by Darrel Bird
Between Bahama and the Deep Blue Sea
By Darrel Bird
Copyright ©2014 by Darrel Bird
Jim Grady threaded his 36-foot Morgan sailboat ‘Dancer’ into the intracoastal waterway of St. Petersburg, and up to the docks. He tossed a line to old Sam Hunter, who had just turned 86, “Where you been off too Jim, I ain’t seen you in a month?”
Old Sam's memory was failing him. Jim had only been out a week, “I went down to Key West to check on a barge that was sunk to make a natural reef. Little job the government of Florida gave me.”
“Pay pretty good?”
“Enough to keep me eating for a month or so, but my dive tanks are all empty, and I have to pay for air.”
“Yeah, times are rough, if I didn’t have social security, I’d starve to death.”
Old Sam lived aboard his sail boat. He didn’t take it out any more, and there were large rust stains running below the chain plates to the water line. He was always there to welcome him home, or see him off. Jim would miss the old man when he was gone from this earth, and he noticed he was getting mighty feeble as he tied off the bow line.
He also noticed a man in a fancy suit sitting on a Bollard, and smoking a cigar. He tied off the stern line, and then climbed the steel ladder to the docks as the tide was out. When the tide was in, he could step off the deck of the boat to the docks.
“I gotta go get something to eat Sam. If you can put fuel and fresh water in the tanks, I can pay you ten bucks.”
“You don’t need to pay me Jim, you know that.”
“Yeah, but I like to share with you Sam, you know that too.”
“You’re a good boy Jim.”
He lifted the four air cylinders over his shoulder, and walked over to his old pick-up, and dumped them in the bed of the truck.
The man with the cigar walked up to the truck as he opened the door of the cab, “You Jim Grady?”
He looked at the man in the suit closely. The man was of a medium build, and had a swarthy face. “Depends on who’s asking. Are you a cop?”
“No, not a cop.”
“Then who? Not many men approach me wearing a five hundred dollar suit.”
“My name is Art Fulmer.”
“What do you want Mr. Fulmer?”
“Someone kidnapped my daughter Mr. Grady, and I want you to find them, get my daughter back home safe, and then I want you to kill the men that took her.”
“I’m not a hit man Mr. Fulmer. Have you contacted the police?”
“No. I’m afraid the police will get my daughter killed, and some friends told me about you getting your brother out of Cuba. They say you are the man for the job Mr. Grady.”
“I’m afraid you have the wrong information Mr. Fulmer. I just do odd jobs.”
“I’ll pay you well Mr. Grady. Would you be willing to come with me to my house, and at least discuss it with me? Out here is not a good place to talk.”
“I was just heading up to the restaurant to get something to eat.”
“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars cash to come with me to my home, and I will feed you well Mr. Grady.”
Jim thought better of it, but a hundred smooth wouldn’t hurt either, “What the hell, Lets go.”
The man led him over to a new beamer, hit the key button to unlock the car, and Jim crawled into the plush seat.
The man drove out to the causeway, and over to Treasure Island, then into the drive way of a multimillion dollar home. He parked the car in the circular drive. The front of the house was on the waterway where a large yacht was tied to the docks, and led him to a pair of double doors that cost more than his boat. He unlocked the door, “Please come in Mr. Grady.”
He led him into a room that had plush leather chairs, and expensive mahogany book shelves, “Would you like a cigar Mr. Grady?”
“No, I had to quit, thanks.”
“What would you like to eat?”
An older Cuban woman walked to the door of the study, and waited there, “Some steak and onions would be good.”
“Maria, fix the best steak you can find in the house for Mr. Grady.” When the woman was gone, he began to pour two drinks from a decanter, “Just water for me, I don’t do alcohol in any form any more.”
“This doesn’t surprise me Mr. Grady; you are a very sober man. I don’t meet many of those in my business.”
“Just what is your business Mr. Fulmer?”
“Sharp, and to the point, I like that…lets just say, I am in a business that other men would like to take. Let's get down to the business of my daughter.”
