by Janie DeVos
Chapter 24
A Trip to India
I was putting away one of our passenger’s hats when I heard the whir of a plane’s engine overhead. I ignored it. I was too busy going over the conversation I’d had that morning with Olivia. She was feeling better, which was a relief, but it also meant that it was time she learned about the Doxleys’ disappearance. Oddly enough, she hadn’t sounded too surprised, though she cried softly and said she was terrified they’d come to a violent end. I was brutally honest and told her it was time she worried about herself and not them, although I did say that I thought there was a good chance they’d hightailed it out of town to avoid the same treatment Olivia had received. However, there was no way of knowing what had made them run. Perhaps just the fact that Olivia hadn’t showed up with the liquor was enough to make them leave town. After all, there was a lot of money on the line. Whatever the reason, the result was the same; they were gone and Olivia was left holding the bag, which meant I was stuck with it, too. I wasn’t about to let my sister fall victim to their violence again, or have my family pulled into this nightmare.
Now I had to figure out what my next move was going to be. I decided in the middle of the night that after I got back in port after our full day at sea that I’d track Neil down and talk to him. As much as I hated to do it, I felt that I had no other choice but to ask him for the money, or at least a good part of it. The only other option I had was to plead with Buddy DeMario to return the liquor, which, I realized, was about as likely to happen as a snowstorm in Miami.
I had just finished pinning an identification ticket to the hat when I heard the sound of a plane again. It was not uncommon to see one of Chalk’s planes, or even Island Air, flying overhead while we were out on the Full House. But to hear a plane fly over and then a moment later hear a plane again was unusual. Curious, I walked out onto the second level deck and saw a seaplane well off the bow, heading in the same direction we were, which was the Bahamas. Suddenly, it banked to the left and then came around about a hundred and eighty degrees so that it was flying west again, back toward us. Then it swooped down and landed ahead of our ship, about fifty yards off our starboard side. Immediately, our engines were thrown into neutral, but our momentum carried us forward until we were exactly parallel to the plane, which was plenty close enough to see the blowing palm tree logo on its side. Suddenly, the pilot’s door opened and Scott jumped down onto the pontoon. Then, cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted, “Permission to come aboard.”
Daddy was on the lower deck and had his binoculars trained on Scott. He shouted back that he would send a man over for him. Then my father told one of our deck hands to lower the motorized dingy off our starboard side and go get him.
I knew that Scott wasn’t going to deliver liquor to us today because I’d asked my father whom we’d be rendezvousing with later in the morning. He told me it was one of the runners out of Bimini, so I couldn’t imagine what Scott wanted. Part of me longed to go inside and avoid him, while the other part was curious as to why he was there.
Five minutes later, Scott climbed up the rope ladder Daddy tossed over for him. I stayed on the second level, directly above them. I knew I’d be able to hear them just fine.
“’Mornin’, Striker,” Scott said, shaking Daddy’s hand. Scott had more clothes on today. He was dressed in a pair of tan cargo pants, and an olive-colored canvas shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. “’Preciate the hospitality,” Scott said as he ran his fingers through his windblown hair.
“You havin’ engine trouble, Scott, or what?” Daddy asked.
“No, no,” Scott replied. “She’s running like a top. Actually, I’m on my way to Nassau, to see that brand new ocean liner, the RMS Viceroy of India. I wanted to see if there was any way you could come along. She hasn’t been launched yet officially. That’ll be later in the fall. But they wanted to give her engines a good sea trial before she’s open for business. She’s somethin’ else, Striker. That ship has more gizmos, bells and whistles on her than anything runnin’ the seas right now. You know, they actually put an indoor swimming pool in her? That’s somethin’ I’ve gotta see. She’ll be in Nassau for just the weekend, and I figured with the new ship you’re planning on building, you might want to see what all the India has on her—you know, to give you some ideas, and such.”
“Ah, Scott, I sure wish I could,” Daddy replied, sounding truly disappointed. “But we’re just headin’ out, and either Max or I have to be on board. The law requires it. We’re not allowed to leave things in Billy Collier’s hands,” he said, referring to the ship’s pilot. “Max is still slightly under the weather, so I have to stay put. Sure wish I could go, though.”
“That’s too bad,” Scott said, looking disappointed for my father. “Well, is there anyone else you want to send along? At least they could look things over and see what’s what. I’d do it, but the things I’d be looking at might not be what you’d be looking at. If there’s someone else you—”
“I’ll go!” I shouted down. “I’ll go with him, Daddy. It’s important to see it.”
My father looked rather skeptical. He knew there was no love lost between Scott and me. “You sure, Lily? Honestly, it’s fine if—”
“No, no, Daddy. One of us really needs to go, and you can’t, so I’ll be glad to—if Mr. Monroe doesn’t mind.” I looked at Scott.
“That’s fine, Miss Strickland. I think you’ll enjoy it, actually. We’ll just be gone until later this afternoon, or, if she’s not in port yet, then we’ll see her first thing in the morning and head back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll make sure your daughter is put up in a decent place,” he said to Daddy. “There’s the Graycliff Hotel, there, for one. She’ll be okay.”
