“I said I’d finish this job alone!” Sal planned how to abandon the pirates, confident he could row far enough for Jean Paul to lose sight of him, but not far enough to be spotted by Brother David. Then he could make a run for it.
Sal said, “Farewell mates,” and he meant it. The fog rolled in so thick it covered him like a shroud. The gun lay beside him in the dinghy. He couldn’t see or hear anything but the faint ripples of the inlet against the dinghy.
The river reeds made a low swishing sound. “Sal, Sal, Sal.” He resisted the feeling that someone called his name. His imagination ran wild. Did Blas’s ghost hide in the fog? Sal spoke to the ghost, “Why’d you run out and get yourself killed?” He said everything he wished to say to Blas. “You left me behind, all alone. We were supposed to stick together.”
To his surprise, Blas’s ghost answered. “Oh yeah? Why’d you let those thugs hurt the watchman in San Pedro?” Blas’s spirit wouldn’t let Sal think straight. “There was never anything like that in our plans. I saw you steal those supplies.”
The voice seemed so real; Blas must be hiding nearby. “You found new friends, too, like the girl in Mazatlán? Come on, Sal, I thought you were a better man!”
“Rosa? How’d you know about her? You can’t judge me. You pretended to be a friar, and it got you killed. I’ve got a real monk to deal with now, good old Brother David,” Sal said.
“To deal with? Remember, he’s the only one who helped us in México,” Blas’ spirit said. Before his voice faded away, he said one last thing, “Don’t shoot Brother David; he needs you to save him.”
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