Tampa Star (Blackfox Chronicles Book 1)

by T. S. O'Neil

  Char thought what the heck, a free meal and booze at a four star resort would suit him just fine and he figured Carla would welcome the invitation as, aside from going out for an occasional dinner of pizza or fish, most of their time together was spent on Carla’s overstuffed mattress.

  The following evening Char left his trailer dressed in khaki colored chinos, a white shirt, a blue and gold naval academy tie that the commodore had lent him, and an unremarkable light blue sports jacket. He approached the office and at first did not recognize the elegant figure standing outside smoking. Carla was dressed in a white gown that clung to her voluptuous figure like wet tissue paper, while also offering a plunging view of her tanned and firm breasts. She wore a shear bra under the gown and still her large silver dollar sized nipple

  was slightly noticeable. Around her neck she wore a simple strand of white pearls.

  “You’re late” she said, while stepping on the cigarette butt. Char embraced her and kissed her deeply while sliding a hand along the curve of her ass.

  “You look beautiful, my darling,” was all he all he could think to say.

  Carla insisted that they take her 1959 Silver Karmann-Ghia, the poor man’s Porsche, she explained.

  “Another gift from the husband?”

  “Ex-husband,” she corrected. “He liked to take care of me.”

  And who could blame him, thought Char.

  They arrived at the valet station and headed for the patio, where the hotels marquee seafood restaurant, the Don Carlo Grille, was located. The restaurant was simple elegance—little more than a two dozen large circular wooden tables covered with plain white cotton tablecloths on which was laid out bone china place settings and silver cutlery. In front of the tables was a small dance floor facing a shell shaped stage on which a three piece ensemble quietly play an obscure instrumental number.

  A crowd of a hundred or more well-dressed guests milled about on the dance floor as waiters circulated with drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Most of the ladies wore slinky dresses and small hats, while the gentlemen favored white dinner jackets. Char felt conspicuously out of place in his simple jacket and tie, but having the sexy Carla on his arm seemed to somehow compensate.

  “Hey Char,” someone called out. Tommy stood against a mobile bar, set up along the beach wall, a drink in one hand and cigarette in the other.

  Here we go, thought Char. Tommy was already well lubricated—but not yet drunk. He was drinking bourbon—the bar had a ready supply of Basil Hayden, a high end brand that Tommy favored—when he could afford it. Char talked to him for a few minutes, while Carla excused herself and slipped away. She was no fan of the mechanic, especially when he was drinking. They had both attended several barbeques at Char’s trailer and Tommy normally ended the evening so drunk he would pass out on Char’s couch.

  Char ordered a Budweiser from an over officious bartender in a tight white jacket and black bow tie. It was delivered in a tall v-shaped Pilsner glass, accompanied by a ramekin filled with warm

  mixed nuts. Char slapped a dollar on the bar, retrieved the glass and took a sip. It was then that he noticed the glass was embossed with the name Star of Tampa, accompanied by a five point star. This guy doesn’t miss a trick.

  A short time later, an announcement was made that dinner would be served. Tommy sat on Char’s left and Carla on his right. Char felt like a referee. After putting in a day at the boatyard, helping Tommy pull an engine so it could be rebuilt, Char was ravenous and the food was abundant and sumptuous—lobster bisque and Cesar salad followed by a main course of baked spiny lobster tail and medallions of beef with au gratin potatoes. As a desert of chocolate mousse was served, a tall tan and silver haired man walked up on the stage. Char took him to be a few inches more than six feet and probably in his early fifties, but the way he strode up the stairs to the stage belied a much younger man.

  “Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen, he began. Now that you have had your dinner, the time is at hand to pay the piper.”

  The crowd emitted a low chuckle. Char picked up the accent and nodded. The Aussie had finally made an appearance.

  “I am Simon Block and I would like to discuss the launch of a dream of mine. The dream of simple elegance, of entertainment in luxurious surroundings and cuisine that we hope will be better than what you consumed this evening. Invest in my project and reap a twenty percent return on investment, free room and board when we sail and a stake at our gambling tables.”

  The crowd applauded politely but, it was mostly static to Char—he had no money to invest and figured that the only thing he needed to do to pay for dinner was introduce himself to the guy and usher Tommy out of the hotel while he was still mobile.

  At the conclusion of Block’s speech, two waiters came forward carrying a table on which sat a large lump covered by a tablecloth.

  “Forgive the theatrics, but I thought this moment required an unveiling,” he said as he hopped off of the stage and grabbed the edge of the tablecloth as one of the waiters did the same, unveiling a five foot long model of a ship.

  “Allow me to present the Star of Tampa!” he said with a flourish of his right arm in the direction of the model. At Simon’s urging the crowd got up and slowly approached the model as he went

  on to describe the modifications that had made to the once ocean going ferry.

  Carla got up and joined them and Char reluctantly did the same. Tommy remained at the table—content to sit and drink a glass filled to the top with high-end bourbon.

  Block finished his presentation with a plea not to leave until he had a chance to “thank each and every one of you for gracing me with your presence.” Char took this to mean give him a chance to sink the hook a little further.

