Grigsby pushed the dolphins away and heaved Joji aboard. He lay across heaps of towels on the stern. Grigsby didn’t want to stain the deck. Joji moaned as Ira and Grigsby looked for more injuries, besides the arm, he was okay. Grigsby went to use his Ferragamo belt as a tourniquet but didn’t want to sacrifice it. He grabbed a line and wrapped it up. Joji wailed.
“Shut up,” Grigsby said. “This is karma Joji.”
“Wha, what?” Joji moaned.
Grigsby leaned in close to Joji’s red face, “I know you poisoned Ryūki,”
Joji’s eyes squinted and he began to chuckle, “He’s Samurai, it needed to be done.”
“Well you failed, Ryūki is alive and well,”
Joji tried to hide his reaction but failed. “Look, Grigsby…”
“You’re done Joji,” Grigsby pulled the line tighter, “Your little mission failed and publicly brought shame to your investors. You sank the ferry.”
Joji’s fate settled in and his eyes closed as he began muttering in Japanese. Grigsby and Ira left him there and had Daria motor him to the Coast Guard ship. The servicemen and women helped Joji aboard and Grigsby checked on everyone. He promised they’d be compensated for the unpleasant evening. Then he asked Daria to bring them back to Pinemont Yacht Club. He didn’t want to deal with the press that would be waiting for him a few harbors down in Greenwich.
The hum of the powerboat lulled Ira to sleep. Grigsby stood beside Daria and breathed in the salt air. The night was cold but zephyrs from shore warmed them. He took a long drag on his cigar causing the ember to glow bright.
“What is life Daria?” Grigsby asked.
Daria looked at Grigsby, his eyes looked like sapphires against the night sky. “In life we’re falling, falling fast, but the good news is, there’s no ground.” Grigsby nodded and they beat on against the tides.