by Fred Galvin
Lately T-Bone had been implying that he was working on a job that could net the brothers “a six-figger sum” if they could accommodate his needs. The job would require their sailing due west to Grand Cayman Island which was located a bit over 200 miles from Montego Bay. Of course, they would certainly not be able to accomplish this in their Boston Whaler. The prevailing trade winds flowed primarily east-to-west so the voyage to Grand Cayman would be relatively smooth. However the return trip would be bucking those same trades, which averaged about fifteen knots or seventeen to eighteen miles per hour, and would include a heavy load of cargo. Seas could get rough. Thus the journey would require a more substantial and seaworthy vessel than a Boston Whaler.
Gillian had assumed the role of negotiator for the brothers since Vernon just wasn’t up to the job. Gillian protested to T-Bone, “But we don’t have a boat that will handle that kind of a trip in the open ocean. All we have is the Whaler.”
T-Bone just shrugged his shoulders and in typical mobster-speak replied, “Look. How yuz deal with that issue is yuz’s problem, not mine. Get me? Just know that the payoff for yuz would be in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand American and there could be more comin’ your way for future trips if yuz pull this one off. Yuz get fifteen-K American cash up front and the rest on delivery.” He held up a finger inches from Gillian’s nose. “And don’t even think about just bouncin’ with the fifteen. Yuz wouldn’t get too far.” Gillian looked into T-Bones’ dead eyes and knew that indeed they wouldn’t get far. “Just get there, do the pickup, and get the shipment back. Bingo, bango, bongo. Got it?”
Gillian wasn’t familiar with bingo, bango, bongo, but assumed, correctly, that he shouldn’t ask for clarification.
T-Bone went on to explain that the risk at the pickup point in Grand Cayman was minimal. They would be able to dock at a place he owned. He also implied that the local authorities were “taken care of” and tended to look the other way when told to do so and that he was able to tell them to do so.
Gillian’s attention was piqued, to say the least. One hundred thousand with fifteen up front! And more to come, T-Bone had said. That really got his attention. Such a windfall could mean that he and Vernon could get their own places in a decent section of the city and not have to worry about money anymore. With some luck it could turn into a regular gig. The three previous runs with the Whaler had gone smoothly. They never saw any patrol boats nor had any causes to worry about getting caught. Of course, it would have been quite difficult to explain away two cases of guns which could not be very easily hidden in the small Whaler.
Gillian didn’t even bother asking Vernon. That could be handled later. He told T-Bone they were in. T-Bone outlined the details of the run, sailing across to Grand Cayman to a place he owned on a remote and desolate coast. “Don’t worry, I’ve got guys there.”
It all sounded workable to Gillian’s small tunnel-vision brain. Now he had to focus on procuring a seaworthy vessel for such a journey. He had an idea. Had Vernon been present, that would have worried him. Gillian’s ideas weren’t always well thought out.
Chapter 12: Skipjack and Rick’s Café
At eight the next morning. I was awake but just lying in bed thinking about the previous evening. I felt very comfortable with Delyse and wondered if she was having similar thoughts.
My cell chirped, the ID showing RONNIE.
“Good morning, Ronnie. Are wake up calls part of Deveaux Charter Services’ services?”
“Oh, you do have a way with words. Can you be ready in thirty minutes? There’s a wonderful breakfast spot a few miles down the beach. It’s a perfect morning.”
At eight-thirty sharp the Jeep pulled into the parking lot. Ronnie was behind the wheel and I could see Roje in the passenger seat. I immediately thought interrogation time and chuckled. I envisioned …
Roje, like a protector: So, Dan, did you behave yourself with our mother last night?
Ronnie, sternly trying to be serious but failing, her lips trembling not to grin: Yes, Dan. We’re curious. What are your intentions with our mother?
Me, coyly: Behave? Of course. Intentions? Strictly honorable but you’ll just have to wait and see.
Actually, Ronnie got out of the Jeep and greeted me warmly. “Good morning. You look well rested. I trust that you and Mama didn’t stay up all hours drinking adult beverages.”
I was tempted to reply Oh no. I had her in bed by nine but I remembered Ronnie carried a gun and being quite proficient with it. She was well familiar with my sarcasm but that may have hit a bit too close to the line.
