The Island of the Skull

by Matthew John Costello

  To see…nothing.

  In Golden Gate Park he noticed the rows of boxes that back east they had started calling Hoovervilles, makeshift shelters for the down-and-completely-out.

  Something had to happen to save this country.

  All one had to do, Sam knew, was look at what was happening in Europe to get an even deeper sense of fear. Enough poverty, enough hunger, and enough desperation—and anything could happen.

  This country was too damn good to go that route.

  Could be the next election might bring the change needed.

  Sam sure the hell hoped so.

  He stopped at Woolworth’s and asked about a possible job, mumbling about the Navy. But his question there—and anywhere else he tried—brought a smirk, then a look in the manager’s eye’s that said…poor bastard.

  I’m not panicked yet, Sam thought. But could panic be that far away?

  No money, no job, that would be a new experience for a kid from Flatbush who had worked ever since he was twelve, from delivering the Eagle to training new divers.

  Already his time with the Navy seemed unreal.

  Did it happen, was I really a lieutenant in charge of training divers?

  He saw a small department store on Fremont—Murray’s.

  Kelly walked in and walked up to a young woman behind a perfume counter, her eyes expectant.

  Sales must be hard to come by….

  “Yes, sir, can I help you?”

  Sam smiled.

  “Could be. I was wondering if the manager was in?”

  The glow faded from the woman’s face.

  “The manager? He’s—” The woman turned, and pointed to a small room that overlooked the small department store. “—up there.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said.

  He saw a door in the back—no sign on it but it clearly led to the manager’s office. He opened it, and quickly trotted up the few flights of stairs.

  At the top of the landing, he saw another door, with the words STORE MANAGER on it.

  Sam knocked.

  “Yes, come in.”

  Sam opened the door. The man inside, pudgy, not much older than Sam but already with thinning hair and a face permanently scrunched up, looked up.

  “Can I help you?” the manager said with a decidedly suspicious look.

  “Could be. I just left the service, Navy, worked down at the harbor. So, I’m starting to look for a job as a civilian.”

  The manger stood up. At his full height, he was at least a foot shorter than Sam. Still that didn’t stop him from hurrying over and staring up, right at Sam’s face.

  “Did someone send you here?”

  “No, I just have been hoofing it, looking at places that might need—”

  “Need? Did someone tell you we need people?”

  “No. I just said—”

  “Let me tell you something, sailor. We have been firing people. I have half the people I had a year ago. And though they don’t know it, even they are in danger of getting canned. So—is this some kind of joke or something?”

  Panic. Sam could see it in the manager’s eyes.

  “Okay. I got it. Sorry.”

  Sam turned and started out of the office.

  “Hey, look. I’m sorry,” the small man said. “Things are bad. You served your country. There should be a job, lots of jobs for you guys to pick from. But I got to tell you, you’re not going to find anything here.”

  Sam looked back.

  “Here?”

  “San Francisco. The city. Maybe any city. You know, you might try getting out to the valley. They sometimes hire seasonal workers for the farm. Not a lot of money. But it’s something. Something, you know?”

  “Right. Better than nothing?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sam smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”

  Then he turned and walked out.

  Bad days, Sam thought. And for a moment he wished he could be almost anywhere else.

  Sam Kelly entered the Turk Street Hotel, a fleabag dump even for the Tenderloin—his home for now.

  He walked up to the desk clerk. The guy, with sunken, haunted eyes, looked like a perfect target for his question.

  “Say, pal, I was wondering…”

  The guy looked up, and Sam saw that he was studying a racing form. Probably sank whatever lousy pay he got for this job straight into the ponies. And that didn’t seem to be going too well.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, see I just left the Navy….”

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed. He probably heard every hard-luck, looking-for-a-job story. Probably constantly had people trying to stretch their room rent, which was already ridiculously low.

  “I’m looking for a place to get a drink. Nothing fancy, just a few bats and balls, hm?”

  The clerk grinned.

  This at least was no problem.

  “Sure. Not far from here actually, a joint on Sutter, near the hospital. I’ll write the number down, and just tell them Joey sent you.”

  “You Joey?”

  The clerk shook his head.

  “No. That’s just what you say.”

  Sam grinned. “Good. I’ll remember that. Joey.”

  “Right. Good booze, good people.”

  “All I need right now is the booze.”

  “Right.” The clerk handed Sam the piece of paper with the building number. “It’s downstairs. Cops know about it. No one really cares anymore.”

  “I’m sure,” Sam said.

  He took the slip of paper…thought about grabbing a nap in his dingy room.

  But right now hitting a speakeasy seemed like about the best idea he had all day.

  Sam sat on the stool.

  The joint was set up like a normal bar, with rows of bootleg hooch with familiar labels on the wall, tables scattered on the floor. Off to the corner there looked like there was a spot for a band. Could be the place got a bit jazzy on a Saturday night.

  Of course, this was a late afternoon, in the middle of the week.

  Still, Sam wasn’t alone. A few other reprobates sat around at the other end of the bar doing a fine job of kicking down a “ball”—a shot of whiskey—followed by a foamy “bat,” a small tumbler of beer.

