A Fortnight of Fury

by David Culberson

  Arlan told Tommy about the Happy Hobo’s disguise and of the dinghies in tow. He then told Tommy of their trip to Anguilla, finding nothing other than a dog swimming in the middle of the ocean. Arlan had to assure Tommy that they’d rescued the dog. While explaining, the overhead speaker spit out a news report from the BBC.

  …Prime Minister Maurice Bishop and seven others were executed today in Grenada by the People’s Revolutionary Army… a curfew has been put into place, and anybody caught out of their homes after dark will be shot on sight.

  Arlan thought about that and suggested to Tommy that he and Forrest fly to St. Martin early the next morning so they could organize a wider search pattern. Unless he and Jay or the Black Ops caught up with the Happy Hobo soon, they’d be heading farther down island. Arlan had reservations about being anywhere near the political chaos on Grenada with Captain Jay, who’d recklessly storm into any tumultuous situation to catch Boiled Bob, with no fear or regard for his safety or those who followed him.

  Arlan hung up and wondered if he should bail on the search but remembered what Captain Jay had said earlier—Grenada is two hundred miles south of Dominica. Other than chasing an inept group of drug-crazed idiots around the Caribbean and into a war zone, what could go wrong? Arlan thought and smiled at the ability of Captain Jay to find trouble. He walked to where Captain Jay sat and then stopped. He realized that it might be himself that always found trouble. That was troubling.

  Arlan walked toward the bar and Captain Jay and the three young ladies, who were totally engaged with the charming captain. Arlan had no idea what he was telling them but was sure it was bullshit. Arlan smiled and introduced himself. It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  As soon as Boiled Bob and Maynard tied the dinghies to the stern of the sailboat and Lisa was secured below deck, the anchor was raised, and Boiled Bob motored the Pappy Bobo due east from St Martin into the dark night. It was the wrong direction, but it was open ocean with no obstacles. They needed a fast getaway from the island, but the sail due south toward Dominica, particularly south of St. Martin, was full of rock outcroppings and small cays that were navigation hazards at night. They would turn back to the south once the sun was up, hoist the sails and be anchored off Dominica twenty-four hours later.

  Boiled Bob sat in the cockpit, pissed off at both Maynard and Long Bill, never getting a clear answer from Long Bill as to how Tricia had escaped with Lisa, other than, “I don’t know, Boss. I looked, and they were gone.” Maynard’s actions on the beach presented a totally different problem. Once Xavier’s body was found and Tricia told the police her story, Boiled Bob would be wanted by yet another country’s police force.

  He needed to rethink his plan—and rid himself of Maynard once they landed in Dominica.

  Chapter 8

  DAY 7: OCTOBER 20 (Morning)

  Early the next morning Captain Jay and Arlan sat with Pierre, the owner of the guesthouse and electronics store, in a small coffee shop a couple of streets from the guesthouse. Pierre was from the French side of the island but had a knack for retail business and realized a couple of decades earlier that he could make more money on the much busier Dutch side of the island. Arlan watched as Pierre and Captain Jay traded jokes and could see that their business relationship hadn’t gone south—yet.

  “What did you say the name of this boat is?” Pierre asked.

  “It was called the Happy Hobo, but we have word that the name has been repainted to somthin’ that sounds like it,” Jay said.

  “And this man, Boil Bob, he has your girlfriend?”

  “It’s Boiled Bob. He and a few of his drugged-out friends kidnapped her at gunpoint.”

  Pierre sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. He then said, “This boat, why do you think it is here?”

  Captain Jay answered, “Because he stole a bunch of dinghies, and he needs to unload them before he heads down island. We have a witness who saw the boat off Anguilla yesterday headin’ this way.”

  “And how do you know he’s going down island?” Pierre asked as he took a sip of his coffee.

  “Jesus, Pierre, you a fuckin’ detective or somethin’?”

  Pierre smiled, leaned forward and asked, “Do you know that my brother-in-law is the chief of police on the French side? He’s headquartered in Marigot. I’ll tell him about your problem.” He sat back and shrugged. “I don’t know, though. There are a lot of sailboats in and out of here.”