“Not at all. We had a pleasant evening. She brought me up to date on how she became the queen of the Flip Flop Lounge from her days working with her Uncle Brantly to the unfortunate and untimely passing of your father. I was sorry to hear that. Why didn’t you tell me and give me a chance to comfort you the way you supported me when Jen died?”
In typical Ronnie fashion she deflected. “You were deep into a case and I didn’t want to burden you. Besides I was down here and you were up there. Come on, I’m starving.”
Roje was still in the Jeep finishing up a call. He emerged and shook my hand. “Good morning Dan. Have a good night? We thought we’d take you to breakfast and discuss our charter plans. Hop in, let’s go.” He came across as a man of action, accustomed to planning his tasks and having his plans carried out whether by himself or someone else. He said it with a smile but I had the impression there was no questioning.
The plan for the first two days was to sail the Sea Nymph around to the west end of the island, literally to Jamaica’s West End. We would do some fishing along the way which would be a specific challenge for me since my only exposure to fish was either a meal or limited to any cases Ronnie and I worked that took us to the Fulton Fish Market district near the Brooklyn Bridge on Manhattan’s lower east side.
Roje said we had been invited to spend the night in “Gabi’s father’s house in Negril on the west end.”
I looked at Roje and then to Ronnie with raised eyebrows. “Gabi’s father? I’m sorry but who’s Gabi?”
Roje looked a bit flustered and maybe even a bit embarrassed. “Oh, haven’t I mentioned Gabi?”
Ronnie stepped right in. “Roje, really? You haven’t told Dan about Gabi?” She turned to me. “My brother has a ‘love interest’ Dan,” (using air quotes) “named Gabrielle Dixon. She is a beautiful young woman and a kick-ass officer in the Montego Bay Police Department.”
“I see.”
Roje sighed. “Yes, I have a kick-ass cop sister and a kick-ass cop woman. Anyway, Gabi’s father Winston has a large house just outside Negril and he has graciously offered to host us tomorrow night.
“Negril is the primary city on Jamaica’s west end where we’ll stop for the night and meet Winston at Rick’s Café. Rick’s is a local landmark that’s been there since the early 1970s.” I immediately thought of the Rick’s Café in the classic movie Casablanca and began to morph into my pathetic version of Humphrey Bogart. Ronnie saw it coming.
“Dan, if you pretend to be Bogart as Rick Blaine and chuck me under the chin and say, ‘Here’s looking at you kid,’ I swear I’ll feed you to the sharks!”
I pouted and before I could say the next classic quote she pointed a finger at my nose. “Or utter, ‘We’ll always have Paris’ … same sharks!”
I stood there hang-dog. I looked from her to Roje, who was grinning, and said quickly in my best Bogie voice, “The problems of three little people …”
“Arrrgh! No more Bogart imitations! Now be quiet or I’ll have my brother…” She paused and Roje looked at her inquisitively. “Shit. Never mind. I’m surrounded by idiots. Let’s go have breakfast.”
As I got into the Jeep Roje asked me, “How’d you manage to work with her for so long and stay alive?”
“Oh, she’s threatened to shoot me many times over my sense of humor but it hasn’t happened yet. It’s fun to push her buttons.”
“Just be careful. O
ne of those buttons may be a detonator. Let’s go to breakfast and then we’ll take the Sea Nymph out and do some fishing. I understand fishing will be new to you, correct?”
“That’s right. I’ve never held a fishing pole. I’m looking forward to it. Maybe you can tell me a bit about your Gabi and her job with the MBPD. Is that right? MBPD?”
He laughed. “Yes, MBPD, Montego Bay Police Department, such as it is. Even though it is a city of nearly one-half million, the police department is relatively small, probably not too much bigger than the precinct you and Ronika worked in. Gabi is a six-year officer with ambitions to become a detective. Ronika has taught her a lot and she is eager to meet you. Hopefully she’ll be able to be there when we return to the Lounge. Fair warning, she will be asking plenty of questions.”
“No problem. I look forward to meeting her too.”
