I was scared, not of rapists but of bogeymen. I wasn’t sure what they were, either, but I knew I didn’t want to find out. Still, I was a man, and I had a job to do. I crept outside into the cockpit, slithered tentatively over the starboard coaming, and peered over the caprail down into the dark, scary, sloshing space between the boat and dock. Debris was trapped there: seaweed, logs, bottles. The boat was moving in the greasy swell, and the fenders groaned against the pilings. There was no moon, yet barnacles glistened. Crabs held up their claws. Silverfish slid out of sight.