Welcome to Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 3)

by Reed, Grant T.

“Well, that’s where things get a little delicate,” confessed Maury. Suddenly, he cleared his throat and nodded at the dock workers who were returning with another fish. “Toss it on the boardwalk at the end of the scaffold,” ordered Maury. When the men had gone, he moved closer to Garrett. “You see,” he confided, “all merchants are pirates in a way. If the price is right, most of em’ will move just about anything.”

  “Sure,” agreed Garrett, “that’s where these stinkin fish come in. If it looks like fish, smells like fish, then to the authorities it’s a fish.”

  “And if at first it ain’t fish, a few gons greasing their palms and voila, it turns out it is indeed a shipment of marlin after all.”

  Garrett nodded knowingly. “It doesn’t hurt when the product is lying in a dark hold somewhere either,” he added thoughtfully. “I hope you’ve greased the right palms here in Deep Cove, or we could have a problem on our hands if this tuna lies in the sun much longer.”

  “It will be a problem,” agreed B.S., joining Maury and Garrett. “The harbour master isn’t a stupid man; he knows what goes on down here. He will turn a cheek for the right price, but he won’t go out of his way to support Kline’s activities.”

  Garrett assessed the younger man and noted the boy had tucked his journal away for the time being. “So, like I said earlier, rotting fish are not the main concern. If I open one up, what will I find Maury?”

  “Carefully sealed parcels. Each one eight inches in length and about fifteen inches in diameter.” The ogre used his hands to demonstrate the size of each package.

  “Uh huh,” groaned Garrett, “ganja, weed, marahoochie, the old wacky tabbacky?” Maury shook his head, frowning. “God, it’s worse than I thought. It’s the hard stuff is it? Opioids, morphine, heroine?”

  “I ain’t at liberty to say,” returned Maury in a hushed tone.

  “And you might want to consider minding your own business,” added B.S. with a scowl.

  “If you want my help, then I insist on knowing what it is we are moving,” returned Garrett stubbornly.

  “Mr. Kline doesn’t deal in drugs,” whispered Maury with a glance at B.S. “He’s more of a commodity man, precious gemstones and the like.” Maury stopped speaking as the men from the warehouse came down the dock again.

  Approaching the threesome, the man heading the dock workers glowered in their direction. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Our business with you is concluded.” He watched as his pals threw the last of the giant marlins to the dock.

  “You bet it is,” snapped Maury. “You tell that weasel Ompim we won’t be renting his storehouse in the near future.”

  “Gratefully,” returned the sailor, wiping a chunk of fish skin from his shoulder. The rest of the workers trudged past – all of them sullen.

  Garrett watched B.S. tense, his eyes challenging the men. ‘He’s a fighter this one,’ thought Garrett. ‘Doesn’t know when the odds are against him though.’ B.S’ back was rigid, his chest puffed out and his fists balled at his sides. ‘Or doesn’t care.’

  Maury waited till the men had gone, before sinking to his buttocks beside the stall. “We’re ruined!” he whined.

  Garrett remained quiet. At last he seated himself beside the ogre. “Earlier you said the Sunflower was to take the load up the coast to Ponce?”

  “Yes,” agreed Maury sullenly.

  “And who’s the contact there to receive the shipment?”

  “What does it matter?” complained Maury. “The Sunflower isn’t coming and there’s nothing to do but get the packages out of the fish. I’ll have to return them to Mr. Kline’s warehouse.”

  “I don’t think it’ll sit well for either of us if we draw undue attention to Mr. Kline’s illegal commodities. What about the Callahan, you said it was due in tomorrow?”

  “It could be days before one of Kline’s ships arrive. Spring storms are common and vessels are usually delayed this early in the season. I only mentioned the Callahan in an effort to prevent them from evicting our goods.”

  “Then we’ll have to find another ship,” said Garrett.

  “Ship captains are a particular bunch. Good luck finding one desperate enough to take on this stinking cargo,” snapped Maury. Garrett remained thoughtful. Seeing he wasn’t going to get a response from the man, Maury used his spear to push himself up. “Watch the fish; I’m going to get a wagonload of crates from the warehouse on the upper level.”

