Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  The others rushed over to peer at the remains of an old belt.

  “I’ve found the General’s treasure!” Dan exclaimed. He examined the corroded buckle and slimy leather.

  “Dan scraped away encrustations and muck on the oval buckle with a pocketknife. The roughness tore at his fingers, as wings took form. Skepich provided a magnifying glass. In time Dan read the inscription: “USA 1949.”

  “Not off the General, you can toss ’er back,” Skepich said.

  “Wait, there’s more.” Dan scrutinized the buckle, “Can’t make it out. I think it’s Sterling.”

  Gary tossed his line in, “Maybe there’s more where it came from.”

  “Tourists,” Skepich muttered shaking his head.

  Interests returned to fishing, and in time their limit on Yellow Perch was reached. The Sandpiper trolled in search of elusive Walleye. The wind picked up bringing choppiness to the lake. Dan noticed darkness in the distant clouds reminding him of yesterday.

  “Captain, do we have a storm moving in?”

  “Nothing coming our way, what y’ur seein’ is a far piece off. Blowin’ around us. This be as rough as it’ll get.”

  “How’s this boat handle in big waves?”

  “She holds firm. Has the finest yare of any I’ve piloted. She came thru the gale last year that sank the Glenda May and the Laughing Yank, and Both hearty vessels. It were a blow of all blows. Turned me into a prayin’ man.”

  “That bad? Bet it takes a fearful blow, before an experienced seaman of your stature turns to prayin’?”

  “Indeed it do, but I’ll ‘fess I was sayin’ m’ Hail Marys that night. Waves breakin’ the fore deck ‘til you couldn’t see the bow riggin’.”

  “That’s a double comfort to me. First to know this vessel’s seaworthy; and second, to hear you believe in God.”

  “I said no such thing! I’m not claiming God exists or don’t. I don’t talk religion on my charters!”

  “Well, if not, I’m wonderin’ who you was praying to during the storm.”

  “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it! And even if I did believe in God, not sayin’ I do mind y’u, I don’t talk religion. And, He could’ve put it all together using evolution.”

  “Captain, I don’t believe you’re the agnostic you profess.”

  “If’n I had a religion, wouldn’t be agnostic, be Catholic.”

  “The truth is; what we really believe affects how we live. For instance, praying in a storm.”

  Skepich ignored the subject. He throttled the engine back and dropped anchor. “Lunch will be served in the galley in ten,” he said disappearing into the lower cabin. The anglers followed. Skepich supplied sandwiches from an ice chest. “Make yourself at home while you’re chowin’ down. Drinks are in the cooler. I’ll see where the ‘Wallee’s are having lunch.” Grabbing a sandwich and apple, he retreated to the pilot’s cabin. Moments later the motors rumbled.

  Gary sat on the bench and handed Dan a Coke, “You run him off?”

  “Reckon so; think I hit a nerve.”

  “You get him riled, and he’ll park us on an empty hole.”

  “Guess I better be more tolerant of the old sea dog.” While Dan chewed so did his mind. Eventually, he asked, “Gary, doesn’t it bother you not knowing?

  “Not anymore,” Gary answered. “If a Supreme Being created us, He did so for a purpose. If I just happen to be here, then my reason is simply survival. That means I eat dessert first ’cause I might choke on dinner.” He bit into a piece of apple pie.

  “Well it does me.”

  “I tell you this, Dan, maybe I can’t prove it scientifically, but I know there is a God and my purpose is to honor Him. But, I also think something’s bad broke. We’re far more mindful of survival than purpose.”

  “Consider this, Gary,” Rick responded. “The world is affected less by what is true, than by what we accept as true. For instance; if God exists, but the world doesn’t believe it, how will we act?”

  Gary considered the question, “As if there were no God?”

  “Precisely!”

  “That makes sense,” Dan remarked, “If I believe a chair won’t hold me, I don’t sit in it. On the other hand, if I believe a weak chair will, I sit, and it collapses with me. Its strength is not the issue! I acted on what I believed.”

  “How consistent,” Gary said. “The world behaves with disregard for an ultimate accountability. Increasing crime and violence is equally in accord with a world having no God, as well as one having a God and denying it.”

  Rick nodded, “Consider the area of ethics, if I may dissertate with you.”

  “Dissertate?” Gary chuckled. “Sure we’d love to have you ‘dissertate’ with us, whatever it means.”

  “Oh, indeed Professor, do ‘dissertate’ on the cause of escalating crime,” Dan kidded.”

  “I’m afraid my experience is with education,” Rick said. “Yet, I’m sure it’s corrupted by the same influences which bring crime. However, before we can understand, we must realize the importance of the existence of God question.”

  “I thought we’d put that to bed,” Gary said. “We want to talk crime and violence.” The motors growled as if in agreement, and the boat began moving again. No one seemed to care.

