Dungeness and Dragons

by William Cook

  “We’re not gonna get caught, little brother. I’m working on a plan. We’re too smart for ’em.”

  Paul harrumphed. “What’s the weather supposed to be like tomorrow?”

  “Pretty good, I think. There’s a nasty one brewing way out there, but it shouldn’t be here for another week or so.”

  “I’ll just be so friggin’ glad when that bitch is out of our hair.”

  “Soon, bro. Soon.”

  Patricia sat on the floor, crying, knees hitched up to her chin, rocking back and forth. The banging on the door had terrified her, and her heart was pounding. She was relieved that Paul hadn’t charged in. She struggled to control her hyperventilating.

  Since she had been so despondent after her recapture, Gideon had been leaving the light on in her closet. He had thrown in two yellowed paperbacks that belonged to Paul—seafaring novels by Patrick O’Brien. She guessed it was to foster the illusion that he cared about her. She refused to even pick them up.

  Her spirits had improved somewhat after leaving her missive on the baseboard. She looked again at the names scratched there, the silent memorial to lost souls. She saw the blonde hairs crammed above the baseboard, invisible unless you were looking for them. Her DNA signature protested her imprisonment, demanded her rights, railed against her abduction. It caused a glimmer of hope to bubble up through her almost catatonic despair—hope that her clues would be found, despite the vast improbability of it. She knew it would take a very special kind of policeman to look that closely.

  She had begun talking to herself in a low voice to help pass the tedium of the hours. “I have to memorize their faces so I can give a good description of them. Notice anything about where I am each time they let me out to use the bathroom. I have to be strong enough to run again.”

  Her old life, with the monotony of its mindless days, began to feel so compelling when viewed from the perspective of her captivity. She felt her breath catch in her chest when she remembered her mother, so fussy and demanding. What she wouldn’t give to be able to talk to her right now, to listen to her complain about what an ungrateful child she was for not keeping in touch more frequently. She recalled wowing Professor Aniston with the collage she had done of her friend Gillian’s Irish wolfhound. Fragments of a life to which she would never return…

  She lay down finally, eyes wet with regret and remembrance, unable to stay awake any longer. “I love you, Mom,” was her last thought before sleep overtook her.

  25. Elysium

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2018. “Drink this.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “We’ve been over this kind of thing before, Patricia.” Gideon frowned at the young woman, who had remained seated on the floor of the closet. “Do it voluntarily or I’ll force it down your throat, and that won’t be pleasant.”

  “Poison, I hope?”

  “Hardly. Think of it as a relaxer. Now drink before I lose my patience and hurt you.”

  Patricia complied. “Hmmm. Nice nose. No tannins to speak of. Reminds me of the ‘audition vintage’ I sampled a few days ago.”

  “You’re such a wise ass, you little bitch. No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend to come and rescue you.”

  She was about to leap off the floor and slap him when the vertigo hit. Before she lost all ability to speak, she managed to say, “Sorry about the size of your penis, dickwad.” Then she collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

  “You are a piece of work,” he whispered. “I’d like to ride your sorry ass to hell and back, but duty calls.”

  He stepped out of the closet and began to prepare the special locker they would use to transport their “prize” to the crabbing boat. It would fit into Smaug’s empty live well for the trip out to Elysium. He put a fur-lined parka on her to keep her warm during the voyage.

  As he was completing preparations, his brother arrived with the SUV. Gideon opened the bay door so they could drive both vehicles inside for loading. They split the cases between the pickup and the SUV, and loaded the locker in last, sliding it into the back of the SUV, making sure the air holes weren’t blocked by the cases around it.

  “Seas are calm. Should be an easy trip. I say we get out there early.”

  Paul nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ll be so friggin’ glad when this chapter is over. Speaking of which, we still haven’t done anything about Carl.”

  “I got some ideas about him. I’ll tell you on the way. That big storm coming that I told you about? We may be able to use it to our advantage. Anyway, let’s high-tail it to the harbor.”

