“Aye,” Purdue said. “Something like that.”
“Ever find anything good doing that? I've always wondered if it's worth all of the effort that goes into it. Carrying around that equipment and walking all over the place sounds miserable to me.”
“I have had a few good finds, yes.” He could have told her all about Excalibur, the Holy Grail, or all of the other legendary artifacts that he found over the years, but it would feel wrong, knowing they had all been taken from him. It was too fresh of a wound. “But unfortunately ... I misplaced my box of trinkets and souvenirs.”
“That's a shame.”
He listened to her inflections closely; and to her tone. It was probably just paranoia but he found himself paying close attention to her responses. Sure, she sounded interested in what he had to say, but only in the polite way when you were trying to make conversation. Maybe if he prodded a little more, to push further to see if he could catch anything stranger than her politeness.
“It was, yes,” Purdue said, his ears already perking up in his headphones, waiting to see if what he said next triggered any warning signs. “It was a terrible house fire. I lost just about everything I owned. Felt like it was as all stolen from me.”
No sounds came through the headset and Fiona seemed to be sitting real still in front of him. Nervousness crept to the forefront of his thoughts and he tried quickly calculating how he could get out of this situation alive. He could try and take control of the plane and at least land it in the water so there would be a slightly better chance of survival. He could try reasoning with her or even begging her. His mind was racing with worried possibility.
Finally, her reply came through his headphones. “That's horrible. Nothing worse than something like that. My family went through that when I was just a wee babe. Took forever to pick ourselves up. We lost so much.”
There were no veiled threats or cryptic replies.
Purdue relaxed a little.
She continued, just as casually as she had the entire time. “So, you're hoping to find something real valuable in the Jamaican dirt to make up for your loss then? If you need money that bad, seems like a waste to have given me as much as you did just to get there. Why not have saved that up and found another way to recoup your losses?”
“Trust me,” Purdue said. “The amount of money I need to get my life straight is a hell of a lot more than what I gave you.”
“And you think you're going to find that kind of money in Jamaica?”
“I have it on very good authority that I can.” The vague etchings of a pirate map wasn't exactly good authority, but like most things, he was taking what he could get.
“Well that's good, at least. Maybe you will give me a ring to pick you up when you make all that money.”
Purdue chuckled. “Maybe.”
The rest of the flight was easygoing. They talked about all kinds of different things. Fiona went into a long rant about why she had become a pilot and why side jobs like this were the only way for to her make real money. They exchanged stories about their travels all over the world, and the pilot was remarkably well traveled for someone with such a small plane. She took this little engine everywhere. No wonder she was comfortable flying it to Jamaica on a whim.
Finally, she brought the plane down in a long clearing of grass, a far cry from the international runways that Purdue was accustomed to. Once the propellers slowed down enough that they could speak without the headsets on, Purdue climbed out and Fiona called after him.
“Don't you forget what I said,” Fiona said. “You find what you're looking for, I hope you'll give me a bit of spare change. I did fly you a hell of a long way.”
“I appreciate it,” Purdue said. “I'll keep that in mind if I'm feeling generous.”
“You be careful here,” Fiona called. “People talk about this island like it's changed a lot in recent years. Some new gang, from what I heard. Their leader is—”
“The Wharf Man,” Purdue said. “Yeah, I know. He's actually why I'm here.”
Fiona looked stunned by that fact, and stared at him with some unease now, like maybe he wasn't the same guy she had just flown over the ocean.
“Is your money worth getting in bed with that guy for? I've heard really, really bad things.”
Purdue waved her off and smiled. “Aye, it's well worth it I think.”
Fiona frowned. “I hope it's not worth dying for.”
Purdue smiled. “I guess we'll just have to find out.”
4
THE WHARF MAN
The Wharf Man was something of a legend in the ports of Jamaica. A business man. A crime boss. It all depended on who you asked but one thing that was well known and that everyone could agree on was that no ships left the island without the Wharf's Man permission. He had ships to provide and the sailors who had their own vessels had to pay him a toll or risk their ships inexplicably developing holes that would sink them to the ocean floor.
As such, if Purdue was going to acquire a ship and a crew to get to Admiral Ogden's treasure, he would need the Wharf Man's assistance, and he wasn't overly fond of being in a crime boss' debt. These days, though, Purdue had gotten used to stepping outside of his comfort zone. Desperation and starvation really opened up a whole world of new scenarios.
Purdue traveled to the country's capital, Kingston, where the Wharf Man was rumored to be based out of. Though he had heard conflicting whispers that he actually traveled all over the island and never stayed in one place long.
He knew that to find a man who was considered to be king of all of the ships in and out of the island, that a dock would be the best place to start his search. He came to the first pier he found, where a handful of men were loading up shipping containers. He approached them and as he did, they all looked at him sheepishly.
Secret crime lord or not, he figured it would be easiest and quickest to just be straightforward. “I'm looking for the Wharf Man. Can any of you lads help me out?”
“The Wharf Man?” The worker burst into a fit of laughter. “You're looking for the Wharf Man? No, no, no, no. No, You aren't. You don't want to find the Wharf Man.”