  “We’re gonna take a ride around the island. Ask around at the marinas. We’ll have a plane in the air searchin’ for the boat sometime this mornin’,” Captain Jay told Pierre.

  “I assume you’ll need an automobile?” Pierre asked with a smile.

  “You got one for us?”

  “Yes. It should be at the guesthouse by now. It’s my hotel vehicle, and for you I’ll only charge half the going rate of an island rental.”

  “Bullshit, Pierre. I’ll take it for nothin’. You’ve made enough from me with your high electronics prices.”

  Pierre smiled and said, “Maybe, if you ever pay me.”

  Captain Jay ignored Pierre’s comment and said, “We’ll check with you later. You gonna be at your store all day?”

  “Oui.”

  “Pierre, don’t give me that French shit,” Captain Jay said.

  Arlan waited for Pierre to stomp out of the coffee shop. Instead, he placed his hands on Captain Jay’s shoulders and kissed each of his cheeks. He then stood back and said, “Plus de francais, capitaine.”

  Captain Jay laughed, and Pierre left the coffee shop.

  Captain Jay looked at Arlan and asked, “What did he say?”

  Arlan stood and said, “I think he said you’re an asshole.”

  Captain Jay snorted and said, “Let’s go, Rookie. What time did Tommy say they would land?”

  Arlan looked at his titanium watch and said, “About now.”

  Arlan and Jay left the coffee shop and walked back to the guesthouse. The manager met them outside and handed Captain Jay the key to a van parked next to his office. It was a white van with “Pierre’s Happy Place” painted on its sides in green and gold lettering. A cartoon likeness of Pierre’s smiling mug was painted on the back doors.

  Jay laughed and said, “Get in, Rookie. We got places to go and people to meet.”

  Arlan paused outside the van and looked up and down the street before getting in, glad that nobody on the island knew him.

  Five minutes later they were at the airport to meet Tommy, Henry and Forrest, who’d flown the rented Aero Commander from Tortola to St. Martin.

  The three men were easy to spot. They’d taken seats at an outdoor table at a café next to the parking lot at the airport and, as Arlan expected, all three doubled over laughing when Captain Jay pulled next to them in the ridiculous van. Arlan and Jay got out of the van and joined them. The discussion quickly moved from the van to how best to proceed with the search.

  While Forrest talked about possible search routes, Arlan leaned toward Tommy and asked, “Were you able to check on Gallows Point and Frank yesterday?”

  In a hushed tone, Tommy said, “Everything i-is fine. Frank’s c-crew is working. B-Blake stopped by and was h-happy as hell. He told me to thank you f-for the dress.”

  Arlan didn’t respond.

  “Y-you bought him a d-dress?” Tommy asked with a grin.

  “No. I bought his daughter a dress. She’s entered in some kind of beauty contest this coming weekend.”

  Tommy paused, then laughed and said, “That dress m-must have taken th-the whole nine yards.”

  Arlan leaned back and listened to Forrest. Captain Jay looked impatient. It was obvious to Arlan that Jay was not happy about coordinating with the Black Ops, headed up by Charlie, who was still down island but firmly in control of the Black Ops. Besides losing some control of the search there
was bad blood between Captain Jay and Charlie, whom Captain Jay used to work for before buying him out of the dive operation at the resort.

  Arlan decided to lighten the discussion. He nodded to Henry and asked, “How did these two convince you to come along? I thought you were pretty busy opening up your liquor store.”

  Henry, an ex-mercenary from South Africa, was a son-in-law of Stu, the owner of the Happy Hobo. In his staccato Afrikaner accent, he said, “Forrest is going to need an extra pair of eyes.”

  Tommy laughed and said, “Henry’s as b-blind as a bat.”

  “Some kind of degenerative disease, the doctor tells me. But I can still spot my father-in-law’s boat, I’ll tell you,” Henry said.

  “B-bull. It’s all th-that damn rum you d-drink.”