  “And I’m going to check the docks for the Sunflower,” corrected Garrett, “but before I go, what’s the name of your Ponce contact?”

  “One eyed Jacques. He works the docks in Port Catherine’s. He was Rudy’s contact and that’s all I know of him.”

  “One eyed Jacques,” repeated Garrett thoughtfully. “And what was the Sunflower’s fee to deliver the fish?”

  “Four hundred and eighty gons,” grumbled Maury. “We already paid them eighty gons as down payment. It’s a pretty standard fee, considering the distance, and what they believed to be the cargo.”

  “I take it you have the rest of the money close by?”

  “I can get it,” replied Maury. He returned Garrett’s look with a suspicious glare.

  “Excellent,” assured Garrett, “and now to double check the pier for our reputable Sunflower.”

  “She’s not here,” said Maury forlornly, “and you need to keep an eye on the product.”

  “B.S. looks capable,” argued Garrett. “You just get those crates. We’ll need them either way.” B.S. remained quiet and seated himself on the counter again.

  “Either way?” asked Maury hopefully.

  Garrett ignored the ogre and seemed lost in thought again. At last he nodded to Maury. “This is what I need you to do. Rent the wagon and return to Mr. Kline’s. I want you to bring back Frank, Hector, Vic and anyone else with a few muscles.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Maury. “It’ll take more than goons with muscle to convince anyone to take on this stinking load.”

  “The goons aren’t for convincing anyone,” admitted Garrett. “They’re for moving those fish off the dock.”

  “Oh,” conceded Maury, “guess it is our responsibility.” Assessing the line of rotting Marlins, he grimaced. “Frank isn’t going to be happy about this.”

  5

  Think Outside the Docks

  Garrett made another pass down the central aisle of the ‘Lucky Nymph’. The gambling house was cleaner than most he had seen, but that wasn’t saying much as he’d decided long ago that his few spare coins were better spent on an eyeful of flesh than a handful of cards. Most of the poker tables were filling now as the evening came on, and the noise level grew with the influx of patrons. The serving ladies began lighting lamps to ward off the coming darkness.

  Passing a slim man in a fine black vest and white dress shirt, Garrett accepted a shot glass of liquor and nodded for the fellow to continue past him. Downing the contents of the glass, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and used the movement to look at the cards of one of the men seated at a table to his right. Four men at the table had been playing poker for over two hours and this particular fellow was losing badly. The man was pudgy and middle aged, but well dressed. He had draped his fine black captain’s coat over the back of his chair, and it was the embroidered motif of a poker hand – four aces and the king of clubs – that had caught Garrett’s attention. Assessing the man’s dwindling funds, Garrett estimated he had but a few hands left before he went bust.

  Continuing down the aisle, Garrett came to the wall of the building. He made his way to the booths along the outside of the floor and grabbed an empty window seat from which he could still see the captain. Outside, the sun was setting and all that remained of its passage was an orangey-pink sky. Below him the docks were covered in shadow and many of the boats that occupied the harbour earlier in the day had now debarked upon their various routes. He couldn’t see Maury or B.S. from here, but he hoped the ogre was waiting for his return before carting the
commodities back to Mr. Kline’s warehouse.

  After leaving Maury to fetch his wagon, Garrett had wandered upon the pier to check for signs of the Sunflower. Sixty-two vessels later, Maury’s doubts had been confirmed. The ship was not in port. Something had caught Garrett’s attention during the walk though, and he had pondered it for several minutes. Tied to the various floating docks, he’d noticed three longboats for which he could find no mother vessel. Two of the craft bore names, the Dragonfly and the SeaKing, but the third contained only the carved wooden adornment of a hand of cards – four aces and the king of clubs.

  Leaving the docks behind, Garrett had made his way up the cliffs. At the top, a white haired oldster was loading one of the wagons beside the winches and Garrett stopped to offer a hand. The old-timer was grateful and offered to share a pint before hitting the road. Garrett had accepted and used the opportunity to ask the man about the longboats in the cove.

  “Ah,” replied the white haired man, “ye be wondering why a ship would leave her skiff a’ harbour.”