“Ok, lets. Where was she taken from?”
“She was taken from the yacht right in front of the house. She could have been taken anywhere from there. My daughter just turned eighteen Mr. Grady. She is my life, and I am begging you to find her.”
“If I go looking, my fee is a thousand a week plus expenses.”
“I will pay you a thousand a day, plus your expenses Mr. Grady, and if you bring my daughter home safely, I will add a hundred thousand to that.”
Jim looked at Fulmer, and swallowed, “That’s a lot of dough Mr. Fulmer, and I suspect that what you tell me to do comes along with that, and no man tells me how to do my business, I work on my own.”
Fulmer looked at Jim; his eyebrows wrinkled in thought, “Well enough Mr. Grady; I have no other choice.”
“You have the police, and I’ll bet my boat you have other contacts you could call on.”
“That is true, I have already told you I don’t trust the police with her safety, and the contacts I have will more than likely get her killed quicker than the police. I cannot afford to have fools out there. You don’t put a bull in with the fine China Mr. Grady.”
They heard a bell tinkle, and Fulmer got up out of his chair, “Dinner is served Mr. Grady.” He led the way into a large dining room. There was a long table with eight chairs. He pulled out a chair, “Please sit.”
Jim sat down in the chair, and his nose followed the plate to a large steak smothered in onions. His stomach came up to see if his throat was cut, as he cut a large bite off the steak, chewed three times, and swallowed; insuring his stomach that his throat was indeed intact. The woman served a cup of coffee that he was positive it was made in heaven. He slurped the coffee, then dove back into the steak with fork, and knife working over time. Fulmer sat, and watch him eat, “Ain’t you gonna eat Mr. Fulmer?” He asked around a large mouth full of steak.
“I had a bite before I came down to the docks, but I like to watch a hungry man eat at my table. Maria, fix Mr. Grady another steak while he finishes that one.”
“No, this’ll do.” Jim waved his fork at the woman, and she smiled at him, her white teeth glinting in the light of the kitchen.
“I get you more coffee Mr. Grady.” She rushed off to get the coffee, and returned to fill his cup again. He worked steadily on the steak until he held up the last bite, looked at it, and shoved it in.
“That was good Maria, thank you so much.”
“You are welcome any time Mr. Grady; you come back, and I will fix plenty food.” She smiled at him as she spoke to him in broken English.
“I think Maria is taken with you Mr. Grady, let's retire back to the study, and she will bring more coffee.”
Jim patted his full stomach as they walked back into the study, and sat down, “Will you take the job Mr. Grady?” Fulmer asked.
“I’ll take the job, and do my best, but there is no promise I will be able to find her. Could you show me some pictures beside the studio photos you have?”
Fulmer walked out of the room, and soon returned with a hand full of photos; he laid them on the coffee table in front of Jim. He st
ared at the photos of a pretty black-headed girl. She was slim, and fit. One was of her standing on the deck of a yacht.
“That’s the latest one of her, it was taken just last week.”
“Could I take these along?”
“Yes, and if there is anything else you will need, just ask.”
“What is her name?”
“Claire. My daughter is a pretty girl Mr. Grady, and I advise you to keep this matter clinical.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way Mr. Fulmer.
Fulmer laid two stacks of bill’s on the table, “That is for your expenses for a week or two, is ten thousand enough?”
“Should be, I will have to spend some on rats.”
“Why rats? What could you do with a rat?”
“The two-legged kind Mr. Fulmer, the kind that knows what’s going on in rat holes you wouldn’t know about. It may be more than a few days before I see you again Mr. Fulmer, as I said, I work on my own, and you will not hear from me until I have something to tell you.”
“Couldn’t you call me to let me know your progress?”
“Mr. Fulmer, I know you are worried sick about your daughter, but it is imperative that no one knows I’m even looking for her. Her life may depend on it. They may contact you for ransom, or they may be doing this to hurt you, either way. They'll kill her, and just dump her body. You need to trust me to do the right thing. Don’t you hire men to try to follow me Fulmer; I don’t want you getting me killed along with your daughter, is that clear?”
