“Would you look at that floating gin palace?” Ted tied the stern line to a cleat. “It must be over a hundred-feet long.”
A shiny white mega-yacht loomed over all the other vessels in the harbor.
“Pegasus, out of Calais,” Meagan read the name boards. “He’s a long way from home.”
“She’s a long way from home,” Chris corrected. He shut down the engine and began stowing running gear. “Boats are always a she.”
“I was talking about the owner, dufus. The guy who brought it here.”
“Let’s go ashore tonight,” Ted said. “I’ll buy. I can’t wait to feel solid ground under my feet.”
“That’s okay.” Chris coiled down the jib sheets. “My dad gave me some money for stuff like this.”
****
“Women! What’s taking her so long? Ted paced the dock, frequently looking at his watch.
“She has to make herself beautiful.” Christ sat in the cockpit smiling.
Ted couldn’t wait to go ashore.
After what seemed like an eternity, Meagan emerged from the companionway hatch in a low-cut cashmere sweater and tight jeans. A push-up bra made the most of her small cleavage. For a skinny white chica, she’s not half bad. A gold pendant in the small of her throat and matching gold earrings said she was ready for a night of fun.
Ted looked at Chris. Their T-shirts, jeans and sneakers looked sloppy by comparison. What the hell, we’re way up in Canada.
“You ready, boys?” Meagan stepped onto the dock.
“What, you think you’re going to the royal ball tonight?” Ted asked.
“I just want to look good when I go ashore. That’s all.” With that, she turned, flipped her designer purse over her shoulder and started off down the dock, leaving Chris and Ted staring in her wake.
****
Ted had never seen a place like McCarthy’s Tavern. Loud music played on the juke box, dim lights hid the sawdust covered plank floor. Patrons shared rows of wooden picnic tables in the crowded room. Every surface in the bar was carved with names, initials and messages. Ted learned that Tom loved Jenny and that for a good time he could call 250.956.1343.
Bowls of peanuts sat on each table and patrons threw the shells on the floor. A wooden barrel in the corner held plenty more peanuts in case the bowls ran empty. A battered old bugle hung from a faded red cord over the bar. The horn’s tarnished bell twisted back so that the opening faced the bugler.
“What’s the horn for?” Ted asked the ruddy-faced bartender as he ordered their beers.
“That’s an old McCarthy’s tradition. If you can blow the horn, you get your beer for free.”
“I played in the band in school. I can blow that horn.”
This should be an easy freebie.
“You sure you wanna try? Legend says if you try and can’t blow the horn, something bad’ll happen to you.”
“Hey, dude, this is one hermano who isn’t superstitious? Give me the horn.”
The bartender reached over his head and removed bugle.
“You’re really sure you want to try this?”
“Just give me the horn.” Ted felt a flush of heat in his face.
“Ladies and gentleman. . .” The bartender rang a ship’s bell suspended over the bar. “This strapping young lad wants to give McCarthy’s magic horn a try.”
All conversation in the bar stopped. People snickered, picked up their beers and crowded around him, but not too close.
“Be careful, son,” the bartender said. “You might want to down your beer first, just in case.”
“CHUG A LUG,” the crowd shouted.
Amazed at being the center of attention, Ted downed his beer in one draught.
“CHUG A LUG, CHUG A LUG, CHUG A LUG,” the crowd cheered.
“Like I said, legend has it that if you try to blow McCarthy’s horn and fail, something bad’ll happen.”
“Give me the damned horn.” Ted felt the sudden rush of alcohol in his system.
The bartender pulled the battered bugle back. “Are you sure you really want to do this?”
Ted grabbed the horn, took a deep breath and put it to his lips.
“ONE, TWO, THREE. . .” the crowd chanted. At the count of three, Ted pursed his lips and blew a mighty blast into the horn.
“SPWEETTT!” The horn belched a cloud of flour from its opening, covering Ted from head to foot.