“Up to you,” Daddy said, turning to look up at me.
“Give me two minutes to throw a few things into a duffle bag,” I said before disappearing inside.
“Make sure you have some money on you, Lil,” my father called after me, which nearly stopped me in my tracks.
Ten minutes later, I stepped up from the plane’s pontoon into the passenger seat while Scott revved up the plane’s engine.
Turning to me once I was settled in, he said, “You ready to go smuggle some booze?”
At first I was elated—scared but elated—and then I remembered I had a problem. “Mr. Monroe, I don’t have enough money with me.”
“You see, Miss Strickland, the difference between you and me is that in your duffle bag you pack all kinds of pretties. Whereas, in mine,” he said, nodding toward his bag, which was stored behind us, “I packed lots of hundred dollar bills.”
“Were you a boy scout, Mr. Monroe? Do you always come prepared?” I smiled.
“I try to, Miss Strickland.”
“What made you change your mind about helping me?” I asked.
“I knew you weren’t going to give up trying to find someone to help you,” he said as he slowly turned the plane around in the water so that we were facing east. “And the world you’re about to step into doesn’t have a lot of trustworthy people in it.”
“But you’re one of the few I can trust. Is that right, Mr. Monroe?”
“I am, Miss Strickland. And you’ll have to just trust me on that,” he said with a grin as he put his sunglasses on and then gave the plane some power.
Chapter 25
Time Travel
Scott pulled back the control stick, and as the nose went up, the rest of the plane followed. We left the Full House behind and headed due east. As we rose higher, I craned my neck around to take in all that I could, including the skyline of South Florida growing smaller and smaller, as if it had drunk the same concoction as Alice had in Wonderland.
This was my first time on a plane, and though I gripped the armrests of my seat with vise-like fingers as we ascended, I knew within the first thirty seconds that I loved it. It was as alien and unnatu
ral as walking on the surface of the Moon. I had never experienced the clouds so close that I could have touched them. Now I was able to answer my own question about whether the clouds took on whimsical shapes when seen from a plane. They did, only up high, this close to Heaven, they were ethereal; almost too perfect and too beautiful to be viewed by mere mortals.
“Teach me to fly,” I said softly, still gazing out my side window.
“Huh?” Scott asked, unsure that he’d heard me correctly.
“I mean…I…” Startled, I realized what I’d said. “I mean, it’s so beautiful. It’s just…” I didn’t have the words.
“I know,” he said almost reverently. “It is.”
We were quiet for a little while, looking out over the sparkling Atlantic. The day couldn’t have been more perfect. Because it was only about 11:00 a.m., the sun was not yet directly overhead, creating a golden fan of color on the turquoise water below. I thought that if I died right then I would have had a preview of Heaven before even taking my last breath.
“Where did you learn to fly?” I asked softly.
“In Michigan. That’s where I’m from. A fella who flew reconnaissance in World War I taught me. There was an airfield a couple of miles from where I lived, and old Walter Schumacher kept his old bi-plane there. My father owned a jewelry store, and Walter took care of all the watch repairs. It was a running joke that he should have been a cobbler, with a name like ‘Schumacher.’” Scott smiled. “Sometimes, he did some crop dusting. He let me go up with him once in a while, and on my thirteenth birthday, he put me in the pilot’s seat and told me what to do. Since I didn’t want to die, I did it. Walter ended up with heart problems and he gave me the plane. I was just sixteen. He had one daughter, and she didn’t like flying. Walter said she upchucked every time she went up, so he gave up,” he laughed. “Later on, I worked as a test pilot for Stinson Aircraft Company.”
“What made you leave Stinson?” I asked.
“I didn’t like being their guinea pig. Guinea pigs have short lives.”
“So what brought you to Miami?”
“Walter’s daughter,” he replied.
I wondered if she was his “lady”, the one he’d been referring to when he offered up his lame excuse for having a messy apartment, as well as the lady in the photo, and in the bar.
“Okay, look,” Scott said, jutting his chin out. “There’s North Bimini straight ahead.” The north island was the larger of the two that made up Bimini.
I was amazed that it had taken just thirty minutes to reach the western most Bahamian island, but, after all, it was only fifty miles due east of Miami. Straight off the nose of the plane, I could see saw the remains of the old warship, the Sapona, which was now a floating warehouse for the storage of liquor. It was here that much of the alcohol delivered to the Full House was kept. The old ship-turned-warehouse had seen better days. The bow had been ripped off during the ’26 hurricane, and much of the liquor lost. The old girl had not let the loss of her nose stop her, and she continued to house liquor for distribution to Florida. Just beyond the ship, lay Bimini. The small deep green island with its bleached-white beaches was a tiny oasis in a massive expanse of ocean. The water’s color changed from very light blue around the reefs at the island’s edge to navy where the land suddenly dropped off into the abyss of the deep-water currents of the Gulf Stream.
