The Wreck

by Landon Beach

  Hutch rocked forward and turned it over a few times in his hand, feeling the coin’s weight. On his right bicep was a tattoo of an anchor with a mermaid wrapped around it. The mermaid’s hair spiraled into the name ‘Sherry’ above the anchor. The texture of Hutch’s hands and feet resembled an oiled baseball glove, the fingernails and toenails cut short.

  “So, you found this on your beach, huh?”

  “How do you know that, Mr. Hutch?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Abner, then?”

  “Don’t call me that either. I go by Hutch, but it doesn’t make a damn bit a difference, because I won’t be seein’ you after today anyways.”

  “Why do you say that?” Nate said.

  Hutch rubbed the coin in his right hand. “It’s like this: you bring me one coin that may or may not be genuine. The question you have for me is, how in the hell did it show up on the beach in front of your house? I don’t know and neither do you. If I had to guess, some rich fuck was visiting one of the palaces down your way and it fell out of his pocket while he was trying to lay one of the summer maids from Hampstead High School on the beach. Either way, one coin don’t mean shit to me or you. It didn’t come from the Lakes, because we never had any gold travel on them. The exchange rate for gold is about twenty-two dollars per gram; some days more, some days less. Let’s say that coin weighs about ten grams. So, you’ve got yourself about two-hundred and twenty dollars, enough to put gas in a car for a month. For me, a whole year. Now, let’s say that it is genuine and from France—”

  Nate jumped in. “How can you tell if it is, and how did you know I found it on my bea—” Nate stopped, wondering how he could be so stupid. Obviously, Tyee had told Hutch about everything they had talked about in the hardware store when he called to let Hutch know that Nate was coming out to visit him.

  “Looks like you figured it out,” said Hutch. “Thinking before you speak avoids dumb questions. Mind if I continue?” Hutch waited for eye contact and then started up again. “So, if it is one of King Louis’s original gold pieces, a louis d’or, it would range from about two-hundred and fifty dollars in very good condition to around one-thousand dollars in extra fine condition. Again, gas for a month, or gas for a few months.”

  Nate stared at the coin and then looked up into Hutch’s dark eyes.

  “Wonderin’ how I know that?” Hutch said.

  Nate nodded, having figured out it was best not to speak.

  “I’ve got a somewhat dated version of the Standard Catalog of World Gold Coins inside. Bought it when I got out of the service and thought I was going to start collecting,” said Hutch.

  “I’m surprised,” said Nate. “I would have thought because it’s so old that it would be worth more.”

  “Common misconception. Non-collectors assume coins are antiques, but they aren’t. For a coin to be worth somethin’, the number minted and grade are what counts,” said Hutch as he brought the coin close to his eye. “To the naked eye this looks to be at least a fine grade, but I wonder—” and he brought it closer “—did you clean this before bringing it over?”

  “Sure. I wanted to—”

  “Damn fool. You may have permanently damaged the surface and reduced its value by half. Now you’re looking at only a week full of gas,” Hutch laughed.

  Embarrassed, Nate answered back, “I only used warm water and some dish soap.”

  “So now you know all about coins, huh?” said Hutch. “You should never clean a coin. A collector who knows what he’s doin’ might use a diluted citric acid like lemon juice to clean a gold coin, but not us.”

  “I don’t think I did any damage. Besides, maybe there are more coins.”

  “Not likely. Sorry you wasted your time coming out here. If that’s all you’ve got, I’ve got some fish to clean for supper.” Hutch flipped him the coin.

  “Yeah, but it would be a shame if there were more,” Nate said while turning to leave. “I’ve heard it all before about the ships that traveled the Great Lakes not carrying gold, and I don’t believe it. Have a fine Navy day, or however the hell you Coasties sign off.” Nate took a few paces and then stopped. He turned around to see Hutch standing and leaning against one of the front porch’s posts. “Listen, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  Hutch interrupted, “No it didn’t. What do you do for a living, son?”

  “I’m a teacher.”

  “A teacher of what?”

