Bogart the Boat Salesman's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

The storm passed by morning. Bogart stood on the dock and ran his hand over the fresh gouge on the Rig Runner's transom. The fiberglass was split three inches deep. He could patch it, but the boat would sit in the shop a week, maybe two. He thought about the sinking hull from the night before, about how close the tow had come to failing. He needed a boat built for that work, not a demo boat pressed into service. He walked up to the office and opened the folder he had kept in the desk drawer for six months. Inside was a printed listing for a hydrofoil rescue craft with a raised helm, twin engines, and grab rails welded along the gunwales. The price was steep. He had been circling it since spring, telling himself the Rig Runner was enough. He picked up the phone and called the broker before he could talk himself out of it. He wired the deposit that afternoon. The boat arrived two days later on a flatbed. Bogart met the driver at the harbor and watched the crane lower the hull into the slip alongside the tidy row of small boats tied at the mooring posts. The red and white paint was clean. The rescue detailing on the bow caught the sun. Diane Harborson walked down from the boathouse with her gloves tucked in her belt and stopped at the edge of the dock. She whistled once. "That's a proper rescue rig," she said. Bogart handed her a set of keys. "Second set. In case I need a crew again." She looked at the keys, then at him, and closed her hand around them without a word. Bogart buckled his life jacket in front of her, the way he did for every buyer, and stepped aboard. He ran the engines and checked the helm. Everything answered. He tied her off, climbed back onto the dock, and looked at the empty slip where the Rig Runner used to sit. The shop had it now. The new boat sat in its place, ready for the next call. He had spent the money. He had the tool. What he did not have yet was the crew, the training, or the second call to prove the choice was right.