Atlantis Storm

by Steven Moore

  The old timer just sighed again. This was becoming tedious. For good measure, he gave R.B. a sharp kick to the guts, to which R.B. winced and almost threw up. “Just settle down and I’ll explain everything. Can you do that for me, son? Can you calm the hell down?”

  R.B. groaned in pain, but eventually nodded.

  “Okay then. I’m going to haul you up onto the bed, and if you do as I say I’ll untie your hands and feet. Okay, son?”

  “Yeah. Got it.”

  “Okay then. Don’t struggle. I’m going to reach under your armpits and sit you down on the edge of the bed.” With that, the old man grasped R.B. under his arms, and with ease, as if R.B. was nothing more than a shop mannequin, he hoisted him from the floor and sat him down on the bed. The man then sat down on a chair facing R.B. and stared at him for long moments. Eventually he smiled, and R.B. sensed goodness in those tired eyes.

  “The name’s Quinn. Barnaby Quinn. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, son.”

  “A pleasure? Are you for real? You kidnapped me, you’ve beaten me up ... twice ... and now you have me tied up in some dingy boat who the hell knows where? A pleasure? Who in the hell are you?”

  “Listen, son. I was in Pepe’s last night. I overheard your ... your conversation ... with the bartender, you know, about your predicament? Nice line, by the way, about the drinking village with a fishing problem? Tickled me, that’s the truth.”

  “What the hell has my predicament got to do with you?” R.B. demanded. “For all I know you could just be some old pervert.”

  The smile slipped from the old man’s face for a moment. Then he pulled a flick knife from his pocket and clicked open the blade. R.B. flinched, but the man grinned. He leaned forward and cut through the duct tape that bound R.B’s ankles, and raised his eyebrows, motioning to his hands. R.B. hesitated, but then slowly moved them towards the old man. With one deft slice, R.B’s hands were now free, and he massaged the stiffness from the joints.

  “Now, son, if you promise to stay calm I’ll get you some water and breakfast, and then I’ll tell you exactly why you’re here. Okay?”

  R.B. knew now he couldn’t beat this man in a fight, despite his age, so he nodded. He was suddenly starving and desperately thirsty. He would hear the old man out. He nodded his assent, and the old man simply nodded back and headed out of the room.

  R.B. followed him through the narrow galley and out onto the deck. The sun was shining and R.B. guessed it must already be early afternoon.

  “Now, son, I’m going to go back inside and fix you up some food. Of course, I can’t stop you jumping ashore and leaving. You’re free to go. But I think you’re going to want to hear what I have to tell you.”

  R.B’s eyes narrowed. “First you kidnap me, then beat me up, and now you’re saying you have something to tell me that I want to hear? I doubt that very much.”

  The old man, Quinn, nodded. “Fair enough, son. I’ll be seeing ya then.” And with that he tipped his cap and ducked inside the cabin of his ancient-looking boat.

  R.B. turned to leave, then paused. What the hell is this old timer talking about? he thought, and despite himself, Ryan Bodean found he was intrigued. Against his better judgment, and with his hunger getting the better of him, he took a seat on the edge of the boat and waited for the mysterious old sea dog to return.

  7

  Mysterious

  Barnaby Quinn was not at all surprised to see Ryan Bodean still there on his boat when he returned twenty minutes later, carrying a jug of water, a mug of strong coffee, and a plate loaded with toast and bacon. He allowed himself a grin, and handed the tray of sustenance wordlessly to his guest.

  “Um, thanks?” was all R.B. could say. He’d had some strange mornings over the years, and had woken up to some surprising guests in his bed. He had never woken up to a crusty old man before, but if Ryan Bodean knew anything at all it was that there was always a first time for everything.

  First he slugged down half the jug of water. Then he took a few sips of the excellent coffee, and sighed in satisfaction. He even allowed himself a smile in old man Quinn’s direction. “Thank you,” he said, and this time he really meant it. “Mind if I—”

  “Go ahead son, it ain’t just for looking at. Tuck in.”

