“We are only making sure the vehicles are secure. We work for the ferry service.”
“Is that the best you could come up with? Now, get over here and take your lesson like a man.” I picked up the unconscious man and held him in front of me. Would his buddy still be willing to use the knife?
All six foot three and two hundred pounds’ worth rounded the corner of my car, with the fourth man, probably no more than eighteen years old and a hundred and thirty pounds, right behind him.
Both were right-handed. I lifted and shoved the body toward the big man’s right side, blocking his vision for a moment. He did not let his knife go as the unconscious “friend” fell into him. The big man shoved his so-called friend away with his left hand.
I was already well into a roundhouse kick headed straight for the scumbag’s ‘nads. As my thug shield fell to the side, my heel, with all the power of a full-body turn, impacted the big man square in the choice bits, sending him staggering back until he fell over.
The slight man’s hand shook as he brandished his knife at me.
“Put it away and help your friends. Get them away from me while you think about your life decisions. You can never win in this business. You will always find someone bigger, tougher, faster. If all you want to do is bully the weak, this is what happens, or worse, you get yourselves killed. People who have been picked on their whole lives have a tendency to get fed up.”
“You got bullied?” he asked as he put his knife away, keeping his distance.
“No. I went in the Marine Corps before toads like these could give me any crap. The difference this morning? They were fighting to be pricks. I was fighting to win. Help these mouth-breathers out of here before Security comes. The last thing you want is to get your asses kicked and thrown in jail.”
“What’s your name, mister?”
“You haven’t earned the right to know my name. Now get out.”
He picked the first man down to help. Groggy, with a face that was a bloody mess, the two staggered to the elevator. The slight man hurried back to help the second one down. He was still out cold. The smaller man struggled to get him to the elevator.
I bent down and picked up the big man’s knife. “If I see you again, I’ll bury this thing in your throat.” I waved the knife in front of his face. He groaned instead of talking. I couldn’t tell if it was an apology or a threat. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and cut the belt on his saggy jeans. If he wanted to fight anyone else, he’d have to do it with one hand holding his pants up.
The youngest member of their gang returned to help the big man up. He remained mostly doubled over. Together they worked their way to the elevator.
I called after them, “You might want to put some ice on that.” Big and Dumb groaned again. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. It seemed appropriate. I’d be long gone by the time those knuckleheads had their wits about them. The young man looked at me while he waited for the slow elevator. “You want to be tough, join the Corps. Don’t beat up the weak. That’s for candy asses like those three.”
The elevator arrived and he bundled the others inside, jamming the button and watching me until the doors closed. If the message had gotten through, that was one less thug on the street. Three or four if I had made an impact on their lives.
I chuckled at my own joke before unlocking my car and getting in. I adjusted the mirrors to watch the elevators and stairs in case they recovered enough and got a wild hair. None of them had firearms, and they only had two knives left. I had the other two, a nice four-inch lockback Schrade, a Hunter. The other looked like a butterfly knife purchased in an Asian souvenir market. I wedged it against the floorboard and stomped on it to break the blade.
I folded the Schrade and pocketed it. It was a nice piece of gear, a prize won in battle. I’d wipe it down and ditch it when this op was over, just like everything else. It was all expendable. The value of things was greatest when they did not link me to Seattle.
Cameras had probably recorded the scuffle, but it was dark in the lower car deck. The images would be grainy and indistinct. My license plate would be irrelevant because there was nothing connecting me to the car. It was still in the previous owner’s name.
It wasn’t long before the Wenatchee slid into the receiving pier. The ramp dropped, and we drove off in reverse order. The Tripplethorns were the first ones ashore and long gone by the time my turn rolled around.
I didn’t see the four amigos again. Good for them. Better for me.
Bullies. Put in their place, forcing them to believe a life of crime would take them nowhere except to Painsville.
The bottom ramp opened, and I drove off the ship at the front of a parade of weekenders visiting the island.
