Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Newsletter
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
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19
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Afterword
Diamond Reef
Douglas Pratt
Diamond Reef is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Douglas Pratt
Cover art by
Ryan Schwarz
The Cover Designer
www.thecoverdesigner.com
All rights reserved.
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1
The clanging of the halyard against the mast finally got through to me in my sleep. I lifted my head that had been buried into a pillow. The ports were covered, blocking out the majority of the light; the cabin was stuffy and humid, and the smell coming off me was equally offensive. My sheets were damp with sweat, and my hand wiped my sweat-drenched hair back. The locks were hanging past my ears after four months without a barber in sight.
Reaching over my head, my fingers twisted the knobs to open the hatch. Usually, I would switch the little air conditioning unit on when I'm connected to shore power and the hatches are closed. I was lucky to get into the slip before the storm hit last night, and I was too tired to really care. So, now I was covered in sweat, and my aroma was close to week-old gym sock level. Making matters worse, I hadn't seen a shower in several days. The whole boat probably smelled like that. The rear hatch was still closed because of the rain, I realized, limiting the breeze.
The sun had already set, and the last bits of daylight were quickly dissipating as I got into the marina. After pounding my way across the Gulf Stream for most of the day, I ended it with a race against a lovely squall that shifted direction into my path. I had been cruising and gunk-holing my way around the Bahamas for the last four months in my sailboat, a Tartan 40 named Carina. After securing the last lines as the rain pounded down, I wasted no time in shedding the rain suit and soaking wet clothes and falling into my berth naked and exhausted.
Unless the weather is storming, like last night, all the hatches remain open. The sea breeze flows through the cabin and keeps the temperature tolerable, especially at anchor. If the boat is in a marina, often the sea walls and other structures block the wind meaning that hatches don't get enough air movement, and the cabin turns into a sweatbox. That's a good reason for staying out of the marinas.
Personally, that's an easy feat. I enjoy the secluded islands and empty coves that offer unlimited fishing and snorkeling.
Pumping the handle on the faucet in the galley, I filled the coffee pot with water. The water gurgled a bit from the spout. My tanks were getting low on water, and my coffee stores were also getting pretty low. Actually, most of my food and staples were running low. That's part of the reason I was back in Florida. I needed to restock the lockers and refill my kitty before cruising farther south. My plans are generally fluid, dependent on my bank account and desires. Long term, my plan is an extended cruise through Cuba and down to Panama. Short term involves a shower, some breakfast, and a few weeks of bar shifts.
When I'm ashore, I work about 200 yards from my slip at the Manta Club. Bartending is great for filling the coffers without the stress of a full-time job. The Manta Club is situated in the Tilly Inn, and the owner and I have an arrangement, one that seems overly beneficial to me. I get to use one of the transient slips for boats that are only staying less than two weeks in the marina attached to the hotel. Besides bartending, she wants me to be a deterrent to any problems that some weekend boaters might cause. Mostly that involves me telling guys to quiet down after 11 p.m., and one time I stopped a guy who'd had too much liquid courage from pummeling the dockmaster, Randy.
When I opened the rear hatch and companionway, the interior of Carina cooled rapidly as the air flowed through. Not being dressed yet, I stuck just my head out of the companionway. The docks appeared quiet. The sun was already posting up at the mid-morning position. I loved the breezy Atlantic air, but I'd crank the air on when I left. Florida has a nasty way of popping up dark clouds filled with rain. With open hatches, my bed would be soaked in just minutes.
I pulled on some shorts before taking a cup of coffee up to the cockpit. I sat back and sipped while the gulls squawked above my head.
"Back in port, eh?" a voice said behind me. I glanced over my port shoulder to see Randy walking along the dock toward Carina. His short legs and fast gait made him look to be wobbling along, trying to keep his balance.
"Yeah," I said. Standing up, I grabbed his hand as he extended it. His rough hand gripped mine tightly, and his teeth flashed through the grizzled beard. "I pulled in last night at dusk."
"You beat that squall?" he asked.
"Barely. I was tying off the boat when the storm hit. Got soaked to the bone." I lifted my cup of coffee. "You want a cup?"
"Sure, I never turn down a cup." He said the same thing every time I offered him a cup of coffee. Randy never turned down a chance to talk to anyone.
Grabbing both sides of the opening, I jumped down the companionway over the steps. My only other coffee cup hung from a hook in the galley. I didn't add cream or sugar. The cupboard was bare, so Randy could take it black or not at all. I climbed back up the steps to find Randy already situated on the other bench as if his workday had already ended.
Handing him the warm mug, I asked, "Anything exciting going on in the last few months?"
"Eh, not much. Had to fish two dead manatees out of a couple of slips last week."
I groaned, "That's lovely."
"Yeah, the health department and some day workers for the state came and carried them off. One of the women lost it when the bloated one oozed on her. Think it might have been her first day on the job." He took a swallow of coffee while discussing bloated manatee corpses like it was baseball.
