The Wreck

by Landon Beach

  Hutch laughed. “You just worry about your leggy, shitstick. When it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.”

  “Leg’s fine, but I’m not sure about your logic,” Mickey said.

  “Look at the odds,” Hutch said. “Even using the best technology for finding wrecks doesn’t mean that we’re going to find all six-thousand that are out there in the Great Lakes’ ninety-five thousand square miles of water. All that matters is that we found ours.”

  “What do you think about the sailboat?” asked Mickey.

  Hutch stared out over the water. “I don’t know. Can’t say that I’ve ever seen one that was rigged to blow on purpose.”

  “What kind was it?” Nate asked. “I didn’t see any markings.”

  “A big Hunter,” Hutch said. “Luxury sailboat. Makes even less sense. Who in their right mind would want to scuttle a Hunter?”

  Nate thought. Was Jeff Sawyer’s boat a Hunter? He couldn’t remember.

  “What about the gold?” said Mickey.

  “We’ll discuss that on the way in,” said Hutch. “It’s seven now. We’ll be back before eight.” He looked at Nate. “Dinner with everyone might have to wait until tomorrow night.”

  46

  There was over an hour of daylight left when Queen reached Hutch’s dock. Mickey was sitting in the fighting chair with a bag of ice wrapped around his leg. When Hutch was satisfied with Queen’s mooring, he shut off the engine and then helped Mickey up onto the dock.

  “Help Mickey up the stairs while I dash up and get a fresh bag of ice,” Hutch said to Nate.

  Mickey put his arm around Nate’s neck and they were soon at the bottom of the steps. They started to climb with Mickey in the lead. When they reached the half-way point, Nate was surprised to see Hutch coming down the stairs without a bag of ice.

  “Out of my way,” he said and slid past them.

  “What’s up, Hutch?” said Mickey.

  Hutch ignored him as he reached the bottom of the stairs and marched over to the shed.

  Mickey and Nate turned around, and as they went back down the stairs heard the shed door open and then close. When they arrived at the bottom, Hutch was locking the door back up and had a shotgun lying on the dock next to him.

  “What is it, Hutch?” Mickey said.

  Hutch stood up with the gun. “We’ve had visitors. The inside of my place is all ripped apart.”

  “Looking for the gold,” Nate said.

  “Appears so,” said Hutch.

  “What are we going to do?” Mickey asked.

  “We need to get you to a doctor first,” Hutch said.

  “The hell with that.”

  “Mick, I—”

  “Won’t listen to it,” said Mickey.

  “Sometimes I think you’re more stubborn than I am,” Hutch said. “I radioed Lucille while I was up there and she’s fine—dinner has been postponed.” He looked at Nate. “She hasn’t been able to reach your wife, but will keep trying.”

  Nate nodded.

  “I also contacted Tyee. We know the treasure is safe out at Diamond Crag, but I don’t know what these yahoos are going to do next. I want to be prepared.” Hutch scratched his beard for a moment. “Mick, you stay here while Nate and I go to Tyee’s and hook up the winch. I told him that I want to dive first thing tomorrow morning and haul up the chests. He’s meeting Nate and me at his dock and then coming back with us to stay over tonight. I think it’ll be quiet while we’re gone. Whoever is messing with us, has already been here and not found what they wanted.”

  “No problem,” Mickey said.

  “Nate, go up and get Mickey a chair and a bag of ice,” Hutch said.

  “Got it,” Nate said, and he clipped up the stairs.

  Hutch hopped down into the RHIB. From a compartment next to the helm, he pulled out a portable VHF radio and a black leather case.

  He climbed back onto the dock and turned to Mickey. “Mick, I need you to stay on the dock and wait for us. We’ll radio you when we’re close to getting back. In the bag is a pair of night vision goggles so you can keep an eye on Diamond Crag. Like I said, I don’t expect anything more tonight.”

  “Who do ya think is fuckin’ with ya?” Mickey said.

  “Not sure yet,” Hutch said.

  Nate came down the stairs with a bag of ice, a chair, and a bar stool.

