The petty officer grins at the two Wharf Rats. “You’re taking it the wrong way, boys. The liquor’s supposed to be coming to shore, not going out to Rum Row.”
“That ain’t ours, we—”
“Shaddap, Jackson,” snarls Everett.
“The Lt. Commander is going to be mighty pleased to see you fellas. He’s got a special guest room ready for ya in the brig at the station. Hope it’s comfy ‘cause you’ll be there a while.” The guardsmen laugh and shove the Wharf Rats down the dock toward the waiting sheriff’s cruisers.
Looking back out over the water, Everett sees the Revenge and Black Mariah have also been boarded.
“I smell a rat.”
* * * *
Even though it’s Sunday, it’s too early for church. The Boss paces in the barn. Buford and the boys should have been back with news of the Reemplazo and the illegal immigrant cargo. It was a clear night, no weather to speak of. Where are they?
He crosses to the church and gets through the usual Sunday service in a distracted fashion. Still nothing by mid-afternoon, although the buyers who had been waiting for the pick-up were calling with increasing hostility. With two headaches: his missing crew and refunding the payments for the missing cargo; the Boss picks up the telephone to start calling family members, the deputy sheriff, anyone who might know something. By Monday morning, he realizes something is seriously wrong.
Chapter 57
I t’s pitch black in the ship’s cargo hold. Eleven men are packed tight. Fear has created sweat and stench. Vomit and excrement have created a hellish soup around their feet. Some still speak in low voices, but most are exhausted beyond utterance. Heads hanging, they await their fate. Some slump against the wall. The lucky ones, who found something to sit on, are spared from some filth. Others not so lucky.
Above, through the hatch, raging voices become louder. The captain and crew are shouting and stomping feet can be heard below decks in the cargo hold where the illegal immigrants wait. The ship has been moored in one spot since late the night before and panic has been building in the hold. They’ve reached their destination, but no one is sure what comes next.
A few in the cargo hold can speak English. “They say, pick up was supposed to be tonight and contacts no come. Captain angry. Worried about Coast Guard. If contacts no come by tomorrow, we go into water.” That last bit of news causes a renewed ripple of panic. Most of the men in the hold cannot swim.
The ship rocks and the men wait.
* * * *
“Ahoy. Fifty bottles of gin and fifty of whiskey,” Darwin shouts over to the man at the side of the smuggler ship Reemplazo.
After yesterday’s predawn escapade at the pier with the Wharf Rat boats, and then watching them seized in the Bay by the Coast Guard, the Saturday night shift at Gator Joe’s had passed in a blur of excitement and exhaustion. The large, thirsty crowds the Miami bands brought out meant the shelves and shed were empty. Darwin had appreciated the long lie-in this morning, but now it’s back to work on Rum Row.
“Aye-aye. Let’s see the money,” the man shouts back.
Darwin tosses a roll of bills aboard and waits for the hams to be tossed back.
The Reemplazo has rigged a light bulb in a bucket to shine on the deck. It acts as a guide to the contact boats making their way over the dark seas to Rum Row as well as shining a light on the activity on the deck.
The burly man aboard the Reemplazo shouts. “We got a deal for ya tonight, skipper. Call it our Sunday night special. We have some cargo that we need to get off the ship. You look after it for us and we’ll make it worth your while.”
Darwin, in the newly outfitted Marianne, shouts back, “I’m a bit tight on space. What do you have?”
“Chinamen.”
“What? People?”
“Shoulda been gone last night. The regular pick-up was a no show. Something must have gotten screwed up. The ship stinks. You either take them to shore or we dump them overboard, but we’re sailing tomorrow at first light.”
Human smugglers. Poor buggers. I take them or they swim—and I know what that means.
“A ham for every Chinaman. Just leave them on Tahiti Beach.”
“Deal. I can take eight.”
“Can you make it eleven?”
Darwin looks at the Marianne, the water, the glint in the burly man’s eye.
“Sure.”
