Boiled Bob was confused. He heard Maynard say that they wanted his boat. Now they say they want him to sail the boat for them. “You want me to sail to Grenada and to bring back more weapons like those?” Boiled Bob asked and nodded to the AK-47s on the shelves.
“Dat tis what I’m aksin you.”
Bob, not sure where to go next with this bizarre conversation, asked, “Why don’t you take a boat to Grenada and get the weapons yourself? Not that I don’t want to help.”
“Because yo are a bald-head,” Kabinda said. He then frowned and said, “Because yo look like a tourist and with all of de Babylon warships in de area yo won’t look suspicious. A nice boat sailed by a group of Dreads would be a problem.”
“How much do I get paid to do this?” Bob asked.
Ras Kabinda frowned. Bob looked around the room and saw the other Dreads glaring back.
“I tought you wanted to help I and I wit the oppressors here on de island,” Kabinda said.
This wasn’t going as planned, but Boiled Bob didn’t dare argue. He was confused and hesitated before answering. He wasn’t going to make money, but maybe this was an opportunity to get rid of Maynard.
Bob said, “Okay, the tall man who is still on the boat and I will sail to Grenada. I’ll need to know who to meet and where.”
“I and I gonna send Skandar wit yo. My bredren spent his youth as a fisherman wit his fadder and knows the oceans well.”
“What?” Boiled Bob said. “I don’t need help sailing my boat to Grenada.”
A moment later a muscular, shirtless man with cold eyes walked through the open door. He was just about as tall as Long Bill, and his dreadlocks hung down past his bulky shoulders.
“Dis is bredren Ras Pyter,” Ras Kabinda said. “But he goes by his Babylon name, Skandar.”
Skandar looked even meaner than Maynard.
“I know the seas here too,” Boiled Bob said, not wanting to protest too much and anger the Dreads.
Ras Kabinda sighed and said, “Yo gonna leave tonight. It gonna take a night and a day and anodder night to get der. If der is gonna be military trouble on Grenada, yo need to go to come back fast.”
“But…”
“And bredren Skandar know de Cubans on Grenada. De Cubans know him. Dey doan know you.”
Boiled Bob thought for a moment. He heard Pam and Mary laughing and deeper laughs came from some of the Dread men out by the fire. They would probably be okay hanging out with the Dreads for a while. But how was he going to get rid of Maynard? And how would he slip Skandar and continue to sail past Grenada and farther south? And what about Lisa?
Boiled Bob took in a deep breath and said, “I’ll take Skandar, but I want Maynard to stay here.”
Ras Lyon and Ras Joseph protested. Maynard’s hand slipped to the waistband of his shorts.
Ras Kabinda smiled and asked, “Why?”
“Because he’s already killed a person on this trip and has caused us a world of trouble,” Boiled Bob said.
Maynard took a step toward Boiled Bob, but Ras Kabinda’s hard stare stopped him.
“He’s a risk,” Boiled Bob said.
Maynard’s hand shot down his pants. The Dreads watched Maynard’s reaction with indifference.
Ras Kabinda said to Maynard, “I and I doan need anudder dead white man to tro away down de falls. Last one gone floatin all de way to de ocean. Babylon come to accuse I and I of killin he.”
Boiled Bob sensed that Ras Kabinda knew Maynard was a problem and said, “We may not return with your weapons if he comes along. We’ll probably be in jail and the boats and weapons confiscated.”
Maynard, not taking his eyes off Boiled Bob, said, “I know the Cubans better than Skandar.”
“Dey know Skandar,” Ras Kabinda said. He looked at Boiled Bob and said, “Der are many dog heart amonks I and I.”
Boiled Bob frowned and shrugged his shoulders.
Ras Kabinda then repeated what he’d said in a way Bob could understand. “Maynard has a cruel heart. Dat’s fo true. Sometimes tis good fo I and I. Not dis time. We need dose weapons. Time is runnin out fo de Cubans.”
After useless protests from Maynard it was agreed that Skandar and Boiled Bob would be driven back to the beach and depart for Grenada that night and that Lisa and Long Bill could stay on the boat. Maynard would stay with the Dreads. When Pam and Mary were asked what they wanted to do they giggled through heavy marijuana smoke and said that they wanted to stay in the camp. The Dread men around them smiled.
