by Eric Wilder
“Sweet,” Bertram said. “If you had someplace around here to spend all that money.”
Jack flashed him a crooked smile. “Me, I don’t need much.”
“How about a shot of Cuervo?” Bertram said, pulling a silver flask from his light jacket.
“Man after my own heart,” Jack said, taking a drink from the flask. “Ready to see the old queen?”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Eddie said. “Lead the way.”
Bertram and Eddie could see just how short and wiry Jack Wiesinski was, as they followed him to the covered walkway leading to the old restaurant. Dressed in khaki pants and shirt, he indeed looked like a naval retiree that couldn’t quite get the service out of his blood. Only his black flipflops belied the image.
The restaurant sat a hundred feet from shore, the walkway the only way to reach it. The ring of keys Jack kept on his belt rattled as he opened the three locks securing the gate of the covered walkway.
“Watch your step,” he said. “Some of the old boards need replacing.”
“We’ll follow you,” Eddie said.
Buoyed by rusting oil barrels, the walkway swayed beneath them as they followed Jack to the front deck encircling the restaurant. Even though the paint was faded and everything dusty as hell, the grandeur of the old restaurant far exceeded anything either Eddie or Bertram had expected.
“This place must have been like a palace back in the day,” Eddie said.
“That it was,” Jack said. “People came from all over to get their pictures made here. It was quite the showplace.”
Separate dining areas surrounded the main ballroom highlighted by the most beautifully carved wood bar either Bertram or Eddie had ever seen. The room was huge, the ceilings high and ornate. Even in its present state of dust and disarray, the building was regal. Jack pointed to the large bar.
“Carved by Italian artisans from giant cypress trees cut in a swamp near here. Mr. Castellano calls it a significant work of art.”
“Impressive,” Eddie said.
Brutus and Lady were nuzzling each other, their tails wagging. Lady barked, apparently agreeing with Eddie’s assessment of the beautiful piece of sculpture. Bertram rubbed his hand across the wood.
“Needs a little furniture polish,” he said.
“The whole place needs work,” Jack said. “It’s been more or less abandoned for seventy years.”
“What do you think, Bertram?” Eddie asked.
“Even if you got this place back into apple pie order, there ain’t enough customers in this whole parish to keep you in bidness.”
“Frankie must realize as much,” Eddie said. “He said he has a plan.”
“There’s lots more to see,” Jack said. “An interesting level up these stairs. This deck has a history unique to the Prohibition Era.”
A circular tier comprised of tiny rooms looked down on the bar and ballroom area. Tattered curtains covered the openings to the rooms. Jack pulled open a curtain, showing Bertram and Eddie the inside of one of the empty cubicles.
“During Prohibition, this place was a casino and speakeasy. Mobsters would bring their mistresses here for drinks and dinner. No one knew who was up here except the waiters and waitresses who served them.”
“Must have been quite a scene,” Eddie said.
Jack didn’t respond, leading them into a staircase that wound to an even higher level of the old structure. He exited to the observation deck that looked out over the bay. Eddie and Bertram stared at the water with wide eyes and open mouths.
“Is that the Gulf of Mexico?”
“Yes.” Jack handed Eddie a pair of binoculars. “You can see ships and offshore rigs if you use these.”
Through the powerful lenses of the binoculars, the Gulf came alive. Gulls soared high above the water, floating in and out of the dark clouds. It seemed like a living diorama.
“Quite a view,” Eddie said, handing the binoculars to Bertram.
Jack nodded. “Barrier islands protect this cove. Centuries ago, it was a haven for pirates. Local legend says there’s a fortune in gold buried someplace on this island.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Eddie said. “It’s so secluded and pristine, it’s hard for me to believe this place is even inhabited.”
“It ain’t,” Bertram said. “Except for Jack and his dog. That’s your problem.”
Bertram and Eddie both seemed surprised when Jack said, “There’s more to see. It’s starting to sprinkle again. Let’s go inside before the bottom falls out.”