"Come see the clean, fresh waters of South Florida," I said.
"I'll say this, we never found bloated bears in Lake Winnipeg when I was a kid," Randy said.
"Maybe," I responded, "but in Winnipeg, the girls didn't wear bikinis year-round either."
Randy laughed, "No, I'll take the rotting manatee corpses and bikinis over the cold."
"Just don't drink the water," I replied, draining my cup.
Randy worked on his cup for a few more minutes. "Guess I better get back to work before the boss shows up."
"Hell, you don't work half the time," I retorted.
"Nope, but it's all about looking like I'm working." Randy stood up and handed me the mug. "By the way, the boss said to send you up when you got back."
"Of course," I answered. "As if I wasn't going to show up."
Randy shrugged. "Thanks for the coffee." He stepped over the gunwale and onto the dock.
"Anytime," I said. "Show
ers busy today?"
"Nah, most of the transients are already out or still sleeping in." Randy turned and trudged up the dock.
Luckily, the Tilly Marina has a shower. Carina is outfitted with a decent sized shower in the head, but the water pressure leaves a lot to be desired. Unless I'm able to connect to the water supply at a marina, I don't take a lot of showers on board. Water reserves are pretty valuable in the islands. Even those few showers are quick and cold, to preserve water.
I dropped back through the companionway with the mugs in my hand. I washed and rinsed Randy's cup. I filled mine up one more time. I reached into the hanging locker next to the v-berth. Laundry was going to be a priority this afternoon. I was able to scrounge some clean clothes and a towel. With my towel over my shoulder, my clothes and bag of toiletries in one hand and my coffee in the other, I climbed off Carina. I took an extra few minutes to connect the shore power and water connections before I took off in search of a hot shower.
The steaming hot water was incredibly refreshing. I washed the salt and sweat of the last few months off in the shower basin. Cruisers joke that "Hollywood" showers are heavenly. While they are one of the few things that I missed when cruising, the freedom of the lifestyle outweighed the lack of a daily hot shower.
After a crazy amount of time enjoying the shower, I dressed and closed up the boat. The coffee hadn't filled me, and my stomach was growling. I climbed the stairs from the marina toward the Tilly Inn. The inn was built in the mid-1930s. The facade had been recently refurbished, and the exterior Gothic aesthetics had been sandblasted. The double doors on the southeast corner lead into the Manta Club.
The windows of the bar were opened, allowing the Atlantic air to flow through the bar. The bar was designed to allow the natural light to enter the eastern and southern windows. At night, the dark wood paneling and mahogany bar created a near gloomy atmosphere. The television over the bar was showing SportsCenter.
"If it isn't the resident SEAL," a short, dark-haired man in a tailored suit said from the other side of the bar. "Must be back begging for his job."
"I wasn't a SEAL, Mike," I mumbled to him.
"It's Michael," he corrected.
I smiled at him. "It's Marine."
"Whatever, a buzz cut is a buzz cut," Michael Seine barked. "You would think that the military would have taught you respect for authority."
I slid onto a barstool. Hunter, the bartender, slid a cold Swamp Ape IPA in front of me.
"Kind of early for a beer," Michael snipped.
"Being married to the boss doesn't make you the boss," I retorted as I took a swallow from the bottle.
"You don't get to talk to me like that," Michael's voice harshened.
"Michael, don't speak that way to my staff," a blond woman said from the landing leading to the hotel's lobby.
Michael glared at the woman, grumbling under his breath.
"Don't you have a meeting?" she asked.
Michael glanced at his watch. He scrambled to gather the papers he had spread over the bar. He scurried past the woman. "Bye, Missy."
"Bye, Felicia," Hunter muttered behind the bar.
I chuckled to myself.
"Glad to see you made it back, Chase," Missy said as she walked towards the bar. "How was your trip?"
"Pretty relaxing."
"Where all did you go?" Hunter asked.
"Just down through the Abacos and Eleuthera and back up West Side. Stayed a month in West Side."
"Sounds lonely," Missy purred.
"Catch any fish?" Hunter asked.
"Picked up a bunch. Got one 60-pound yellow fin between Sandy Point and Dunmore. Ate my weight in conch too."
"You coming back to work?" Hunter asked.
"He better be," Missy replied.
I smiled. "Yeah, if you got some shifts."
"You could take my shift tomorrow," Hunter said, "I've been working almost six days in a row."
Missy furrowed her brow.
"Don't get me wrong, Missy," he stammered, "I love the money. Just my feet are tired."
"You're 24. Nothing on you should get tired," she remarked.
A sheepish grin spread over his face.
"I can work tomorrow," I said.
"Chase, I have a stack of messages for you."
"Dude, when are you gonna get a phone?" Hunter laughed.
"When I want people to call me," I remarked.
