover food. As we are sitting outside enjoying some cod sandwiches, we notice some paramedics rolling a presumably dead body to their ambulance on a stretcher.

"Who's that?" John B asks some random girl.

"It's Scooter Grubbs. He was out during the storm. Check out this pic I got. Dead body."

I look at the phone. It was definitely Scooter Grubbs, bloated, mangled. Something about the mess of it all holds my gaze, like a morbid curiosity that I can't shake. The blood, the destruction-it's not just shocking, it's... interesting. I wonder what it felt like, the moment before everything went dark.

"What kind of boat did he have?" I hesitantly ask.

"Somehow, that dirtbag copped a brand-new Grady-White. Everyone's out looking for it," the girl responds.

I finally look away from the phone and turn slowly towards everyone. Pope has both his hands on his head rubbing his hair. Kiara is chewing on one of her fingernails. John B's eyes are twice the size they normally are. JJ is looking right at me. We make eye contact knowing exactly what this means for us. I thank the girl and round everyone up towards John B's van.

We all get into the van and John B speeds off. I'm not exactly sure how fast it can go, but I think John B is really pushing its limits. The van is an old, brown VW with white and yellow stripes. The paint is chipping because of its age. Not sure if the thing is street legal, but it's The Pogue's vehicle and we love it.

No one says anything for the entirety of the ride to The Chateau. Once we get there though, we all run onto the porch and Pope pants "Okay. So, um... we didn't see anything. We don't know anything. We need to have total and complete amnesia."

"Actually, Pope's right for once. Deny, deny, deny," JJ chants.

"I don't agree," John B says. We all look at him shocked. "Just think about it. This is Scooter Grubbs we're talking about. Same dude that's buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. Shit, one time I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot because he needed gas. We're talking about a dirtbag marina rat who's never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket, and all of a sudden, he's got a Grady-White? Just sayin'."

John B walks into the house leaving all of us on the porch to ponder his words. He is right. How in the world did Scooter Grubbs get his hands on a Grady-White? A few seconds later John B walks out of the house with some fishing poles. He tosses one to me and the other to JJ.

"All right, so think about it, Pope. How does a marina rat get a Grady-White?" John B asks.

"Prostitution."

"y/n?" John B prods.

"Square groupers, bro. Okay, flying under the radar, no aerial surveillance. They don't do that stuff during a hurricane."

"And what does that mean, JJ?" John B asks for the last time knowing he just wants us to confirm his answer.

"They were straight smugglin'."

"Exactly. And I guarantee there's a serious amount of contraband in that wreck" John B finishes.

The group quiets down as we process that information. I am totally down to check out the wreck. Maybe there is some good treasure. Treasure that would set me free from my mom's suffocating grip, from my stepdad's control. But more than that... I could feel it already, the rush, the danger calling to me. There was something about chaos that made everything else fade away. The others might be worried about the consequences, but me? I couldn't wait to see what we'd find.

I get a tug on my line and start reeling it in as I hear John B say that we should act normal and lay low.

"And how do we do that?" he asks.

"Kegger!" I shout as I drop my line, losing the fish I just caught.