They climbed higher, by way of a circular staircase, and entered a room at the tallest part of the building. Windows circled the area affording a three-hundred-sixty-degree view. Polished teak and mahogany paneling evoked the look and feel of the bridge of a ship.
“The person that designed this deck must have liked to play sea captain,” Eddie said.
“He was a retired sea captain. He used this private hideaway to escape from the crowds of people downstairs,” Jack said.
“From up here, you can see for miles in every direction,” Bertram said.
“Except for the lighthouse, there’s no better view on Oyster Island. Want to see the living quarters?”
The deck below the bridge housed a large apartment, complete with galley, master bedroom, living area, pot-bellied stove, and bathrooms. Dust covers protected the original furniture still in place.
“Everything a man could need,” Jack said.
“Cozy,” Eddie said. “Anything else?”
“This old building has dozens of nooks, crannies, and secret passageways in the walls. You could spend a month here and not see everything there is to see.”
“Secret passageways?” Eddie said.
“And the building is haunted. I’ve never seen a ghost, though others have.”
“Sounds creepy,” Eddie said. “The marina is so large. Where are all the boats?”
“There are only two,” Jack said. “A sloop and a trawler. Both are seaworthy and have traveled more than once from here to islands in the Caribbean.”
“Pleasure trips?” Bertram asked.
“Business,” Jack said. “They were both rum runners. Even during Prohibition, patrons to Oyster Island could sample the best scotch, rum, or Canadian whiskey, courtesy of those two vessels.”
“Who owns the boats now?” Eddie asked.
“You will. The boats go with the restaurant,” Jack said.
“Are they still operable?”
“You bet they are. One of my duties is caring for the two boats. You could sail from here to the Bahamas tomorrow in either one of them if you wanted to.”
“If I could sail, or knew how to operate a boat,” Eddie said.
“I can teach you,” Jack said.
“Don’t know about that,” Eddie said. “I’m still not sure if this is the job for me. I don’t even have a car.”
“A Land Rover comes with the restaurant. It’s ten years old and still purrs like a kitten. It’s something else I take care of for Mr. Castellano.”
“Maybe you better talk to Frankie about this whole thing,” Bertram said. “If you ask me, it looks like you’d be painting yourself in a corner.”
“That’s why I brought you along,” Eddie said. “You know I value your opinion.”
For the moment, the rain had ceased, though the skies had continued to grow ever darker. Jack glanced up the hill toward the lighthouse.
“You boys hungry? I got a kettle of oyster chowder simmering on the stove.”
Chapter 7
The rain had returned, a cold breeze blowing up from the Gulf as Bertram, Eddie, Jack, and the two dogs hurried up the rocky pathway to the lighthouse on the sandy hill. Thunder shook the old wooden and mortar structure, as Jack held the door open for them. Welcoming warmth and the enticing aroma of oyster chowder greeted them as they entered the living area of the lighthouse.
The only furniture in the open living area was a single chair, and an old couch draped with a
n orange Afghan. There was also a pot-bellied stove and a desk, complete with computer and ham radio. Everything in the minimalist setting seemed to have a place and pegged Jack as a person who demanded order in his life. Warming their hands, Eddie and Bertram huddled close to the stove.
“Cozy place you have here,” Eddie said. “Must get kind of lonely.”
Outside the old lighthouse, the rain had begun falling in bucketloads. Sheer curtains that seemed a bit too dainty for a career Navy man covered the three windows, lightning flashing through them.
“I spent the best part of thirty years at sea,” Jack said. “I like solitude.”
“That chowder smells mighty good,” Bertram said. “Been cooking long?”
“Thirty years.”
“Then I guess you never been married,” Bertram said.
“Tried it once,” Jack said. “Didn’t last long. Women tend to want their man home at night, not off at sea somewhere. What about you, Bert? Ever been married?”
“Come close a time or two.”
“You, Eddie?”
“Not yet,” he said.
“Mr. Castellano says you’re sweet on his daughter.”
“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Eddie said.