  So R.B. did tuck in, and for a few wordless moments Barnaby Quinn appraised the younger man, who gulped down the toast and bacon as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Good, huh?” he finally asked.

  “Really good. Thanks ... uh, Barnaby?”

  “That’s right. Barnaby Quinn.”

  “So, Mister Quinn, mind telling me what the hell’s going on? I mean, if you didn’t kidnap me, why the hell did I wake up here, and tied up like a goat?”

  “Listen, son, like I said, you’re free to go. But you’re here because I was just trying to help.” He fixed R.B. with a challenging stare.

  “Help me? How?” R.B. remained skeptical, despite the old man’s now apparent kindness.

  “You don’t remember much about last night, do ya, son.”

  “I remember you following me like a creep, and then jumping me in the street. Next think I knew I was waking up here. Tied up.”

  “Well, hell son, sorry about the duct tape. But it was for your own good. Thing is, I saw you in Pepe’s and thought I saw someone down on their luck. Been there myself, to be sure, so I was a little worried. When that thug of a bartender kicked you out I followed outside to see what was happening. For a while there you were passed out in the middle of the road, and if the wrong person had seen that, sonny, you’d have spent the night in the cells. I know you have exactly nine dollars in your pocket.”

  R.B. frowned again. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his cash. Nine dollars. “How did you—Did you pick this up from the street and give it back to me?”

  The old man just grinned.

  “Well, thanks. Again.”

  “Forget about it, son. Besides ... "

  R.B. cast his mind back to the previous night, and fragments of it started to return. Despite his reticence to admit he was so drunk, what the old man said was true. He must have helped him and given him his money back. He nodded, a little ashamed. “Besides what?”

  “Listen, I’ve seen you around town with that girlfriend of yours.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend!” R.B. retorted, a little stronger than he’d meant. “I’m sorry. I mean, we’re just ... she’s my friend.”

  “Sure she is,” replied Barnaby, smirking. “Anyway, I’ve seen you around town and I know the two of you have that, uh, salvage business.”

  “What about it?” R.B. had no idea where this was going.

  Barnaby Quinn looked all of his eighty-something years in that moment, and R.B. thought he’d never seen a more tired-looking individual in his entire life. “So you like to find buried treasure, huh?” asked Barnaby, and R.B. sensed a curious mix of mockery and genuine interest in his tone.

  “You could say that, but ... " said R.B., his words fading away with obvious disappointment. “Well, you can probably guess after last night’s performance that business isn’t going so well.” He smiled, and Barnaby sensed the kid’s sadness.

  “I do love an understatement,” Quinn said, which was in itself a glorious understatement. “Listen, if I show you something, you have to keep it a secret, okay?”

  “What’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff, old timer? There’s no one here listening.”

  Barnaby Quinn looked around, as if he believed there was indeed someone listening, even watching them at that very moment.

  Dude’s a little paranoid, eh? mused R.B., but decided to humor the old man. “Sure thing. My lips are sealed.”

  Barnaby nodded, satisfied. He reached behind his back and grabbed what appeared to be an ancient-looking leather package. Slowly and deliberately, he unravelled the folds of the leather case and revealed what R.B. immediately saw was a rolled up parchment. Now his interest was seriously piqued. Undoing the final rol
l of the package, Barnaby picked up what seemed to be a small, solid object, though R.B. couldn’t make out what it was. The old man placed the mysterious object down on the table between them, then unrolled the parchment and spread it out next to the object, pinning down the edges with R.B’s coffee cup and a spoon. Barnaby then looked up at R.B., a strange expression on his face. To R.B. it looked like a mix of awe, reverence, and hope, with a healthy dose of ... is that fear?

  “So what’s this all about, old timer?” asked R.B.

  “Well good, son, I thought you’d never ask.”

  There was a long pause, while Barnaby continued staring at R.B., as if he was trying to make a decision about the character of the man before him. Finally, he took a deep breath, then sighed. With a final nervous look around, he smiled.

  “What if I could change your life forever?”