Fulmer sat there and studied his hands, “It is hard to sit here, and just wring my hands Mr. Grady, but I will do as you say.”
Jim knew he was looking at a man who was crazy with uncertainty, and he prayed the man would not lose his head. A fact which just might get him killed on this run.
“Right now I want you to take me back to my boat, and then come on home, and try to do your business as normal.”
Fulmer drove Jim back to the docks, and the beamer sped off, leaving Jim looking at the tail lights, and thinking.
He stowed the cash on the boat, then took his Glock 9 out, cleaned it, and oiled it, then lay on his birth. They came by water to take her, and they most likely left by water; I think I will go down to little Cuba, and see if I can sick the dogs on this. He got up, and threw on a light jacket to cover the bulge the gun would make. Then he walked to his pick-up. He passed old Sams boat, but everything was quiet around the docks. He got in and pumped the accelerator a few times, and the old truck started in a cloud of exhaust gas; I need to get a newer truck; I could probably buy Phil’s truck for a couple grand out of the money Fulmer gave me. The thing about Jim was; he never remembered the truck didn’t run well as long as he wasn’t in it.
He walked into the bar down in little Cuba, and saw José sitting in the back of the pool tables with the usual Cuban crowd of drug runners, and pimps. These Cubans down here stick closer than a tick on a Bloodhound dog. I don’t need the tick, but I need the Bloodhound, were his thoughts as he scanned the room. He walked back and took a seat across from the Cuban, “What you want Grady?” Asked the Cuban as he stared at him coldly.
“Now is that a way to treat a friend José?”
“You are not my friend; you left my sister mourning for you, you dog.”
“She was the one dumped me, and you know it.”
“You probably did something to cause her to dump you. You white boys are all alike.”
“I ain’t here to talk about your sister; I got a little cash to float.”
“And how do we get hold of this cash you have just floating around in the air in little Cuba?”
He leaned over the table to talk low to the Cuban, “I have a grand to split between you now, and a grand to give to the man who can get me some information. This girl was taken from her home.” He handed the Cuban two photos of the girl.
“Where is this she was taken from?”
“Her home out on Treasure Island.”
“What if we find her, and return her for ourselves gringo.”
“You would be hunted, and killed for your trouble, believe me Jose;` you don’t want to fool with this girl's father. He can reach down into the live snake hole, and pull up a dead snake.”
The Cuban studied him for a few seconds, “You are one mean mother getting your brother out of Cuba like that Puko. Here, take my throw-away-cell, and if we find anything, I will contact you myself.” The Cuban slid a cell phone across the table, “The price for the information is two thousand gringo.”
“Done.” He reached across the table, shook hands with the man, and got up to go.
“You better not come around my sister, or she will cut your gonads off, and feed them to her dogs.” Jose` called after him.
Jim waved his hand over his head as he left. The sister he had referred to was meaner than a cotton mouth, and twice as deadly. She was a looker, and he had gone out with her a couple of times, until she stabbed a girl on the street for looking at her.
He got back to the Dancer at midnight, and turned in for the night. The next morning he was up at four, and on his way to the local restaurant to get his morning coffee. After he had had two cups, he walked to the counter to pay. The pretty waitress walked to the register to take his money, “Where are you off too this early Jim?”
“Trying to make enough money to buy you a wedding ring Jeanna.” He said as he handed her the money for the coffee.
“That’ll be the day. You’re married to your boat.” She smiled at him.
“I may dump her for you.” He smiled back.
“Uhuh!” She walked away smacking her gum.
He had dated her a few times when he was in port, which wasn’t very often, and she wanted a relationship like every other woman in the world, so when he had called her the last time, she made excuses. Women were attracted to him with his build, his sun-bleached white hair, and a scar across his upper cheek he had won in a bar brawl, but just like all women; they wanted kids, a house, and a husband with a steady job.