~~~
After breakfast we drove to the Sea Nymph and started west along the Jamaican coast. It was fascinating to watch Roje and Ronnie go about the business of starting up the engine, releasing and securing the lines tethering the boat to the slip, backing out into the marina, and easing into the Caribbean, slowly at first so to keep the wake low, then Roje gradually pressing the throttle forward full. The Nymph pushed forward gradually leveling off to full speed. The sound and wind were invigorating. Ronnie stepped to my side and hooked her arm in mine, wind blowing her har straight back.
“I never get tired of this. It’s such a free feeling.”
I had to yell in reply. “I agree. I can see why you love this. Sure beats driving around in a Crown Vic!”
About a half hour out Ronnie took over the helm and Roje walked me through the basics of fishing in the open sea. It seemed pretty straight forward to me until he strapped me down with a light harness and secured it to the deck.
“We don’t want you hooking something large that will yank you over the side. With this light tackle that’s very unlikely but just to be safe …”
I had to admit that had my attention. I hadn’t considered that there were creatures out there that were strong enough to pull a grown man into the sea. We were on their turf, so to speak, and I had to respect that. After all, I was trying to pull them out of their environment, into a boat, then a skillet, and onto a dinner plate. It seemed only right that they should try to pull me out of my environment too.
There was a chair in the center of the deck toward the stern (nautical-speak for the back of the boat; hey, when in Rome …). The chair had a harness obviously meant to secure a fisherman who hooked “a big one.” It looked to me like it could double as an electric chair. I wanted no part of it.
“What’s that chair for? Will I be sitting in it?”
Roje smiled at my trepidation and patted my shoulder. “Not immediately but hopefully before the end of your visit we can get you in there to try to hook something substantial. It’s called The Fighting Chair.”
The Fighting Chair??? Shit. I didn’t come out here to fight, especially with something so big that I had to be strapped to a chair that was bolted to the deck … did I?”
Ronnie looked down from the flying bridge (more nautical-speak, you’ll have to look that one up) with a big smile which was more than a bit disturbing. I called up to her. “Anything you’d like to add to that, Captain?” She just shook her head and kept grinning.
Anyway, Roje dressed my line and gave me some elemental instructions. “Okay, Dan. If you feel a hit on your line, reel in a bit and pull the rod up to set the hook and continue to reel in but gradually. Part of the sport is letting the fish run for a while as you slowly pull him toward the boat. Eventually he will get tired and you will find it easier to bring him home.”
I let the line run out as instructed. Almost immediately I felt a tug and the line went out quickly. I cried, “I got one! I think I have a fish on the line!”
Roje nodded and said, “Yes, I think so Dan. Now do as I said and slowly reel him in but let him run a bit too.”
Ronnie cut the engine and called down, “You’re a natural, Dan.”
Suddenly the line whizzed out and I thought I’d get pulled overboard. I was happy to be tethered to the deck. “Shit! What have I got? It seems like a big one!”
Roje stepped between me and the side of the boat and helped me with the rod, slowly reducing the line run-out by adding drag. I noticed he was careful not to fully take over, that he wanted me to feel as though I was in control. I also realized he wanted to make sure I didn’t lose the rod and reel over the side. “Easy does it, Dan. That’s it. Now steadily reel him in. That’s it. He’ll tire. Soon we’ll be able to see him.”
I did as instructed and pulled back on the rod and reeled in as I let the rod fall. A couple of times I just held fast while my buddy down below had a burst of energy. Then after about ten minutes, which seemed like a half-hour to my weary arms, I could see flashes of the fish just below the surface over the side of the boat.
“A tuna!” Roje called out. “Nice, Dan. You’ve snagged a skipjack tuna, looks like about a ten or fifteen pounder. That’s a pretty good catch for this light tackle.”
Ronnie came down off the flying bridge and grabbed a gaff to hook the tuna as Roje expertly helped me bring him in close the the side. She brought the fish up onto the deck and it thrashed around like, well, like a fish out of water. I looked down at it. It seemed rather small compared to the amount I had to fight to bring it up. I couldn’t imagine hooking a shark or something bigger. I suddenly fully understood the Fighting Chair.
Roje expertly picked up my catch and held it out next to me while Ronnie took a picture with her phone. “Congratulations, Dan. It didn’t take long for you to pull in your first fish.”