Convinced that the Grenada invasion was a hoax, Boiled Bob rolled his eyes and left. In reality, given the way things had been going, he was glad to be shedding his crew. Maybe he and Long Bill could sail the boat to Venezuela, sell it to one of the many modern-day pirates he knew lived there and disappear to Uruguay or Chile. But he had Lisa to deal with and now Skandar, the big Dread with reptilian eyes.
* * *
Charlie’s paid contacts around Dominica were on the alert, and one, a fisherman from a small village north of Roseau, spotted the ugly green and white yawl as it passed his village. He followed it in his fishing boat and saw it anchor close to the beach in Roseau. He took his boat to a nearby dock and watched as a small white man took one of the two dinghies tied behind the boat and sped to shore. The fisherman didn’t see where the small white man went, but a couple of hours later, two old vans arrived and parked near the beach where the man from the boat had left the dinghy. Three Dreads and the small white man exited one of the vans, dragged the dinghy into the water and sped back to the anchored yawl. Thirty minutes later the Dreads took one dinghy from behind the boat and returned to shore. The small white man, joined by another man with a scraggly beard and two attractive white women, took the other dinghy and followed the Dreads. Both dinghies were pulled up onto the beach, and everybody climbed into the two vans and sped away. By the time the sun set, the fisherman had returned in his boat to his village and called Charlie to tell him what he’d seen.
What he didn’t see was the man with the beard and a large Dread return to the yawl later that night, weigh anchor and sail south.
* * *
Twenty-four hours after they departed St. Martin, and about the same time Boiled Bob and part of his crew were climbing into the vans with the Dreads, Captain Jay, Arlan and Tommy arrived in Portsmouth, Dominica. Bad weather and rough seas had caused them to duck into St. Johns, Antigua in the middle of the night. After getting as much sleep as they could, they continued to Dominica in the morning under slightly better weather conditions.
Charlie had been waiting for Captain Jay and his crew in a house he kept on a hillside above the beach that commanded a view of the entire bay. A little after sunset, and a few minutes after having received word from the fisherman who’d spotted the disguised Happy Hobo in Roseau, Charlie saw Captain Jay’s dive boat round the point to the north of Portsmouth and cruise into the bay.
Arlan and Tommy had just finished tying the boat off when Charlie pulled up and parked his borrowed Land Rover on the beach next to the dock.
Tommy and Arlan walked to the end of the dock and greeted Charlie with grins and handshakes. Captain Jay followed and nodded at Charlie, continuing his act as the young wolf waiting for his chance to overthrow the alpha. Arlan didn’t think Charlie cared one way or another.
The big, beady-eyed man with the military crew cut and gravelly voice, said, “We found the Happy Hobo.”
“Wh-where is it?” Tommy asked.
“They pulled into Roseau earlier today and have anchored there for the night.”
Captain Jay turned back toward the dock and said, “Let’s go.”
“Not so fast,” Charlie said. “They left the boat and got into a van with a bunch of Dreads.”
“Big deal,” Jay said.
Charlie stared at Captain Jay for a moment, shook his head, then smiled an
d looked to Tommy and Arlan. He asked, “How was the trip?”
“Rough,” Arlan said.
Charlie looked to Captain Jay and said, “The Dreads have two camps in the mountains, one at Trafalgar Falls and one at Jaco Flats. They almost always use Jaco Flats, which is far more remote. It’s hard to get there in the daytime. In the dark it’s almost impossible.”
“There aren’t any roads?” Jay asked.
Charlie still had a smile, but his eyes told Arlan that his patience with Captain Jay was running out.
Charlie said, “Part of the way.”
Captain Jay said, “You’ve got a car. Let’s go.”
Charlie shook his head and started to walk back to his Land Rover. After a few steps he turned and asked, “You coming?”
Captain Jay said, “How far is it?”
Charlie asked, “How far is what?”
“The Dread camp.”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”
Captain Jay asked, “What’s this tomorrow bullshit?”
