Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4)

by Reed, Grant T.

  The men cheered, and Merle watched as Cecil pushed a wooden step over to the washbasin. “He’s a little short,” said Cecil with a gesture at Merle. Pavao nodded.

  “Do you know the rules?” asked Pavao, still clinging to the rat.

  “Yes,” agreed Merle. He rolled his shoulders in an effort to loosen up. His heartbeat had accelerated as he sensed it was time to get down to business.

  “You will have three minutes, once the game begins. Now, what kind of protection do you want?” asked the ogre. “You can have the burlap sack; it’s thick and affords good coverage with eye and mouth holes. It will however drop your odds. If you complete the run, you get a carton of smokes. Next we have the executioner’s hood. It’s chic, yet still practical, with eye and mouth holes. You complete the run with this, and you get to keep the hood and two cartons of smokes.”

  Some in the crowd cheered “Hood, hood, hood,” trying to convince the dragon to up the odds.”

  “More steam,” bellowed the pudgy man with the mole. Two prisoners ran back into the adjoining room to drain another washtub.

  “You could also go in bare, but I don’t recommend this for a newb, such as yourself. However, if you were to succeed you’d get four cartons of smokes.”

  “Anyone ever complete it bare?”

  “Only scar face,” and he doesn’t compete anymore. Pavao shook his head regretfully.

  “I want ten cartons,” said Merle loudly, for the crowd.

  “Now, just a minute…” huffed Pavao, glaring at Cecil. Cecil’s eyes grew big as Merle’s statement registered.

  “I’ll do it with no protection, a blindfold, and in one minute.” The crowd gasped. Cigarette packages were produced from pockets, and all of the men clambered and shouted. The fat man with the mole worked his arms up and down, trying to get the crowd to quiet down. “I do have one concession, though. As Cecil pointed out, I am too short. Allow me the use of my wings, for free movement.”

  Pavao was silent for a minute. “Alright,” he said, at last, “It’s your face. You can use your wings to hold yourself up, but your hands must remained tied and your belly on the tub.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll need fifteen minutes to collect the wagers.” Pavao went to a hollow tube that rose up through the floor. “Jackie, we got a live one. No protection, blindfolded and a completion time of one minute. Thirty to one. You’ve got fifteen minutes to work the men.”

  After a few seconds, a hollow “I’m on it,” echoed through the pipe.

  The foreman with the mole ushered the men into the first chamber, where they took up their paddles and began to beat on the laundry. He went from man to man, taking their bets as they worked.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Cecil, approaching Merle. “You only need two cartons to get in and see Artero.”

  “Two gets me in, but I still need to fill that list. Besides, what have I got to lose?”

  “An eye? Maybe two,” argued Cecil.

  “The blindfold will help there!” Merle walked across the chamber to distance himself from Pavao who was making notes on his clipboard. “My eyes are the only vulnerable spot,” he whispered as the bearded man sidled up next to him. “No competitor has ever had scales before.”

  “I guess,” agreed Cecil halfheartedly, “but why did you have to confine yourself to such a restrictive timeline? Remember, if you fail, you get nothing, and then you’re no closer to your meeting with Artero.”

  Merle grinned “With big risk comes big reward. Have you forgotten, I also owe you and Troy three cartons?”

  “What kind of question is that?” snapped Cecil. “Of course, I haven’t forgotten.”

  * * * *

  McGibbons appeared, right on schedule, and all of the men worked the laundry tubs with gusto as the guard made his rounds. As soon as he departed, the lookouts had resumed their position and the other men went back to Pavao’s room.

  “You betting?” the foreman inquired of Cecil.

  The bearded man reached into his top pocket and produced a single pack of smokes. “My last pack,” he said to Merle. Turning to the foreman, he flipped the man the cigarettes. “Put me down for eight. I might as well go big.” The foreman nodded and made a note on his pad.

  Over by the washtub, Pavao sat on his stool and made his own calculations on his clipboard. Merle stood on the step beside the washbasin, his jumper was folded neatly on the bottom step. The rest of the room was occupied by milling laundry workers. One of the men was hunkered down beneath the hollow communication tube, a constant dribble of information being fed to the men on the upper floors.