"I also have your last check," Missy said, "in my office."
I drained my beer. "I'll be back," I told Hunter sliding the bottle across to him. Then I followed Missy into the hotel lobby.
Her office is on the second floor, away from the other offices on the first floor. Her assistant only works part-time, and when we entered the outer office, it was apparent that this wasn't part of that time. Her door read, "Melissa Seine - Manager." An understatement since she owned 100% of Teleti Hospitality, which is the parent company for The Tilly Inn. Missy was in her early 30's when her father died and left the company to her. However, she had been running it since she graduated from the University of Florida.
As her door shut behind me, she rasped, "Gah, I have missed you."
Her lips pressed against mine passionately. My hands moved to her hips immediately; I pushed her against the door and kissed her neck.
"Are you telling me you've been celibate for four months?" I breathed in her ear.
"Hell, no," she said, pushing me toward the couch against the wall, " but you are my favorite."
I sank into the cushions as she unbuttoned her blouse and straddled me. Her breasts were against my face, and I kissed them. She pulled my shirt off and dragged her fingernails along my back. Within a minute, we were entwined on the couch.
When we finally collapsed, we were on the floor, the couch cushions pushed away. Missy curled up in the crook of my arm, still running her fingers over my body.
"Damn, I missed you," she sighed and bit my ear.
I rolled her onto her back and kissed her lips and started working down her neck.
"Stop that," she moaned. "I have to get back to work."
"I don't, though." My mouth moved lower, and a guttural moan came out of her.
2
"Tell me something," I said as we lay on the floor panting after our second go-round.
"What?" Missy asked, her head resting on my chest.
"Why do you put up with that dick of a husband? I mean, you are pretty self-sufficient. You obviously don't love each other. What is it?"
"He's a decent father," she said.
"But a shitty husband?"
"I didn't say that. He's okay."
"'He's okay' is the most romantic thing."
"Chase, get your head out of your ass. We all can't spend our days acting like we are Jack Sparrow. Marriage isn't always about romance."
I laughed. "Jack Sparrow?"
"I don't know any other pirates."
"So, what's it about?"
"What?" she asked. "Marriage?"
I nodded.
"Status, I guess."
Shaking my head, I asked, "What do you mean?"
Missy pushed up off me and crossed her legs. "When my mother married my father, it was against her family's wishes. He was a dirty Italian, and the Drexler's were a good, Jewish family with clout in the community."
She stood up and reached for her bra. She continued, "Michael is a 'good, Jewish boy' who is even a successful lawyer. Thus, he gives me status in the Jewish community, something that you would be surprised helps every day in running this place."
I shrugged and began to dress. "Was there ever any love?"
"I don't know. Probably. I was certainly head over heels for Michael in college. He was doting and sweet. Probably an average lover, but then I'm sure in college I wasn't much more than a starfish."
"Then you have certainly improved," I joked.
Missy walked around her desk in just her bra and panties, a very sexy red matching set. She didn't look like a mother of
two teenagers. Hell, she'd almost pass for a teenager herself.
"What are you grinning at?" she asked.
"I was just thinking that I bet your daughter's boyfriends must spend a lot of time at your house."
She smiled slyly.
"Here are some messages for you," she dropped a small stack of notes on the corner of her desk.
I pulled my shorts on and lifted them and started thumbing through them. Two were from my sister.
"Did you get situated at the marina?" Missy asked.
I glanced at her as she buttoned her blouse. "Yeah, right down on Dock C."
It was an unspoken invitation. She'd show up sometime late when Michael was away. I guessed that she looked for the lights on Carina before she trudged down to the marina, but I didn't ask.
The truth was I didn't spend a lot of time dating. My last serious girlfriend was in the 11th grade. I turned 18 during the summer before my senior year, took the GED, and enlisted in the Marines. The last I heard from Lauren was that she was married with two boys. Marriage or even dating was so far off my radar. However, Missy was still more than a convenience.
Four messages were from Tristan Locke. Tristan Locke. I stared at the name on the yellow paper. I hadn't talked to Tristan in over two years, maybe three. He and I served in Afghanistan together. Tristan was the youngest in our unit, and he couldn't think past the end of his nose. He was always getting into some trouble or another. Tristan, myself, and Jay Delp, another guy from our unit, ended up in a bar brawl with seven members of the Afghan Army after Tristan sashayed up to one and asked him to dance. We three Marines prevailed, but our reward was being ninja punched for three days in our quarters.
Tristan had his faults, but I owed him my life. Our unit was tasked with an incursion into an enemy camp. Tristan saved me from a bullet in the back.
He got a dishonorable discharge after I got out. He claimed he was framed. He never got convicted, but during a raid on a camp, 50 kilos of heroin went missing. He said they never convicted because there was no evidence. I wasn't sure. I loved the kid, but as I said, he didn't think past his nose.
Diamond Reef Page 1
