Chapter Eight

Captain Frontera looked up from his computer on the side bar to his desk as Javier tapped on the open door to his office and nodded, adding, "Come. Sit." So Javier took the visitor's chair, reporting as ordered to be entered into the system. "I was just closing out Miguel Perez's file. 'Quit without Notice'," Frontera added a little sourly.

"Actually," Javier told him, "I'm fairly certain he's dead."

"Oh?"

"The police in Long Beach think I'm dead – and they have a body to go with it. It's got to be Perez."

Frontera swiveled around to face his visitor. "Did you find out what happened back there?" So Javier told him what he'd found about the 'street battle' and its unintended victims. Afterwards, they were silent for a moment. Then, "That makes things rather difficult for you, doesn't it? Your wife probably thinks she's a widow."

Javier had been up all night onshore thinking about exactly that. "I wish I knew," he answered softly, shaking his head, and then shrugged the subject closed.

"Well," the Captain returned to his previous subject and the computer screen. "Since I don't have any official confirmation of his death, as far as the company is concerned, he is still 'Quit without Notice'. As usual."

"You get a lot of guys just walking off?"

"Si." He shot the new cook a piercing look. "This industry has an extremely high turnover rate – some years, over one hundred percent." He shrugged. "So I don't usually try to get to know someone very well until they've been around for a while. Not worth the effort."

"And as the Captain, you're not supposed to be too chummy with the crew," Javier commented.

Frontera shot him an appreciative smile. "I'm glad you realize that." With a sigh, he went on. "So I can be a hardass, yes, and distant. But I do try to be fair."

Javier nodded again. "Yo intiendo." As Frontera clicked a few computer keys, he added on sudden impulse, "May I see Perez's personnel file?"

"Why?"

He struggled for a second. "I'm not sure. It's just that... we took each other's place, without intending to. I feel like I should at least try to get to know him a little."

"Well, ordinarily, I would say 'absolutely not, company policy', but under the circumstances... I'll give you the first couple of pages." Frontera sent the job to the printer at his elbow, pulled the sheets off, dutifully blacked out a couple of sensitive items with a marker, and handed them across the desk. Javier thanked him, folded them once, and set them down before him.

"Now, then," the Captain went on briskly, closing one window and opening another. "New employee." He shot an amused look at his guest. "Since Javier Pereira is dead, what name shall I put in for you?"

If he hadn't asked it in quite that way, the answer might have been different. Without thinking more than a second, Javier shot back, "Perez."

That got a raised eyebrow. "First name Miguel?"

"No, Diego." He shrugged and grinned. "It's my middle name anyway. Just reverse them. Diego Javier Perez."

"Birth date?" He rattled off the numbers.

"Any home address?"

"No."

"Are you a citizen of Ecuador?"

That threw Javier. "Ecuador?" he asked, slightly astonished at that small country being singled out.

"It's where the company is headquartered. Rodriguez Shipping, Guayaquil, Ecuador."

Javier snorted amusement at himself – he hadn't even learned the name of the company he was now working for yet. "No, not an Ecuadorian."

Frontera carefully checked a box, then turned to face Javier. "Then I am required to tell you, and make certain you understand, that you are completely and totally responsible for any and all taxes required by your home country. You must find out how much you will owe, arrange to save it, and arrange to make the payments. If you do not, you alone will be held liable. The company will do nothing. Intiende?"

"Si, se intiendo."

"Bueno. So what country are you from?"

"United States." He'd emigrated officially at sixteen along with Ava.

"Position: Chief Cook," Frontera narrated his entries. "Starting salary," and named a figure in US dollars.

Javier made a surprised face. "That's not bad."

Another wry grimace. "Out to sea forty-five weeks of the year, we have to offer good money or nobody would take it." He made a few more entries, then closed the file. Turning back to Javier, he pointed towards a cabinet by the latter's elbow and told him to open it. "Employee handbooks in many languages. Find one you read well, and take it. Please do read the whole thing. Any questions, see my clerk." Javier nodded, and took one in Spanish.

"The Chief Cook is also responsible for maintaining the ship's stores," meaning the supplies, mostly food, "and running the little sailor's store next to the dining hall. The Steward and the Clerk have been taking care of them for the past two weeks. Have them show you how, and you take it over immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Speaking of the Steward, how are you getting along with Kim?"

This brought a genuine smile to Javier's face. "Fine. He's a good guy, easy to get along with."

Frontera grunted. "Good. This is where I tell you 'my door is always open', but I sincerely hope you don't appear in it very often."

"I'll do my best!" Javier laughed. Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, he started to get to his feet.

"Don't forget those," Captain Frontera reminded him, pointing to the handbook and printouts. Javier picked up the two pages of info on Miguel Perez and stuffed it into the handbook, then turned to leave.

For a very long time after that, he was never sure if that was the best thing he ever did, or the worst.