I turned left once onshore to find Wyatt Way, which turned into Eagle Harbor Drive. It looped around the western end of Eagle Harbor to return to the Puget Sound side for the best view of Euripedes’ Ion . Private property kept me from a position at the end of the dock. I drove past and parked in Pritchard Park, then strolled past the Japanese Internment Memorial and onto the beach.
Driftwood cluttered the area. The weather was pleasant, with a modest breeze. Cool, but it wasn’t raining.
I sat on a stump that had washed ashore and looked over the harbor. I couldn’t see the red Escape but knew it had to be close because the family of four neared the end of the dock. An older man waved from the boat, and the kids started to run.
CHAPTER NINE
“'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.” William Shakespeare
Euripedes’ Ion towered over the dock, making the other boats berthed in Eagle Harbor look small and insignificant. Jimmy and Tricia watched the children run to their grandfather. They launched up the gangplank leading to the aft deck, where he greeted them warmly, as a grandfather should.
A much younger woman waved from behind the elder Barrows. The second wife. The first lived in Cyprus, thanks to a generous payout from the divorce. I wondered how much of each parent the Wonderbeast had inherited and which one she embraced more. Was Jimmy a payback for her father replacing her mother with a younger woman?
I suspected if Jimmy left her, he’d get nothing. A prenuptial agreement. So why the hit? A divorce would make her look like a toad while his star continued to rise. If he was gone, she could probably ride the wave to being mayor but would be stopped there.
None of it made sense. It made me question whether she was the one who had paid for the hit. I might have been hasty. Still, there was something going on with her. A secret.
Dirt.
I used my phone to zoom in on the Ion . From my seat, I had to look through the random boats tied up at the Bainbridge Marina. A couple walked out on the dock and looked into the water before strolling back to land.
I took the opportunity to go where they had gone, taking advantage of public access. Once on the dock, surrounded by a ragtag fleet of private vessels, both powered and sailing, I looked into the water at regular intervals as if watching for sea life.
At the end of the dock, I was a hundred feet from the Barrows and Tripplethorn families. The rear deck was open toward me, with the family lounging. Smoke belched from the funnel before settling down.
The Barrows’ yacht was heading out to sea.
I sat down on the end of the dock, removed my dress shoes and socks, and rolled up my pants legs. I dangled my feet in the water, acting as if I didn’t have a care in the world. I pulled my 12th Man ballcap down to shade my eyes and prevent Jimmy from recognizing me. I wore my sports coat and a button-down shirt. A businessman taking a break from the rigors of the daily grind.
Even though it was Saturday morning. I could have gone with more casual. An old seadog walked down the dock toward me, carrying two fishing poles and a bait box. He tossed his stuff into an aging cabin cruiser before heading my way.
“You lost, sonny?”
“Wondering what it would be like to leave office life behind to spend more time on
the ocean.”
“A fool’s life, that’s what!” He raspily laughed himself into a coughing fit. I had no idea what his point was. “I used to be like you, working in an office. Retired early and bought this luxury yacht.”
I glanced at the old nag. He had to be pulling my leg.
“She was something once, but everything gets more expensive, and the money doesn’t go as far as you’d like. I’m getting by. I’ll eat what I catch. I could use a spare pair of hands if you want to see what it’s like. I’m not going out very far. This ol’ tug doesn’t make the long trips anymore.”
I was torn, but I wanted to see what the Ion was going to do. Jimmy’s schedule said it was a day outing. The Tripplethorns had not brought extra clothes or backpacks to suggest an overnight.
“I have to be somewhere this afternoon, but I could spend the morning with you. I’d love to give Puget Sound fishing a try.”
“Yeehaw! We’ll catch us some chinook and maybe a lingcod or three. We’ll be back a little after noon if you can sling bait.”
“Let me run to my car and get different clothes.”
“Don’t take all day, Sonny. You got some deck-scrubbing to attend to while I get her ready to catch fish.”