“Maybe when you get Oyster Island up and running, she’ll change her mind.”
“Is that what Mr. Castellano told you?”
“No, but I’m pretty good at reading between the lines. You boys find a place to sit. I’ll get us something to drink.”
“I think Lady likes it here,” Bertram said.
Brutus had crawled up on a woven rug in front of the pot-bellied stove, Lady joining him. A bell-shaped opening separated the galley from the living area of the lighthouse. Bertram and Eddie sank into a comfortable, old couch as Jack returned from the galley with two mugs and a pitcher filled with an alcoholic beverage.
“Hope you boys like rum,” Jack said, filling their mugs from the pitcher.
Bertram took a sip. “This is the best rum I ever tasted. What brand is it?”
“Don’t remember,” Jack said. “Just some cheap swill I picked up at the liquor store. I like to serve rum with my chowder. Old Navy habit, I guess.”
“Can I have a look at the bottle?” Bertram asked.
“Threw it away, already,” Jack said. “I always serve my grog from a pitcher.”
“Old Navy habit?” Eddie asked.
“Exactly. Don’t like getting too far away from my routine.”
When the cuckoo clock on the wall sounded, Jack opened the front door and glanced out. A man was there, a colorful Indian blanket covering his head.
“Well, don’t stand out there in the rain,” Jack said. “Come in before you get soaked.”
A large man with gray hair that draped to his broad shoulders ducked as he came through the door. His curved nose and facial features pegged him as a Native American. The imposing person stood at least six-foot-six, and he remained impassive as Jack introduced him.
“Gentlemen, this is Grogan La Tortue though I just call him Chief.”
Chief draped his blanket over the back of a chair and then bent down to pat Brutus and Lady. Lady’s tail was wagging as she licked the stranger’s hand. Chief placed the legal folder he was carrying on a counter in the galley before returning to meet Eddie and Bertram.
“You about a big one. I’m Bertram, and he’s Eddie. Better get yourself a mug of Jack’s rum. It’s the best I ever tasted.
Chief’s expression changed into what was likely a smile as Jack handed him some rum.
“Pleased to meet you. Don’t mind if I do.” He smacked his lips after taking a drink. “Tasty. Jack, here is too cheap to buy good booze, so I’m usually forced to drink the swill he serves. You two must be special because this is his good stuff.”
“And you’ll probably drink every last drop of it,” Jack said. “Indians aren’t supposed to be able to hold their liquor. Chief, here, could drink the three of us under the table.”
“What tribe are you from?” Bertram asked, ignoring Jack’s racial slur.
“He’s an Attakapas,” Jack said.
“Never heard of that tribe,” Bertram said.
“Because they aren’t around anymore. Chief, here, is the last of the Attakapas,” Jack said. “Good thing because they were cannibals.”
Seeing the looks Bertram and Eddie were casting, Chief said, “Jack has nothing to worry about. He’s so small, he wouldn’t even make a good snack.”
Jack continued stirring the oyster chowder. “He doesn’t mind eating my cooking and drinking my booze,” he said.
“You two must be good friends,” Eddie said.
“I got no choice,” Jack said. “He’s the only person living within twenty miles of here.”
Chief didn’t miss a beat. “Jack may serve cheap hooch, but he has one great dog.”
“Don’t mind him,” Jack said. “Chowder’s ready. Let’s eat.”
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Bertram said.
Jack began ladling up chowder into bowls and putting them on a heavy wooden table that occupied much of the lighthouse’s galley area. Eddie, Chief, and Bertram pulled up chairs, waiting for Jack to join them, which he did after topping up their mugs from the pitcher.
“Can’t enjoy a Navy meal without a mug of grog,” Jack said.
Bertram tasted the rum and smacked his lips. “Like I said, this is the best rum I ever tasted. What kind did you say it is?”
“Like I said, I don’t remember. Didn’t know I was going to have a rum connoisseur for dinner.”
“I’m a bartender,” Bertram said. “When it comes to alcohol, there ain’t much I don’t know.”
