Chapter 1: Jessie

Jessie! My name is Jessica, but I hate it. Jessie, spelled ‘ssie’ not ‘sse’, because I’m a girl – woman! Maybe Jess. Bernie called me both – most of the time.

I don’t know how or why I got to this point. Well, probably at least some of the ‘how’ but dammitall, little-to-nothing of the ‘why.’

Linda, you are my best friend. You’re strange, but I love you. If you were male I’d think you were an incarnation of the Hindu God, Shiva. You’ve trusted me and told me your story, and now, with a little more of this Booker’s, I think I can finally tell you mine. Maybe that will give me clues as to ‘why.’ Dammitall, dammitall, dammit all!

You’re wondering about the dammitalls? Getting here cost me my brother, and it still hurts. That comes a little later in my tale, but I still need to damn it ALL!

I’m glad it’s rainy. We haven’t had a good girl’s night in too long ... Ya know, Booker’s is the best damned bourbon Jim Beam makes. It was Bernie’s favorite. Another shot, please. Just a dribble of water.

We were two days out of the Cayman Islands after refueling at the Barcadere Marina in Georgetown. I was on spring break of my senior year, ad hoc crewing aboard the Hoppin’ John, a fishing charter boat captained by Bernie – you remember – my brother. We’d just picked up our second charter of my run, so I was back to bunking in the crew compartment with his best friend and first mate, Matt Helm (yeah, really!), and their current sweeties, who served as cooks, hostesses - whatever.

It was cozy, sexy, and fun. I never slept with the customers, and certainly not with Bernie. Well, I slept with Bernie – had to sometimes – but no hanky-panky. But his crew, they had no restrictions and were polyamorous among themselves. Is that a real word? I think so; if not it should be. Anyway, I didn’t go wanting.

Another splash? Sure!

The new passengers? There were four, two husbands and their wives. The men were along for the fishing as well as dipping their hooks in strange. I had the impression that they had recently met on the island and decided that a little secluded nookie gathering would be fun. The sounds from the two guest suites certainly stoked the fires in the crew quarters.

They smelled of money – BIG money – but they were respectful of the crew and didn’t pester us girls. The wives were beautiful, smart, and happy in their pursuit of sex – not the typical bimbos Bernie often described in his sea stories. God I miss him! Dammitall. Any way, I wish all charters were as pleasant to be around.

Halfway through that afternoon, the passengers were noisily ‘sleeping’ in one or both suites. Bernie was on watch, and the rest of us took advantage to grab some actual rest.

I was snoozing on the foredeck when Bernie came forward and nudged me awake. “Up, Sis! I smell trouble coming.” He pointed to the horizon and two dots that appeared to be growing larger. “They’ve been on the radar for about half an hour and haven’t wavered any during that time. With two of them, it may be pirates.”

“Get into a lifejacket, then wake Matt and the girls. They know what to do about the passengers and where our guns are. I want you to use a long rope to tie the inflatable to the bow. Get a sheath knife so you can cut it loose if you need to. Matt will tell you more. I love you, Jess.” Those were the last words he ever spoke to me, and he disappeared aft to the big engine compartment.

Another shot, please. Good stuff! Dammitall!

When I woke Matt and the sweeties, they were surprisingly calm and professional. Matt shoved aside a panel and started pulling out guns. He handed a rifle and two pistols to Bernie’s girl and told her, “Rifle and pistol to Bernie and pistol for you. Then wake the passengers and take them forward. You know where.” She grabbed a lifejacket and ran out.

He kissed his own lady, then handed her a pistol, saying, “Get the emergency kits and extra jugs of water and tie them to the inflatables. Jessie will be up to help. Then, for God’s sake, keep the passengers down, calm, and under control! Love you! Go! Go! Go!”

Matt turned to me, “Here’s the short of it. You know there is an inflatable dingy on the bow. There’s also a canister with a ten-man life raft, and tied with it is an aviation life raft. Break them loose and tie them to the dingy – long rope. If you have to go into the water, don’t inflate the life rafts until the pirates are gone. Hopefully, the empty dingy will make the pirates think there is no one in the water.”