I laughed as I picked up my stuff and hurried back to shore, tiptoeing barefoot through the parking lot, through the rough undergrowth, and to my car. I swapped my jacket and dress shoes for my stinking hobo pants. At least the mud had dried. some of it cracked off on my way to Bessie Mae .
There was a distinct difference between someone walking with a purpose and someone just walking. I could ask the spry oldster about the big boat and her owner. One never just fishes. I expected the man would talk constantly while we were at sea. I’d give him a good day’s work for everything he knew.
Because he wasn’t getting any information from me.
After dropping off my clothes belowdecks, I returned wearing nothing but my dirty pants and a ball cap. No shoes. No shirt.
He looked me over skeptically. “What the hell happened to you?” He pointed at my side.
“Shrapnel. A gift from those who didn’t like Americans stomping on their sand.”
“I was Navy. Between wars, but I do love the sea. Now, stop goofing off, ground-pounder, and get to scrubbing.”
“Yes, sir. Scrubbing now, aye, aye, sir.” I took the proffered bucket and brush and started aft as far as I could go so I could keep an eye on Ion . Two crew stood on the dock, preparing to cast off the lines. “What do you know about that big boat? Who owns that kind of thing?”
“That’s Clive Barrows. Baron of Ball Street. That’s what we call him, anyway.” I hit the deck hard, scrubbing at a year of grime. The old man hadn’t cleaned his boat in a while, as if he’d fallen out of love with her. “Kinda like Wall street, but front lines. He owns a dozen convenience chains. Touch the front-line workers every day by selling them microwaved food and supersized Cokes. Those with their balls on the line, average people, not like you or me. I don’t eat or drink that swill. Poison!”
Bessie Mae’s skipper became easily agitated. The veins in his face throbbed, and blood vessels in his nose threatened to explode. He looked like he needed a drink. I was happy he didn’t reach for one.
“No need to get spun up. He doesn’t live in our world. I’m curious about his, though. Looks like a young family is on board. Who are they?”
“That’s the next mayor of Seattle, Jimmy Tripplethorn. He married the daughter and right into all that money. She’s the only heir, and old Clive is getting on in years.”
“A second wife?”
“It’s the in-thing for old rich guys. Trade for a newer model, if you know what I mean. I’m sure the newest Mrs. Barrows got herself a nice nest egg out of banging the old man in his later years, but the daughter gets the bulk.”
“He’s not that old, is he?”
“Older than me!” The skipper changed out the lure on one of his two poles, choosing a massive spoon over the hook and sinker of the other setup. “No matter. None of my business what he spends his money on. I’m just bitter that my pie gets smaller and his gets bigger.”
He caressed the wood frame beside the driver’s compartment above the cabin.
“Me and Bessie Mae ’s been through some things, ain’t we, old girl?”
“Your wife?” I kept my eyes on Euripedes’ Ion as it turned about within the big harbor. I couldn’t see who was driving it, but I knew who wasn’t. Old man Barrows remained on the back deck, pointing out highlights of Bainbridge Island as if the children hadn’t seen them before.
“Left. Turns out, she didn’t like fish or me being retired.”
“Left you high and dry.” I tried to sympathize. Wonderbeast and the second wife were no longer on deck, only Jimmy, Clive, and the kids. They were too occupied with pointing and looking to bother with Bessie Mae or me . I watched them closely.
A good dynamic between Jimmy and his father-in-law. One of the crew brought out a pitcher and glasses. Looked like iced tea. It was still early, barely ten in the morning.
“Don’t be watching the paint dry, skipper.” I hopped off the boat and threatened to untie the bowline. “Are we going fishing, or are you going to make love to your pilot’s chair?”
“Hold your horses, dogface. I gotta do things in order.”
“Eat me, squid lips!” With the Ion passing out of the harbor and accelerating, I returned to scrubbing the deck.
“Damn mouthy ground-pounders.”
“Lazy-ass seadogs.” My interservice rivalry game was strong. I had worked long and hard to perfect it. “Bell-bottom-wearing Mister Fancy Pants.”