Scott controlled the rudders at his feet and we banked off and circled around; then he slowly pushed the control stick forward, edging the nose down smoothly until we touched the water. The plane’s pontoons skimmed along the surface, and once our speed decreased, Scott turned the plane toward the beach at the southern end of the island, and we slid up onto the sand, facing Alice Town beyond. Scott killed the engine and then turned toward me.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed our getting-to-know-you tea party,” he said, pushing his sunglasses up to the top of his head, “we’ve got a job to do, and we need to talk. I don’t have a lot of time to get this done.” His tone was all business.
“All right, Mr. Monroe, what do we do?”
“We’ve got to see who’s around and what’s available. Since Bimini is so close to Miami, it’s our first stop, but we’ll probably have to go on to Nassau.”
“Which is how far from here?” I asked.
“A hundred and thirty miles.” Scott replied. “My plane shouldn’t carry more than fifty-five cases at a time,” he continued, “but we’re gonna push it and make two trips carrying sixty. And that’s why you’re here.”
“Okay.” He had my attention.
“I wouldn’t have brought you along if I didn’t have to,” Scott admitted. “It’s too risky. I would have just gotten the load myself and brought it in for you. But the border patrol has been beefed up, and they’re lookin’ to take down as many smugglers as they can now. Unlike the cops, they can’t be bought off. Even the coast guard’ll turn a blind eye if the price is right. But not the border patrol. They’re as thick along the South Florida coastline as mosquitoes after it rains. I can usually avoid ’em if I make one trip, but if they see me flying in twice and flying right back out again, especially if we’re landing offshore, they’re gonna be gunnin’ for me, so you gotta be my eyes. You’re gonna be looking all along the shoreline while we’re flying back in. You’re gonna be watching it as closely as a new mama watches her baby breathing. You understand?” His intense eyes were searching mine. This was serious business and we could get into serious trouble, or be terribly injured or worse.
“I understand,” I responded firmly, though I was scared to death. In truth, all I’d thought about was putting an end to this nightmare, and keeping my family safe. I hadn’t thought about all that we’d have to do, and, more importantly, all that could go wrong along the way.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “What do we do first?”
“Consider this plane a time machine, Miss Strickland. We’re going in search of Cleopatra.”
Chapter 26
Fritters First, Rum to Come
Before getting out of the plane, Scott pulled a shoulder holster and a Colt .45 out of his duffle bag, put them on and then covered them with a tan linen jacket he pulled off a hook. Next, he took packets of tightly bound cash out of the bag, and stuffed them inside four pockets that had been custom sewn into his jacket. Obviously, this was far from his first rodeo.
“Are you packin’?” he asked as he finished putting the last bundle in the jacket.
“Packin’—as in a firearm?” I asked.
“Yes, a gun.”
“When I boarded the Full House this morning, I didn’t think I might get involved in a gun fight, so I left it behind,” I quipped.
“Listen, Miss Strickland,” Scott said seriously. “This isn’t Miami, or the United States, for that matter. This place is British-owned, and the same rules that apply back home, don’t apply here. Booze is legal here, and it brings a ton of cash into this economy, far more than the fish and sponge industry, and it brings in a lot of rough characters along with it. The government turns a blind eye to the mini wars that break out between the suppliers, the distributors, and the runners. If you think the law can be bought in the U.S., you oughta see it here. Hell, for a couple of cases of good whiskey, they’ll do the shootin’ for you. Bimini isn’t as big or as bad as Nassau—not by a long shot. Nassau’s like the Caribbean version of the Wild West, and you better be as well-equipped as Annie Oakley there. But we’re not taking any chances, and I want us both armed here and in Nassau, too. Here,” he said, reaching back and pulling a small derringer out of his bag. “You put this in the waistband of your pants. Your jacket will cover it okay. And understand, Miss Strickland, that if all hell breaks loose, it’s every man or woman for himself out there. I’ll cover for you as best I can, but, still, you’ve gotta be able to pull the trigger if need be. Also, if for some reason we should get separated—”
/>
“We won’t,” I interrupted.
“Well…Look, you can stay in the plane if you’d rather,” he said. “As a matter of fact, that might be better. But just be aware that there have been times when planes were pirated, just like boats, and the bad guys don’t give a damn who’s sitting inside, minding his or her own business. They’ll take off with you in it, and that’s a pretty bad spot to be in.”
“I’m goin’ where you’re goin’,” I stated firmly.
“Fine. But you’re gonna be wearing this,” he said, holding up the small pistol.
“Not a problem,” I said, taking the gun and sticking it in my waistband.
“I didn’t think so.” He smiled wryly.
We climbed out of the plane and onto the white sands of Bimini. Spread out before us was a tiny ramshackle village that seemed to hum with busyness like a beehive. According to Scott, the island was only about eleven miles long, and seven hundred feet wide, but in that miniscule amount of space, an enormous amount of money switched hands every day.
“A lot of loot comes in and out of this tiny spec of land,” he said as we walked up a rough wooden boardwalk that led to the town. Just off to my left were several docks, filled to capacity with various types of boats, including the fast runabouts that we used to deliver liquor to the Full House.
Right at the shoreline, a group of women worked on a pile of rough sponges that were contained in a cordoned off area in the shallow water. The women pulled them out, one by one, and then wrung them tightly before beating them with sticks.