  “High school science.” Where is this going?

  “So, you’re here for the summer?”

  Nate nodded.

  “How long you been comin’ to Hampstead?”

  “Since I was a kid,” Nate stated. “Does it matter?”

  Hutch remained silent for a few seconds. “Let’s go inside.”

  7

  The inside of Hutch’s was as rough as the outside. Black sheets were nailed into the logs above the windows serving as blinds. The house was clean but sparse. On level ground now, Hutch stood an inch taller and was perhaps ten pounds heavier than Nate, but it was all muscle. Would he look this cut in thirty years? Hutch led the way from the entrance into the kitchen. The kitchen table was made of dark wood that had been varnished to a shine and seating was on two long benches. An empty wine rack was at the end of the counter and the floor was linoleum. They exited into a narrow hallway. On the walls were a few photographs, but Hutch walked too fast for Nate to get a look at them. At the end of the hallway Hutch opened a door and ushered Nate in.

  Nate stood awe-struck. The vaulted ceiling must have been over twenty feet high at the peak. Two walls were filled with large windows, and the other walls were built in bookshelves containing what must have been thousands of books. A massive oak slab of a desk with charts strewn across the top sat in the middle of the room. Matching leather chairs with accompanying ottomans were positioned on either side of a fireplace that one of the bookshelves was built around. Before Nate could take in any more of the room, Hutch had opened a door to the outside.

  “C’mon out back,” said Hutch, “I’ve got to finish cleaning the fish I caught and then we’ll talk some more about that coin.”

  Nate stepped out onto a gargantuan deck that was stained the same color as the log house. Hutch headed toward the edge and slowly disappeared down what must have been a flight of stairs. From the deck, Nate could see the blue water and sandy bottom below. A few points to the right and about a thousand yards offshore was a raised mass of rock called Diamond Crag. To the left of Diamond Crag and further out were the Sannistey Islands that locals called the Twin Sisters or Double Bitch. The two islands were separated by no more than fifty yards, and the larger of the islands was home to Sannistey Light, which had been unmanned for over a century.

  Nate walked to the edge of the deck and saw Hutch thirty feet below at the bottom of a stairway built into the side of the hill sloping away from the deck. Hutch stepped onto a long dock that extended out into Lake Huron. Moored to one side was a power yacht and tied up to the other was a Rigid-Hulled Inflatable Boat (RHIB). Hutch continued walking down the deck but raised his hand and waved Nate down. Nate reached the bottom of the steps and found himself on a platform over the water. He turned around facing the stairway. To the right was a standard sized metal garage door with a heavy duty padlock run through a stainless steel eye that was anchored in concrete. Above the door was a long row of floodlights facing the dock. Nate guessed that when turned on, the entire area of water encompassing the boats and dock would be illuminated.

  Nate turned back around and walked out on the dock past the boats to the end where Hutch was bending down to clean a stack of fish.

  “Quite the place, Hutch.”

  Hutch nodded as he picked up a carving knife from the dock, pulled back the gills from one of the fish, and sliced the head off. Next, he cut the top fin and both side fins off. Holding the tail, he made a full-length longitudinal slit and scooped out the guts and threw them in the bucket. Lastly, he cut off the tail
and quickly scaled the fish. He grabbed another fish and started cleaning again.

  “Are those perch?”

  “You know much about fish?”

  “Not really, memories of my dad and me mostly.”

  “Yeah, they’re perch. Can’t catch ‘em like I used to. Supply is down. Hell, when I was a young boy we’d haul ‘em in as fast you could bait the line and stick it back in the water. Never had to worry about bait either. I use minnows nowadays from Mickey’s, but back then as soon as you caught one you could poke out his eye and put it on your hook. The little bastards would go after it. Not anymore though. Only reason I can catch this many is because I know my spots,” Hutch said, hands never stopping. In a few minutes, he was done cleaning.

  “My father and I used to come up and fish for whitefish in the fall, steelhead and lake trout in the summer, and sometimes walleye,” Nate said. “I guess you could say we fished for perch year-round too.”

