Down the Hatch

When they start killing gringos, we race to the docks. Mathilde secures us ship passage while I find a place to hide the head of the boss who hadn’t the tact to negotiate at machete-point. I trade for a small cask to preserve him in. After draining two pints of what is a lovely spiced rum, quite velvet on the tongue, there’s room to lower Tim in by the ponytail. 
 
Mattie is insanely cute, and also a raging alcoholic. Bored by our meager steerage compartment, she quickly dips into my barrel while I’m at the head. 
 
On return, I smack the drink away—“Are you nuts? Tim’s in there!”
 
She eeps, but unconvinced, peers into the bunghole, and eeps again. But she’s soon recomposed and offering the refilled tin cup. After all, it’s a slow boat back to the states and Tim makes a better cocktail onion than a boss.