  “Merle has attained his podium and is loosening the muscles of his back. Yes folks, I have seen better looking athletes, but there’s something deceiving about this plump little guy that gives me hope. He might not have the physique of some of yous, but it looks like he means business. He appears to be working on some kind of flying exercise now as he lifts himself up and down on the step. Very graceful indeed.”

  Coming in behind Merle, Cecil placed his hands on the dragon’s shoulders and rubbed the stress out. “You ready for this?” Merle nodded as he bounced from foot to foot. Cecil accepted a pair of manacles from the foreman and gave a nod to Pavao.

  The ogre stood from his stool and raised both hands to get everyone’s attention. “Bring in the catch.” Eight men filed into the room, each of them carrying pillow cases.

  “Here we go, folks; the rat pack is in the building. They’re approaching the wash basin, now as Merle is being blindfolded. The time keeper is set, and I will remind you there will only be one flip of the timer during this first gauntlet. That’s right, fellow inmates, only one minute on the clock. Impossible, you say? Well, we’re about to find out.”

  The eight rat holders fanned themselves out around the tub. They held their pillow cases up, ready to dump the contents. Cecil finished tying the bandanna over Merle’s eyes and wished him good luck before stepping out of the way.

  “All ready?” called Pavao. One of his green skinned arms was held in the air. When no word of challenge arose from the gathered men, his hand sliced through the air signaling a start to the run. The rats were released into the tub and the timer flipped. “Begin!” shouted Pavao.

  “And it’s on, folks! Boy, have we got some big ones this week. Merle’s wings are a blur, and he’s hovering over the basin. He’s circling to his left, no - he’s circling to his right. Is that peanut butter?” One of the rats stroked its way across the tub, a brown smear covering most of its head. The rest of the rats were shrieking and swirling in the waters. “And there it is, by golly! The dragon has struck with the speed and ferocity of a cobra. It looks like he’s got one. No, it’s got him. Man that thing has to be close to two pounds. Percy must have been baiting outside of the kitchen, again!

  “It’s on his cheek, clinging to that blindfold. Now it’s climbing up over the dragon’s head and making a break for freedom…holy cow, that was fast. Merle is bashing his own head against the tub in an effort to dislodge the furious rodent. It’s worked, and there it is, number one!” A loud crunch echoed off the waters as Merle’s teeth punctured the skull of the rat. Flipping his victim out of the basin, Merle circled the tub again, his wings a blur.

  “He’s moving with confidence now. He reminds me of a chickadee picking off moths. I’ve never seen anything like this at a gauntlet. Those wings are humming, and he’s revving up some real speed. That’s two, right there folks. Is that rat smoking?” The crowd was cheering madly. Merle tossed this second rat from the tub.

  Merle shrieked and the men howled. “Three, by golly, and that could have been dangerous. I think, that last one got him below the eye. Yes, I see blood.

  “Four, five, six, the waters are white with the dragon’s thrashing. I see more blood; this open faced approach by Merle is costing him, now. The timer is getting low, folks. Can he do it? There it is, number seven, and lucky for him, it was a floater. Poor thing must have had a heart
attack.” The men were screaming, now, as Merle faced off against the last of the rats.

  “He’s struck once and missed, come up with nothing but a mouthful of rat water. There’s a second poke… and a second miss. Count it down with me, folks. Five, four, three…I don’t believe it, he’s got it, by Dillio he’s got it!”

  Merle raised his trophy from the water and crunched through its neck. Spitting the carcass onto the cement floor, he fell into a heap beside the washbasin. Hands bound and eyes blindfolded, he lay there exhausted, his breath coming in great gasps.

  Cecil rushed to Merle’s side and helped him sit. Gently, he tugged the blindfold loose, before removing the cuffs. Raising the dragon’s hand, Cecil’s grin was larger than anyone’s. “You did it!” he exclaimed in wonder. Merle shrugged, but he was grinning as well.