****
Seattle
”I want to miss as much of the pre-sailing bull shit as possible.” Harry leaned back in the tan leather passenger seat of his young associate’s Chevy Tahoe. Harry turned to look over his shoulder at his bride to be. “Let’s just get on board and get to our cabin.”
“Fine with me.” Candace nodded her approval.
Geoff Wright, one of Harry’s new associates, seemed nervous. I guess it’s to be expected, Harry thought, sucking up to the boss for the first time. Geoff was one of what Harry liked to refer to as “his piranhas.” A team of hungry young litigators who would climb over their mother’s graves to get a chance to strip a hostile witness’ bones bare on the stand.
Intelligence wasn’t enough, although they all graduated at the top of their classes from the best law schools. Harry wouldn’t even interview anyone who wasn’t in the top ten in their graduating class.
Good looks didn’t make it either, even though any of the “piranhas” could have graced the cover of People magazine. They had to have that something special that made the jury want to believe them, to fall in love with them. And, they had to have ambition. They had to be willing to work eighty-plus hours a week and sweat blood for the firm. For him.
Would Chris make it? Harry wondered, not for the first time, if his son could swim with these fierce creatures? Like the old song says, he’ll have to get tough or die.
It’s a hell of a legacy I’m leaving for my kids. To make it in this world, they’re going to have to abandon all the humanity that their mother drilled into ‘em.
“Mr. Hardwick, we’re here.” Geoff pulled up to the curb. “Let me help you with your luggage.”
“That’s okay, Geoff. Candace and I can handle it. You can’t leave the car here anyway, it’ll get towed.”
Scandinavian Cruise Lines had decked out the Bell Street Terminal for the gala event. Red, white and blue bunting hung from the tall glass walls. A small band played in the atrium. TV crews and still photographers circulated everywhere.
This reminds me of the opening scene in Titanic, Harry thought. When they were getting ready to set sail.
The maiden voyage of the Star of the Northwest was a major event. Harry recalled that some young adventure movie actress would be cutting the ribbon for the inaugural sailing. Her good-looking but talentless husband would be along for the trip too. Hollywood couples, all style and no substance.
“Security here is as tight as at the airport.” Candace passed her luggage through the X-ray machines.
“I guess they’re on a heightened security alert.” Harry removed the laptop from his bag and placed it on the conveyor.
“Would you step out of the line please?” The dumpy female TSA agent asked Harry.
“What the hell? Do I look like a terrorist?” Harry knew that nothing could be further from the truth.
“We’re wanding every tenth person going through the line today. If you’ll just please stand on that mat.”
“You know that this is a violation of my Fourth Amendment Right against unreasonable search and seizure.” Harry’s blood began to boil.
“Harry!” Candace grabbed his arm. “Please, they do this all the time. Just calm down.”
“Just because they do it, it doesn’t make it right. I’m itching to get a chance to take the Patriot Act to the Supreme Court.”
“Sir. If you’ll just stand on the mat.”
Harry started to say something, but Candace put her finger over his lips and pushed him towards the mat.
“Don’t ruin this moment for us,” she whi
spered.
As the wand passed over Harry’s right knee, it buzzed.
“I’ve got a metal plate in my calf. Old football injury.”
“I’m going to have to pat you down sir.”
Harry smiled. “Shouldn’t you at least take me to dinner first?”
The TSA agent had apparently heard that line before. She ignored Harry’s comment and patted him down. Finding nothing objectionable, she said, “Okay, sir, you can pass.”
“Do I have to tip you for this?”
“Harry!” Candace grabbed his arm and pulled him away. The couple eventually made their way up the gang plank
“Wow! Would you look at this?” Candace did a full three-hundred-sixty-degree turn taking in the ship’s atrium.
Harry scanned room. Thick burgundy carpeting offset the teak paneled walls. He saw brass trim everywhere. Six marble columns rose three stories to the skylight above. In the center of the round room, directly under the skylight, a Sixteenth Century fountain from Florence, Italy, reputed to have been designed by Michelangelo himself, flowed. The walls dripped with Renaissance art and sculptures filled backlit alcoves.