Tommy seemed to be enjoying the contest between Jay and Charlie. Arlan, trying to diffuse the tension said, “Shouldn’t we at least retrieve the Happy Hobo or Pappy Bobo, whatever it’s called now?”
“Fuck the boat. I want Boiled Bob,” Captain Jay said.
“Wh-what about Lisa?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah, her too. But she’s with Boiled Bob. We know where they are. Let’s go.”
Charlie said, “The Dreads are armed to the teeth. They won’t like it much if a bunch of outsiders show up at their camp at night. During the day we have a chance to get in and out alive.”
Captain Jay started to protest, but Charlie cut him off and said, “I’ll call a couple of friends and ask them to get the Happy Hobo in the morning. They can sail it back up here, and we’ll call Forest to bring down a crew to sail her back to St. John as soon as this weather clears up. We’ll leave for the Dread camp first thing in the morning.”
Charlie stared at Captain Jay for a moment and then said, “You can stay on your boat or at my place. Your choice.”
Arlan looked at Tommy and shrugged. They grabbed their gear and followed Charlie. Captain Jay climbed into the Land Rover a couple of minutes later. Nobody spoke during the ten-minute drive to Charlie’s borrowed home.
Chapter 11
DAY 9: OCT 22 (Morning)
Just before daybreak the next morning, Arlan heard a vehicle pull up to Charlie’s house. A car door slammed shut, and thirty seconds later he heard Charlie greet somebody at the entrance of the house. Arlan got out of his bed, pulled his shorts and shirt on and walked into the great room. He met Tommy and Captain Jay in the hall, and they walked into the great room where Charlie was having a conversation with a local of medium build dressed in sharply creased beige pants and a white, short-sleeve dress shirt.
Charlie smiled and asked, “What did you bring for us, Winston?”
Winston looked toward Arlan, Tommy and Jay before resting the heavy duffle bag he carried into the house on a dining table near the kitchen. He looked to Charlie.
Charlie nodded and said, “They’re okay. They’re the guys I told you about.”
Charlie said to his house guests, “This is Winston. He works for me.”
Winston nodded with a hesitant smile, unzipped the bag and pulled out several identical weapons, placing them loudly on the wooden table. They were compact submachine guns that Arlan guessed were Uzis, but he wasn’t sure. He’d only seen one Uzi, popularized in Hollywood, in real life.
Tommy stepped to the table, smiled and picked up one of the weapons.
“M-MAC 10?” Tommy asked Charlie.
Charlie said, “It’s a MAC 11, a more compact version of the MAC 10.”
Arlan had never heard of a MAC 10 or 11.
Captain Jay stepped to the table and picked up one of the weapons. He didn’t comment but inspected it with the familiarity of somebody who’d handled that type of weapon before.
Charlie handed one to Arlan, who had no idea how it operated. Charlie took one and handed the last MAC 11 to Winston. What seemed to be normal to everybody else in the room was surreal to Arlan. This was the Old West. Strap on your guns and ride into trouble.
Charlie handed each an extra clip loaded with ammo and said, “You need to wear baggy shirts. We don’t want to march into Jaco Flats announcing that we’re armed.”
Arlan looked down at his tight T-shirt and said, “I don’t have a baggy shirt.”
Charlie asked Winston, “Can you pick up a large dress shirt someplace?” He then looked to Tommy and Captain Jay and said, “Anybody else?”
Tommy said. “I-I’m good.”
Captain Jay, wearing a Polo shirt that hugged his chiseled torso, said, “I’ll need one too.”
Winston nodded and walked out of the house.
Arlan toyed with the MAC 11, trying to figure out how it worked while not wanting to look like the rookie that he was. It was very small—no more than ten inches long but heavy enough that he wasn’t sure the elastic waistband on his shorts would hold it in place.
Tommy asked Charlie, “What’s th-the plan?”
As Charlie explained the Dread location, Captain Jay walked over to Arlan and took the MAC 11 from his hands. He took the clip out, pulled the forward bolt back, slid a safety slider from the trigger and then aimed out the window and fired. Arlan heard the click of an empty chamber. Captain Jay then smiled at Arlan, slid the two safety mechanisms back into place, popped the clip back in place and quietly said, “You got that, Rookie?”