He stopped by a large grocery on his way home, and bought three hundred dollars worth of food. When he got back to the docks, he loaded it all on a marina cart, and hauled it down to the Dancer. The Dancer was a sail boat he had bought in a federal sale. The boat was rigged to withstand a hurricane with extra-thick port lights, and hatches that could be dogged down water tight. It had three thousand extra pounds added to the keel.
He had gotten the dive tanks back from the dive shop, and he stowed those on board, along with the food, and bottles of water. Now all he could do was to wait to see if the Cuban called, so he decided to visit his brother in Clearwater.
He got out of his pick-up, and walked to the door of the neat, but simple house his brother lived in. His wife opened the door, “Hi Linda, how is my brother?”
“Come in Jim, he’s still weak most days; he putters around in the yard some; he's out back, sit down, and I’ll get him.”
His brother came through the back door, and into the living room. He looked thin, and gaunt.
“How are you Jim?”
“I’m ok; I just wanted to drop by to see how you are doing as I may be going out soon.”
“I feel good most days; it may take some time to get my health back.”
They talked a while of everyday things, but the Cuban trip was not mentioned as neither of them wanted to talk about it. After a while he got up to go. “Well, I gotta go brother, is there anything you need me to do for you?”
“No, I have everything I need; I'll be praying for you Jim.”
“Thanks brother, I need it.”
The two brothers got along well, although the two of them were so different, his brother was a missionary, and he was, and had always been, a vagabond, sailing whenever, and wherever he pleased. He had rescued his brother out of a Cuban prison, and the prison was so bad they had caused him permanent health problems.
The next day he was cleaning up the boat when the Cuban called on the throw-a-
way cell.
“They took the girl to Newport in the Bahamas puko. That is all I could find out. Throw the phone in the water, and come pay me the two grand you owe me.”
“I’ll be down at the bar at three this afternoon with the money Jose`...be there.”
He walked into the bar at three, and motioned for Jose` to meet him outside. When they got outside he slid him a stack of bills.
“Thanks Gringo and good luck my friend.”
“I thought you weren’t my friend.”
“Things change.”
“Yeah.” With the Cuban’s in little Cuba, things changed with the wind.
He turned to get back into his pick-up when Jose` asked, “Did you get rid of the phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, those are some rough people you are looking for. If they got wind I helped you, there wouldn’t be a safe place for me this side of Cuba.”
He thought about what the Cuban said on his way back to the boat, but he knew he would go through with it if the girl wasn’t dead already, and somehow he had the feeling, she wasn’t dead yet.
The next morning he set sail for the Bahamas. After he passed out of the intracoastal, and into open sea he raised the large jib. At noon he set the self steering, and went below to fix lunch. He came back out on deck to eat the sandwich. After eating he laid down on the cockpit cushions to take a nap. He wanted to be well rested when he arrived in the Bahamas at about one in the morning.
The drone of engines awakened him, and he sat up to look around. A fastboat was cutting across his bow, not slowing down. “Drug runners. If I didn’t need to lay low, I would alert the Coast Guard.”
The runners used fastboats to make their runs, and quickly disappear into the Keys.
He lay back down, and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was on the job he had undertaken. He dialed the number of the Cuban, “I’m at sea, do you have a contact in Newport?”
“There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, “That will cost you another two grand Puko.”
“Yeah, yeah…I’ll pay you when I get back. Who’s the contact?”
“If you get back…His name is Perez, he is a Cuban who works at the hotel.”
“Thanks Jose`. I owe you one.”
“You can take my sister out to dinner.”
“Take her out yourself.” The phone went dead.
He reset the self steering, then turned on the radar, and set the radar alarm for half a mile so as not to get run down by a freighter, and then he crawled in his birth and slept as the sun was going down.