“I hear that they have a Picasso and a Renoir for sale in their art gallery, for those that go into that kind of stuff.” Candace gawked at the opulence.
Harry was unimpressed, even though the cruise lines had spared no expense.
Chapter 31
Port McNeil, Canada
“What the hell . . .” Ted sputtered and wiped his eyes clean. “What’s with this?” Laughter roared throughout the bar. Ted’s face felt like it was on fire. He reached for the bartender.
“Easy, bro.” Chris grabbed Ted’s arm. “It’s all in fun.”
“Yeah, well it ain’t no fun for me.” Ted pulled away from Chris and blew flour from his lips and nostrils.
“Here you go, son,” the bartender handed Ted a bar towel. “Congratulations, you’re not a tender foot anymore.” He handed Ted another schooner of beer. “On the house, all night long, for you.”
Ted poured the beer down his flour coated throat.
“Here’s to Ted everyone.” The bartender raised a glass. ”He’s one of us now.”
“TED,” the crowd shouted and began stomping their feet and banging on the tables. “TED, TED, TED . . .”
Ted stood stunned. He flashed back to his high-school football days. For an instant, he wanted to go into his touchdown dance. Then an attractive young woman took the bar towel from his hands. “You missed a spot.” She wiped his left eye, smiled at him, then turned and walked away.
As the patrons returned to their seats, Chris found three empty seats in the corner.
“Hey, partner, you going to join us?”
Ted looked at the pretty girl’s backside and hesitated, then he glowered at the bartender who took a sack of flour from under the counter and reloaded McCarthy’s horn.
“Yeah, sure.” Ted slowly followed Chris. “I’d like to be here when the next sucker tries that.”
****
Meagan noticed the three men at the next table had not taken part in Ted’s initiation ceremony. As she and the boys walked to their table, she realized that the good looking, middle-aged man was sizing her up. He was older, but he certainly wasn’t a creeper. He smiled boldly at her and she returned a flirtatious smile.
The three men seemed so out of place. What were they doing here?
Two of the men appeared to be Middle Eastern, with those towel things on their heads; an older one and a young one, not much older than Meagan herself. The third man was obviously not Middle Eastern. He was as out of place in the cheap waterfront watering hole as the two foreigners. In a blue blazer and light blue silk shirt, he might as well be from Mars.
The older man and the good dresser talked quietly while the young one just listened. From time to time Meagan picked up snippets of conversation. French, they were speaking in French.
The young man didn’t take part in the conversation. When the older man stopped and talked to him, the old guy spoke in badly accented English. The old guy was translating for him. The young man obviously didn’t speak French. He didn’t seem important to the conversation anyway.
Frenchie removed something from his breast pocket and handed it under the table to the old guy. The old guy pocketed it and nodded to the young Arab. The young man slipped an envelope to Frenchie.
The two Middle Easterners had soft drinks in front of them. The Frenchman had a schooner of beer. None of them touched their drinks. The young man occasionally cracked open a peanut, but didn’t throw the shells on the floor. He had a neat pile of shells in front of him on the table.
“Where are we going to go from here, Chris?” Meagan turned her attention back to her companions.
“I thought Nelson Inlet sounded cool.” Chris replied. “Jack said it wasn’t too far from here.” He cracked open a peanut and carelessly tossed the shell on the floor.
“But there’s nothing there.” Meagan sipped at her beer. “He said not many boats go up there because there’s not much to see.”
“Yeah, but the hot springs sounded good.” Chris cracked another peanut.
“I’d be up for the hot springs.” Ted leaned back on his bench. “It’d be fun to go swimming in hot water.”
Just like a man. “You just remember the part about skinny dipping.” Meagan threw a peanut at Ted. “You just want to see me in the buff.”
“Yeah, like I ain’t already seen what you got. . .”
Meagan felt the heat rising in her face.