“Hey! Those were comfortable. I wish I had a pair that fit,” the skipper countered, but he stomped around the boat, checking fittings and fluid levels. He finished back in the pilothouse, where he flipped a series of switches before turning over the engine. It groaned and cycled with a squeal.
I jumped to my feet. The sound had been uncomfortably close, the noise of an engine getting ready to blow.
It coughed and rumbled to life. A diesel. It didn’t purr, but it ran. An overhaul would give it new life, but those cost money, and Bessie Mae’s captain seemed to be a few dollars short.
“If I have to swim ashore because this tug breaks down, I’m going to be very put out. Very,” I shouted over the engine’s roar.
“Cast off the lines, pudknocker!” He waved indiscriminately. I jumped onto the dock, untied the bowline, and tossed it on board. I unhitched the stern line and carried it with me when I leapt into the boat. The captain laughed as he spun the wheel and eased Bessie Mae away from the dock.
A speed limit of five knots left us woefully behind Ion . It turned left once in the Sound and accelerated away. I kept scrubbing while looking up to keep an eye on the megayacht. The day’s surveillance was coming to an end.
Bessie Mae turned right, cruised down the coast for a mile, and then slowed while the captain watched the fish finder. I realized he hadn’t told me his name. He hadn’t asked for mine, either. I would make do. Anonymity was my friend.
I quit scrubbing, leaving a night and day difference between the clean and the dirty.
“Come on, taxi driver, let’s catch some fish.”
“Hold your horses, dirt nap. Grab that rod with the spoon and get ready to let it out. When I tell you, toe rag, and not before.” Laser-focused on his equipment, he held his hand out as if getting ready to call for wrestlers to start their match.
I unhooked the spoon, checked the bail, and prepared to send it overboard.
The captain idled the boat, letting it drift back the way we’d come. He kept his eyes on the fish finder. “You got a woman you have to get back to?”
“Have I ever! As much as I can handle and then some.”
“A real spitfire, huh? We all need one of those. NOW!”
I tossed the spoon behind the boat and let it sink, leaving the bail open to feed the lure deep into the water.
�
�That’s good. Tighten it up and be ready. I think we got some nice pinks beneath us. Don’t set the hook on these. You yank the lure, you lose the fish. After you get a bite, reel him in.”
It wasn’t more than ten seconds before I had one hooked. I leaned back, letting the pole absorb much of the fight as I reeled. The fish started to run. I let him go. The drag was set light, and the fish swam away without much resistance. I dialed it up a little and reeled to keep the tension on the hook. Pull, run, pull. The captain cracked a beer and sipped it while I fought the fish.
Once the chinook hit the surface, he put his can down and grabbed the net. The fish headed toward open water. I pulled harder, letting the rod bend to work as a shock absorber. Reeling. Always reeling.
The captain jumped back into the cabin and added a little gas to get Bessie Mae moving forward, then returned to the aft deck. “Bring it down this side.” He held the net where the fish couldn’t see it. The chinook started to run, but it was getting tired. I horsed it the last few feet.
Quick as a rattlesnake, the captain dipped the net, scooped the fish, and dragged it aboard.
“Nice!” A quick measure showed we had a forty-incher, weighing in at twenty-five pounds. The captain slipped it into the cooler that doubled as a bench seat. I untangled the lure from the net. “Going for round two.”
We doubled back and followed the same routine five times to put three more chinook in the tank.
After the fourth catch of the day, I had to rub my arms. They were getting stiff, and I had developed a bruise below my belly button where I’d jammed the butt end of the pole while fighting the fish.
“You caught ‘em. You can take half.”
“I’m staying in a hotel. No place for them, but you’ve shown me a great day. Let’s head on in. No sense wasting gas with a good catch already on board. My compliments to you, Master Seaman.”
“Four hooked, four in the boat. Not bad for a buckethead.”
“It’s almost like someone dipped them out for me. Squids know their own, don’t they?”
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