He slept until the clock alarm went off at twelve, and popped his head out of the hatch to see the lights of the town of Newport on the Grand Bahamas. He began to get dressed in Bermuda shorts, and tee shirt. He selected an over-sized tee shirt to hide the gun in his pants.
He sunk the anchor about two hundred yards off shore, intending to row the rest of the way in the tiny dingy. He pulled on the anchor until he felt it hook on the rocks on the bottom, and then secured the anchor line to the anchor cleat. He hoped the Danforth anchor had wedged itself good. It wouldn’t be good at all to find his boat had drifted, more especially if he had his package.
He crawled into the dingy, and began to row toward shore, and by the time he got to shore he was sweating. I’m getting to old for this crap in this heat. Someday I’m going to settle down in a house with flower beds, and a dog to bring my mail.
He pulled the dingy up on shore about ten feet, and then began the long walk to the Casino, trying to stay in the shadows as best he could. His boat shoes had a little sand in them, and his feet were irritated, by the time he reached the Casino. He walked in through the doors, and saw Perez standing in the hallway in a black hotel suit with a white shirt, and bow tie, his swarthy mustached face standing out from the white, and black of the suit.
The thing about rats was that a rat knew when another rat entered their hole, and he was depending on this rat to know too. He walked up to the man, “Are you Perez?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Jim Grady.”
“You are the gringo who went to Cuba?”
“Yes.”
“let's walk outside; I need to smoke a little.”
Jim followed the man outside where he stopped in the shadows of the building, and fished in his pocket for a smoke. He watched the man as he lit up, and was reminded of a rat licking its paws before it took a bite, “Do you have some information on a certain package for me?”
“What are you willing to pay for information on this package you have so carelessly lost senor`?”
“A thousand.”
“That kind of information will cost you two thousand my friend.”
“All I have is a thousand; I’ve had expenses you know?”
The rat looked at him, its nose whiskers sniffing the air for truth, “A thousand is better than nothing.”
He handed the man the last stack of bill’s, and the bills were gone in an instant, “The package is in room 134, in the bathroom, all tied up nice and neat, I heard her crying when I serviced the room with food.”
“Thanks ra…uh Perez.” He walked back into the Casino, and hurriedly looked at the map of the rooms on the wall. He knew the rat might try to work both sides of the rat hole. At least the room was on the bottom floor, and he had noticed it was on the end of the Casino with a back entrance door. He loped down the hall until he came within fifteen feet of the room. He noticed a service cart, and grabbed it up on the way.
He threw on a white jacket that was hanging on the cart, and pushed the cart to the front of the door, and knocked gently. The door opened a crack, “What is it?”
“I need to service the room sir.” He said.”
He heard the security chain slide open, and he pushed the cart through the door. The man began to reach into a shoulder holster when he saw Jims checked Bermuda shorts, and Jim slung his leg, and kicked the man behind the calf of his leg, and his legs flew out from under him. The man went down hard, and Jim heard his head crack on the floor. The man was out cold. He pointed the Glock 9 automatic at the man's head, but he wasn’t here to kill rats.
He walked swiftly to the bathroom, and opened the door, and looked in. The girl was thrust up in the bath tub with duct tape over her mouth. Her hands were tied with industrial sized zip ties, and her wrists were bleeding from the sharp edges of the plastic.
Her eyes went wide as she saw him come toward her with a gun in one hand, and a knife in the other, “Don’t make noise Claire, I’m a friend of your Dad, and I’ve come to get you out of here.”
He cut the zip ties, and yanked the duct tape off her mouth. She was a pretty girl in just shorts, and a halter, “Come on; we've got to hurry.”
“I can’t stand.”
“Then I’ll have to carry you.” He reached down, got the girl, and threw her across his shoulder like a sack of cement. He opened the door a crack, and looked down the hall, but saw no one; he trotted to the back entrance, and then they were through into the early-morning light.
He sprinted toward the boat with her still over his shoulder, her head banging against his backside. He ran a couple blocks before he sat her down, “I can’t haul you all the way to the boat like this; see if you can walk a little.”