Bodies slither over the side of the boat and sink to the deck. Each one of them more wretched than the last. I hope they’re well enough to sit on the gunnels. It’s the only way everyone’s going to fit. The final man to come aboard is tossed like a dog, just flung onto his boat. He lands on top of other men, unconscious, but alive. Darwin’s stomach clenches. I’ll not do business with the Reemplazo again. Bastards.
The Reemplazo throws over the liquor hams next. Darwin passes them to the men to hold onto. He wants to be far away from the evil ship as quickly as possible. Once out of sight, he cuts the powerful Liberty engines and stows what he can of the liquor in the new hidden hatch. Although why bother? If I’m stopped by the Coast Guard, they’ll lock me up for human smuggling.
Darwin anchors the boat offshore at Tahiti Beach. He helps a few men wade into shore. Back and forth until all are landed—except for the unconscious man. With each trip to unload men at the beach complete, fewer of the illegals are spotted; they’ve disappeared into the night.
Back on the Marianne, he shakes the unconscious man. “Hey, mister. The man moans and eyelids flutter. This man is skin and bones. How long a trip has he had? Bloody hell. I can’t just take him to shore and leave him like this.
Darwin looks up and down the dark coast. It seems empty—just the waves, sand, and the wind. He tilts his head and rubs the back of his neck, guns the engines and heads for Gator Joe’s.
The man moans. Darwin sees his eyes open, staring at him.
“What’s yer name?”
Silence.
“Can you speak English?”
The man nods feebly.
“My names McKenzie. Darwin McKenzie. I smuggle liquor and you got mixed up in my cargo. Tell me your name.”
“Ling,” the man whispers.
“You’re one lucky fella, Ling. Where you from?”
“Canton City. China.”
“That’s a long way. Where are you going?”
Ling shrugs. “Restaurant in Savanah buy me.”
“You’re a long way from Savannah, Ling. We’re going back to Gator’s.”
“No gator. No gator.” The man struggles to rise.
Darwin sees the man eyeing his hat. He reaches up and slips it off. “Ah, gator teeth. But no, Gator Joe’s is a bar. Not a real ‘gator. You’ll be safe. There’s a gal there that can fix you up good. Then we’ll see about Savannah.”
* * * *
Edith listens for the Marianne from her blue bed. She’s gotten into the habit of waiting until Darwin is safe at home before she can sleep. When the boat arrives, she waits for the shed door to open. Instead, a pair of boots tromp heavy on the veranda. The screen door to the barroom slams shut. Shuffling, a cough.
“Miz Edith. You awake?” Darwin calls down the hall, then goes into the kitchen where he pumps the water.
She slips on her dressing gown and pads across the hall to the kitchen. Darwin rummages in the fridge.
“Are you hungry?” Edith asks. “I think there are eggs in the fridge.”
“We got any of that ham left to go with the eggs?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the kitchen is closed, Darwin. I’m going back to bed. Make sure you clean up after yourself.”
“Edith, we got some company. In the barroom.” He hands her a pitcher of water. “He’ll be thirsty as well as hungry.”
A few steps toward the barroom and a revolting smell smacks Edith in the face. In the darkness of the barroom, she makes out the shape of a small person, then reaches behind her and switches on the light.
Ling raises his head from his arms and blink
s at her in the sudden glare of the room. And then his eyes focus on the pitcher. “Water?” he gasps, holding out his hand.
Edith pours him a glass, which he drains, and then refills it.
“This here is Ling. He’s from China. Was part of the cargo on the Reemplazo.”
“What’s he doing in my barroom?”
Darwin describes the evening, while Ling finishes another glass of water.
Edith goes to him and holds her hand to his head. “He’s got a fever. Help him into the kitchen, Darwin. Let’s get some food into him. We can worry about cleaning him up later.”
Edith and Darwin prop Ling up at the table, before taking a seat. Ling manages to eat and tell his tale. Barred from entering the US legally through the Exclusion Act, he sailed from China to Havana. His tale of the long journey spins from bad to worse: rough weather, seasickness, the mainsails ripped from their moorings, the hold in the ship sprung a leak. The food supply ran low, and when the drinking water turned sour, he and fellow immigrants drank whiskey, instead.