  One of the Baritone lookouts raced into the room. “Guard!” he hissed loudly, and all of the men rushed for the outer room. Taking up their paddles, they conversed loudly and beat upon the laundry.

  “That was some show,” said Pavao, with no hint of anger. “You earned those ten cartons, today. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

  “Thanks,” said Merle, shimmying into his prison jumper, again. “If you can give Cecil five of those cartons today, I’ll send somebody else for the other five soon.”

  “Not a problem,” agreed Pavao. “You guys sticking around for the second gauntlet? Rickey is going to try out his new dentures, should be a good one.”

  “No, I have other business to attend,” said Merle. He used a discarded pillow case to dab at the blood on his cheek.

  From the other room, they heard McGibbons angry shout. “What was that ruckus in here?” he demanded.

  The foreman’s lazy reply followed. “It was nothing, Sir. Percy thought he saw a rat.”

  * * * *

  Merle dunked his mop in the bucket and then splashed it onto the dusty floor. Swirling the mop, he glanced up the hallway to make sure none of the guards were near. The passage remained empty, with only a dull red light illuminating the maintenance hall. Leaning the mop against the wall, Merle peeked into the boiler room. From inside, the noise of the machinery was much louder. Apprentice Artero wore coveralls and leaned over a piece of dismantled equipment. He had a wrench in his grease covered hands and was banging on the side of a small drum. He looked up as Merle stole into the room. Merle guessed the boy couldn’t be any older than fifteen.

  “You’re late,” said the kid, setting his wrench down.

  “Sorry,” apologised Merle. “McGibbons had me muck out the staff washroom first.”

  The boy nodded, knowing full well that an inmate had to do as he was ordered. Grabbing up a dirty rag, the kid wiped his hands and then thrust the cloth into an upper pocket. “Merle, is it?” The dragon nodded. “I got your list. I guess I don’t need to ask what you need all the goodies for.” Merle shrugged and the boy continued. “I can do it, but it won’t be cheap. It’ll cost you eight cartons.”

  “Eight cartons?” gasped Merle. “On top of the two I paid to book this appointment?”

  “That’s right,” agreed Artero.

  “You’re paying for my silence, as well.”

  “But I only have five cartons.”

  “Then our business here is done.” Artero walked over to a set of gauges and tapped at one of them with a screwdriver. “Damn it,” he swore and rushed to a set of nozzles. A horrible vibration set the pipes along the back wall to vibrating as Artero released a steam vent. “That was close,” he admitted.

  “You like working in here?” asked Merle, watching the boy.

  “It beats mucking out washrooms,” returned Artero. “It’s a little dark in here, for my liking, and the company’s no hell, but the guards leave me alone for the most part.”

  “I heard about your run in with the mayor,” said Merle. “Underage drinking and joyriding isn’t much of a crime. You must be eligible for the work release program?”

  “What’s it to you?” asked Artero with a scowl. “If you’re suggesting I get myself a gig just so I can escape from here, you got it all wrong. I only have sixty days left.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that, at all,” said Merle. “I heard you were a master mechanic. I figured your skills could be put to better use somewhere else.”

  “Probably,” agreed Artero. “Who’s going to hire a con, though?”

  “You ever hear of Kline’s Beer?”

  “No.” Artero returned to his dismantled pump and sighed. Flipping one of the pieces over, he worked at a screw in the belly of the machine.

  “They bought the old brewery and are making a go of it.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “I personally know the boys who own it. I also know they’re into second chances. One word from me and you could have yourself a nice little reprieve from this place every few days, and probably a full time job when you get out.” Seeing the lad was considering his words, Merle couldn’t help but add, “They make the finest pale lager this side of Stoneport.”

  “It’s not that honey brown stuff, is it?” asked Artero with a warning look.

  “Nah, nothing fancy – just bilge water and hops.”

  “Good,” stated Artero. “I can’t stand that honey brown. It gives me a headache.” He put down his screwdriver, took out his greasy rag and blew his nose. Putting the rag back in his pocket, he leaned toward Merle, both his hands on his workbench. “Suppose I was interested, what kind of guarantee can you offer me? I mean, if you succeed in your endeavors, you’ll be long gone from here.”