  It was a jewel of a day, with temperatures in the low 50s, winds less than five miles per hour, and sunlight sieving through clouds like lace doilies high overhead. The clean, salt tang in the air and the filtered glow of the sun lured residents of Driftwood out to the beach like children to chocolate, for their last walk along the shore before ushering in the New Year. Were they to look toward the horizon, they would see the crabbing boat Smaug sailing past the Driftwood Bar and heading out to deeper waters. Some might even wonder what it was about, since the delay in the opening of the crab season was still in effect.

  Aboard the craft, both men were in the wheelhouse. Gideon was at the helm.

  “Can’t we just deep-six Carl and be done with it?” Paul said. “Trying to use that storm seems pretty far-fetched to me.”

  “Yeah, it’s a gamble. But what have we got to lose? If his boat gets stranded and he gets a tow in, we’ve made his life harder. Given him something else to think about instead of worrying about my ‘crazy niece.’ Then we could put some kind of Plan B together and get rid of him. But if it works, think of it. ‘Local fisherman killed by an Act of God.’ It’s like poetic.”

  Paul harrumphed. “Well, I guess we can give it a try. But let’s get our Plan B worked out now, since I’m sure we’re gonna need it.”

  “OK. First, why don’t you do a quick check of our cargo? Make sure the cases are lashed down tight. Make sure your girlfriend is all right.”

  “Don’t tempt me, brother.”

  “Hey, it’s almost over. We deposit her on the deck of Elysium, collect our fat paycheck, and we’re home free. That new boat’s as good as paid for.”

  Paul turned and exited the wheelhouse. I’d like to deep-six you, you sonofabitch, he thought. He looked into the live well and saw Patricia lying in the open locker, still asleep, bundled in the parka. Then he examined the lines that tied down the assortment of cases they were transporting. That is one shitload of drugs. Keep all of Oregon high for a year.

  Before heading back to the wheelhouse, he stood on the deck and took several deep breaths. The sun felt warm on his back as the boat rose and fell in the gentle, rolling swells. Why do I even need you, brother? I’m the one that got us the business with Volkov. I’m the one that figures out how to get our special cargo. I can pilot this boat as good as you—hell, even better. I could hire more crew…

  He let the thoughts linger, as though savoring the taste of a fine wine. A smile spread across his face. He climbed back to the helm.

  “Everything’s perfect, Gideon. She’s still sleeping like a baby. The cases are fast.”

  “Well, you can take over, little brother. The rendezvous is twenty miles out. Should be easy going. Here’s the coordinates. I’m gonna take a nap.”

  Once he left, Paul settled into the captain’s chair. I’m in charge. I’ve always been in charge.

  He took the boat in large, lazy circles around the meeting place, awaiting the arrival of Elysium. In the short days of winter, the sun was already low in the sky. It would be dark by 4:30. He turned on Smaug’s lights. An hour later, Gideon roused himself and returned, yawning.

  “Guess I needed that. OK, Paul. I’ll take over from here.”

  Paul relinquished the helm. “Elysium’s on the radar. Looks like she’ll be a little early.”

  “Fine by me. We’ll get home in time to have our own little New Year’s Eve celebration.”

  Paul winc
ed at the thought of that, but said nothing. Fifteen minutes later, he spotted the lights of the approaching mega-yacht. “There she is. Off the port bow.” He snorted and looked at his brother. “Don’t suppose we’ll ever get to see the inside of that thing, do you?”

  “The Queen Mary? Not likely. I think they see us like waiters at the table of a real fancy restaurant. Wouldn’t be caught dead fraternizing with the help.” He stood up and motioned to Paul. “You keep us steady. I’ll close up the locker so we can get the girl off first. The rest’ll be a piece of cake.”

  The sight of the Elysium at night never failed to astonish Paul. Lights of jade green and robin’s egg blue outlined the craft, while spotlights of pale yellow emphasized features like the forward helipad and the aft swimming pool. Each of the four decks had its own lighting scheme, giving the overall impression of a fluid abstract painting. Paul had asked Volkov once about the ship and was told it was 262 feet long, with eight staterooms and a crew of forty. When he had inquired about the amenities inside, he was dismissed with the comment, “You have not the imagination.”