  8

  Scolded

  With his hangover nipped in the bud and his mind whirling after the strange encounter with Barnaby Quinn, R.B. made his way back to the boat. It wasn’t too far to walk, and thirty minutes later he arrived. There was a note pinned to the door, and without even looking at it R.B. thought he knew what it was. He tore open the envelope and was proven right.

  Hey Ryan.

  Sorry to have to do this to you, but you either pay us the mooring fees for next month by the end of tomorrow, or we’re gonna have to haul the boat from the water.

  Don’t make us do that, man ... but you gotta pay up.

  Sorry,

  Bill

  This came as no surprise to R.B., though it still pissed him off. He had known for a few days it was coming, but he’d been trying to put it out of his mind. He balled up the note and tossed it in the trash. He’d cruise the boat out of there in the morning. But to where, he didn’t yet know.

  He had a quick shower under the open-air, homemade shower system—a bucket with some holes drilled in the bottom—and the cool bottled water he had emptied into the bucket washed away the last of the previous evening’s excesses. Physically, he actually felt pretty good, and his encounter with the mercurial Barnaby Quinn had left him in a surprisingly upbeat mood. He wanted to call Megan and check in, make sure she got to her mom’s place safely. But what he really wanted to talk to her about was Barnaby Quinn and the mysterious map.

  He checked the fridge for any beer, though knew it was futile, and sat down in the sun on the deck to call Megan, who picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, darlin’. How are you? How’s your mom?”

  “Hi, R.B. I’m okay. Mom’s fine, thanks. Listen, I’m sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday. I didn’t want to leave at all, and it was easier just to get it over with, know what I mean?”

  R.B. didn’t know what she meant, and it’s not what he’d have done. But he understood her point. “It’s fine Meg, of course. Just as long as you’re okay?”

  They made small talk for a few minutes, but R.B. couldn’t wait any longer. “So, Megan, I met this guy at the bar last night. Well, not at the bar exactly, but—”

  “You were in a bar? R.B., you don’t have any money. We don’t have any money. All the cards are maxed and we’re down to our last few bucks in cash.” Megan’s tone left R.B. in no doubt as to what she thought of him spending money on getting wasted when they couldn’t even afford their bills.

  “Look, I know, okay. I’m sorry. But, well, after you left I was sad and needed to blow off some steam. So I had a few drinks.”

  There was silence on the line for a moment.

  “Megan? You there, darlin’?”

  “You were sad?” she asked. “Because I left?”

  “Well, yeah, I was sad about many things, but mostly that. Why, didn’t you think I would be?”

  “I ... well, I guess I didn’t really know. Anyway, like I said, I’m sorry. So who’d you meet?” Her voice had mellowed a little.

  “It’s okay, Meg. So I met this guy. But it was so weird. He actually kind of beat me up and kidnapped me, but it wasn’t really a kidnap and it turned out he was just trying to help me. So—”

  “Hold on, R.B., slow down. He kidnapped you? What the hell are you talking about?”

  For the next five minutes R.B. explained to Megan about his evening. He told her where he was, but elected not to mention the fact he almost got into a fight with the bartender, and especially didn’t tell her he couldn’t even afford to pay his tab. He picked up the story from when he’d eaten breakfast with Barnaby Quinn. Megan had fallen silent, and R.B. assumed it was because she was as intrigued as he was.

  “And when he pulled out that old map and that strange artifact, well you can imagine how intrigued I was. I mean, if someone says they can change your life, you gotta sit up and listen, right?” Silence. “Megan? Right?”

  “Ryan Bodean, for five minutes now I have listened to a far-fetched tale of you getting drunk in a bar, meeting some old Ernest Hemingway lookalike who beat you up and kidnapped you, then made you breakfast and then showed you an artifact and a map to some unknown legendary treasure? And you want me to take you seriously? Are you for real?”

  Well that didn’t go as I’d hoped, thought R.B. “Listen, Meg. I know you’re stressed about money, and the business. I get all that. But there was just something about this guy. He was ... well, I believed him.”