Eddie, a consummate former prosecutor, didn’t miss the looks of concern exchanged between Jack and Chief upon hearing Bertram’s reply.
“When I was still in the Navy, I picked up a couple of bottles of special reserve from a distillery in the Dominican Republic. Thought I’d try one out on you boys.”
“You had me going there for a while,” Bertram said. “As many years as I’ve owned a bar, you can believe me when I tell you I know the difference between cheap swill and good hooch.”
“I brought Bertram down to look at the place with me because of his expertise at running restaurants and bars,” Eddie said. “From the looks of things, I’m not going to need him.”
“Oh, and why is that?” Jack said.
“The restaurant is too big and too run down. Even if it weren’t, there aren’t enough customers around to fill even the smallest dining area.”
“Amen to that,” Bertram said.
Chief grabbed the bottle of rum from the galley counter and topped up Bertram’s mug.
“Looks as if you need more grog, Bert,” he said.
“Don’t want to drink all your fine rum,” Bertram said. “We have to drive back to New Orleans. Me, Eddie, and Lady wouldn’t want to wind up in a bar ditch.”
Jack opened the door a crack and peeked out. The storm had intensified, a gust of wind blowing water through the opening and dampening Jack’s flipflops.
“It’s raining so hard, you’ll have a problem seeing past the hood of your truck. This old lighthouse has four bedrooms. Enjoy the rum and chowder, and stay here for the night.”
“Wish we could,” Eddie said. “I’m meeting with Mr. Castellano tomorrow to either finalize plans for taking over the restaurant, or else telling him I’m not interested.”
“Then you better have some more of Jack’s grog,” Chief said, topping Eddie’s mug.
“Another bowl of chowder?” Jack asked.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Bertram said. “Can’t say as I’ve ever tasted better.”
“I hope you reconsider taking over the restaurant and marina. Mr. Castellano has a plan for renovating everything,” Jack said. “Lots of boats pass within a short distance of here. He wants to modernize the marina and draw in the boating customers.”
“Won’t that interfere with your solitude
?” Eddie asked.
“I’ll still have all I need up here on the hill.”
“Did Jack show you the bungalows?” Chief asked.
“We didn’t get that far,” Eddie said.
“They’re special,” Chief said. “Mr. Castellano plans to build more, both for rentals and weekend retreats. A successful development could easily add several thousand people to the local population.”
“You sound as if you work for Mr. Castellano,” Eddie said. “Do you?”
“Just an interested bystander,” Chief said.
After dinner, they returned to the living area. Jack glanced out the door again. Heavy rain continued to fall. The former sailor got on the ham radio and called for a weather report.
“There’ll be a break in the weather in about half an hour,” he said. “May as well relax until then.”
“Why are you so anxious for me to take over the restaurant and marina?” Eddie asked. “What’s in it for you?”
“Not a damn thing,” Jack said.
Eddie and Bertram relaxed on the couch, watching Jack and Chief play pinochle on an old coffee table. Bertram was tapping his toe on the wood floor and glancing at the cuckoo clock on the wall.
“Has the storm passed yet?” he asked. “If it has, then we need to get going.”
“The rain has slacked to just a trickle,” Jack said after peering out the door. “If you hurry, you’ll be almost home before it starts up again. And Bertram, I have a gift for you.”
Jack handed him a brown paper sack with something inside it. From its shape, Bertram could tell it was a liquor bottle.
“You’re giving me some of your rum?”
“I got more in back,” Jack said. “Enjoy.”
***
The rain had slackened, the road to New Orleans dark. Lady was asleep in the back, and Eddie had also dozed off. The lights of New Orleans were glimmering on the horizon when he awoke and blinked the sleep out of his eyes.
“Are we there yet?” Eddie asked.
“Almost,” Bertram said. “You had a good nap and missed most of the drive.”
“With everything going on in my life the past two days, I was beat. Sorry I didn’t help you stay awake. Can you drop me off at my place?”