“Look, there’s an open pool table.” Ted stood. “You guys up for a game?”
“Sure, I haven’t whipped your ass in a while,” Chris replied. “Meg, you want to play?”
“No,” She waved him away. “You guys go ahead. We’d need a fourth to make it a real game anyway.”
Chris and Ted took their beers to the pool table, leaving Meagan alone at the table. They couldn’t handle it when I handed them their asses.
****
“Your friends, they have deserted you?” asked the man from the next table. Meagan hadn’t noticed when the two Arabs left. The man spoke with a heavy French accent. He spoke slowly, as if every word were carefully chosen.
“They’re just going to play a game of pool.”
“And you do not play?” The good-looking Frenchman rose from his seat.
“I play all right. I just don’t want to bruise their fragile male egos.”
“You are not only a beautiful woman, but very considerate as well.” The Frenchman eased himself into Chris’ place without asking permission. “I play very badly; perhaps if we teamed up it would be fair, no?”
The movements of his hands mesmerized Meagan. When he spoke he accented every word with a toss of the wrist or a wiggle of his fingers. His smile melted Meagan in her chair. There was something so Continental, so urbane about him.
“I, I guess so. . . “
“Come, let us join your friends. My name is Yves Bouhier.”
“I’m Meg. . . Meagan . . . I guess so . . .”
“It is good to meet you, Meagan I Guess So.” It seemed to take him five minutes to pronounce her name. It rolled off his tongue like music.
“May we join you, mes Amis?” Yves asked as they approached the pool table.
“Chris, Ted, this is Yves,” Meagan said. “He says that he’s a bad player. Want to team up? Eight ball?”
Chris stared quizzically at Yves for a moment, then looked at Megan. She nodded her head. C’mon Chris, this’ll be fun. She willed him to agree.
“Sure. . . ” Chris reached below the table for the rack. “I gotta warn you though, Ted’s a real shark.”
Sweet, Meagan thought. She pumped her fists in a quiet gesture of victory.
“Then it will be my pleasure to be beaten by the best.” Yves reached for a cue.
Chris racked up the balls.
“I could not help but overhear. You are planning on going to Nelson Inlet, no?”
They scratched for break and, to Meagan’s delight, she won.
“We were talking about it.” Chris made a show of chalking up his cue. “We haven’t really made any firm plans yet.”
“You must be the captain then,” Yves said to Chris. “I would not recommend Nelson Inlet. The fjord, it is deep right up to the shore. There is no place to anchor. It is two-hundred feet deep close in. You would have to tie off to a tree on shore.”
The movement of Yves’ hands as he pantomimed anchoring almost hypnotized Meagan.
“And there is nothing much to see,” Yves continued. “The walls are so steep there is no place to go ashore. I have cruised all over this area in my Pegasus. There are many more pleasant places to cruise.”
“Where would you go?” Meagan asked.
“Cross the Straits to the Broughtons. They are a cruising paradise.”
Meagan broke, scattering the balls over the table. The one ball went in.
“Odds.” Meagan lined up her next shot. She sank the nine ball. With no good lie for her third shot, she put the cue ball where Chris couldn’t possibly sink anything.
“Did you say Pegasus?” Ted asked. “That monster on the end of the pier.”
“She is my little indulgence, yes.”
Meagan noticed Yves’ obvious pride in his ship.
“Wow,” Ted said. “She must be over a hundred feet long.”
Chris missed his shot.
“She is forty-two meters to be exact,” Yves said. He missed his shot.
Megan couldn’t understand why Yves tried to put the seven ball in the side pocket when he had an easy shot on the five ball.
“That is about one-hundred and forty feet, I believe.” Yves looked up from his missed shot and gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Would you like to see her?”
“You betcha.” Ted sunk the four ball. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.” Ted missed his next shot.
Meagan smiled as she lined up her shot. Easy pickings.
“She looks fast just sitting at the dock,” Ted continued.
The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) Page 15