  “Goddammit, R.B. We don’t have time for this shit. We are broke. We’re about to lose the business. You are probably going to lose the boat. Hell, I doubt you even have any money to come and visit me at the weekend ... "

  R.B. sensed tears were imminent, and he backed down. “You’re right, Meg. It’s probably nothing. Listen, I’ll come and visit you on Saturday, I promise. I’ll borrow a car from a friend and I’ll swing up there first thing Saturday. Sound good?”

  There came the sound of a deep breath on the line before Megan spoke again. “Look, I’m sorry R.B. You’re right, I am stressed. But we worked so hard to build up that business from scratch and I’m just so sad we’ve failed.”

  “We haven’t failed, Megan. We haven’t set the world alight, but we haven’t failed. Listen, it’s Thursday morning. Tomorrow I have to move the boat, and I think I have an idea where. Then Friday I have some things to arrange here, but Saturday morning I’ll come north and see you. Are you gonna be alright until then, darlin’?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Okay. Well, I’ll see you Saturday. And R.B.?”

  What is it Meg?”

  “Try and stay out of trouble?”

  9

  Tantalized

  After his chat with Megan R.B’s mood had worsened a little. Well, a lot. He totally understood her attitude. The salvage company was her idea, and it was not her fault things hadn’t quite panned out as well as they’d hoped. Of course, buried treasure and valuable shipwrecks didn’t just offer themselves up on silver platters, at least not in real life. And this most definitely was not a movie.

  But what R.B. was most perturbed by was Megan’s reluctance to be excited about the map and the artifact Barnaby Quinn had shown him. As far as R.B. knew, it was exactly those kind of things why Megan had got involved in the salvaging business in the first place, and he just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t as excited as he was. I’ll just have to prove it all to her, he thought, and vowed then to speak once more to the mysterious Barnaby Quinn.

  But first he had to consider the issue of his boat and where he was going to live. He had told Megan he had an idea of where to move it to, but that wasn’t strictly true. He had very few real friends in the area, and without any money to pay mooring fees at any of the official marinas or docks, he saw little choice but to take his chances on the open sea, or in one of the sheltered bays of the other keys, at least for a few days until something more permanent revealed itself. Yet no sooner had he turned his mind to that imminent upheaval, he was immediately distracted by other, more exciting thoughts, and decided to put that issue out of his mind for now. Why think about trivial things like where I’m gonna sleep, he
mused, when I could be thinking about shipwrecks and lost treasures. And after a grumpy morning, finally he smiled.

  It was coming up on lunch time, and R.B’s stomach began to growl, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the breakfast Barnaby had made him several hours before. He remembered he had about nine dollars left in his pocket, thanks to old Barnaby, which was enough to go and snag a sandwich at the diner around the corner. So he locked up the cabin on his boat, something he’d started to do vigilantly after his houseboat was attacked the previous year, and made his way to the diner, his mind racing with images of maps and treasures ... and Barnaby Quinn.

  No doubt about it, the old timer had aroused an emotion in R.B. he hadn’t felt in many months; excitement. It was the spark he had been searching for in the early days and weeks of B and S Salvage Incorporated, but after work began to dry up, and the most exciting thing they ever pulled out of the ocean became shopping carts or busted up old fishing boats, well, the novelty had soon worn off. But now, this random old man he’d met under strange-to-say-the-least circumstances had shown him two things that had got his adventurous juices flowing again, and Ryan Bodean was going to make sure he followed this one through.

  He had tentatively arranged to visit Barnaby back at the old man’s later that afternoon, so after lunch he made his way out to where Barnaby moored his boat. He smiled as he walked along the pontoon and approached the hunk of wood once officially known as a boat. He’d rarely seen any sea-going vessels in worse condition than the one he’d bought for B and S Salvage Incorporated, which was truly a floating wreck. But looking now at Barnaby’s boat ... well, it was a literal wreck that looked as if the slightest of waves would sink it to the bottom of the marina. How is it still floating? he wondered as he stepped aboard and rapped on the door.