  “What’s the bar stool for?” said Hutch.

  They sat Mickey down in the chair and Nate placed the bar stool in front of the chair. “Elevation. It’ll keep the swelling down,” Nate said.

  “Good point,” said Hutch. “You think pretty well on your feet.”

  Nate propped up Mickey’s leg, made sure the wounded part was raised higher than Mickey’s heart, and then wrapped the bag of ice around it.

  Hutch handed Mickey the radio, black case, and shotgun. He turned to Nate, “Let’s go.”

  Lines were cast off and Hutch backed Queen away from the dock, navigating it around Speculation. Nate performed a radio check with Mickey, then looked at Hutch. “Do you think we should radio the police?”

  “Wouldn’t do much good right now,” said Hutch. “They’d take forever getting out here and we’d lose time that could be spent going to get the winch. And when they did get here, they’d look inside my house and then tell me what I already know—that someone broke into my damn house.”

  Queen heaved forward and Hutch’s house became smaller and smaller. They passed the bight and headed for Tyee’s at full throttle.

  47

  The Four-Runner pulled into the driveway of Tim and Jane Gibson’s and rolled toward the house. A few yards short of the front porch, the driver stopped the vehicle and then turned off the engine. She looked at the address she had written down on a notepad, then looked at the house. The numbers on the paper matched the numbers on the house. There was no outside light on, but at least one room was lit on the inside. She got out and walked to the front door.

  After two knocks, the outside light turned on and the door opened.

  “Can I help you?” Jane Gibson asked, looking into the face of a young woman she had never seen before.

  “May I speak with Professor Gibson please?”

  “I’m afraid he’s not here,” said Jane. “You look familiar. Do I know you from the Hampstead Country Club?” She lied.

  “No. I’m not from around here,” the girl said.

  “Oh,” said Jane. “My husband is taking care of some business down in Ann Arbor and won’t be back until at least tomorrow. Is everything okay? Is there something I can help you with?”

  The girl stared at Jane. “May I come inside for a minute, Mrs. Gibson? I’ve had a long drive.”

  “Please, call me Jane,” she said, holding the door open for her.

  Jane ushered her into the living room and offered her a seat. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  The girl shook her head no. “He always said this place was a shack in class.”

  Jane gave her a half-smile and winked. “Well, Tim’s modest.”

  The girl raised an eyebrow.

  “You said you had a long drive. Where are you from?”

  “Pennsylvania.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jane said.

  Then, the girl told her...and Jane Gibson screamed.

  ✽✽✽

  The Hampstead Players performance of 42nd Street had been exceptional—and had run over. Brooke Martin entered her house and hurried down the hallway toward her bedroom to change clothes for dinner. With the exception of picking up a bottle of wine and attending the performance, she had stayed inside and had not seen or heard from Tim Gibson all day, which had been a relief. As she entered the bedroom and kicked off her shoes, the phone rang, startling her. She did not check to see who it was, assuming it was Nate at Mrs. Hawthorne’s.

  “Hello?”

  “It... it’s Tim,” Jane Gibson said.

  “Jane?”

  There was no response.

  “What’s wr
ong?” Brooke asked, her stomach rising to her mouth as she asked the question.

  Brooke waited for her to continue, but all she heard was sobbing. “Jane, what about Tim? What’s going on?”

  A voice came on the phone that Brooke did not recognize. “Hi, Mrs. Martin. Jane is not doing well right now and said that you are a friend of the family who lives nearby.”

  “I live a few houses down the beach. Who is this and what has happened?” Brooke demanded.

  The voice continued to be calm. “I think she needs to have a friend here with her right now, Mrs. Martin. Could you come over?”

  “Of course I can, but could you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Please come over.”

  “I’m on my way,” Brooke said and hung up the phone. She was in such a hurry that she did not see the digital ‘2’ blinking on the answering machine in the kitchen as she left the house.

  ✽✽✽

  The door opened and Brooke was greeted by a young woman. She led Brooke into the living room, and no one was there.

  “Where’s Jane?” Brooke asked.

  “She’s in her bedroom upstairs,” the girl replied.

