A Fine Night for Dying

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There were times when Jean Mercier wondered what life was all about and this was very definitely one of them. Somewhere beyond the boat in the darkness was a shoreline that he could not see, hazards at which he could only guess, and the lack of navigation lights wasn’t helping.

A wind that came all the way from the Urals spilled out across the Gulf of St. Malo, driving the waves into whitecaps, scattering spray against the windscreen of the launch. Mercier throttled back the engine and adjusted his steering slightly, straining his eyes into the darkness, waiting for a light like some sign from heaven.

He rolled a cigarette awkwardly with one hand, aware of a trembling in the fingers that would not be stilled. He was cold and tired and very scared, but the money was good, cash on the barrel and tax-free-more than he could earn from three months of fishing. With an ailing wife on his hands, a man had to take what came and be thankful.

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