  “Is it possible that some sailors aboard a ship have shore leave, while others do not?”

  “Aye, ‘tis possible,” agreed the old man slurping his beer, “but not likely. ‘Tis the captain ye seek. Come ashore to make business.”

  “The captain?” asked Garrett, “but why not sail his ship into port?”

  “Not all seadogs are as honest as the pair o’ us,” said the old man with a wink.

  “Of course,” agreed Garrett reflectively. To a pirate, an enclosed harbour could be a death sentence.

  “Always a boat or three beyond yonder point,” said the man, pointing out beyond the lighthouse. “And always an orphaned skiff or three in the cove.” Thanking Garrett again, the man downed the rest of his beer and headed for his wagon.

  Garrett had gone from one establishment to another, inquiring discreetly about crew members from the Dragonfly or SeaKing. After two hours, he’d turned up nothing. He was about to return to the docks, when he’d spotted the captain’s jacket with the card motif draped over the back of the chair. Now with the day disappearing, Garrett was getting antsy, waiting for the captain to finish his game.

  Finally the man threw his cards down and grunted in disgust. Angrily, he grabbed for his coat and made his way toward the door. Garrett rose smoothly and was gaining on the captain, when two others closed on the man from either side of the aisle. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?” Garrett heard one of the men ask. Each of them took an arm and ushered the captain outside.

  By the time Garrett made his way to the door and into the shadowy street, the ruffians had the captain up against the outer wall of the Lucky Nymph and were delivering alternating punches to the man’s midsection. Stopping mid blow, one of the brutes eyed Garrett and gave a quick sideways shake of his head. “Keep moving buddy or you’ll get yourself into trouble.”

  “The captain and I have business,” returned Garrett.

  “Get in line,” said the ruffian, delivering another explosive punch to the man’s ribs.

  “Not a problem gentlemen,” said Garrett, waving dismissively. “I see this kind of thing all the time, working for Mr. Kline.”

  “Mr. Kline?” repeated the first man, and both thugs halted their beating. “Hey, we don’t want any trouble, but this guy owes us money.”

  Garrett had planned on simply asking the captain to take on the shipment for Kline. With his Ship outside the harbour, Garrett figured the captain to be a pirate who wouldn’t be opposed to smuggling questionable contents aboard his vessel. Now seeing an opportunity to have the skipper agree to his terms without the bother of negotiations, Garrett pressed on, allowing his quick wits to guide his gut instincts. “Understandable,” he said. “Carry on. I’ll wait.” The first brute shrugged and looked at his companion for confirmation before winding up again. “That is unless you’d rather have your payment in coin as opposed to a pound of flesh,” offered Garrett.”

  “What are you getting at?” asked the nearest of the thugs.

  “It’s just that Mr. Kline might consider taking over the debt – if it’s not too hefty, of course. A skipper needs to be able to captain his ship and whip his crew into shape. Hard to do when you’re bedridden for a month.” The captain nodded enthusiastically and the two assailants shared a curious glance.

  “The captain here has some bad habits,” said the thug on the left.

  “Oh I shouldn’t concern myself with the details gentlemen. Just the sum, if you will.”

  “Two hundred and forty-two gons,” returned the first thug.

  “And another twenty in finder’s fees,” added the second with a hard look in Garrett’s direction.

  “Of course,” replied Garrett pleasantly. “Do you feel up for a little delivery run into southern Ponce?” he inquired of the captain. “We’ll see your debt settled and add a little coin for your operating costs.” Garrett didn’t have long to wait for the man’s agreeable nod. “Excellent. Fellas, if you’ll be so kind as to escort the good captain to the pier with us, I’ll have those funds passed over.”

  * * * *

  The sun had set an hour ago and the docks were black, except for lanterns lighting the occasional ship deck and the lamp burning atop stall 180.

  “But I wanna move dose boxes. Dese fishes is heavy,” grunted Vic.

  “Look how scrawny this guy is, Vic,” said Maury tapping Garrett’s midsection. “He couldn’t lift a mackerel, let alone a marlin.”