  “Grab me a newspaper,” Hutch said gesturing to a stack sitting on a folding chair nearby, while picking up a pair of khaki shorts.

  Nate did and as he turned to grab a paper, heard a splash behind him. The water flattened out where Hutch had entered and thirty seconds later he emerged by the end of the dock with his trousers in hand and the khaki shorts on. Hutch climbed the ladder which had been welded to the end of the pier. Nate watched water drip from Hutch’s soaked khaki shorts.

  “Be dry in less than an hour,” Hutch said.

  After slinging the trousers over his shoulder, he took the newspaper from Nate and began to wrap the fish into small packages.

  “Hope they don’t do away with newspapers because of the goddamn internet,” Hutch said. “I get a lot of miles out of my papers.”

  “I think it’s inevitable,” Nate said.

  Hutch shook his head. “Not sure all change is for the better. Don’t even get me started on cell phones. You watch, we’ll have a buncha fuckin’ zombies walkin’ around this planet in another ten years.”

  When he was done packaging, he dumped the fish guts into the lake and then dipped the bucket in to clean it out. Holding the bucket, he motioned for Nate to place the packages in.

  As he placed the last one in, Nate looked over the side into the water. It seemed deeper than usual this close to shore.

  “How deep is this area around your dock, Hutch?”

  “Twenty feet.”

  “Why is it so deep?”

  “Some white-collar prick had dredging equipment brought in a few summers ago just to create a slip large enough for his yacht at the marina. So, I borrowed the dredging service for a day when the guy was out of town. The draft on Queen,” said Hutch pointing at his sixty foot yacht, “is less than five feet, but I like to have room when I dive to wipe the shit off her bottom.”

  They started walking back toward the staircase. “I take it these are both your boats.”

  “Nifty deduction,” Hutch laughed. “Yeah, they’re mine. Got the RHIB as a special retirement deal and I just finished paying off Queen last year.”

  “How did you get a Coast Guard RHIB, don’t they inventory those things?” Nate said.

  “That one had major problems and it was going to take more money to fix her than to buy a new one. I knew I’d have time in retirement to work on her, so I swung a deal.”

  “Looks brand new,” Nate observed, looking at the twenty-four foot boat. He’d always wanted to ride in a RHIB and even contemplated buying one. When Brooke looked at a model that Nate had researched at a boat show, she ran her hands along the RHIB and asked, “Where is the cabin with the cushions?” That was the end of the boat show. Two months later, they bought Speculation.

  “It took me a couple of years to get the right parts and redo the engine, but she runs as smooth as silk now. As you can see, I refinished her in all black.”

  “Top speed?”

  “Over forty knots.”

  “Runs on?”

  “Diesel. Could have gone to jets, or even modified the hull to carry two big outboards, but I know more about diesels. Plus, I get my fuel delivered here.”

  “You get diesel fuel brought to your dock?”

  “Yep. Gasoline too,” said Hutch. “I’ve got a friend at Shelby’s Marina who runs a quiet refueling business. He’s got two tanks on board his boat. Got a pump too. Our business is usually done in about a half hour. I pay him and he’s gone.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Nate. “Why don’t you just drive your boat over to the marina and fuel up there?”

  “Because he’s cheaper. I get it for about half-price.”

  “Why would he do that? He’s losing money, not to mention the fuel he has to use for his own boat traveling back and forth from your place. It’s out of his way.”

  “Got it all figured out don’t ya? Of course, I never said whether he actually pays the marina for the fuel now did I?” Hutch said raising his brow.

  8

  Nate looked back at the two boats.

  “I’m not sure what exactly goes on and I don’t want to know. None of my business. But, I’m pretty sure that dickweed of an owner, what’s his name—”

  “Kevin Shelby,” Nate aided, remembering his lone encounter in Shelby’s office attempting to sign up as navigator on a yacht leaving out of the marina, which Shelby knew nothing about.

