by Matt Lincoln
“Yes. That was all there was. Some clothes, the money, that’s it.” He answered as he cowered back against the wall.
The Captain sensed that he was holding back something of importance. “And the captain’s cabin? What did you find there?” He snarled at the man a moment before he raised a hand and slapped the crew member hard across the face. “Tell me, was there luggage or bags in the cabin with all the books and papers? Or were you so stupid that you mistook the captain’s room for that crippled, old man’s?” His voice had raised to a shout as the rest of the crew backed away to escape his wrath.
“I didn’t…” The man tried to answer, but the captain beat him again, this time landing several punches to his face, breaking his nose and causing a bloody mess.
“This idiot cost us a fortune. Take his share from him.” He kicked the crouching, crying man one last time before he turned to leave. “He’s lucky that I don’t take his life.”
2
Jake
I had been picking up some odd jobs here and there to keep myself busy in between cases or missions. They were mostly just little incidences that slipped through the cracks like in any civilized society. These types of tasks weren’t going to make me rich, but that wasn’t why I was doing the smaller, less conspicuous jobs. I did them because they needed to be done.
Like now, for instance. I had been chasing this scumbag called “Jeffery” on the streets, but whose real name was Michael Segura. I couldn’t find out why he had a name that had no connection to his given one, but whatever. That wasn’t an issue and had no bearing on why I was looking for him.
I had heard it from my local grocer, and yeah, I did have one, that this Jeffery guy was going around and casing small businesses, then offering great discounts to up their security features. Most people these days lived on a budget, and so a few of them jumped at the chance to save a little money and protect their stores and shops.
Jeffery was a slick one, though. He’d set the devices up, program them, and they’d be flawless for a few weeks or maybe even a month. Then, without fail, those businesses would always get robbed, and the system was never to blame, naturally. The culprits knew just where to avoid getting seen by the cameras and had been able to avoid setting off the alarms until miraculously, they were tripped on the way out.
It wasn’t a smooth setup, but it was getting harder to prosecute as the security system had actually worked, just too late. So, the shop owners were out the money and their security, and they were tired of getting played. I decided to look into it and found that Jeffery liked to hang out at a real dive type of bar called the Mastodon. I didn’t even want to know why.
I had a pretty good description of a tall guy with bad skin who wore his red hair up in a man-bun from time to time. He was “normal-looking,” according to my source, which could have meant anything. I had talked to several other victims, and they all said the same thing: long red hair, pock-marked face, average in every other way.
As I entered the Mastodon, there were several men that fit this description at first glance. Half of the bar turned to look at me as I walked in, and the other half ignored me. The tables were mostly empty, but I did see one with a long-haired guy sitting with his back to me. I edged my way over to him and smiled when I saw the red tint on his head.
“Jeffery?” I asked, hoping that I could pass myself off as a budding customer or interested party to his “work.”
“Nope. You got the wrong vato, man.” His voice was scratchy and unfriendly. It was about to get more unfriendly as I moved to look him in the face.
The bar itself was smokey and smelled like old piss and cigarettes. He, too, carried that smell on him, in his blue jersey and gym shorts. I took a look around the room and noticed that he was really out of place here. Maybe he wanted to stand out and get noticed. That could have been his calling card, as strange as that sounded.
“I don’t think so, Michael.” I wondered if using his first name, his given name, might make me more interesting to him. Sure enough, he tried to jump out of his chair, but I was too close to him, and I forced him down, with my hand on his shoulder. “We need to talk.”
I was leaning over him when he did something a little unexpected. Jeffery, or Michael, aimed and punched me directly in the stomach. He had to reach across himself with his left arm, so there wasn’t too much momentum built up, but it did take me by surprise.
He used this to fling himself back and away from me, but I still was able to keep hold of his wrist. I caught my breath once more, and having him just out of arm's reach, I pulled him closer to face me. He fell over the chair that he was sitting in, fumbling and falling over himself as he tried to get away.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I called to him. “You’ve ripped off and robbed enough people for a while. Time to pay for it.”
As his face rushed forward, I balled up my fist and jammed it into his jaw. The contact was just what I needed. He yelled out in pain and fell, casting all of his weight into a dead, limp mass. I still had his wrist to keep him from getting away. But then, once he was on the floor, he dove at my knees to knock me back. I had been unprepared for this, and I landed hard on my back, with him still halfway on top of me, struggling to keep me down.
I reached out and punched him in the mouth again, and this time, I heard a solid, satisfying crunch to his face. A few teeth flew out of his mouth, mixed with blood and spit, and that ended his resistance for the time being. I laid there for a moment until I was able to shift him off of me. I stood, using the nearby chairs to help myself up. That’s when I got a good look at the bar patrons, all of whom were watching me.
“He ripped off a friend of mine. I’m just doing him some justice. Alright?” I surveyed the room and smiled when I saw virtually everyone turn back to their drinks, companions, and conversations. I nodded in relaxed gratitude as I lifted the guy up and onto my shoulder.