  Block arrived at the table a short time later and introduced himself. Char introduced Carla and himself, stating that the Commodore had sent him as his personal representative. Block nodded in recognition, but barely glanced at him—preferring instead to look right into Carla’s eyes while smiling and almost imperceptivity taking a downward glance into the recesses of her cleavage. Carla smiled broadly in return.

  “Mind if I join you for a drink?” Char nodded slightly and Block sat down at the table. A waiter quickly approached. “Champagne, the Grand Cuvée Krug ‘47 if you have it, the ‘61 will do if you don’t,” he ordered.

  Block smiled at Carla. “Krug is actually the single greatest champagne in the world, well known for its pronounced aromas of gingerbread and tropical fruit that develop into a complex yeasty bouquet of near infinite complexity.” She smiled and Char looked at Tommy, who rolled his eyes.

  Block inquired about the Commodore, shared a short anecdote with everyone about the crazy Yanks that were stationed in Sydney during the war and Char responded with his own tale of taking R & R leave in Sydney during his own war in Viet Nam. He spared them the details about his female conquests while on leave, both because Carla was present but also because he felt that Block was the kind of guy who would not find such behavior to be either shocking or particularly noteworthy.

  The waiter arrived with the champagne and he poured them all drinks in crystal flutes.

  “What should we toast to?” asked Block.

  “To the success of the Star of Tampa,” offered Carla.

  “From one star to another,” said Block with a broad smile as he clinked her flute with his own.

  They sipped their drinks and Block sighed, “Ah, that’s bottler, that is!” He smiled, took out a pack of Peter Jackson cigarettes and offered them around.

  “Bloody fags are better in America, he explained, but I’ve been smoking these since I was thirteen and can’t seem to quit the habit.”

  Block produced a gold antique lighter, ignited the butt, and inhaled deeply.

  “Ah, it’s aces to finally sit down! I’m knackered—this fundraising isn’t my cup of tea, but I have to ask you, he said, looking pointedly at Char. What’s your boss think about investing in my venture?”

  Char was a
s diplomatic as his background allowed him to be and spoke the line that he and his boss had developed.

  “The Commodore says it presents an exciting, but he would be interested in seeing how you do over the long term before he is willing to consider investing.”

  Block persisted, “Fair enough, but I just need another half million to finish the refurbishment and anyone investing with me before we launch, gets in on the bleeding ground floor and is sure to garner a huge pay day!”

  Char smiled in satisfaction, but not recognition, figuring that since he had delivered the boss’s message, the meal was paid for.

  Block looked at Char with a slight smile and said, “Listen yank, I like you, you’re a no bullshit type of guy and so is Kip. Tell you what; I have got one million dollars in gold specie that I am going to put on display in the casino that will be guarantee of the ability of the casino to pay any wager.”

  At that moment, Char looked over and noticed Tommy ever so slightly perk up and pay attention.

  “That’s right, Block continued. One million dollars in gold that will be on display as of the first night we take the ship out for a shakeout cruise— which should be within the month. That is, if I can line up just a few more investors to insure that I can indeed pay for any gambling loss.”

  “So, if you have one million in gold,” said Char, “what the hell do you need other investments for?”

  Block looked at the quizzical expression on Char’s face and answered. “Because yank, it’s just on loan, I can’t be giving that away.”

  Block left a short time later, but not before giving a business card to all three of them—Char figured that provided the cover Block needed to better insure that he might see Carla again.

  Chapter 7 - Fishing Trip

  “The Commodore told me to take the banker’s boat out for a run this Saturday.” It was Friday—Char sat at the picnic table in back of the showroom that served as the official outdoor lunch and after work beer drinking area. He had just finished his lunch and was fishing out a smoke when Tommy appeared.

  The banker was a New Yorker who spent winters in St. Pete living on his sixty foot ‘71 Hatteras. He wanted the boat ready to go at all times, so Tommy regularly took it out and invited friends, sometimes strippers from joints off Route 19 if he had extra coin, as they never offered their company for free, regardless of the surroundings.

  “Aye, tis a beautiful boat the Hatteras is!” Opined Char in a mock Irish accent.

  “Aye ‘tis, indeed” agreed Tommy. The two had taken the boat out several times before and always had good time fishing, cooking out, and drinking beer until close to sundown. Then they would rev those twin diesels and power up as soon as they cleared John’s Pass.

  The Hatteras was built for sport fishing, but it was a plush boat nonetheless; she had a teak paneled salon, a dinette area that could accommodate six directly across from the galley, an under counter refrigerator , a four-burner cooktop, convection oven, and even a garbage disposal. She also sported three staterooms—each with their own head and shower. The boat could sleep 6 comfortably and Char figured that they could stay out overnight given a good enough reason. It presented an opportunity for Char to get a little closer to Carla. Tommy said he would clear it with the Commodore by claiming he needed to check out the running lights and navigation system or some such bullshit—rumor had it the Commodore used to get around.

  Tommy had been seeing a stripper with the stage name of Aquarius, from a club in Clearwater. Her real name was Gladys, so he was comfortable calling her Aquarius. They hoped that Carla would be comfortable rubbing shoulders with her, but figured as long as they were fed plenty of food and drink, the situation would figure itself out.

