| Heat sizzling
down like an overactive incinerator, beers dripping
condensation onto the deck, water lapping at the sides of
the St
Vitus. There are days like this, long and lazy, when they take the boat - Sonny's home - out to the Keys, catch some fish, grab some rays, steal a little quality time for themselves. There are times when the attraction - the pull towards one another - got so great, so powerful, that it was difficult to pretend there was nothing. Cold beers, hot hickory smoked barbecued fish, the low thunder rumble of Elvis' demand for his dinner to be served raw. These are the tastes and smells and sounds Rico always associates with his Sonny Crockett - the real Sonny Crockett. It could always be the last time out - the time they borrow to be out here will one day have to be repaid. No more fishing in linen-slung seats on the gently rocking deck, no more drinking in the cool shade of the galley avoiding the baking midday sun. No more grilling in the warm cool of the evening. No more time to say over what he'd thought almost from the start. "I love ya, Partner. I think I always have, even when I didn't know you." No big deal. He'd said it before. He'd say it again, at least one more time. As they lie on the galley roof, eyes closed under Ray Bans - the real thing - shoulders brushing in the limited space, a hot hand finds his wrist, works down to his fingers and links through just for a minute, "Love you too, Rico. You know it." Yeah. He did. Otherwise they wouldn't make this effort - wouldn't steal this time away from the world - just to be together as themselves; people no one else knows. Elvis roars - moves with the sun, tail hitting the wooden deck with a hard thwack, like a great gasping fish, then back to silent sunbathing like his dad and partner - friend - brother - confidant. The backs of Sonny's fingers idly brush one thigh, stroking the dark hairs the wrong way. Maybe lovers at last. An easy, seamless transition between forms. Change comes easily - even when there is no disguise. Black night like a blanket, silver stars like rips. The St Vitus rocks in the still water creating waves. Soft moans and hard slaps of flesh make up the new soundtrack of association, and it's Sonny's roar that Rico will recall from now on. |