Vic and Marcia stood there a surprisingly long time at the end of the jetty, just watching the ocean move in its mysterious ways. By the end of it, he felt like he was intruding on her own personal communion with nature, but it would have felt strange to just turn around and walk away by himself. Instead, he probably picked not the best alternative option – distracted by the sounds of Marcia’s skirt flapping in the wind, he would sneak little sideways glances at her thighs and calves, as well as the tender profile of her breasts underneath her shirt, imagining his own hand slipping underneath the fabric.

He was surprised that the others had given them some space, thankful to have Marcia alone, even though he could not find anything to say, partially because he did not want to disturb her. But then, based on a queue that he could not sense, she decided it was time to rejoin Agnes, Liz and Owen, and they wandered back across the jetty towards them, finding Owen balancing along the wooden rail at the foot of the boardwalk, jumping off with a laugh as they came over.

They hung out like this for another hour, mostly strolling up and down the boardwalk, also full of similar shops as the main street of town, and which terminated abruptly in a sheer rock face that jutted out into the water, thus marking the other limit of Aphrodite’s Landing. As the sun just started dipping down to the horizon, casting their shadows long up the walls of the buildings that faced the boardwalk, they drifted towards where they were going to spend their evening – a favourite destination of Dampgate Senior Academy students – the Thousand Soaks pub.

“You ever been in here?” Owen asked, holding the door open for the rest of them.

“No I haven’t had the chance,” Vic answered.

“Well, in that case, you’re not a true Dampgate student yet,” Owen laughed, giving Vic a pat on the back as he walked in.

“He’s been here barely a week, Owen,” Marcia said. “Maybe you’re just not a very good guide.”

“Okay, well we’ll soon fix that,” Owen said.

They were the early birds that day, and Marcia explained to Vic it was because they wanted to get one of the booths in the back that was just big enough for them and any guests, because if you do manage to drag some tables together in the dining room, good luck hearing anyone over the noise of the crowd.

It was a quaint place, somewhat dark as most of the lightning was from those rustic orangey lightbulbs, with a tiny stage in the corner, and a bar in the middle with a wall of bottles behind the bartender. The bartender was there now, in a tight-fitting black tee that exposed his well-toned arms, looking down as they entered, and though Vic wasn’t quite sure what he’d seen, but it looked like the bartender pocketed some kind of electric device the moment he saw Vic glance in his direction. He couldn’t get a closer look as Owen ushered them to the booth they were coveting.

As they settled into the booth, Owen picked up a menu and held it in front of his face, as if he did not know the selection off by heart and asked, “Are you a nacho man, Vic?”

“Am I a? I mean, I guess I enjoy nachos,” Vic said, looking down at the menu himself.

“Who doesn’t enjoy nachos, Owen?” Agnes asked in a creaky annoyed voice.

“I don’t know, the bartender doesn’t look like a nacho guy,” Owen said, “Looks like a two pieces of lean chicken breasts, a quinoa salad and protein shake kind of guy.”

“Mmm,” Agnes hummed, “He sure does.”

“Found one already?” Marcia asked.

“Maybe.”

Just then, the doors to Thousand Soaks opened and two police officers, a man and a woman, dressed in the usual neatly pressed blue suits, walked in. Vic had only seen the local police once before, a different pair of officers greeting him at the dock and asking him how his journey was, staring at him for far too long and then walking away.

These two had walked straight over to the bartender, the woman leaning in to whisper something into his ear. Even from here it looked like the bartender’s face turned pale before his shoulders sank and without further ado he headed for the doors, the officers trailing behind him.

“Aww, well, guess I better keep looking,” Agnes said.

“What was that all about?” Vic asked.

“Who knows,” Liz said.

“The officers keep the peace, that’s all I care about,” Owen added, eyes scanning the menu.

A moment later, and a new bartender stepped out from the back, this time a buxom woman that seemed to be in her mid-forties and resumed the duties as if nothing even happened.