Touching the Sun: A Harry Beck Thriller (The Bahamas Series Book 1)

by Len Maynard

  ‘Unusual; it’s fucking ludicrous!’ I got to my feet. ‘Thanks for the drink, Max. I’ll see you around.’

  Max didn’t move from the comfort of his armchair as he watched me walk to the door. I’d grasped the handle and was pulling the door open before he spoke. ‘Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still love her?’

  I froze. Turning slowly, I said. ‘My feelings for your daughter, Max, are none of your damned business.’

  He put his glass down and leaned forward, clasping his hands together as if in prayer, resting them between his pudgy knees. ‘Just tell me you don’t love her, Harry, and I’ll drop the subject and get the launch to take you back to Nassau.’

  ‘Look, Max,’ I said, walking across to where he was sitting. ‘Remember something. It was Katy who finished with me, not the other way round. Throw the pitch at her and see what response you get.’

  ‘Oh, I know the silly little bitch threw you over, but don’t think she hasn’t regretted it. Don’t forget, she did come to see you to arrange the meeting between us, and that wasn’t my suggestion, Harry, it was hers. She still loves you, you know.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ I remembered the visit only too well, and how acrimoniously it had ended. Her actions were hardly those I’d expect from someone who was looking at me as a prospective husband. I told Max in detail what had happened.

  ‘Well what do you expect? My God, you young people; sometimes you can be so blind. Katy told me all about it, and if it’s any consolation to you, she was in tears when she told me. What did you expect her reaction to be? She comes all the way to Freeport, holding out an olive branch, you hold her at gunpoint…’

  ‘I explained that.’

  ‘Don’t interrupt!’ His voice was suddenly loud, authoritative. His board room voice, no doubt, the shark shedding its disguise of affability. ‘You hold her at gunpoint, and if that’s not enough, she finds you’re shacked up with a girl young enough to be your daughter. What the hell did you expect her reaction to be?’

  ‘I didn’t ask her to come to the boat, and I’ll tell you what I told her. My relationship with Stevie is strictly platonic. She works for me, and I, in return, watch out for her welfare, just as I promised her father I would when he died in my arms.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Harry. Just put yourself in Katy’s shoes for a moment. Think about what it must have looked like to her.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to give a shit?’

  ‘Ah, but that’s it. Harry. You do give a shit.’

  ‘Go to hell!’ I said, but stayed standing there.

  Max stood. ‘Let’s go for a walk on deck. The sea breeze will cool us both down.’ He took my arm and led me to the door.

  ‘Look, Harry,’ he said as we stepped out into the open. ‘I know Katy hurt you. Her behavior when she was with you was despicable, and I’m not saying any of it was your fault. You were trying to build a business for yourself, and that takes time. I know, believe me. No, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.’

  We were walking towards the stern. The Minotaur was rocking gently on the waves, tethered by her anchor. I looked across the ocean and saw no other vessels. It felt as if we were the only two people left alive, having a bizarre conversation that was doing nothing but dredging up memories that were best left submerged. Max stopped walking and stood by the rail, staring down at the water, letting the breeze fan his face.

  ‘Katy was only five when Mary died, and I found it difficult raising her on my own. Not that she wanted for anything, except perhaps a mother’s love and, more importantly, a mother’s counsel. That was something I just couldn’t give her. And she was a wild cat, always in one scrape after another. When she met you and fell in love, I noticed a difference in her. She calmed down, seemed more contented. I had high hopes for the pair of you, but then…. Well, I suppose her wild nature got the better of her. Oh, I know she had other men, but they meant nothing to her. You were the one she really cared for.’

  ‘So why did she do it?’ I asked. But deep down I knew why. though I knew the reason deep inside.