  “Where is her husband?” Brooke said.

  “Ann Arbor.”

  Brooke started toward the stairs and the girl grabbed her arm. “I want to fill you in before we go up there.”

  “Please do,” Brooke snapped.

  “I attend the University of Michigan and took a class from Professor Gibson last semester. I’m pregnant with his child.”

  48

  Queen cruised by Diamond Crag on its way back to Hutch’s. The stars were out and the last remnants of sunlight had vanished around a half-hour ago. The stainless steel arms of the large winch rose from both gunwales and joined into a hooked ‘V’ a few feet aft of the transom. Wire cable ran from the metal spool, screwed into the deck where the fighting chair had been, up into the pulley located where the steel arms met, and finally down from the pulley to end in a clasp attached to a rectangular stainless steel cage.

  Tyee was in the stern using a red lensed flashlight to guide himself as he made a few adjustments to the gas powered motor that operated the winch. Nate was with Hutch on the fair-weather level.

  “We’ll be back to my dock in about ten minutes,” said Hutch, passing the VHF handset to Nate. “Give Mickey a call and see if everything’s okay.”

  Nate tried to reach Mickey on Channel 6 first—the channel they had agreed upon before leaving. No answer. Next were Channels 12 and 16. They were the most commonly used VHF channels, and Hutch had the handheld Mickey was using set to scan traffic on them. No answer.

  Hutch grabbed the handset and tried. Static.

  Tyee finished with the motor and shut off his red light. Nate moved over to make room as Tyee climbed up the ladder and joined them.

  “No radio contact with Mickey,” Hutch said to Tyee.

  “What do you think?” Tyee asked.

  Hutch threw Tyee a set of keys from his pocket. “Go below and load two guns from my safe.”

  Tyee climbed down the ladder and was soon out of view below.

  “We may have some trouble waiting for us back home,” Hutch said.

  ✽✽✽

  When they were in visual range of the dock, Hutch pulled a spotlight out from a compartment underneath the helm and handed it to Nate. Hutch’s entire property was dark. Nate turned on the spotlight. Other than the RHIB and Nate’s boat, the dock was bare. Mickey was nowhere to be seen—the chair, stool, radio, shotgun, and night vision goggles were gone.

  “Where in the hell did he go?” said Hutch. “Turn off that light.”

  Tyee appeared in the stern wearing a pair of night vision goggles with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He began to scan Hutch’s property.

  Hutch turned off the running lights and the dark shape of Queen crept to the dock.

  They tied up and met in the stern. Hutch had the other gun that Tyee had brought up. It was a revolver and was wedged between Hutch’s belt and shorts.

  “Okay, let’s not get jumpy. He might be okay, and the last thing we need is us shooting each other. Tyee, you stay down here and Nate and I will check the house.”

  The men split up and Hutch led the way up the stairs. He paused at the top and crouched with his eyes at deck level. Nothing moved in the house.

  “We’ll enter through the library door. Stay right next to me.”

  “Hutch, I don’t even have a weapon to defend myself.”

  “When we get indoors, I’ll fix you up.”

  They sprinted across the deck and were inside the library in seconds. The room was dark with the exception of the stars and moon shining through the large windows. Hutch went to the desk and from the bottom drawer pulled out a k-bar that he’d been given from an inter-service function with the Marines years ago. He threw it to Nate, and Nate looped the sheath through his belt and then took out the knife. Hutch walked over to the VHF set and keyed the mic. Dead. He toggled the switch and got no response.

  “Someone’s been in here since we left,” Hutch whispered reaching behind the box, feeling for the cord. “The set was on when I first came up here and saw the place trashed. You didn’t turn it off when you came up to get ice, did you?”

  Nate shook his head no.

  Hutch felt the end of a frayed wire. “Sonofabitch,” he said.

  “What?” Nate said.

  “Someone’s cut the cord.” He looked into Nate’s eyes. “Be ready. You may have to use that,” Hutch said pointing at the knife.

  Nate’s palm was moist and he gripped the knife harder.

