A Plague on Both Your Houses

The sun beat down on Rome’s head and shoulders, the blue ocean in front of him twinkling as the waves rolled against the yacht. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not sure what to do.
It was evident Tim was not in a compromising mood, nor was he feeling friendly. Rome had attempted to speak to him, to congratulate him on getting the role, but Tim blew him off and walked away. While almost everyone else was wearing swim trunks and T-shirts that could come off once they reached the point in the ocean where Wynnie had mentioned stopping the yacht for some time in the water, Tim was wearing pants and a button-down shirt over a T-shirt, and if Rome wasn’t mistaken, there was a bulge in his waistband at the back. Had he actually brought his gun aboard Wynnie’s boat?
“I don’t get it,” Rome whispered to Bart from the spot where they were sitting near the front of the boat. Most everyone was in the back of the boat or on the top level, drinking, laughing, dancing to music. It was a party boat, that was for certain, with lots of famous actors and hot actresses or significant others, the women wearing next to nothing for the most part. Mark had brought one of the waitresses from Lucky Red, and she was up there dancing now, drawing a lot of attention, though he couldn’t see Mark at the moment. Perhaps he’d gone down to use the restroom. He’d been drinking--a lot.
“I don’t get it either,” Bart admitted. He’d come along with Rome because Ella couldn’t, and Rome just felt safer having him there, especially since he knew Mark would probably get drunk. Having a drunk Mark and a paranoid Tim on the same boat was not a good mix. Bart was the calmest person Rome knew. If anyone could prevent a brawl, it would be him. “He seems angrier than normal. You don’t think he saw one of the pictures, do you?”
“No,” Rome said quickly, but he wasn’t sure. Now that Bart brought it up, he thought that might be a possibility. “I would think he would’ve pounded me by now.”
“Maybe he’s not sure.”
Rome rested his head on his fist, which was propped on his knee. “I don’t know. I just wish he’d talk to me for a minute, let me show him I’m not the person he thinks I am.”
“I don’t think he cares who you are. He just hates you because of your last name.”
With a nod and a sigh, Rome took a sip of water out of a bottle he’d procured earlier. He definitely wouldn’t be drinking any alcohol when there was the potential for a volatile situation. He wished he hadn’t come, but Mark would still be there, and his friend might end up getting himself into big trouble. Not that that couldn’t happen anyway. He looked back up to the top level to see if Mark had returned to his date, but his lanky friend wasn’t there.
“Where’s Mark?” Bart read his mind.
“I don’t know. But I don't like it,” Rome admitted, standing. Just then, he heard shouts coming from the back of the boat. He and Bart exchanged glances and both took off running toward the sound of the agitated voices. Rome prayed it wasn’t what it sounded like.
It was exactly what it sounded like, though. Mark and Tim were facing off, both of the scowling at each other as the words flew. “You asked for a word with me!” Mark shouted at Tim. “Now, have a word, and a blow!” He took a swing, but Tim stepped back, his eyes narrowing, his face red.
Rome and Bart stopped short of getting in the middle of it, waiting to see what Tim would do in response.
“Careful there. My fight isn’t with you--it’s with Rome. But then, you band along with him, so perhaps it’s with you as well.”
“Band? What are we, musicians?” Mark raised his fist. “Here’s my fiddlestick! Come closer so I can make you dance again.”
There was no doubt they were both drunk. Mark was having trouble standing up, and the waves rocking the boat weren’t helping his cause.
“You guys! Knock it off!” Bart implored them, looking up at the crowd assembled on the upper level of the boat.. “Everyone is watching.”
“Let them look!” Mark shouted, scowling at the crowd now.
“Now that Rome’s here, I have no quarrel with you, Mark. Rome’s my man,” Tim said, staring at Rome.
Rome swallowed hard. He didn’t want to fight with his wife’s cousin.
“If he’s your man, then so am I,” Mark shot back, taking a step toward Tim.
Ignoring Mark, Tim said, “Rome, you’re a villain. I saw you sneak into my mother’s birthday party. I don’t know why you were there, but I don’t trust you.”
