“I’m just not up to it,” Menhaus announced. “I just don’t have what it takes. I know that now. I played the game and did my best, but, Jesus, I just don’t have the stomach for this.”
Fabrini said, “C’mon now, you can’t give up.”
“Why can’t I?”
But Fabrini didn’t have a good answer for that. He figured Cook might have, but not him. It just wasn’t in him, all the right answers to the right questions. “Because you fucking can’t, that’s why.”
They were sitting on the deck of the fishing boat, an old side trawler out of Florida according to the paperwork in the wheelhouse, trying to figure out what it all meant. What it was all about now that Cook was gone and they were under Saks’s hand again. Something nobody particularly cared for. Saks was down in the captain’s cabin sleeping and Crycek was next door, not sleeping, but lost in one of his blue funks. When he got like that, he was pretty much unreachable. When he spoke, it was all doom and gloom and devils in the fog, prophecies.
“I don’t trust Saks,” Menhaus said. “We had a chance with Cook, I think we really had a chance… but now we’re screwed. Saks doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.”
Some great revelation, that. “No, and he never did. That’s the kind of prick he is. But I say we just play it out, see what it’s worth. Saks wants to be Mr. Big Man? Okay, let him. Give him the ball and let him run with it.”
Menhaus nodded glumly, barely visible in the darkness. “But I think we had a chance with Cook. I think we really did have a chance.”
Fabrini didn’t like thinking about Cook. He’d come to trust Cook, to like Cook, and his death had not been an easy one and living with the memory of it was harder yet. “Saks has a plan,” Fabrini said.
“Does he?”
“Sure. He’s got an angle. A guy like Saks has always got an angle.” Fabrini sketched out for him what Saks had said. “So, we do like he said: we wait for the fog to lighten, for day or whatever it is to come back. That’s what we have to do. When that happens, we start exploring. Start seeing if there’s any people out there. Maybe find us a decent boat, look for some land and maybe some answers to this mess.”
“There’s no answers.”
“Sure, there is. You just have to be patient. One day at a time. Trust me, Menhaus, and just play along with him. I hate that guy more than anybody.” He touched his bandaged ear in the dark. “But one thing I do know is that guys like Saks are survivors. They have a way of staying alive and if we throw in with him, we’re probably going to stay alive, too.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Believe me, if there’s a way out of this rathole, Saks is just the sort of guy who can find it. So we hang tight, we follow his plan and maybe… who knows… maybe we’ll find some others out there. Somebody who’ll know the way out or have a good guess about it.”
“I still don’t like him,” Menhaus said.
Fabrini chuckled. “Nobody likes that asshole. But if we wanna stay alive…”
“Then we play the game.”
“You got it.”
But Menhaus didn’t look exactly pleased at the idea of playing any game where a guy like Saks was making up the rules. It was a good way to die.
“I don’t like that shit on his arm,” Menhaus admitted. “I don’t know what it is, but it looks catchy.”
“So don’t dance with him,” Fabrini said.
Menhaus uttered a tiny laugh. “It’s so easy for you, Fabrini, it’s so damn easy for you.”
“No,” Fabrini said. “It’s not.”