Purdue shrugged. “I really do.”
There was more hysterics, like Purdue was the funniest comedian on the face of the earth.
“Hey Nansi!” The worker called to another man lugging a crate across the pier. “Nansi, this man here wants to find the Wharf Man!”
Nansi nearly dropped the supplies thanks to his own fit of laughs. The reaction spread around the docking site until nearly a dozen men surrounded Purdue, all in on some great joke that went completely over his head.
Maybe the Wharf Man was more urban legend than reality. A mistake like that might warrant the mockery he was receiving. He doubted it, though. There were far too many stories about the Wharf Man for him to just be made up.
“Aye, I get it.” Purdue held out his arms to the whole pack of dock workers. “You are all truly hilarious bastards. The kings of comedy, really. All of you. But ... all the same, I'm still looking for the Wharf Man.”
“Oh, you can stop looking, my friend!” The man was bent over from laughing too hard. The smile he flashed was both amusing but also somehow threatening. “The Wharf Man will find you before you find him. I can promise you that.”
There was the sound of something behind him and Purdue suddenly couldn't see. There was nothing but darkness as something was pulled down over his head; a sack of some kind, maybe. He was dragged off of his feet by multiple hands. It felt like he was being dragged through darkness for hours.
Finally, the bag was ripped off of his head and the veil shrouding his view of the world was lifted—part of him wished he could put it back on. He didn't want to have to look at what was in front of him.
An enormous black man sat at a table in front of him. His massive size made the chair he was sitting on look tiny. He must have been over three hundred pounds. The suit he was wearing had to be tailor made for someone as wide as him. E
ven then, it looked ready to explode off of his body. He reminded Purdue of a rhinoceros in a three-piece suit.
“I take it you're the Wharf Man?”
“I am.” When the mountain of a man moved, his little chair rattled beneath him, looking ready to crumble under his overwhelming weight. “I take it you're the man who has been calling for me, hmm? The European man looking for trouble that does not concern him.”
“Aye, maybe, but I think the trouble I'm looking for does indeed concern me. In fact, I know it does since it might be the only way I get my life back.”
“Your life back?” The Wharf Man's small laugh boomed through the room. “You seem to have life in you right now, no? If you really want your life back, we can help you get rid of it.”
Purdue shook his head. “I'm good, thanks.”
“So, what happened to your life then? The one you want back bad enough to come bothering me, hmm?”
“Honestly...” Purdue decided to be just that: honest. “A covert secret society of megalomaniacs laid waste to my home and took everything important to me. That included ancient relics I've spent years collecting. That included my billions of pounds of money. Oh yeah, and some of my closest friends. My life, as you can probably imagine, is quite a bit different now. Different enough, that my old life is ... well, gone. That's where it went. I'm breathing still, sure, but this isn't the same life I had before. The one I want back.”
The Wharf Man's beady eyes looked at him hard and with some disbelief, but a smile slowly crossed his broad face. “Now that is a story! Secret societies and ancient relics. You are the man with the whip. Indiana Jones. That is you, then, hmm?”
There was some loud cackles from his goons and Purdue felt his hopes slipping away. He wasn't being taken seriously at all. Why should he be? Everything he had seen would be difficult for people to believe under normal circumstances. Now, with how he looked, he didn't have his professionalism to fall back on. He looked just as crazy as he felt on the inside.
“Billions, eh? That is a lot of money, my friend. A lot of money. You must have been a very big man but now you look so small. You telling me you lost billions? How does that happen? Please tell me. You toss it in the trash by mistake, hmm?”
“No,” Purdue said firmly. “No, they hacked into my bank accounts. They took every—”
“You had billions. Billions. Now you have nothing. That is a very sad ending to the story. Real sad. So, what then? You come here, looking for me to give you a loan, that right?”
His goons were giggling again, like they were paid to be a good audience for his horrible sense of humor. Come to think of it, they probably were paid to do that.
“Not a loan, no. More like help in finding more money than any of you have ever seen. The treasure hoard of Admiral Walton Ogden.”
“Admiral Ogden.” The Wharf Man said the name with quiet recognition. “The pirate.”
“Aye,” Purdue said. He was glad the Wharf Man already knew of him. It might make it easier to convince him to help. “They say the loot he accumulated would be worth millions these days. Given all of the ships his fleet raided, I believe it.”
The Wharf Man leaned forward and the chair creaked beneath him. The chair looked like it was using all of its strength to prop him up and support him.
The Wharf Man pointed a fat, stubby index finger at Purdue. “You keep talking about the past. The world's past. Your past. Who you were before you lost everything. Now you are talking about history. You cannot move forward, can you? You are so focused on the past that you can't even see your world here and now clearly, can you, Mr. Yesterday?”
Purdue stood his ground. “The past is important.”
“That's only what you tell yourself, Mr. Yesterday.”
“Look,” Purdue said, ignoring the new name he'd apparently been given. “I need a ship and a crew to help me find Ogden's treasure. They all say the only one who can get those things is the Wharf Man. So here I am, asking for your help. You want me to get down on my knees and beg, fine, I don't really give a shit if that's what it takes.”