  20

  I’d not long bought The Lady, though at the time I christened her Island Girl, after Katy. I’d been trying to establish the business, and that, inevitably, led to long hours spent at sea. I was working day and night, trying to build up a reputation on the Islands, trying to secure commissions from the various hotels. Alan helped, of course – he helped a lot – but he alone couldn’t provide me with all the work I needed if I was going to build a future that included a wife, possibly children. The truth was, I neglected Katy, neglected her badly, and no matter how much I tried to justify my absences by telling her I was working for her, for us, I knew the bottom line was that I was doing it for myself alone.

  I needed to be successful, to triumph where my father, and his father before him, had failed. The Beck Curse, they called it. It was something I was determined to beat. When Katy sought comfort in the arms of other men, I reacted badly. I blew my top. Unforgivably, I slapped her. Yet I knew it was my behavior that had driven her to it. Perhaps it was more than jealousy that had made me react the way I did.

  She walked out on me after that fight. She said something to me as she left that came back to haunt me over the following years. ‘You’ll never be successful, Harry. Do you want to know why? Because you want it too bloody badly, and you don’t give a shit who you hurt trying to get there.’ And then she was gone, out of my life.

  The worst thing about it was that she was right.

  Max was still talking. ‘After you two split up she went completely off the rails. I lost count of the number of men she had. And then there were the parties; wild parties, and she’d invite the dregs of society along. I’d bought her a house by this time, in the mistaken belief that if she had somewhere to call her own she’d perhaps settle down.’

  He gripped the rail, his knuckles white, and a pained expression in his eyes. ‘It was like trying to put out a fire by dousing it with gasoline. That house became a haven for every drop out and junkie who lived on, or visited, the Islands. It was only a matter of time before Katy got sucked into that scene. She started like they all do, smoking a little dope, the occasional snort of cocaine. I tried to keep tabs on her, but all it did was to alienate her further. Before long she was into heroin. It broke my heart, Harry. It broke my heart to see her that way.’ His voice caught in his throat and I turned to see tears coursing down his cheeks.

  ‘I knew that if I didn’t do something about it, she’d be dead within months. You hear such terrible stories about what that stuff does to people. So I took the only course of action I could. I had her committed.’

  ‘You what?’ I said, stunned.

  ‘Oh, it was all very discreet. A private nursing home, on Andros. Not many people know of its existence, and the owners like to keep it that way. They treated her well there. They put her on methadone, gradually weaning her off the heroin. I went to visit her once, but it was a mistake. She was a savage, Harry. Quite out of her mind. She’d obtained scissors from somewhere and cut off her hair, right down to the scalp…all her lovely hair. I remember Mary sitting on the bed, with Katy on her lap, brushing her hair for her until it shone….

  ‘I visited my daughter at that clinic, and was confronted by a wild animal. She kept screaming over and over, ‘I hate you, I hate you!’ He stopped talking and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

  I reached out and laid a hand on Max’s shoulder. ‘When was this?’

  ‘She came out six months ago. She’s better now. And I want her to stay that way.’

  ‘And you think marrying me will keep her on course?’

  ‘Her only hope, Harry, her only hope. She needs the security that only you can provide.’

  I fumbled in the pocket of my shirt for my cigarettes and lit one. ‘I can’t do it, Max. I can’t marry her.’

  His shoulders sagged. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

  ‘I’m sorry
.’

  He looked up at me bleakly. ‘You know, Harry, I think you are. And I’m not going to change your mind, am I?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Just promise me one thing.’

  ‘No promises, Max.’

  ‘All right, no promises. But, please, give what I’ve said to you today some thought. Don’t just banish it from your mind. She needs you, Harry. And I meant what I said about the job too, although I realize it sounds like a bribe. Regardless of whether you marry Katy or not, the position’s yours if you want it.’

  I held his gaze for a moment. A sadder, more pathetic man I couldn’t imagine. ‘Sorry, Max. I like my life the way it is now. I’ve got The Lady. It isn’t much of a living, and certainly she’ll never make my fortune, but it’s what I enjoy doing. Understand?’

  He managed a smile. ‘Yes, I suppose I do. I’ll get the launch to take you back. But I will make you promise one thing. Don’t leave it so long before you come to see me again, okay? Come and shoot some skeet with me. There’s nothing quite like standing on deck, blasting things out of the sky, to get the adrenaline flowing through the veins.’