With a deep breath, Rome put his hands up and said, “Tim, please, let’s talk about that. You have no reason to think of me as a villain. We have every cause to be friends.”
“We’ll talk later--after I bash your face in,” Tim replied, his hands already folding into fists.
“Tim, please, let me explain to you why we shouldn’t fight. I know you love your uncle Sinders, who is my father’s enemy, but I haven’t chosen my father’s side, I can promise you that.”
“How can you say that?” Mark asked Rome. “You prefer Lloyd Sinders to your own father? Tim--get out of here, you asshole.” Mark moved to shove Tim, but staggered instead, almost falling before catching himself on the boat railing.
“You seriously think you can best me?” Tim asked, turning his attention back to Mark, a smirk on his face.
“You’d better hope you’re a cat who has nine lives--because I plan to take them all.” Mark was ready to fight again, having recovered from his misstep.
With a snarl on his face, Tim pulled the gun out of the back of his pants. “I’ve got something for you, Mark Hutio.”
Rome couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Mark looked at the gun and then back at Tim, and Rome could see in his friend’s face that he was actually thinking of trying to take the gun away from him. “Tim--put that away!” Rome begged, but Ella’s cousin ignored him. Then, to Bart, he said, “We have to get that gun away from him!” Rome had no doubt Tim would shoot all of them in his crazy state of mind.
The crowd watching just realized this was real, that Tim had pulled an actual gun. As women screamed and men shouted, Tim looked up. Mark took that opportunity to lunge at Tim, grabbing for the gun. They began to tangle over the revolver. Seeing no other way to stop one of them from being killed, Rome launched himself into the fray as well.
He had his hand on the gun but no control over it when a shot rang out. The struggle was over. Rome backed up quickly, as did Tim. Mark stood for a moment, a strange look on his face. Then, all three of them glanced down at Mark’s shirt. Blood began to spread out from his chest.
The color slowly drained from Rome’s face as he realized what had happened. They were out in the middle of the ocean with no doctor, no medical attention anywhere nearby, and Mark had been shot. From the looks of it, the wound was bad.
Mark looked at Rome and then at Tim before turning his face back to Rome. “A plague on both of your houses!” he shouted, and then started to fall backward.
Bart grabbed him, quickly lowering him to the ground. Rome rushed to him as well, though he heard a plunk as Tim tossed his gun into the water, suddenly realizing what he had done. Dropping to his knees next to Mark, Rome pulled off his shirt and put pressure on the wound. “You’re okay, Mark. It’s not that bad.” He heard someone in the crowd say they were searching for a doctor. Someone else said they’d call the coast guard while another said he’d run to tell the boat captain what had happened. All of that faded away as he looked into the eyes of his best friend.
“It’s not as deep as a well,” Mark said, his voice growing faint. “But if you ask for me tomorrow, you will find me a grave man. Why did you come between us, Rome?” His eyes were glazed over and fading, but pained at the same time.
Rome took a deep breath. “I thought it was for the best. I was trying to keep you from getting hurt.”
“Help me inside, Bart. I’m about to faint,” Mark whispered. “A plague on both of your houses. Verona. Sinders. You’ve made worms’ meat of me.”
“Mark, please, don’t give up. Help is on the way. Tim is Ella’s cousin. You know that. I didn’t want either of you to get hurt. Mark, please, you’re my best friend. Don’t leave us, man. Come on, Mark!”
Mark’s eyes closed, his mouth slack, and Bart checked his pulse. “He’s… dead, Rome. Mark’s dead.”
A rage began to boil inside of Rome as he considered what had just happened. All of this time, he’d been trying to be kind to Tim, to make amends for his father’s behavior, and this is how his kindness was repaid? He shot his best friend and killed him?
He stood and turned to see Tim being ushered away by a few other men, friends of his no doubt. That simply wouldn’t do. He was going to pay for this. “This is a black day,” he muttered. “Tim Bolt walks away in triumph, while Mark Hutio is dead?” Fire burned in his eyes as he ran after Tim, resolved to get vengeance for Mark, no longer thinking about attempting to fix the issues between his family and Ella’s. All he wanted was for Tim to suffer for what he’d done.