I managed to get him outside and threw him on the ground against the building's wall. I dug into his pockets for an ID and took a picture of it with my cell. Inside his wallet, I found a business license that had been altered to appear legitimate, but upon close inspection, I could see that it was out of date.
This warranted another cell picture, and I would forward these to the correct agencies and individuals for further investigation. Then, just for good measure, I cleaned the guy’s cash out of his wallet, walked back inside the bar, and stuffed all fifty-eight dollars into the tip jar. And then, I headed for home.
I had just finished my second cup of coffee when my cell let me know that I had a message from Xavier. I picked it up and looked it over.
‘Possible job from a Claude Speirs. I looked him up, and he’s clean. Search and Salvage in international waters. Wants to meet face-to-face at ten am.’
Below that was what I presumed was the man’s physical address.
It had been a while since my team and I had been offered something interesting to do, so I was more than willing to at least hear this man out. I headed for the bathroom, grabbed a shower, combed back my black hair that was needing a trim, and then headed for my closet.
I checked out the address from my cell and noticed that the area we were heading to was in the upscale part of Miami. I had never been one to dress to impress a possible client, but I didn’t want to look like a slob, either. I found a snappy teal-colored button-down shirt that I’d forgotten that I still owned. It looked newer than some of my others, so I slipped it on and buttoned it.
Next, I chose a pair of khakis and some classier looking athletic shoes, the kind you buy but never really wear much. But they were spotless and didn’t look too worn out. I put on a watch, grabbed my wallet, car keys, and my Ruger just to be on the safe side, and then I headed for the condominium’s garage.
The elevator took me all the way down to the basement, where I found my Mercedes waiting for me. I waved and nodded to a few of my fellow condo neighbors whose names I didn’t know, but I wanted to be polite. A maintenance crew
was working on the overhead lighting of the garage, so it was darker down here than it normally was. I knew my way around in the concrete and cinder block space, though, so I went about my way with ease.
The drive up to the address Xavier had sent me was a nice one, actually a little more relaxing than I’d anticipated it to be. I had the windows down as I cruised into the driveway of a three-story gray brick home with a fountain out front. The drive was paved and had parking designated for visitors. I wondered for a moment if this was a museum of some sort. I guessed I’d have to wait and see.
As I got out of my vehicle, I took a minute to drink in the beautiful landscaping this place retained. The lawns were green and manicured, with no flowers in sight. A few dwarf cypress trees were trimmed into spiral shapes here and there. There most likely was a pattern to them, but I couldn’t see it from where I was.
The fountain was a rose-colored marble with an intricate filigree design along the spout. Overall, it was smooth and a little boring to look at. There were no ledges to allow for sitting nearby, so I guessed it was strictly decorative, and that was it. I turned my attention then to the building.
The gray brick made the outer appearance seem a bit… sad. It was meant to be stately and subdued, but it looked dull and uninteresting to my eyes. Luckily, I didn’t have to live here. The windows and trim were all gilded with a pale golden color. Sharp angles and precise peaks were the only bit of flare that I could see on the outer shell of this Speirs estate.
I hoped that Mr. Speirs was more exciting than his house made him out to be. At about this time, Xavier pulled into the driveway and parked next to my Mercedes. He had a small SUV that kind of resembled a station wagon more than anything else.
As he exited his vehicle, I saw that he had his trusty laptop in a bag with him. His hair was recently cut, but the brown wavy mane was one of the first things people noticed about him. That, and his metal-framed glasses. He was a tall guy, slim and wiry, and wore a white dress shirt and creased jeans with loafers. He looked very professional.
“Good morning, Xavier,” I greeted him with a wry smile, looking over the building we were about to enter.
“Morning.” Xavier was ignoring the whole of the house’s ambiance and strictly focused on me instead. “Just a heads up, but this guy is a little hard of hearing, so remember to speak up and annunciate.”
“No slurring of words, got it,” I teased.
Together, we walked to the front door. The pathway was very short, and within a few steps, we were at the stairs leading up to the entrance. The door was heavy with colored glass inserts and tiny window displays. There were no specific designs to them, which I found more appealing. I knocked on the door, and we waited.
A few moments later, a kind-looking older man greeted us by opening the door. He was maybe in his late sixties, with a full head of white hair and a mustache. He wore a silk smoking jacket, red and gold with black embroidery. The black silky-looking pants matched it well, but it all seemed more like pajamas than genuine clothes.
His blue eyes stared at us for a moment, and then they narrowed. “Mr. Header and his faithful companion, I presume?” There was a twinkle in those eyes and a smirk of authentic mirth in his features. I liked him right away.
“Correct,” I answered courteously and a little more loudly than I normally would have. “And are you Mr. Speirs, sir?” I held out my hand anyway, determined to shake it even if he weren’t the man we’d come to see. He returned the gesture and greeting.
“Guilty as charged, yes. Please, come in!” He moved so that Xavier and I could easily gain access. We walked into a large foyer hallway with two staircases on either side but several yards apart from each other. This room was decorated in deep, rich colors with landscaped paintings placed in neat, straight rows along the walls. Sconces shaped and molded to look like lit candles lined up every few feet and gave the place an old-fashioned look with all the modern conveniences.