  Henry smiled, raised his glass and said, “That too.”

  Tommy said to Arlan, “I’m c-coming with you g-guys on the boat. I want to be closer t-to the action when we c-catch up with Boiled B-Bob.”

  Arlan welcomed the addition. Captain Jay was impassive.

  Forrest flashed his big smile and said, “We searched the British islands all day yesterday and saw no sign of the Happy Hobo. Tommy told us last night about the possible changes to the boat, so we decided to look around this morning before landing here.”

  “They’re not there. We already know that,” Captain Jay said.

  “We flew around Anguilla—”

  “We already checked there,” Jay said. “They sailed here to St. Martin the day before yesterday. We have a witness.”

  Forrest kept his smile and said, “I was going to say, we flew around Anguilla this morning and didn’t find the boat.”

  Henry added, “We then flew east and spotted a yawl. But it was heading south southwest, like it was coming into the Caribbean from the Atlantic.”

  “And it looked like a fiberglass replica of an Alden yawl. It was green and white with two big green stripes along the hull. Really ugly,” Forrest said with a laugh. “We did a couple of flyovers, but it wasn’t our boat.”

  “It could have been,” Jay said.

  “I don’t think anybody could have done that much damage to the Happy Hobo in such a short time,” Forrest said. “Besides, it had only two dinghies trailing behind it.”

  “Two?” Captain Jay said.

  “That’s not unusual,” Henry said. “I’ve done it many times, especially on long passages.”

  “Maybe they sold all but two and sailed away,” Jay said.

  “And maybe they didn’t,” Henry said, looking perturbed at Jay.

  Arlan said, “It doesn’t make any sense for the Happy Hobo to be that far east. I think Forrest is right.”

  Captain Jay stood and said, “We’re gonna check around the island by land today. We’ll stop and ask questions about the dinghies. He’s had to have sold them here. Somebody saw somethin’.” Captain Jay started to walk toward the van, then turned and said to Forrest and Henry, “You should fly south and look for that green and white yawl.” He then nodded to Arlan and Tommy and said, “You guys comin’?”

  Forrest stood, pulled something from his shirt pocket and handed it to Captain Jay. “You might need this,” he said.

  Jay walked back to the table, and Forrest held out his hand.

  Captain Jay took what Forrest offered and asked, “Where’d you get this?”

  “I asked around the island for a photo of Boiled Bob the day I found out about the kidnapping. One of his pissed off followers who left him a year ago gave that to me. She was really mad,” Forrest said with a smile.

  Arlan looked over Jay’s shoulder and saw a photo of Long Bill, Boiled Bob and Maynard standing shoulder to shoulder on a beach in the shade of a palm tree. Long Bill, a head taller than Boiled Bob and towering over Maynard, had a broad grin. Boiled Bob wore a smirk and Maynard a sneer.

  Perfect, Arlan thought.

  * * *

  Captain Jay, Arlan and Tommy took the van back to the guesthouse, walked across the street to the marina where Jay had left his boat and asked a few sailors about a green and white yawl. They knew nothing about the yawl, and when Jay showed them the photo they shook their heads. After walking up and back down the harbor front, with no recognition of anybody in the photo, they decided that the next place they should check was the Philipsburg, with its crowded harbor and commercial center.

  Captain Jay drove the van east, away from the crowded harbor and up a mountain with a spattering of homes that had panoramic views south to the Phillipsburg harbor and a peek of St. Barts, fifteen miles farther to the south. The van descended the mountain and entered Phillipsburg on the narrow main street that ran one block parallel to the mile-long beach. Shops, bars and restaurants lined both sides of the street. Jay drove the van to the far side of the beach near a marina and cruise ship port and parked in the nearest parking space.

  Arlan exited the van and looked back up the beach.

  “This is going to take some time. There are a lot of places local sailors could use as a hangout,” Arlan said.

  “Damn, Rookie, don’t be so pessimistic. We’ll start with the first one, then move on to the second,” Captain Jay said and walked toward an open-air bar near the parking space.