  Skeet shooting was one of Max Donahoe’s passions, and I had shot with him from the deck of The Minotaur a number of times in the past. Usually Katy was sitting there, bored out of her skull, while the two main men in her life behaved like little boys, trying to outdo each other and hit as many targets as possible. Without Katy there acting like a wet blanket it would be even more enjoyable.

  ‘Sounds like fun, Max,’ I said. ‘I promise I’ll come back soon.’ We shook hands on it.

  ‘And if you change your mind about the job…well, you know where I am. Now, let’s get you to the launch.’

  21

  I woke the next morning with a hangover to end them all. I felt as if I’d been fired from a cannon head-first into a brick wall. I lay there for a long time, just staring at the ceiling, trying to bring my eyes into focus, and when I attempted to get out of bed, my legs folded underneath me and I sank to my knees with a groan.

  I hadn’t felt this bad for a long time, probably not since the morning after the break up with Katy. I’d gone on a bender then too, with similar after-effects.

  When the Lear landed me back at Freeport, I started drinking almost immediately, first at the hotel, and then, when I’d gotten heartily sick of my own company, I toured the local bars. In one of them, can’t remember which, I bumped into Ernie Rodriguez, and spent a forgettable hour with him putting the world to rights. Although I couldn’t now remember what we talked about, it had a lasting effect, because shortly afterwards Ernie passed his boat on to his son, Raoul, and gave up the sea entirely.

  That I’d end up at The Jolly Tar had an inevitability to it that I hadn’t been able to resist. Where Jack had always turned to Alan in times of crisis, I had always sought out Jack.

  Jack had an easy manner about him that almost seemed to invite you to sit down and pour out your troubles, and he’d Dutch-uncled me often in the past. The reason I turned to him and no one else was that Jack never sat in judgment. He’d let you talk, sometimes to the point of incoherency, and he’d always be open-minded. Oh, he’d slip in the occasional, ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ or a ‘For God’s sake, pull yourself together,’ but he’d never ridicule your feelings, or try to take advantage of whatever you might tell him.

  That night I walked – or rather, staggered – along to The Tar. Once there, Jack found us a booth, set a bottle of scotch down on the table, and slipped into the seat opposite mine. ‘Okay, Harry boy, tell Uncle Jack all about it.’

  And I did. I told Jack everything, even to the point of baring my soul and admitting that Max was right. I was still in love with Katy.

  I wasn’t seeking advice from Jack, and he, thank God, didn’t offer any; but I needed to speak to him, if only to get things straight in my head. By the time the bottle was finished I was falling asleep on the table, and I vaguely remember strong arms hauling me to my feet and dragging me from the pub. I had a dim memory of the car, Jack’s Daimler, pulling into the side of the road so I could be sick. After that, nothing until I woke up on The Lady just as dawn was breaking over Freeport.

  The hangover wasn’t shifting, and there was only one way I knew to get rid of it. I stripped off and dived over the side, letting the ocean soothe away the headache. I swam for half an hour, by which time the hangover had gone. But one thing had become clear as I swam in long lazy circles around the boat. I needed to get away to think things through. Too much had happened in too short a space of time, and my reactions were becoming knee-jerk, not at all rational. I needed to be away from Freeport for a while. I climbed back over the rail and started to prepare The Lady for a trip. Twenty minutes later she was ready.

  I cast off the stern line, went back to the cockpit, and pressed the starter. The Lady coughed once, then the engines roared into life. Someone was calling my name. I glanced back and saw a man in a lightweight suit running towards me, waving his arms and yelling. Feeling anti-social, and a little bloody minded, I eased the throttle forward and The Lady moved gently away from the quayside. The man drew level. His face was red from exertion, and there was desperation in his eyes. The Lady was eight feet from the jetty when he jumped. He made it over the side rail, landing on a coil of rope. He pitched forward and hit the deck in a tangle of arms, legs, and rope. I swung the prow around, pointing her out to sea, leaned on the throttle, and we surged forward. Whoever he was, he was going on an ocean voyage whether he liked it or not.