There were large archways leading off to other rooms from this main one. Speirs ushered us inside and to the room on the right, where an enormous, wooden desk sat directly in the middle of the room. There were several art easels located near windows, and each one had an unfinished painting on it in varying levels of completeness.
There were two identical chairs placed in front of the desk, probably meant for guests. All the wood in the room was dark, stained oak. It made the room feel tense and overwhelming at first, and then after a while, the aura just made one feel exceedingly small and plain.
There were a few paintings on the walls in here, all done in the same hand. I believed that Mr. Speirs was responsible for all of them, and he wasn’t exactly untalented. I saw lots of clothing in drapes, along with shiny metal. He must have liked to capture shading and light. Or he needed more practice. I wasn’t about to ask.
“Please, come on in and sit down.” He gestured toward the two chairs that Xavier and I took. I immediately regretted it, as this was remarkably uncomfortable. I shifted around, trying not to appear pained or rude. I glanced over at Xavier to see him doing the same thing. We were going to hold tight and make the best of it, though.
“Thank you for inviting us here into your home, Mr. Speirs,” I graciously mentioned, still speaking up as Xavier had told me to. “I understand that you are looking to have something retrieved out of international waters, is that accurate?”
“Yes, yes, it is. But first, please, call me ‘Claude.’ Oh and do either of you need something to drink? I can have my man Wooster bring in a bit of something if you have a need for it.” He reached out and took hold of a small brass bell. He rang it, and it gave off a tinny, annoying chime, then he replaced it to where it had been before.
I took notice of his desk at this point. I didn’t see any photos of family, young or old, anywhere on it. There was a bin of pens and pencils, a few notepads, and a desk calendar with a few dates circled in red. Today was one of them. That may have been for this meeting, or maybe not. Other than this, the space was overly tidy and bland.
A few moments later, a young man with brown hair and eyes walked in, carrying a silver tray of canned sodas. Claude smiled, and even though all the cans were the same, he looked each one over thoughtfully. Once he chose one, Xavier and I took the others. I opened the tab on mine, took a sip, and held it pretty much for the rest of the meeting.
“Down to business, then?” Claude appealed to us with a grin. “A little back story, if I may, as it will help, or rather, it might not, I don’t know. Still anyway, background information.”
Xavier pulled his laptop out of the case, opened it, and got ready to make his notes. I sat there, waiting and silent.
“My older brother, Declan, had recently traveled to Liverpool to claim an inheritance we equally received from some old and forgotten aunt or something or other. Polly, I think, but don’t quote me on the name. Systland was her surname. Anyway, Declan sailed on a small vessel called the Hester. The captain was a good man, came highly recommended, as did his crew, so I had no concerns on their end.” He stopped to let Xavier catch up with his typing as Claude spoke rather quickly.
“Declan made the first voyage excellently, got all the legal matters cleared up, and was able to sign for my half of the inheritance, so all was well. He phoned me to tell me that he was returning along the same route and that he’d be back before the sixth.” He subconsciously glanced at the calendar on his desk. Today was the twenty-first. “Once he and the ship didn’t report into any port that I communicated with, I contacted the proper authorities, and they mounted an investigation into their disappearance.”
His voice started to crack and get hoarse, so Claude paused and took a sip of his drink.
“Excuse me,” he apologized and then continued. “No one has been able to find out anything of significance as to their whereabouts, though. I hired a few people to track their last known location, and they seem to think that someone with the technology and the right equipment might be able to find what is ce
rtainly wreckage by now.”
I cleared my throat aoftly to interrupt him. “That may not be the case, Claude. Boats have problems all the time. They get off course, have to make unscheduled repairs, lose communications… there’s no reason to give up hope that they may turn up alive and well still.” I hated for him to have accepted his brother’s death without exploring all the other possibilities fully.
“You are very kind, Mr. Header, but I know that my brother is gone. He was my best friend, and I was his. There is no power on earth or in heaven that would have kept him from contacting me for this long.” He sighed and reached into one of the desk drawers to produce a stack of papers. “I have already started the process of having him declared deceased so that I can settle our family’s affairs as soon as we can.”
I wasn’t going to complain, as it was none of our business, so we just sat and continued to listen to him.
“Legally, things are progressing, but my reason for calling you here today is far more personal. I would very much like to give my brother a proper burial at sea, as he did for his own wife and children. It would give me no end of peace to see him settled as he should be.” His smile faltered for the first time, and I saw him blink back tears several times.
“I understand.” I looked over to Xavier, who nodded at me in agreement. “So then, this is strictly a retrieval mission you want us to take on, is that correct?” I wanted to phrase that delicately, but there was only so much that I could say.
“It is, yes. I understand that you have your own boat, your own gear, and a team of experts that can undertake this. I would very much like to engage your services at,” he stopped to write something onto a small pad of paper. He then slid that over so that Xavier and I could both see the numbers written on it, “this price. I believe that is the going rate. At least, my favorite lawyer told me that was the case. Is this acceptable?”