  Merle approached the workbench and offered the lad a small white card. “Because I can’t grow a beard, the boys gave me this. It proves I have the backing of the Bandits.” Artero accepted the card and gave it a quick read. “They say there is an iron code of honour, in here. I assure you, that if you accept my offer, you will receive everything we agree upon.”

  The boy passed the card back, greasy fingerprints and all. “Check the hall,” he said and turned for a darkened corner. Several crates had been piled near a large floor vent, blocking view of the recess. Merle went to the doorway and upon his nod that the passage was clear, Artero opened a steam vent and the iron grating popped loose on the floor. Lifting the hatch, the boy motioned for Merle to follow.

  Wet stone steps led to a lower chamber that was crisscrossed with steam pipes of all sizes. Several more red lights lit the crawlspace with an eerie glow. Artero was forced to stoop as he worked his way through the pipes, but Merle was the perfect height to navigate this dark underworld. Coming to the back wall, Artero reached up and turned a glass stone in the ceiling. The chamber was flooded with bright light. A series of shelves were bathed in its powerful glow. Seeing the look of awe on Merle’s face, the boy grinned. “I rigged that up myself. It runs off a current from the steam rollers. Neat, huh?”

  Merle’s eyes grew round as he took in the mounds of cigarette cartons stacked everywhere. ‘There must be hundreds of cartons here,” he exclaimed.

  “Six hundred and forty-seven,” agreed Artero. “Not including the ones you owe me. Care for a smoke?”

  “No, I never took up the habit.”

  “Me neither.” Artero reached into his back pocket. Unfolding a wrinkled sheet, he held it out to the light. “Let’s see, first things first, a crossbow.” He pulled a bin from the shelf and rummaged through it. He discarded several models before passing one to Merle. “That one was fashioned by the legendary Earl. May he rest in peace. It was confiscated during the great escape of eighty-four.” Merle accepted the weapon, noting the arms had been fashioned from a steam warped broom handle. “I think that band came from his very own underpants,” added Artero. “It’s more of a collector’s piece, but it has good power.” Digging to the bottom of the box, he pulled out a handful of extra-long pencils. “They don’t allow these, anymore, not since Guard Beatrice was stabbed in the back. Have you seen the little stubs they
hand out, now?” Merle nodded. “Anyway these ones make the best ammunition.”

  Stacking the crossbows onto the shelf where the bin had rested, he threw Earl’s model and the pencils back into the crate. Then he moved down the wall to where a section of black outfits hung on a rack, bringing the wooden box with him. “Okay, that’s one in size midget, check.” He pulled a hooded outfit down and tossed it in the crate. “And one ladies small, check.”

  He motioned to a large red cabinet with six drawers in it. Pulling out the top drawer, he showed Merle several rows of homemade shanks. Merle nodded at the ingenious craftsmanship. Everything from filed toothbrushes to forks resided in the bin. “Are you sure you don’t need one of these?” Merle shook his head.

  Pulling out the next drawer, Artero waved a hand along the line of cutters. “What size you looking for?”

  “Something for the fence outside?” ventured Merle.

  Artero nodded. “I call this model, ‘the Gobbler.’ She’ll cut through that fence, in no time. Jimmy in the plate program makes ‘em, for me.” He thrust out a sleek pair of cutters for Merle to inspect. “Since there are two of you, I’ll throw in an extra set. Now that winter’s coming, it’s the slow season for Jimmy. He says he gets bored, if he has nothing to do.”

  Artero elbowed the drawer closed and added the cutters to Merle’s goods. Glancing at the paper again, he opened the largest of the drawers at the bottom of the cabinet. “One hundred feet of braided rope.” He turned to Merle, “Two fifty-foot lengths okay?”

  “Sure,” agreed Merle, still amazed at the quantity of goods the kid had secured.

  Adding the rope to the bin, he led Merle to a small table nestled in the corner of the crawlspace. Sitting on the desk, a display case housed dozens of keys. Artero selected an empty key ring and started adding keys to it. “Have you changed your escape route?”