After the second engine blew up, the Georgette remained afloat, barely. The blast cost the Tortolan sailors their consciousness and their rifles. By the time the smoke cleared, though, their boss, Verman, had regained his consciousness as well as a rifle. At the center of the deck amidships, he leveled the barrel at my head.
Dealer Dan, who’d been slammed into the port rail by the blast, could only watch out of puffy eyes from the deck. And my crewmen, rat and potential future wife were all still darbied in a row to the starboard rail.
“Give my best to Davy Jones,” Verman said, curling a manicured finger around the trigger.
Suddenly he fell over as if shot by a gun. In fact he was shot by a toaster, which had slid Duq’s way during the explosion.
I limped over and scooped up Verman’s rifle from the deck a few feet from where he lay. Fork protruding from his nose, he looked up in entreaty.
“Finish the bastard, Cap,” Nelson urged. The others chanted—and Bob squeaked—along the same lines.
I hesitated.
Mercy is a quality sadly lacking in our times. I have no doubt that Gus shall do the right thing, or that his hesitation will allow the right thing to take place. He follows a Code from a simpler time - and I don't know if he will agree to Mutherford's offer to use the Law to punish Verman for his crimes at last.
It would be better if Verman were to simply slither off the tilting deck like so much offal and go for shark chum, but that end is too good for him.
All those who Gus holds near and dear to him are now helplessly cuffed to the railing of a rapidly sinking ship, with no hope of rescue. Prospects dire - either drown, or be eaten by sharks.
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