I was surprised how excited I was. It was exhilarating and I could tell Ronnie was genuinely happy for me. “We’ll put him in the locker and Mama will be happy to serve up tuna steak at the Flip Flop for you.” The thought of Delyse preparing my first catch for our consumption was intoxicating. She was occupying my thoughts quite a bit and I liked it.
~~~
We tied up the Sea Nymph in a small marina adjacent to Rick’s Café. As I mentioned, I knew of Rick’s Café but the one I knew of was Rick’s Café Americain of Casablanca fame, the classic 1942 film starring my favorite actor of all time, Humphrey Bogart, along with Ingrid Bergman as Ilsa Lund, Paul Henried as Victor Lazslo, Claude Raines as Captain Louis Renault, and one of the great trivia answers of all time, Dooley Wilson as Sam the piano player.
They just don’t make ‘em like that anymore. Some of the greatest cinematic quotes came from Casablanca, to wit:
“Here’s looking at you, kid.” Rick spoke it to Ilsa as a farewell. What the hell does it mean, anyway? Damned if I know but it’s one of my favorite Bogey quotes and has nearly gotten me shot by Ronnie on many an occasion. My uttering it or sometimes just threatening to say it, like in the Jeep earlier, sets her off. I don’t know why, I do a great Bogey.
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” Rick laments to his piano player Sam after lost love Ilsa’s unexpected reappearance.
“Play it again, Sam.” This is actually one of the most often repeated misquotes of all time. When Ilsa arrives, she asks Sam, the piano player, to play As Time Goes By which was her and Rick’s love song from Paris. “Play it once, Sam. For old times’ sake. Play As Time Goes By.” Sam hesitates knowing Rick has told him never to play it again. Upon hearing it, Rick approaches Sam only to see Ilsa who had left him in Paris years earlier. Later, after having learned Ilsa was married to Nazi Resistance hero Victor Laszlo, Rick drowns his sorrows in drink and says to Sam, “Play it Sam.”
“Round up the usual suspects.” After putting Ilsa and Victor on the last flight out of Casablanca, Rick had shot and killed a Nazi officer and Captain Renault was the sole witness. When Renault’s men arrive, the body is lying on the ground, Rick is standing there, with Renault, just smoking a cigarette as only Bogey could. The story hinges on w
hether or not Renault is going to turn Rick in. Instead he tells his men, “Major Strasser’s been shot. Round up the usual suspects.”
Rick smiles and says the final great quote from the movie’s final scene, “Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Anyway, I digress.
Rick’s Café in Negril, Jamaica was quite a different place than Rick’s Americain. First of all, it was a real place while Rick’s in Casablanca was a set on a Hollywood backlot. Rick’s Café in Jamaica was set atop thirty-five foot cliffs overlooking the blue Caribbean Sea where the prevailing pastime was jumping off said cliffs into said Caribbean Sea. These jumps were done either by professionals for entertainment or by amateur tourists usually after a few tropical beverages for fortification. The latter were made from much shorter cliffs for obvious reasons.
I was greatly impressed by Ronnie’s nautical skills as she assisted Roje in bringing in the boat and securing it to a rather narrow and precarious looking dock. She leaped from the bow (bow equals front of the boat, I was becoming quite proficient in nautical-speak) to the dock with a line and expertly looped it around a cleat (again!) utilizing some complicated knot. Her fingers flew in an intricate way resulting in the Nymph being secured to the dock at the bow and the stern.
After I stepped off the boat onto the dock I gave her a short bow. “That was very impressive. How is it you’re so wise-in-the-ways of boat knot tying? Does the knot have a name?”
“That’s nautical knots, not boat knots. My brother is an excellent teacher. I believe we have it in our genes from our father. And yes, that particular knot is called an alpine butterfly knot. Would you like me to show you how to tie it? Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
I immediately backed away with my hands raised above my head. “Oh, no! No way I’m letting you tie me up. I promise, no more Humphrey Bogart utterances.”
“Okay, but I’m bringing a length of line with me anyway so you’d better control yourself or I could make it so you’ll have to hold your toothbrush with your toes.”
