Bourbon & Blood: A Crime Fiction Novel (Bill Conlin Thriller)

by Garrard Hayes

  “Yes, that's right,” Jimmy said.

  “So what are you waiting for?” he asked.

  Jimmy handed the captain the ten thousand dollars that I had given him earlier in the week. He looked into the envelope and nodded.

  “This will do,” he said.

  I reached between them and handed the captain another ten thousand. “Is there any way to keep me in separate quarters?” I asked.

  “This is very good. Are you some kind of big shot? Da, something can be arranged. My assistant is not on vessel. You can use his quarters until we pick him up at Port of Rotterdam,” he said, a thin crooked smile crossing his face. He pointed towards the ship. “You go up da ramp and wait for me. We leave in two hours.”

  The captain went back to yelling commands at the dockworkers, then turned and started up the ramp.

  I gave Jimmy a big hug. “Thanks, brother. I'll see you in a few weeks.”

  I didn’t know how long I’d be gone for, a few weeks, a few months, or if I was even going to make it back alive. I was proud of Jimmy for how he had turned his life around and had truly become like a real brother to me. I would miss him and I was worried for his safety while I was gone.

  “Good luck, Bill, and be safe,” he said, and walked off deep in thought.

  I followed the Captain up the narrow ramp, carrying my two bags. When we got onto the deck of the ship he barked at the crew in Russian. They nodded and cleared out, rushing off to take care of his request.

  “You come with me,” he said.

  Holding onto the railing, I followed him along the edge of the deck and through a narrow doorway. We climbed the stairs to the fourth level. It was dark, lit only by dull lights at the top of each landing. Once we reached the landing, he opened the door, and we entered the control room. He walked in, reached under a small table covered with maps, and pulled out a bottle of vodka and two small shot glasses.

  “Now we drink,” he said, pouring vodka into the glasses and handing one to me.

  He knocked back the clear liquid and eyed me. I drank the vodka and he immediately refilled my glass.

  “We have a long trip so relax. You'll pay again to come back? Right my friend?”

  “Well, if I have a good trip.” I said, smiling.

  He looked down at my two large bags, then looked behind me and sighed. Stepping over to an intercom he started yelling in Russian at one of his crew who was somewhere on the ship. He wiped his brow with a rag.

  “I apologize for da delay. I had to clear somebody out of da cabin. Here is a key to lock your things. Now we drink? It is good, very good, da?” he said, clinking his glass against mine.

  “When do we leave, captain?” I asked, drinking my shot.

  “Call me Igor, my new friend. We leave as soon as these fookin asses finish loading containers,” he said and poured another shot. He looked at me to see if I was still drinking with him.

  I nodded and he filled my shot glass. One of the crew came in and spoke to the captain in Russian. He seemed pleased and turned to me. “Everything is ready for you, John. Let's go.”

  I picked up my bags and followed Igor down to the third level, and then into a small door that led to a narrow hallway. An echo rang out as our feet clanked on the metal floor. We walked down the hallway passing many doors of other crewmembers.

  We finally arrived at my cabin. I stepped into the small room, which had a single bed, a locker and a small narrow table with a lamp.

  “So? Is this great or what?”

  “This will do fine,” I replied.

  “Dis is very good. Come out on deck in an hour and we will be pulled out into the harbor,” he said. As he headed out, he looked very satisfied with himself. “Remember come out in one hour. You'll want to see the view as we leave your country,” he said, and closed the door.

  I put my bags in the locker and locked it with a padlock that was hanging there with a key inserted. I felt a little funny about leaving my weapons in the locker, but I took a handgun and a knife from the bag. I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my face, tired and trying to prepare myself for the long trip.

  I pulled out a paperback novel and started reading. The novel was Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. It’s the story of a guy who escapes from prison in Australia to hide in India. I was reading in the small bed, when I felt the ship move and realized it was time to go up on the deck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I descended the stairs to the deck of the ship and found several crewmembers leaning over the railing. Looking out as we pulled away from the Port of Newark, I didn't know how long it would be before I saw land again. The sky was grey with low-hanging clouds and a cold wind blowing from the east. I cupped my hands around my lighter and lit my cigarette. I took the smoke deep into my lungs, then slowly exhaled.

  I stared at the dock as we navigated out into the harbor. We passed lower Manhattan, then Brooklyn, then the edge of Long Island, and then out into the Atlantic Ocean.

  The salty aroma of the sea surrounded me. A spray of ocean mist landed on my face as the ship gained speed in the open water. I watched, as my hometown grew smaller in the distance. A city so beautiful, so full of opportunity and success for some people, but for me it held only pain and sadness.

  The clouds and the ocean seemed to merge on the horizon, with the same grey pallor. The air was cold and the ocean mist only added to the grey dismal mood. I wasn't sure what I was going to find on the other side of the world, but I knew it wasn't going to beat me. Viktor had to die, and nothing would stand in my way.

  I took a hard drag on my cigarette and flicked it into the grey water. The red trail disappeared into the waves below. A chill went up my spine. I turned up the collar of my black leather jacket and put my hands in the pockets.

  As I walked around the deck, cliques of men huddled together talking and smoking. Much like the gangs and crews of New York, they clung to each other due to affiliations or nationality. One group was making a lot of noise, laughing and creating a ruckus. Two of the crewmembers wrestled, play fighting and amusing the others. One guy fell over onto the floor and howled with laughter. I noticed a handgun sticking out of his waistband and knew I wasn't the only one carrying weapons on board.

  As I climbed the narrow metal stairs to my cabin in the ship's tower, a cloud of sadness and regret hovered over me. Fatigue and exhaustion took my last bit of energy; I sighed and closed the cabin door.

  I collapsed into bed and stared at the metal riveted ceiling. I could feel the ship rise and fall against the waves, a gentle swaying in the open ocean. The sound of my own breathing filled my ears. My eyes became heavy and the darkness swallowed me in its black silence.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Garrard Hayes is a lifelong New York resident whose ancestors made their living on the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn. His love of action and crime fiction, together with a knack for good, gritty story telling, sparked him to write. He lives in New York with his wife, two children, and three dogs.