the smuggler’s bible

Dovy

Dovy eyeballs the water and steps up a rung on the ladder. His watch beeps to mark the hour.

“I’m feeling slightly anxious.” Harriet is perched like an owl on a stack of boxes and chairs across the room. “I wonder if anyone’s coming.”

“The invitation said six,” Dovy says. “It’s only just time. Nobody likes to be first to the party.”

“Still, perhaps there are other factors.” Harriet inches sideways to avoid a new drip developing in the ceiling. “Like the weather.”

“I told them rain or shine.”

“I know, but—”

“GODDAMNIT, I DON’T CARE,” Dovy says. “They RSVP’d.”