  Paul maneuvered the crab boat around to the stern of the ship, where a low deck provided easy egress for the small power boat guests used for on-shore excursions. Eight of the crew members, all dressed in elegant black outfits, had assembled there to facilitate the unloading of Smaug’s precious cargo. The entire operation took less than ten minutes.

  One of the crew, a young woman whose red hair shone like an aurora against her black blouse, stepped forward and handed Gideon a heavy overnight bag. “Mr. Volkov is pleased with your work. He has included a Christmas bonus and sends his warmest regards.” She withdrew immediately. The locker and cases had already disappeared inside.

  “OK, Paul,” he shouted to his brother. “Take us home.”

  Paul pulled away from Elysium slowly, then set a course for Driftwood Harbor and opened the throttle. Gideon climbed into the wheelhouse and clapped him on the back.

  “Get a load of this, brother-of-mine!” He opened the case to show him. “Enough for a new boat and some serious celebrating!” He grabbed a bundle of hundreds and waved it under his nose. “Was she worth it now?” When Paul didn’t respond, he said, “Don’t be a spoil sport. This is the best pay day we’ve ever had.”

  “Yeah. Well. My turn for a nap. See you in port.”

  26. The Candidate

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2019. “Well, do you want to come with us? Tessa and I think it will be a lot of fun.” Kaitlynn took a sip of her morning coffee. When her mother didn’t respond, she added, almost as an aside, “You could even rent us a room at the Hilton, and we could have a girls’ day in Portland tomorrow instead of driving home tonight in all the traffic.”

  “Oh, now I see what this is all about.” Chloe smiled in spite of herself. “You want me to come along so I use my points and get us a hotel room. Very sneaky!”

  “But, Mom, think how much fun it would be. We could go up to the Portland City Grill for drinks and snacks after the rally. Catch the view from thirty stories up. Sleep in on Saturday till the shopping bug bites us. I mean, how long has it been since you’ve been to Nordstrom’s? Tell me you haven’t been in withdrawal!”

  Now Chloe laughed out loud. “And who are we going to see?”

  “I told you. David Steele, the Independent. ‘You Need Someone as Courageous as David and as Strong as Steele to Beat the Goliath of Corrupt Government.’ I mean, he’s the dreamboat candidate. You’ve seen pictures of him on TV, haven’t you? He’s friggin’ gorgeous!”

  “And that’s why you’d vote for him?”

  “Mom! For goodness sake!”

  “Sorry. My sarcasm was uncalled for. But the election is two years away. It’s awfully early to start campaigning. And his slogan bothers me. What do you know about this guy?”

  “Well, married once and divorced a long time ago. Had a son who died of pneumonia when he was about fourteen. He’s single and about the most eligible bachelor in five states.”

  “Kaitlynn!” Chloe harrumphed.

  “OK, OK. He served in the Army. Went to Iraq for the invasion in ’03. Lost his left leg below the knee and has a prosthesis. Was the CEO of NAANN in Hillsboro.”

  “What?”

  “Northwest Advanced Artificial Neural Networks. They study artificial intelligence and stuff like that.”

  “Wait a minute. I think I’ve heard of them. Wasn’t that the place in the news a few years back? Theft of intellectual property or something? Made a real big deal of it.”

  “Good memory, Mom. Yeah, somebody stole this ultra-secret nanoprinting tech. Never caught whoever did it. They think it was the Chinese.”

  “So you’re saying this guy, David Steele, is courageous, beautiful, and smart?”

  “Exactly. You must have seen some of the ads on TV. He talks like…like…I don’t know what. He makes me feel like I should believe him. Like he’ll do great things.”

  For a moment, Chloe was silent. She recalled being ten years old and listening to her mother talk about the way John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert had made her feel. “Like anything was possible,” she’d say, with tears in her eyes and a faraway look on her face.

  “But what about his governmental experience? What makes you think he could run our country?”