“How are you able to speak such good English?” Edith asks.
“I work for British businessman in Canton City. He ran into some trouble. On the wrong side of the civil war. General Chiang Kai-shek try to overthrow the government. He win and then massacre starts.”
“Are you a communist, Ling?” Edith asks. Darwin is leaning against the wall, listening.
“No, I’m alive. All communists in my family dead.”
Edith gets up and brings back blankets. “You can sleep on the kitchen floor tonight and we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
Chapter 58
“W hoa, who are you?” Leroy peers at the man curled up asleep in the corner of the kitchen.
The Chinese man blinks and stares up at the boy. He stretches, working out the kinks in his knees and shoulders. “I am Ling. Who are you?”
“I am Leroy,” Leroy says, grinning. He squats down beside the man. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor in the kitchen, Mr. Ling?”
“Ling is going to be our guest for a few days. He’s come to America to look for work. Is the coffee on yet, Leroy?” Edith, still in her dressing gown, stands in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Will be right away, Miz Edith.”
“Good. You might as well start up some eggs, as well. Oops, we ate them last night. You could make some hot cereal, and we’ll throw in raisins and brown sugar. That ought to keep everyone going until I get back from town with groceries. And see about helping Ling get a bath before starting breakfast.”
“Yes, Miz Edith. You like porridge, Mr. Ling?” Leroy asks.
“I can make porridge.”
Edith says from the doorway. “You can cook, Ling?”
“I work for Englishman in Canton City. In kitchen. I’m good cook.”
Edith crosses the floor, laying her hand on Ling’s forehead. “You’ve still got a fever, Ling. Take a bath and then rest today. Leroy can make porridge.”
“No. No. I cook.” Ling stands and sways.
Edith helps him to sit again and starts giving orders. “Not today, Ling, you need to bathe. Maybe in the creek, first. Leroy, you get breakfast started and maybe run down to the boat and get Dar—”
“Darwin’s already here,” Darwin says from the hallway.
“My goodness, but mornings are getting crowded around here.” Edith pulls her dressing gown tight. “I’d best get dressed. Coffee’s ready shortly.” Edith brushes past Darwin and closes her bedroom door behind her.
Ling stands and bows low to Darwin. “Thank you, Mr. Darwin, sir. You save me last night.”
Darwin pats Ling on the shoulder. “Like I said, you’re lucky, Ling. I don’t know where the rest of the men with you wound up.”
Ling raises his hands and shrugs. “I do not know, either, Mr. Darwin, sir.”
“You know, Ling, the ‘Mr. Darwin sir’ doesn’t sit well with me. How about Darwin?” He offers his hand, Ling takes it. Their shake is firm.
* * * *
When Edith is dressed, she finds a cleaner Ling is at the stove with an apron on, stirring porridge. He’s drowning in Darwin’s shirt, the pants tightly cinched with the legs rolled up, exposing his bare feet. The table’s set. Leroy and Darwin are nowhere to be seen.
“You look better. Where are the boys?”
“In shed. Bring bottles up from boat.”
“Oh, good. I forgot about that last night in all the excitement.”
Darwin and Leroy arrive, screen door slamming behind them.
Ling brings bowls of porridge to the table, placing Darwin’s first with a small bow, then Edith’s, then Leroy’s. He brings his bowl to the table then hesitates. Darwin nods at the empty chair and Ling joins them.
“What you need me to do today, Mr. Darwin, sir?”
“He still has a fever, Darwin. Maybe he should rest?” Edith says, digging into her porridge.
Ling looks to Darwin, alarm in his eyes. “Ling work here—Darwin.”
Darwin looks from Edith to Ling. “Light duties then. Let’s get that bunkroom in the barn started.”
“Bunkroom? What is bunkroom?” Ling asks.
Leroy bounces in his chair. “We’re going to make bedrooms in the barn. We got musicians that come on the weekends that need a place to stay.”
“How are your carpentry skills, Ling?” Edith asks.
Ling looks from Edith to Darwin.
Leroy makes a hammering motion with his hand. “Wood. Nails. Build.”
