As we inch in, cautiously as we're used to his pranks that leave crew members limbless, he pulls out his pistol and shoots himself directly in the eye. Very little blood is introduced to the freshly brushed floorboards, the ball being lodged somewhere in his brain, or perhaps even mouth. I don't even know why I'm trying to write anything anymore. Elaine is cheating on me with a man--a richer, better looking man. She comes home at night smelling like cigar smoke. Expensive cigar smoke. She's got some great tits. I'm going to miss those when she leaves me for this prick.
I have thought things over and I don't want you to leave me for that prick.
Who am I kidding? He's rich. This is her chance to leave her kids behinds, as she always intended from the day she squeezed Nick, our oldest, out. It's no dillema I'm in. The solution is obvious.
So you're saying she was dead when you got home?
It was the crew that killed the captain, not suicide.
Where were you the night of her murder?
How did they kill him?
THE SKIES SHONE RED THROUGH THE CLOUDS THAT MORNING. THE CAPTAIN STILL HAD A SMILE ON HIS FACE FROM PUSHING THE BROADS FROM HAVANA OVER BOARD THE NIGHT BEFORE.
Your story is full of holes.
KILL YOURSELF, OR BE KILLED BY THEM.
I had every intention of killing Elaine that night. I confess to that. Arrest me for that. Try me for that. But I did not succeed in the murder of my wife. She framed me by committing suicide with the gun I had hidden from her and planned to kill her with. My story is NOT full of holes. THE CAPTAIN IS.
Here's the god awful truth, lovely. I love you. You are the most amazing entity I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon. I can see myself with you and you with me so clearly. But I can't for the sake of my sanity stand any of your friends. The person I am will not allow me near you with them around.