  That afternoon they stopped by the La Petite Grocery, the Quebecer’s market in the corner of one of the out building in the yacht brokerage and loaded up on groceries, several bottles of good French wine, a bottle of Jack Daniels, cheese, bread, sausages, eggs, and four frozen beef filets that were flown in from Montana. Char added some potatoes to that and a few ears of corn that Filipe had gotten that morning at the Farmer’s Market in Dunedin. If they had any luck, they would be able to add some lobster tails to the feast, as Char was bringing his scuba equipment along.

  Later, they topped off the tanks, climbed aboard and drank beer in the main salon. Aquarius was working until eleven p.m. and Carla would not be free until the morning. This provided Tommy the time he needed to discuss his proposal with Char in private. Char sat down in the rich leather club chairs in the main saloon. Tommy handed him another cold can of Bud and remained standing.

  “Okay, Tommy, what’s on your mind?”

  “Come on, man, you know what’s on my mind, and it’s on your mind too. That ship will have a million dollars in gold on it and we can take it,” said Tommy.

  “Many a slip between the cup and the lip, “said Char.

  “Huh?”

  “Easier said than done,” he replied.

  Well, at least he didn’t say he wasn’t interested. In the end though, he wasn’t.

  “Look Tommy, right now, I am a relatively happy man—got a job, a house, a girl and last but not least, a pick-up truck. That’s all I need for the time being, then as an afterthought, he added. If any of that changes, I’ll consider it.”

  In frustration, Tommy opened the Jack Daniels and poured them both a strong one.

  “Man, with a million bucks to split we could live the rest of our lives on a boat like this.”

  “We would have to, replied Char. Do you think that there would be anyplace else we could hide after stealing gold from a guy like Simon Block?”

  They went on drinking but Char would not be moved. He was happy earning two bucks an hour working as a gofer, thought Tommy.

  The following morning the girls arrived and they took the boat out to Egmont Key, one of the locations of old coastal artillery batteries that once guarded the entrance to Tampa Bay.

  They dropped anchor in fifty feet of water off the leeward side of the key and Char jumped in with his Scuba gear in search of crustaceans. He was lucky—he returned in forty minutes with half a dozen lobsters for an evening feast. Tommy fished off the back of the boat and caught two sea bass that Carla fried up for lunch.

  In the afternoon, Carla and Char took the dingy over to the beach on Egmont and walked along the shore. It was idyllic in the late afternoon sun, the tide was starting to come in and the air was filled with sea birds flying back and forth along the shoreline, searching for food. They embraced and Char kissed her deeply. He felt that he loved her and that she could make him complete.

  Other than their presence, the island was otherwise deserted. He led her behind a dune, spread out a blanket, and began to undress her. Carla feigned surprise and vainly tried to dissuade him, but soon surrendered to her passion and joined him in hurried and powerful sexual congress.

  Afterward, they reclined on the sand exhausted. Char pulled out a couple of cigarettes and lit them, handing one to Carla. He was relaxed, happy, and tired. He stared dreamily up at the sky and sighed.

  “Ever think about us, Carla?”

  “About us, Char? What about us?”

  “You know, the future, getting serious, maybe?”

  “Listen sweetheart,” she replied. “I like you and we have a good time together, but I’m not looking to get serious with someone anytime soon.” What she left unsaid was that she had no intention of ever getting serious with someone she would have to build from scratch again. Her last husband was a nobody when they met; a junior counsel in a large family run firm.

  She molded him into a new man and that allowed him to succeed. She got him to lose weight and get his hair cut by a stylist, rather than a buck fifty barber. She picked out his suits and even helped him pick out a car that reflected the persona he wanted to project—a Triumph TR2, the first sports car ever produced. The car was all power and sleekness.

  He became general counsel for the Myers Corporation and start
ed nailing his secretary. It was a cold betrayal and it signaled to Carla that it was time to cash out. She got the mobile home park and a car, not exactly the plums she was looking for, but alimony because of his infidelity amounted to a few dollars more.

  She would not make the same mistake a second time. This time she intended to marry someone who was already there—and if and when it came time to cash out, she would have all her ducks in order.

  She smiled and Char looked at her.

  What are you thinking about baby?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing dear, don’t you think we should be getting back? I don’t want Tommy and his stripper to take off on us.”

  Chapter 8 - Family Reunion

  Tommy had chosen a nondescript dive bar he knew of on Central Avenue near downtown St. Pete. It was a dusty, poorly lite place full of cracked linoleum tables and faux leather booths, half filled with daytime drinkers—it was the perfect place for an ex-con to meet a felon on the run.

  Tommy took a seat facing the entrance in one of the old wooden booths that lined the wall and waited. Jimmy had been standing at the bar, long hair and a beard making him unrecognizable from afar. He approached Tommy, who sat transfixed on the entranceway.

  “Hello, little brother” said Jimmy, causing Tommy to jump—technically, they were cousins, but Tommy Finnegan and Jimmy O’Brien were closer than most brothers.

  He knew the unmistakable raspy voice, the result of smoking non-filtered cigarettes since the age of twelve, and he had still been startled.