The Wharf Man let out another booming chortle again. “You want to use one of my ships to go looking for buried treasure. That sounds like a bad investment to me. The chances of you finding this—”
“Are very high,” Purdue said confidently. “I have found things that are much harder to find than this. It's what I do. Trusting someone like me with this is far from a bad investment. Given my track record, it's almost a guaranteed success.”
“Your track record... what is it you said your name was again?”
Purdue hesitated. It was risky revealing his identity to a criminal like the Wharf Man. He could sell that information to the highest bidder of make it public just to see him squirm. He had the resources to use that name to horrible effect. But, if he was going to win the crime boss over, he would have to be a little more honest.
“My name is David Purdue.”
The Wharf Man stared at him, trying to place the name.
“Isn't he that rich Irish man that died some time back.”
“Scottish,” Purdue corrected. “And yes, that's me.”
“You do not look dead to me.” The Wharf Man said, but looked ready to hear some kind of explanation, mildly intrigued by the name.
“Like I said, my old life was stolen. I might as well be.”
The Wharf Man rubbed his bald head with his fat hand and then plopped it back on the table in front of him with a thud. All of the furniture he was touching looked ready to give way.
The size of the Wharf Man seemed to have its own gravitational force. He could attract followers like the thugs who followed his orders and he could destroy anything that got too close to him.
“And if I give you a ship ... and if I give you some of my men to be its crew, what then, hmm? What is in this for me?”
“A good portion of whatever we find out there. And if the stories are true, then a fraction of Admiral Ogden's treasure would be a fortune. This one job working with me would be more fruitful than any of the little projects you're running out of the docks. That's a promise.”
The Wharf Man let out a long breath and twiddled his fat thumbs like he was considering the offer very carefully. “And what would you consider a good portion, hmm?”
“Thirty percent of whatever we find sounds like a reasonable offer, aye?”
The Wharf Man laughed and his whole body rumbled with him. His cronies joined in uncertainly around him, seeming not sure if they should be partaking or not. “Mmm. Very generous. Tell me, what about if you find nothing or very little? My thirty percent would seem very small then, no?”
“If we don't find anything...” Purdue considered that option, and it filled him with sadness to think about. “Then we'll all have lost.”
The Wharf Man leaned forward. “Trust is important. I am sure you know this. I need to know that I can trust the people that come asking for favors. I need to know that they are good on their word and that they will not break a deal between us. Can I trust you, Mr. Yesterday?”
“Aye,” Purdue said. “You absolutely can. It's not like I have much of a choice these days.”
“Good.”
The Wharf Man moved with surprising speed for someone of his enormous size, pulling a small harpoon from under the table and slamming it down, wedging it between Purdue's index and middle fingers. It was a precise, calculated move and required an incredible amount of skill to find such a narrow opening and not touch Purdue's fingers. The Wharf Man didn't just have raw strength, he had good aim and alarming reflexes.
Purdue flinched but only slightly. Maybe he was trying to stay calm, or maybe his mind had barely registered what happened because of how quick it was. He hadn't expected a blade to be plunged between his fingers. Now that it was there, he tried to not seem phased. Fear wouldn't do him any good against someone like this.
The Wharf Man looked at him hard, waiting to see a glimmer of terror behind his eyes but Purdue wo
uldn't let that show. He'd been through much worse than what the Wharf Man was showing. A harpoon was nothing compared to being seconds away from burning alive, or so many other trials he had to face over his many adventures. He would have to try a lot harder if he wanted to truly intimidate him.
The Wharf Man sniffed the air loudly, like he was a bloodhound catching a scent. “Before I give you one of my ships, you need to clean yourself. You smell like shit.”
Purdue raised his arm and smelled underneath. Sure enough, he did absolutely reek. Being homeless really did hinder one's personal hygiene.
“Fair enough,” Purdue said with an embarrassed smile.
A couple of the Wharf Man's people led Purdue to a shower room and supplied him with a bag of soap, razors, shaving cream, and anything else to help make him presentable and less like a disheveled, dying skunk.
He turned the shower on, and as the water rained down on him, he felt a euphoric amount of bliss. All of the grime, dirt, and stench that had stained his skin since his house burned down was falling off, washed down the drain. He felt so much lighter, and far more like the old David Purdue. Although, he left the beard that was growing on his face. He preferred to have something shroud his face so he wasn't quite as easily recognized.
The shower didn't last as long as he would have liked. After the weeks he'd had, he could have rinsed off for hours, but the warm water turned cold rather quickly. He forgot how a shower gave you a good environment to think. The water tapped against his head, gently urging to plan, and to remember. The usual thoughts that had been plaguing him were still there. His house in ruin. His collection sealed away in some dark Black Sun vault somewhere. His friends laying in prison cells. But among all of his despair, the water seemed to wash something else into his brain: a little flicker of hope.
He was already on his way to recovery. The first steps had been taken. He had gotten the map back. He got out of Scotland unscathed. Outside of his stench, he was very close to convincing the Wharf Man to give him a ship and a crew.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 9 Page 22