What The Water Brings In

13

Earlier that day...

Silas could whistle, and pretty well at that. He never really did so when other people were around; the task took away most of his opportunity to watch and listen to what was happening around him. Every now and then, when he felt comfortable enough around his brothers, he would purse his lips into the shape used for sweet, Greek kisses and let tunes dance past his teeth. His unwilling audience today consisted of North. Today's program: "Row Row Row Your Boat."

"Careful," North said in Greek as he prepped vegetables on the long, stainless steel table in the middle of Bob's Diner's kitchen. "That will become a self-fulfilling prophecy."

Silas smiled, breaking his embouchure and ceasing the musical notes as he scrubbed biscuit crumbs off an industrial size baking pan in the dishwashing sink. "That is something I look forward to," he replied in the same language.

His phone rang in his jeans pocket; the vibrating tingled against his thigh. After shaking his hands over the sink, he finished drying them with a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. Once he was confident he would not confuse the glass touchscreen with droplets of dishwater conducting electricity as his fingers did, Silas fished out his phone and answered the call after a brief glance at the caller ID.

"Hi, Mr. Blackbourne," he answered.

North stopped chopping green sweet bell peppers at the mention of the liaison's name, hoping to listen in and see if everything was alright. He couldn't hear Mr. Blackbourne, but he was counting on being able to glean information from Silas's half of the conversation.

"Mr. Korba," Mr. Blackbourne replied. "Where is the boat?"

Silas turned around to learn his butt against the edge of the sink, raising his eyes to meet North's. "It's at North's house."

"I'm assuming he is with you." Mr. Blackbourne said it as a statement – not a question.

"Yeah. He's right here. Want to talk to him?"

North's eyes narrowed, making him look predatory, but Silas knew his best friend was shifting into serious business mode. Silas jerked his head toward the office, conveying a message that they were more than likely needing to let Uncle know they had to clock out of the diner early.

"No need," Mr. Blackbourne said. "Both of you fetch the boat, and meet me. I'll text you an address. Mr. Korba, bring a change of clothes along with your rain gear."

"North too?" Silas asked for clarification as he watched North disappear to the office to talk to Uncle.

"No. Mr. Taylor will tend to the truck after you and I depart."

"Is there a time priority?"

"No, but don't be sluggish either. Take the time needed to be safe."

North leaned into the kitchen and shot over a thumbs up, indicating they were already clocked out and good to go.

Silas pulled the towel off his shoulder and draped it over the edge of the sink. "Roger. We're on our way."

***

North drove the black pickup truck. Silas navigated and kept an extra eye out for uprooted trees or other debris blocking the road. The address Mr. Blackbourne forwarded led them into the heart of Charleston, and they found him standing on the side of the road with a poncho on. The teens nearly drove past the liaison of their team, not recognizing the nineteen year old at first. Mr. Blackbourne wasn't wearing his signature grey suit and red tie. Instead, he wore heavy duty rain boots up to his knees. Silas cussed in Greek and barked at North to stop once Silas saw the pair of black glasses peering out from underneath the hood of the poncho.