  “Yeah, he’s in a little bit of debt to my friend. Hell, even if he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t know the fuel was missing. He’s usually drunk or high most of the day, and I got no use for fuck-ups like that. The only reason the marina hasn’t gone under is because he’s sellin’ the stuff he’s doin’.”

  They reached the end of the dock and Hutch saw Nate looking at the garage door beside the staircase.

  “Gear locker,” Hutch said and then headed up the stairs.

  As they entered Hutch’s library, Nate checked his watch.

  5:00

  He would have to leave. Damn. Even if he did leave right now, he’d be a few minutes late. But, how could he leave now after apparently gaining some cursory level of trust with Hutch?

  “Hutch, I’ve got to head out. Wife’s got dinner, and—”

  “No need to explain, I remember it well,” said Hutch. “Let me see if I can spot a mint mark on your coin before you go.”

  Nate stood, looking at Hutch.

  “I admit. You’ve got me a little interested,” Hutch said.

  Nate passed him the coin, and Hutch walked over and sat down on the folding chair behind the desk.

  “What would the mint mark tell you?” Nate said.

  “Where the coin was made,” Hutch said as he dug around in the desk drawer and finally pulled out a velvet bag with the end tied off in string. “If this coin is from France and made in 1643, we’re looking for an ‘A’.”

  “Why an ‘A’?”

  “Letters were assigned to different cities where coins were made. In 1643, French coins were produced in Paris, whose mint mark was ‘A’. I read before you came over that newer coins contain more distinguishing marks. Most coins manufactured by the French Mints contain two small markings that represent the person responsible for the dyes which struck the coins. The first mark lists the Engraver General and the second lists the Mint Director. I couldn’t find any coins listed that had an Engraver General marked before 1726, and any that had a Mint Director before 1768. So, the only distinguishing mark that there could be on your coin would be the mint mark.” Hutch untied the string and pulled a magnifying glass out of the velvet bag.

  “What power is that hand magnifier?” Nate said.

  “This one’s five-times and I’ve got another one in my bottom drawer that is twenty-times.”

  “Really? Doesn’t seem powerful enough. I’ve got three fifty-times microscopes back in my lab at school.”

  Hutch inspected the coin while answering. “Anything beyond forty-times is useless unless you’re an expert. Five-times to twenty-times is ideal for identifying the grade. If we really wanna get spe
cific, I’ve got a stereo-microscope with a zoom feature in a cabinet by the bookshelf with a range up to forty-times. It’s the most expensive thing I have inside the house,” Hutch said.

  Nate watched as Hutch moved the coin close to the magnifying glass and then away. “Get me the other glass out of the drawer,” Hutch said.

  With the more powerful glass, Hutch concentrated and then held the glass steady. “Well, it looks like your washing didn’t hose up the grade, and if you take a peek right now you’ll see that you’ve got something genuine.”

  Nate looked over Hutch’s shoulder and saw the letter ‘A’ through the glass.

  Hutch set the glass on the table. “We’ve got a gold French coin over three-hundred years old. Not somethin’ you find everyday.” Hutch rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. “For speculation sake, let’s say that it wasn’t carelessly left on the beach in front of your house. It’s probably the only one, but because it’s gold, it is a bit peculiar that it was on your beach or that no one came looking for it. If you permit me to make a rubbing of your coin, I’ll see if I can find out where it might have come from. If I do find anything, I’ll call you tomorrow. Just leave your phone number with Lucille.”

  Nate nodded his head in agreement and allowed a wave of excitement to rise in him. Hutch left the room and returned with a piece of wax paper, which he laid on top of the coin. From the top drawer of his desk, he brought out a set of graphite sticks. After three rubbings, Hutch had the desired accuracy and made a final rub of both sides, then handed the coin back to Nate.

  “You remember the way out?” Hutch said.

  “Yes,” Nate said as he turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” Hutch said as he moved swiftly to the deck and returned with two of the newspaper packages of fish. “Here’s one for Lucille and one for you. Should be pretty good eats.”

  “Thanks,” Nate said while catching the packages from Hutch. “Talk to you tomorrow.”