Ling nods. “Yes. Can build.”
“Good. We’re going to do a separate room for Leroy, as well.”
“It’s going to be great, Mr. Ling. I’ll have a closet for my clothes and a bookcase. And my own bed, and a door I can close.” He turns to Edith. “Maybe curtains on the window?”
She laughs. “Okay. I’m sure we can also manage curtains on the window. Why don’t I get these dishes done up so that you fellas can get started on the barn?” Edith says, gathering up the now empty bowls.
Darwin is about to follow Ling and Leroy out the kitchen door when Edith garbs his arm. “You saved that man’s life, Darwin.”
“It weren’t nothin. Anyone would have done it.”
“Nobody that was around last night would have. He would have been tossed overboard and drowned. That was a heroic thing to do,” Edith says.
As Darwin leaves the kitchen, he tips his gator-banded hat and grins.
“And Darwin? What did you do with Ling’s old clothes?”
“Burned them.”
The morning is filled with sawing and hammering. Edith wanders over to check a few times. One of the times, she finds Ling sitting on an old bale of hay.
“You’re sure you’re up for this?”
Ling shakes his head. “I owe Mr. Darwin my life. I can hammer. I can cook. I pay my debt.”
Edith pats him on the shoulder. “Well, if you’re going to be here a few days, we need to get you some clothes that fit.
Tucking her handgun into her purse and pinning on her hat, Edith runs into town for groceries. She brings back a few shirts and pants for Ling. The barn and Gator’s are silent, so she pokes around and spies the three—Darwin, Ling, and Leroy—lying on the dock,
“Looks like a nice break. Anyone hungry?”
“Nope. Lucky made us lunch, Miz Edith.”
“Pulled together something from nothing. He’s a pretty good cook,” Darwin says.
“Lucky?”
“That’s what we’re calling Ling. Lucky Ling. There’s some left on a plate for you on the kitchen table.” Leroy talks without opening his eyes. His smile is a mile wide.
“Thank you, Lucky. I picked up a few things at the store including a bag of rice. I think that’s what they eat in China?”
“Yes, Miz Edith. Thank you very much.”
“I also got you some clothes and a few other things. I’ll leave them in the kitchen, and you to your sunbathing.”
“We’re right behind you. Those walls
won’t build themselves. Come on, fellas.” Darwin slowly sits up, and Lucky groans as he sits up.
Ahead on the trail, Edith freezes. Darwin stops and looks. Lucky and Leroy try looking around him. Edith slowly pulls the gun from the holster on her hip, aims it, and fires at the veranda.
“Got him.”
“What was it, Miz Edith?” Leroy says, running to the veranda to look.
“Careful, Leroy, it may not be dead.”
“Oh, it’s dead all right. That’s mighty good shooting, Edith.” Darwin says, looking at the back end of a copperhead. The head is completely blown away.
“Good. Can one of you fellas look after this for me? I hate snakes.” Edith picks up the bags and steps over the snake into Gator’s.
“Oh, my. Strong lady,” says Lucky.
Later in the afternoon, she checks on construction progress. The hay loft has been cleared. Boards have been hammered into place to create a framework for walls. Leroy gives her the grand tour.
“How’s Ling working out?” she asks Darwin when there is a private moment.
“He’s a good worker. Smart. Although I think it’s safe to say he’s a better cook than a carpenter.”
“So, he’s staying?”
“Your call, Edith. But I think there’s enough to do around here. He’s good in the kitchen if you want to start serving food.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. We could expand a bit and bring in a supper crowd. Let’s play it by ear this week and see what happens. There’s no family waiting for him in Savannah?”
“I’m not sure about what happens there. Somebody’s out an employee, but Lucky hasn’t said anything about family.”
Later in the day, Edith sets up, preparing for the opening crowd. “Where the heck is Leroy? These chairs should have been set up hours ago.” Her nose twitches from the aroma drifting from the kitchen.
“Mmmm, but it smells good in here.” Lucky is at the stove. Leroy is at the kitchen table chopping onions.
“I thought I smelled something good. What’s for dinner, Lucky?”
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