Free Swim That Rock by John Rocco Page A

He has a crazy serious look in his eyes.
    I drop the bucket, and it floats over to the stools by the counter and rocks between them like a pinball, and then sinks. My mom is behind the counter. She reminds me of a movie star, with her red hair tied in a bun with a small flower pinned to her blouse. She’s humming while she wipes the counter, setting out silverware as if none of this is happening. The forks and knives shift with the roll of the waves and fall into the water at her feet, and she continues to hum and smile as she puts down new silverware in its place. I start to wade over to her when I hear Gene call me.
    “Ready up!”
    Instinctively I slosh over to his side and start pulling the long pole up through the window.
    “The diner is sinking, Gene. Why are we still quahogging?”
    “’Cause that’s what we do, Jake. . . . That’s just what we do.” He grunts as we rhythmically pull the pole up hand over hand. It’s heavier than I remember, and Gene’s knuckles are white with strain. As the last bit of pole comes up out of the blackness, I anticipate the bullrake filled with quahogs. The water starts to boil, churning to white foam.
    Lightning flashes! The water explodes, and a giant shark propels itself, teeth first, into the window.
    I shoot up out of bed. My sheets are soaked with sweat. I look out the window and see that the Riptide Diner is still on dry land. No shark either. My clock radio starts beeping. Or maybe it was beeping the whole time? Nope, it reads 5:30 a.m. I slap my hand down on the large brown button, stopping the noise, and grab my jeans off the floor. I try to replay the dream in my head, but already it’s dissolving into nothingness. I pull on my high-tops and sniff a few different shirts lying around the floor.
    By the time I get downstairs, I’m still feeling messed up and out of sorts as I prepare the diner for the day. I try to count tiles, or count the silverware, or count anything, but by the time I reach seven or eight, my mind spins out again. I have two weeks left to come up with a little more than nine thousand dollars, and I have no idea how I’m gonna do it without Gene. I could go and work for one of the other quahoggers, like he said, but still I’m not going to make the kind of money I need.
    “How’s Gene?” Robin asks as she hurries from table to table, laying out ketchup bottles and pink packets of sweetener. “I heard what happened. You’re a hero, you know.”
    “He’s good. Should be out in another couple of days.” I smile weakly, because I know the real hero was Captain.
He
saved Gene. I mean, I bandaged him up all right, and kept him warm with my body, and did all that other stuff to help stop the bleeding, but if it wasn’t for Captain, Gene would have bled to death right there on the deck of the Hawkline.
    “Darcy and I will get the rest,” Robin says, taking the tray of silverware from my hands. “Go have some fun.” I look over at Darcy and she gives me a thumbs-up.
    “We got it, Stretch. Take the day off.”
    “Thanks,” I say, and head upstairs to my room.
    When I am back upstairs, two things smash into my brain at the same time.
    Captain saved Gene’s life. Captain can save me.
    That’s it. Who else ever gave me three hundred dollars after less than an hour’s worth of work? Plus, he knows something about my dad. He has to.
What about the knife?
    I decide to go find Captain again.
    I take my bike down to Charon’s Dock to see if his boat is still moored there, but it’s not and I continue searching.
    An hour later I’m walking through the door into Muldoon’s Bar. It’s only ten thirty in the morning, so I am not really expecting him to be here, but you never know with a guy like him. The bar looks different with all the lights on, less scary in a way. The stools are empty. Most of them are cracked and worn thin at the seams, while some are held together with duct tape.
    “We’re not open till eleven,” a voice calls out