  “Well, he’s been the Mayor of Portland for two years. That counts for something. I mean, how much experience did the Terminator have before he became Governor of California?”

  “OK. OK. Deal. Sounds like fun. I’ll call and get us a room. Now I gotta get moving. I still have to work, you know.”

  “There’s one more thing, Mom.” Kaitlynn winced as if she had just bitten a lemon. “I’ll be moving out with Tessa soon. We found a place in Depoe Bay, halfway between her work and my school.”

  “How soon?”

  “In a week. February first. I wanted to tell you about it sooner but we both have been real busy.”

  “Sheesh, Kaitlynn.” Chloe pursed her lips and shook her head. “Oh, well. I knew this was coming. I just didn’t know how fast.” She reached out and embraced her daughter. “I love you, honey. More than I usually put into words. I’ll miss you.”

  “Hey, Mom. I’ll only be ten-fifteen minutes away. We’ll see each other all the time.”

  “You bet, sweetie. Of course we will.” She turned and headed toward the bathroom, hiding the tears that filled her eyes. “One last check in the mirror, and I’m off to Count Dracula’s. Supper tonight?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “See you then.” As she reached the bathroom door, she wiped her eyes and swung back toward Kaitlynn. “You know, an Independent can’t win the Presidency in this country. He may take just enough votes to spoil the Democrats’ chances.”

  “George Washington was an Independent,” her daughter shot back.

  At the Police Department, Chiara was live-streaming the Mayor’s press conference. Whitehorse burst in, out of breath. Esperanza was out on a call.

  “Have I missed anything?” the policeman asked as he hung up his coat.

  “Good timing. She’s just about to begin.”

  He looked over Chiara’s shoulder to see Mayor Brown take stock of the reporters surrounding her. “Good morning, everyone. I’m very glad you’re all here so we can clear up this unfortunate matter once and for all.”

  She spoke for twenty minutes, detailing the events that had transpired in the classroom, the typical handling of disciplinary issues by Driftwood High, Officer Whitehorse’s relationship with the school, and the proposed resolution of the problems. Then she opened the floor to questions. She recognized the reporter from Beachtown News.

  “Madam Mayor, don’t you think that straddling a student on the floor and handcuffing him is an excessive use of force—child abuse, even?”

  “I’m glad you asked that, Devon. I’ve invited Nathan and his mother here to address those very concerns.” She signaled to her aide, who briefly left the room and then returned, e
scorting Mrs. Bowling and her son to the podium.

  “Nathan, can you tell Mr. Whitcomb what you’ve told me about the incident?”

  The adolescent looked down at the floor and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I…um…”

  “Take your time, son,” his mother coached.

  “Well, Officer Whitehorse and me are friends. He’s helped me a lot, you know. He knows I can get real out of control sometimes. I don’t mean to hurt nobody, but sometimes I just can’t help it.”

  “Is that what happened that day?”

  “Yeah. When he pins me so I can’t move, that seems to calm me down after a few minutes. That stopped me from breakin’ stuff that day.”

  “But what about the handcuffs?” the reporter interjected.

  “I was swingin’ my arms a lot.” The boy frowned. “I think I hit him in the jaw. Once the cuffs were on, I knew I couldn’t hurt him no more. And he took ’em off as soon as we got to his car.”

  “Did he call you any names or threaten you in any way?”

  “No, sir. Officer Whitehorse would never do nothing like that. Like I said, he’s my friend.”

  The Mayor leaned toward him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Nathan. You’ve been very brave. And thank you, Mrs. Bowling.” As the family left the podium, Brown looked out over the crowd of reporters from Portland and from nearby coastal communities. “This case has focused a much-needed spotlight on a problem schools across our country are struggling with—how to manage violence in the classroom when we cannot allow our teachers to physically intervene with unruly students. To that end, I am forming a task force to study the problems here in Driftwood and come up with a proposal for ‘best practices’ that we can share with other school systems. Thank you for your attention.”

  Chiara turned from the screen to Whitehorse. “Looks like you’re off the hook, Boss.”