  A couple sat at a table, with all the earmarks of an illicit romantic meeting, sitting close, whispering, Sam catching the occasional kiss.

  Been a while since I’ve been there too, Sam thought.

  He had a girl back in Flatbush, but that fell apart when he went into the Navy. Since then…a few dates, and one strange encounter last New Year’s Eve that he’d sooner forget.

  Can be scary waking up the next day and seeing exactly what you spent the night with….

  But girls—that was a part of life he wanted to somehow get going too.

  A job. A real place to live. A girlfriend.

  A life.

  Sounded damned difficult, maybe impossible.

  “Another?” the bartender asked.

  “Sure,” Sam answered.

  And it wouldn’t be long before Prohibition ended, he thought. A great experiment gone wrong. Take something humans have been doing for thousands of years and make it illegal.

  Let the crime bosses step in and make a killing.

  Every beer, every shot, every bottle of booze making them wealthier and more powerful.

  After the election, Sam guessed that would all change. That and hopefully everything else.

  The bartender put down the beer and a shot.

  Sam reached for his wallet.

  “Paid for, pal.”

  Sam looked up. “What, what do you mean?”

  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Drinks on me, Lieutenant.”

  Sam turned around to see the goofily grinning face of Tommy Hautala.

  Tommy looked up at the bartender. “And the same for me. I gotta talk to my old teacher here.”

  Sam laughed and shook his head, as Tommy took the stool next to him.

&nb
sp; “So finding you wasn’t hard. You mentioned the Turk Street Hotel. And the clerk told me you were looking for a watering hole.”

  “And a watering hole I found. By the way, you sure you have enough greenbacks to be buying me a drink?”

  Tommy grinned. “For the man that saved my life? Absolutely. But I also consider it an investment. In my future. In our future.”

  Sam kicked back the whiskey, enjoying the quick burn.

  “Our future? Do tell. I thought our future ended when we left the base with nothing but our duffel bags.”

  Tommy waved a finger at Sam. “See, sir, that’s where you’re—”

  “And you can stop calling me ‘sir.’ It’s just Sam now, okay?”

  “Yes, s…Sam. But as I said, that’s where you’re wrong. I have found us a great opportunity.”

  Sam laughed. “There’s that word again. Us. Maybe you just better spill the beans and tell me what you’re up to, all right?”

  The bartender slid down to their end. “Another round?”

  Sam waved him away. “We’re okay now, thanks.” The bartender moved away. “I want to keep my wits while you tell us about ‘our’ future.”

  “So as soon as I left the base, I went down to the wharf. And you know the fishing boats, they’re all busy but they don’t need nobody. But down there, guess what I found?”

  Sam took a sip of beer.

  “I’m clueless.”

  “A dive ship, Lieutenant—I mean Sam.”

  “A dive ship. Salvage and recovery?”

  “No. That’s the great part. It’s not one of those ships trolling for a wreck and whatever garbage they bring up.”

  “Then what was she?”

  Hautala leaned close, scanning the room as if he was about to reveal a secret that could change history.

  “She was a…pearl ship.”

  Sam took a breath. “A pearl ship? What is she doing here?”

  “Had to come to Frisco for some work on her engine. But some of their divers got into trouble. Something with the cops, I think. They’re due to set sail.”

  “So…you got a job? Diving for pearls?”

  Hautala’s grin widened. “No, not just me. The two of us.”

  “Really?”

  The kid wasn’t much good at stretching the truth. Sam smelled something funny and kept his eyes locked on Tommy. The kid sensed the scrutiny, and pushed his shiny blond hair off his forehead.

  “Yeah, they could use the two of us.”

  “That so? That’s how it all happened?”

  The kid rolled his eyes. “Well. To be honest…Sam. No. They asked me about my training, how much deep ocean diving, all that stuff. I was about to lose the job. But then I mentioned you. How we worked together.”

  “Oh, is that what it was? We worked together?”

  “Okay. You were my teacher. But they wanted us both. Actually…they would only take me with you.”

  “Pearl diving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never did that. Not sure—”

  “They just need trained deep divers, Sam. They have one other, so there’s a team of three, working together. The captain, a Portuguese guy, said, ‘It’s a no worry…train you both…’ ”

  “That what he sounded like?”

  Tommy laughed.

  “Whatcha think, Sam?”

  Sam looked at the kid. Not like there were a lot of opportunities on the table. Not a lot at all.

  And it was diving—what he knew so well.

  “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to go talk to the captain.”

  Tommy slapped Sam’s back, then acted as if that had been too much an act of familiarity. Sam grabbed his beer and downed it.

  “Tomorrow morning okay?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, they don’t sail till the next day, at best.”

  “Good. Tomorrow then. You can meet me at the hotel.”

  Tommy looked down at the bar floor. “That’s the other thing, um, Sam.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t have a place to stay, so I was wondering if I could—”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Sure. You got it. The floor is yours.”

  “Great.”