She struggled to her feet, and he half carried her to the beach; she was beginning to walk a little better, by the time they reached the beach. He sat her down by the dingy, and then slid the dingy to the water. He picked her up in the waist-deep water, and tossed her over into the dingy, “This dingy won’t haul us both, so I’ll have to swim, and push you to the boat. Let me know if I get off course. I can’t see to swim, and look over the boat too.”
“Over to the left a little.” She said as he swam, and pushed the dingy, then, “To the right. Straight ahead, we’re almost there.”
When the dingy bumped the boat, he let out a sigh of relief. He swam around the dingy, and tossed the loop in the end of the dingy’s rope
over a cleat at the stern. The he climbed the rope ladder, and pulled her into the boat where she flopped down into the cockpit by the wheel.
“Ok, you lay there until I get the anchor up, then the sails, ok?”
“I don’t think I can move anyway.”
“As soon as I get us under way, I’ll see what I can do.”
He quickly unloosed the anchor rope, and then punched the button on the power winch, and the anchor began to pull loose from the bottom. As he began raising the main, a shot rang out from the beach, and a bullet nicked the stainless steel wire of the foresail stay, and then several more shots were fired.
He winched the sail the rest of the way up, while trying to keep his head down in the cockpit. The sail made a booming sound, as the strong morning wind caught it, and the boom swung around, barely missing his head. The boat began picking up speed as it moved away from the island. When he thought he was out of range, he raised the large jib, and then released the spinnaker, and the boat leaped through the water like a Porpoise.
With any luck, he would be back in St. Pete in twenty-four hours with the package intact…sort of… and he reached down to help the girl up. She said nothing as he helped her below, and sat her on his birth.
He reached for the first-aid kit, “All I got in the way of meds is Aspirin, but I can clean your wrist’s up. Here hold out your wrists.” He said as he opened a bottle of alcohol.
He began to swab the cuts on her wrists with an alcohol soaked piece of gauze, “Ouch!” She jerked her wrist back.
“Here, hold still while I do this, we can’t have those becoming infected, now sit still.”
“Your bedside manner is a little rough doctor.” She held out her wrists again, and smiled at him. “Thank you for getting me out of there, you saved my life.”
“Yeah, I probably did.”
“Whats your name?”
“The name is Jim Grady”
“Are you the one who rescued his brother from a Cuban prison?”
“Does everyone in St. Pete know about that?”
“My father has connections. It's not public information.”
“Did my father pay you well to come after me?” She said a little bitterly.
“A thousand a day, and found. You sound bitter about it.”
“I guess. He always interferes with my boyfriends.”
“Maybe he see’s trouble ahead for you, and tries to head it off. Your Dad loves you very much you know. Ok, that’s good enough, right now we have to call him, and let him know you are ok.” He finished putting gauze around her small wrists.
He dialed Fulmer’s number, and Fulmer answered, “Your daughter is safe, and we are at sea; she will be home tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank God! Can I talk to her?”
Jim held his phone out to her, “It’s your Dad.”
He saw tears spill out of her eyes as she held the phone up to her ear, “Daddy?” He climbed out to the cockpit, and began gathering in the spinnaker into the chute, so he could put the boat on the correct course for St. Petersburg.
When he was done with that he walked to the bow of the boat, and saw four Porpoises riding the bow wave. A good omen. He thought, as he turned toward the cockpit.
He went below to fix them something to eat, “All I got to fix is beef stew.”
“That will be good enough.”
“Jim?”
“Yes.”
“Would you consider going out with me when we get back home?”
“Claire, I’m twenty six, and you are just…how old are you anyway?”
“I’m eighteen.”
“Well now see there?”
“Oh, you are a real old grandpa all right; I’m surprised you can climb the companionway ladder of your own boat!”
“I just don’t think that’s a good idea, I’ve always sailed when ever or wherever I wanted, and I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen, so I am much older in experiences of life, and besides, your Dad would never approve of it.”
