On the ferry ride back to Powell River, I lay down on the old mattress in the back of the truck. The ordeal at the police station had my mind spiralling down into a dark place. I hated everyone—Jim the wife stealer, Andrea the unfaithful bitch, and the cops who were working against me. I was completely justified in what I was doing, so the establishment should have been on my side. The stress and injustice of it got my head pounding like a sledge hammer on steel. The ringing and echoing sent jabs of pain through my skull. It was over an hour before the headache finally began to fade and I felt like going out on deck to sit on a bench. The fresh air helped clear my head and I had time to think.
The Hawkeye was tied to the dock at Finn Bay, just around the corner from Lund. Finn Bay was perfect. It was out of sight and the wharf was small. Only a few boats were there at one time—fewer people to ask a lot of questions. A boatyard was tucked away out of sight at the top of the hill behind the wharf. Just a little gravel parking lot in the bush. I could have the Hawkeye hauled out there so I could work on it without a lot of people noticing the changes I planned to make.
First though, on my way through Powell River, I’d stop at the marine supply store to pick up some gray paint, sandpaper, brushes, rollers, and paint thinner. The bright orange of the Hawkeye would have to go. She would blend in with the sea better if she were a dull colour. I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.
Then I’d get rid of those bow poles. I could manage fine without them. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal to take them off, and anyway, it would look better. I always thought those two smaller poles looked like a grasshopper’s antennae. I could fish just fine without them. All I had to do was put the bow lines onto the main trolling poles next to the main line and the pig line. A lot of boats had been set up that way if they didn’t have bow poles. If it didn’t work out, I could always put them back on for next season.
I’d have to keep the licence number painted on the side, but no need to have the name on the side of the boat. Well, legally, yes, but it wouldn’t be noticed. A bit of gray paint over the name and the Hawkeye would be just another fish boat. Anyone looking at it from the side would assume the name was on the stern and anyone looking for it on the stern would assume it was on the sides. Nobody would question it.
I’d also add a dodger to the top of the wheelhouse. The new raised rim around the roof would help change the look of the boat; make it look taller like one of those fancy fibreglass boats. By the time I was through with the changes, it wouldn’t look anything like the old Hawkeye and with the gray paint job, it would blend right into the sea. I’d be like a ghost ship, prowling on the misty horizon. Now you see me—now you don’t. But I’ll see YOU. I’ll be watching you, Serenity, watching for my chance, and you won’t even know it.
I grinned as I drove off the ferry and headed for the marine supply store. My headache was history and I had a plan. They weren’t going to get old Robert down that easily. If they thought they’d seen the last of me, they were in for a surprise. My plan would be more aggressive and slick now. Fucking wife stealer. I’m coming to reclaim my Andrea. I rubbed my hands together. Revenge would be cruel and sweet.