  Sam stood up. He wasn’t ever a heavy drinker, and the bats and balls were taking their toll.

  “One question, Tommy.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Where is the ship going? Where exactly will these deep dives for pearls take place?”

  “That’s the best part! It will be sailing to the Indian Ocean, off Sumatra. It’s going to be incredible.”

  “If you say so, kiddo, if you say so. Never been anywhere near that part of the world myself. Or you either, I imagine, hm? Now, let’s find someplace where we can get a really cheap meal.”

  And Sam led the way out of the dingy speakeasy.

  19

  Atlantic City, New Jersey

  ANN SHUT THE DOOR OF the diving bell. She wore a forest green skirt and matching blazer, all provided by the pier. The blazer sported a patch that read “The World-Famous Steel Pier…” Then, in bigger letters, “Diving Bell.”

  She pressed the latch down—like an elevator, the bell wouldn’t move unless the latch was completely locked into place. Onlookers behind her watched the process, awaiting their turn for a great adventure under the sea.

  She went over to the microphone and picked up the script, just as she had done all morning.

  “Ladies and gentleman, the world-famous Steel Pier Diving Bell has been locked and you are about to undertake the underwater adventure of a lifetime. Sit forward, close to the portholes, as we take you under the ocean, to the bottom of the sea…”

  That is, she thought, if you could consider a mere thirty feet or so the bottom of the sea. Still, the people, a collection of young families, seemed more than excited stepping into the bell. It was a great adventure for them, and Ann’s performance was an important part of it.

  “I am now beginning to lower the diving bell down. You will pass below the great timbers that support the Steel Pier, timbers that resist fierce ocean waves and even hurricanes.”

  A gauge on the wall told her the depth of the bell. And as soon as the portholes began to hit water, she continued…

  “You are now entering a world unknown to most people, the world of the deep sea. Air compressors on the pier will keep a steady supply of fresh air being pumped into the diving bell.”

  She took another look at the gauge.

  “You will notice that the deeper we go, the less light there is. And as we descend, color also fades as you enter the mysterious world of the ocean. Keep your eyes open for any signs of life. Fish such as flounder and bluefish are often seen.”

  In truth, Ann guessed all they would see would be the swirl of silt in the churning sea. Had anyone ever seen a fish come up to a porthole?

  Another glance at the gauge, and she stopped the bell. Nadler said that even if she did nothing, like an elevator, the bell would come to rest. But she felt more in control stopping it herself.

  That, and she felt as if these people’s lives were in her hands. For the few minutes they were down there, she controlled their fate.

  It was an empowering feeling she had never had before.

  “You have now reached the bottom of the sea.”

  Though again, the bell rested on a bumper a foot above the ocean floor.

  “The Atlantic Ocean off this coast can vary in temperature from thirty-five degrees to seventy degrees Fahrenheit, depending on the season. Right now the water temperature outside is sixty-five. The currents that hug the coast of Atlantic City can run all the way up to the state of Maine, and beyond. And don’t forget—keep your eyes peeled on the porthole…you never know what you may see.”

  Now Ann looked at a timer, a clock that told her when to bring the diving bell up. This was the fun part, for the riders at least. The bell came up fast, rocketing to the surface—a surprise that sent them out laughing and excited, a good ad for the next b
atch of aquanauts.

  “We are prepared to bring you back to the safety of the surface. So hold on as the diving bell brings you up from the ocean floor.”

  She hit a button, and the bell raced to the surface now. People on the pier could look down and see the dome of the bell break the surface, shooting out a giant foamy circular wave.

  Then the bell came up the rest of the way slowly until the huge cylinder, still with water streaming off it, locked into place, level with the boardwalk.

  She walked over and unlocked the door, something that could be done only from the outside.

  “Have a good trip?” she said, as she was instructed to do for each group.

  And out they streamed, talking among themselves, still giddy from rocketing to the surface. Ann waited until the bell was empty, then went over and undid the chain holding back the next group of underwater explorers.

  She took their tickets, and they streamed in.

  And as they did, Ann looked up at a big clock hanging in the hall of the pier. Three more hours until she was done for the day.

  Her first day, and already she was watching the clock.

  But it was better than being hungry.

  Better than being on the street.

  And she told herself: It’s only temporary. Something else will happen, something else will come up.

  It had to….

  Ann entered the apartment and saw Ellie, in the kitchen, feet stretched out on a chair.

  “Hi, Annie—how was your first day?”

  Ann smiled. “It was okay. Nothing went wrong at least, the people were nice…”

  “And? That’s all?”

  “It’s a little boring. Don’t know how I can do it six days a week, all day. I’ll probably go mad.”

  “Welcome to the club. Here, have a little hooch. Keeps the madness away.”

  Ellie took a glass and poured some of the clear liquor.

  “Maybe I better eat something first. I barely had anything to—”

  “Drink. Come on, I don’t like to drink alone. And with Susan still…away, you’re my new pal.”

  Ann smiled and sat down on a kitchen chair.

  “Feels good just to sit down.”

  “Yes, kiddo—that’s for sure. So, guys make any passes?”