  Three hundred feet and five establishments later, the trio entered an outdoor café attached to a large provision store. Arlan noticed that there weren’t many people out and about—not as many as he’d seen along this touristy strip during previous visits. A couple of dozen tourists sauntered slowly along the beach, sometimes stepping in and out of shops. Some sat at cafes and mingled with the spattering of locals.

  So far they’d seen a couple of sailors who looked disinterested enough with their surroundings to be locals. The sailors weren’t too keen to answer questions about a green and white yawl that may have passed through or about dinghies being offered for sale. One man refused to look at the photo of Boiled Bob and his companions. Captain Jay called him a jerk and stomped toward the next café.

  “M-maybe you should t-try a better bedside m-manner,” Tommy said as they walked to the outdoor café that was attached to a large provision shop. As they walked closer, Arlan could see that the store sold hardware as well.

  Two men and a woman, all of whom looked as though they’d attended Woodstock in the late 60’s and hadn’t changed their clothes or haircuts since, sat at the table nearest the beach. The only other patrons in the café were three large men who sat a couple of tables away, talking loudly and drinking shots of something. They were quintessential tourists, probably having chartered a bareboat that was anchored nearby. It wasn’t yet noon, and Arlan smiled, knowing they would be passed out by mid-afternoon, especially if they ventured out of the cafe to the beach where the intense Caribbean sun would bake their inebriated brains in no time.

  Captain Jay introduced himself to the shaggy group of aging hippies and sat at the table next to them. Arlan and Tommy did the same, nodding at the trio as they sat. Once they learned that Captain Jay and his two friends were residents of the Caribbean they became more talkative, occasionally glancing over to the table of belligerent men, obviously annoyed at their loud behavior. The woman had a European accent, maybe Dutch. The two men were either American or Canadian.

  “We’re looking for a sailboat,” Captain Jay said once he deemed the perfunctory niceties to be over with.

  The woman laughed, pointed out into the bay and said, “Take your pick.”

  Captain Jay forced a laugh.

  Tommy said, “You l-look like sailors. Do you know of the H-Happy Hobo, the Alden y-yawl out of St. J-John?”

  The greyer of the two men, who’d introduced himself as Dave, said, “I know the boat. Been on it once about five years ago. It’s always here during race week. It’s a hell of a nice boat.”

  “It w-was stolen last w-week, and we think it’s h-heading this way.”
>
  “Wh-what d-did h-he s-say?” a loud voice boomed from the table across the café where the three tourists sat, all laughing and looking toward Tommy.

  Tommy didn’t laugh and, to Arlan’s surprise, didn’t walk over to confront them.

  After an awkward moment, Captain Jay said, “We think that the people who stole the Happy Hobo have disguised it. Some of the bright work has been painted over, and the name on the stern has been doctored.” He paused and then said, “And it’s towin’ five or six dinghies stolen from Cruz Bay.”

  “Th-they also kidnapped a friend of ours and w-we think she’s on the b-boat.”

  “Wh-what b-boat are y-you t-talking about?” one of the tourists shouted while his friends laughed.

  Tommy looked at Arlan and said, “He’s looking to get his ass kicked.”

  Arlan and Jay looked at each other. Tommy hadn’t stuttered. Things were going to get rough real soon for the three men making fun of Tommy.

  Everyone stared at the tourists for a moment. Then Dave said, “I think I saw that boat two days ago. Didn’t know then it was the Happy Hobo but thought it looked familiar. Came in the morning, and two men brought a bunch of dinghies to the dock.” He pointed to a dock a hundred yards farther down the beach. “I was curious. You don’t see many Alden yawls around anymore. I checked with Adrian, the owner of this place, and he told me that the shorter of the two men with the dinghies came in and told him he was selling five of them at a price too good to be true.”

  “How much?” Arlan asked.

  “I think something like five hundred dollars each. Anyway, I walked to the dock to look at them. They were in great shape. All inflatables. Two Avalons and three Zodiacs. I’d have bought one if I’d had the cash.”

  Captain Jay pulled the photo from his pants pocket and showed it to Dave.