  Hutch began to move toward the kitchen. Then the smell hit him. He rose and bolted for the front door.

  Nate ran after him and they were soon side-by-side on the porch. Hutch turned on the lights and the entire dirt clearing angling down to the woods lit up.

  “Help me up onto the roof,” Hutch said.

  Nate paused, smelling smoke.

  “Now, goddamnit!” Hutch ordered.

  Nate flexed his legs and locked his hands. Hutch stepped into them and was soon standing on Nate’s shoulders. Grabbing the top of the roof, he pulled himself up. Hutch treaded upright to where the roof angled up and then leaned over, putting both hands on the shingles. He climbed to the peak and held on to the chimney to steady himself. His eyes saw the orange glow rising from woods in the distance. He slid back down the roof and swung onto the porch.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to Nate.

  “Where are you going, Hutch?” Nate said.

  “Lucille’s house is on fire,” said Hutch running toward his garage. “Gotta make sure she’s okay.”

  There was a level of concern in Hutch’s words beyond merely hoping someone wasn’t injured—it was the fear of losing someone. The front door opened and Nate pulled his knife back, ready to swing.

  Tyee appeared, and Nate lowered his knife. Hutch was opening the garage door and they ran to him.

  “Hutch, I found blood on the edge of the dock where you moor the RHIB,” said Tyee. “I boarded and found a few drops on the deck. Then I felt the engine. She’s been used recently.”

  “Jesus, Mickey,” Hutch said to himself, “tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

  “Do you think he went to Diamond Crag?” said Nate.

  “Lookin’ that way,” said Hutch, who was clearing a path to an object in the corner covered by a sheet. “Someone’s gotta run the RHIB out there and get wet.”

  Nate spoke up. “I can check on Lucille. I’m sure she’s fine. You know Diamond Crag the best, Hutch.” He would now find out how much Hutch trusted him.

  Hutch turned around and studied Nate. “Okay,” he said. “Use this.” He pulled the sheet off, and a dirt bike stood resting on a kickstand. Hutch wheeled the bike out of the garage and pointed off to the left. “See that opening?”

  Nate nodded as he saw where the trees thinned on the outer edge of the dirt plot.

 
“That’s the back way to Lucille’s. You’ll be there in a few minutes on this puppy. Keep your head low to the bike. There are hanging branches that’ll have you seein’ stars if you don’t.”

  It made sense to him now. The bike path always seemed to be winding to the right when he was coming out to Hutch’s. This emergency path must be a straight shot.

  Hutch started the bike and turned on the round headlight. Nate hopped on and held on for dear life as he shot into the woods.

  “We’ve gotta call the fire department,” Hutch said. “Fuck, I guess it’s time I got a phone out here.”

  “I’ve got my cell phone,” Tyee said.

  “Call it away. She may have called already, but we can’t take that chance.”

  “You headin’ out to the Crag?” Tyee said.

  “On my way,” said Hutch. “If what I think has happened has happened, Mickey may no longer be our friend. Don’t trust him if you see him, and stay on the dock until I get back.”

  ✽✽✽

  Joshua David Bagley was almost finished screwing the daylights out of a Hampstead High School senior who had been hired by the Shaws to clean their house for the summer, when his stateroom phone aboard Triumph rang, and kept ringing. He ignored it as he pumped away at the tiny blonde. Two shot glasses and half a bottle of tequila sat on the nightstand, and a trail of clothes led from the private balcony into the room and up to the foot of the bed. The phone stopped ringing as he finished with the girl. Out of shape and exhausted, he flopped on his back next to her. She slid her knees back down and lay on her stomach.

  “Want another shot?” she asked.

  “Baby, I feel like I’ve just been shot,” Bagley said.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Go away, I’m busy,” Bagley said.

  The knock got louder.

  “Who the fuck wants me now?” he said and then patted the girl’s ass as he got up.

  Bagley threw on a robe and the girl went into the bathroom.

  “This better be goddamn import—”

  “Important?” said Leonard Shaw, wearing a black tuxedo and standing in the doorway. “It is. Get dressed and meet me in the study in five minutes.”