  “Would you get moving?” growled Frank. The minotaur stood six feet from Vic, his large hairy arms encircling the rotting tail section of the fish Vic was carrying. Frank was trying to hold his arm over his nose and lift the fish at the same time, but was failing in his efforts.

  “Okay,” grumbled Vic with a scowl at Garrett.

  “If you’d loaded the fish while I was gone, you’d be done by now,” chastised Garrett. He watched Vic and Frank shuffle off toward a flat bedded barge where the marlins were being stacked. Lifting another crate from behind the stall, he passed it to B.S. who turned for the captain’s ship, the “Four High”.

  Upon releasing the captain from his debt, Garrett had sent Hector and the captain to retrieve the few crew remaining ashore and to bring the ship into port for loading. Garrett had made Maury rent one of the local barges and ordered Vic and Frank to clear the pier of the rotting fish. With everything finally coming together, he’d headed back into town to meet with Conn Carlson at the fertiliser plant.

  “I can’t believe you pulled it off!” admitted Maury with a toothy grin. “How in God’s green pastures did you do it?”

  “Guess I was at the right place at the right time,” said Garrett modestly.

  “Even with the eighty gons wasted on the Sunflower, we still come out ahead on this guy. He sure seems grateful we paid off his collectors.”

  “He’s lucky to be walking right now,” confided Garrett.

  “You are a lucky charm,” reasoned Maury. He slapped Garrett on the shoulder. Garrett grunted and handed another box to Hector. “How’d you know Conn Carlson would take those fish off our hands?”

  “I’ve done a little work for him in the past,” admitted Garrett. “He produces an excellent fish fertiliser and was only too happy to take the load.” Garrett cleared his throat and changed the topic, so he wouldn’t have to divulge the fact he now had an extra ten gons in his own pocket as payment for the fish. “You think this will clear up my debt?” he asked.

  “That’s up to Mr. Kline,” admitted Maury. “You did one heck of a job getting our operation up and running again though. Mr. Kline will be pleased with the both of us.” Maury scratched at his head and shuffled his feet. “It’s pretty tough not to give you a passing grade.”

  “Oh crap,” shrieked Garrett, nearly dropping a crate.

  “What?” asked Maury startled at Garrett’s reaction. “I said you did real well.”

  “And I appreciate that,” acknowledged Garrett, leaving the crate
on top of the stall and rushing past the ogre. “Do you think you guys can handle the rest on your own?”

  “Sure, I guess,” replied Maury.

  “It’s just that I forgot I was supposed to meet somebody somewhere. I hope I’m not too late.”

  “It’s okay, you’ve earned the rest of the night off,” agreed Maury.

  Garrett nodded his thanks and ran for the ramp leading up the cliff. Behind him he heard Vic complaining. “Ya dat’s just like him to be runnin’ off. He neber finishes nuttin’.”

  Hector snorted in agreement.

  6

  Duty Calls

  Garrett hurried up the stairs of the old inn and cursed when he tripped on the step. Forcing himself to take a calming breath, he waited for a ten count before continuing down the dimly lit corridor. Coming to the third door on his right – also the last room on this side of the building - he stopped and took another deep breath. Rapping his knuckles on the door, he waited only two seconds before it was opened.

  A slim woman stood before him. She was attractive, with shoulder-length brown hair. Garrett didn’t know her exact age, but he thought she was in her early thirties. She watched him, her face betraying no emotion. She stepped away from the doorway and allowed him entry into the room. “Garrett,” she acknowledged softly. She did not look angry and her tone was not sharp, but Garrett was guarded as he entered the room. He knew she would not be happy that he was late.

  Inside the door rested a table with two chairs. The table contained a lamp, a notebook, and a pair of glasses. Garrett noticed she had already written something in her book.

  “Coral,” he said in return and nodded as he passed by. The woman wrinkled her nose at the pungent fish smell, but she did not question him on it. Removing his jacket, Garrett tossed it on the bed and then jumped down beside it. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered us some dinner. I’m starving.”

  “I have already eaten,” she said, closing the door. She seated herself in one of the chairs, her focus once more targeting him.