Arlan nodded.
Arlan listened as Charlie explained where they were going and what they should expect. Fifteen minutes later Winston returned with two heavily starched, white dress shirts and handed them to Arlan and Captain Jay. Arlan took his T-shirt off and buttoned up the dress shirt that was three sizes too large but hid the MAC 11 well when he stuffed it into the waistband of his shorts. He took one step, and the weapon slid through his waistband and down to his crotch, the barrel peeking out of his right pant leg. Arlan pulled the MAC out of his shorts and set it on the table. He readjusted the drawstring in his shorts and placed the MAC 11 back into his waistband, where it stayed.
Five minutes later the five men loaded into Charlie’s Land Rover and headed south on a road that hugged the west coastline of Dominica.
* * *
Sailing south, safely offshore on the Caribbean side of the Windward Islands, Boiled Bob could see the mountains of St. Lucia to the east. They’d sailed far to the west of Martinique as the sun rose and would be well to the south of St. Lucia by noon. If the weather held, they’d land in Grenada the following morning.
Skandar and Long Bill stood near the bow talking in animated tones. Long Bill had been trying to befriend the Dread soon after he stepped onto the boat. He seemed to be making headway.
Boiled Bob decided it was a good time to approach Lisa. He called for LB and told him to take the wheel and then climbed down the companionway and to the forward berth where Lisa was held. She was no longer handcuffed or gagged. This far from shore, there was no need.
Boiled Bob hesitated outside the narrow wooden door to the berth and then knocked.
“What do you want, dickless?”
Boiled Bob paused, letting his anger pass before pushing the door open. Lisa sat on the edge of the bunk, ready to fend off Boiled Bob’s advances. Boiled Bob closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, making no move toward Lisa.
After a full minute, Boiled Bob asked, “How are you doing?”
Lisa looked perplexed and then said, “Well, let’s see. I was kidnapped at gunpoint, held against my will on my father’s stolen boat and raped by you—or so you say. But I have to tell you, if you raped me, it must have been with a twig because it sure doesn’t feel like anything has been inside me for a while.”
<
br /> Boiled Bob fumed but remained silent. He stayed by the door and, after another several seconds, said, “I’d like to make a deal with you.”
“Fuck you.”
“I can’t keep you as a hostage. We’ve been commandeered by the Dreads from Dominica to run weapons from Grenada and back to Dominica.”
Lisa frowned.
“It’s something Maynard set up. I think he’s been helping them for a while.”
Lisa said nothing.
Boiled Bob said, “Look. I’m done with all of this. As soon as I can ditch the Dread I want to sail to South America.”
“On my father’s boat?”
“It’s insured. And I need it to get away from here.”
“Where are the rest of your sociopathic friends?”
“Maynard, Pam and Mary stayed on Dominica. I didn’t want that bastard Maynard around anymore anyway. Tricia… well, you know about Tricia. She’s somewhere on St. Martin,” Boiled Bob said, not mentioning the man Maynard had killed.
“Tricia’s probably at the police station,” Lisa said with a smile.
Boiled Bob ignored her and said, “Like I said, I want to make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I want you to cooperate by not screaming or trying to run away when we get to Grenada. In return, I won’t use the handcuffs or a gag anymore, and you can have the run of the boat.” Boiled Bob paused and then said, “Stay away from the radio, or I’ll ask Skandar to restrain you. He’s not friendly.”
“Skandar is one of the big men with dreadlocks, I assume?” Lisa said.
Boiled Bob nodded and said, “A different one, but from the same tribe. I don’t know the arrangement in Grenada, who we’ll be meeting or where, but when the time is right, I’ll let you go.”
“When will the time be right?” Lisa asked with a smirk.
“When I know I can get away before you can contact the authorities. But I’m not really worried about that. There is a rumor that the US is about to invade Grenada, and the islanders are probably running around going crazy. Nobody will care too much about a silly white woman who claims to have been kidnapped.”
A Fortnight of Fury Page 13