  I’d lit a cigarette and was sitting at the wheel smoking when he finally untangled himself and joined me in the cockpit.

  ‘Sam Goldberg,’ he said, extending his hand.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘What, on being Sam Goldberg?’

  ‘On not breaking your neck.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I was calling you. I thought you heard me.’

  ‘I heard you.’

  He nodded slowly, understanding. He was about thirty, with a pinched face and small inquisitive eyes. A fluffy moustache rested on his top lip like a small sleeping animal, and his dark thinning hair was plastered to his pink sunburnt scalp with sweat.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he said, settling himself on the seat next to me.

  ‘I’m going to Abaco. Unless you explain what you’re doing crashing aboard my boat, you’ll be swimming back to Grand Bahama.’

  He laughed uneasily, then realized I meant it. ‘I need to talk to you, about Alan Lancaster.’

  I said nothing, just kept my eyes focused on the ocean. I drew the last from the cigarette and flicked the smoldering end out to sea. The Lady glided through the crystal green water, raising a white frothy wake. For a while the only sounds were the throb of the twin Penta engines and the slapping of waves against The Lady’s hull.

  ‘You’re not saying very much,’ I said. ‘I thought you wanted to talk about Alan.’

  He was swallowing loudly, and I looked around at him. His face had turned grey and waxy, and the sheen of perspiration on his brow had nothing to do with his earlier exertions. ‘If you’re going to puke, then do it over the side,’ I said. There was a small sea running, but nothing to get excited about. It would get worse, however, before it got any better.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ he said.

  I shrugged.

  ‘I’d heard you were a hard bastard.’

  ‘You heard wrong. My parents were married.’

  ‘You were Alan’s best friend?’

  ‘Were?’

  ‘Were, are, who knows?’

  ‘How does he know you?’

  ‘I used to work for the Miami Post. Alan contacted me because he had some information relating to an investigative piece I was working on.’ He paused and inhaled deeply three times, wiped his sweating brow on the sleeve of his cream suit, and took another deep breath, just for luck. ‘That’s better,’ he said, and then threw up on the deck.

  I swore softly, throttled
back, and went to fetch a mop and bucket. ‘Your mess. You clean it up,’ I said, handing them to him.

  22

  Sometime later, The Lady sat at anchor. She was rocking on the swell, but gently enough not to bring about another bout of vomiting from my uninvited guest. I brought some beers up from the cold locker below and sat drinking one. I wanted to know what Sam had to say, and I did not want his conversation interrupted by constant visits to the side rail. Working seemed to be doing Sam good. He finally swilled the last of the water over the deck and came aft to join me.

  ‘All cleaned up,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I’m no sailor.’

  ‘So I gathered.’ I tossed him a beer. He looked at it doubtfully for a moment, then popped off the top and put the bottle to his lips. ‘You said you used to work for the Post. You don’t now. Why?’

  ‘I left to write a book.’

  ‘Is this book connected with the story Alan’s helping you with?’

  ‘Was helping me with. I came out to the Bahamas to interview him. Now he seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘So why track me down? You surely don’t think I can help you with your book?’

  ‘I don’t know. Possibly, though I doubt it. What you will be able to do, though, is to give me some background on Alan.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  He swallowed some more beer. The color was returning to his face. ‘I can’t offer you money, if that’s what you’re getting at. I haven’t got the resources of a major newspaper behind me now. Everything comes out of my own pocket. I even had to pay for my own flight out here.’

  ‘You’re breaking my heart. And I can’t believe you haven’t got a publisher in tow to bankroll you.’

  ‘That’s not how it works…not this time anyway. This book I’m writing deals with a very controversial issue. I haven’t even approached a publisher yet. I need more facts to corroborate my findings so far. Alan was going to provide some of those facts.’