  “If God created us, He did so for a purpose He alone knew. It’s impossible for us to accomplish what only God knows, unless He tells us what it is,” Rick proposed. “Therefore, it’s rational to assume He left instructions, and irrational to ignore those instructions. On the other hand, if we evolved, it’s rational to dismiss all forms of religion and base morality on scientific knowledge. Further, without a God, ethics have no absolute authority. Thus, evolution provides no objective basis for human behavior, and we are left with ethical relativism. How’s that for dissertating?”

  “You mean, everybody’s doing what they feel like, and social disorder follows?” Dan asked.

  “That’s a real possibility.”

  “I see it on the streets, already. I can break THEIR laws all I want, because I’m doing what’s right for ME!”

  “Wow!” Gary exclaimed, “Without God, I can act crazy without my conscience bothering me.”

  “Exactly,” Rick agreed. “Without a God, no law has final authority. Hence, social order becomes political policies judged by the elite as advantageous. Plus, societal goals of engineering utopia are inherently sabotaged by self-interest. What’s more, the self-serving ‘me only matters’ attitude is prevalent in the criminal mind.

  “Rick, you refer to the criminal mind as if it is a separate entity. Why?” Dan asked.

  “Recent research in criminal personality suggests repeat offenders think different from responsible citizens.”

  “How so?”

  It’s complex, but in a nut shell: a criminal’s super-ego rejects any outside principles or abstract concepts. He sees himself the absolute authority of what is right or wrong for him at any given moment. His singular social consideration is whether he can avoid society’s interference in his life: getting caught and punished. No God, no absolute authority prohibits his self enhancing behaviors and use of violence to avoid those social interferences.

  “As a teacher, I believe we should focus on absolute truth, and not social policy. It’s a very difficult task, if not impossible, to accomplish without an absolute source of truth. More importantly, by who, and how is the betterment of society best defined?”

  “Aren’t laws based on political agenda inconsistent?” Dan asked.

  “If the politicians were setting the absolutes,” Gary said, “I’d expect government to end up a bit wishy-washy.”

  “And how do YOU find it?” Rick asked.

  “It’s a mess!” they all cheered.

  “Why?” Rick prodded.

  “Because they’re always arguing,” Gary answered. “Politicians fight among themselves, blaming each other and getting nowhere.”

  “I think we’re there,” Dan added.” A self seeking gover
nment and a society abandoned to ignorance, chaos and crime.”

  The boat slowed and the familiar splash of the anchor sounded. They ignored it.

  “Blah-blah-blah,blah,” Skepich interrupted from the deck. “You philosophers want to catch fish or did y’u come for a boat ride?”

  “We’ve had more luck with fishing than solving world affairs,” Dan replied.

  “Can’t say I’m bored, but I’ll have another go at it,” Rick agreed.

  “Whilst you were solving world’s problems, I radioed other charters. I think we’ve found the Wallees. They’re deeper, forty-five feet, near bottom. They ain’t movin’ much, and less likely to bite.

  Rick stayed aft while Gary ushered Dan to the fore deck. “There’s a good spot for you,” Gary pointed.

  Trying to keep me away from the captain.

  They refreshed their baits and dropped their lines. While the waves slapped the hull they waited and hoped—waited and hoped—as the sun neared the horizon. Losing interest, Dan leaned back against the lower cabin, his line limp. Seduced by The Sandpiper, his troubles danced into the lake. The magic rhythm from below and the breeze above, cast a spell soothing as a feather duster massage. I don’t want to catch any more slimy fish.

  “Hey-hey-hey-what-a-you-say?” Gary’s cry broke Dan’s spell. Dan sauntered unhurriedly over to witness the measuring.

  “Twenty-eight and a half inches,” Skepich declared, “The new boat record.”

  Did he just hoodwink me? He knew I had the record at twenty-eight. “I demand a second opinion.”

  “Okay,” Gary said. “Rick, what’s your opinion?”

  “Rick walked to the well, lifted the lid, looked in and said, “Twenty eight and three-quarters!”

  “New record,” Skepich resounded. “Best get at ’em. Plenty of thirty inchers down under. More gear aft, if’n y’u care to run two lines. Time’s a wastin,’ mates.”

  I’ll double my chances with two, drift one play the other.

  “Catch in the aft!” Rick shouted. It measured thirty inches.

  “New record. Now we’re fishin’!” Skepich yelled. “Watch that drifter mate,” Dan’s second pole skidded down the rope between the stanchions. Dan grabbed it and felt resistance. He reeled in the fish and stood over it proudly while Skepich measured.

  “Twenty-nine and a half, good catch.”

  He’s short stickin’ me! Gotta be. Dan baited the hook and returned to his spot to find his second pole’s clicker squealing. Again he reeled it in and stood close over the measure.

  “Twenty-nine inches, good catch.”

  That really was short!

  Dan moved aft to crowd Rick’s luck. “How come Skepich’s favoring you?”

  “You’re jealous. Happens to all first timers.”

  There were three more fish caught before the captain ended it. “Seven o’clock mates, and wind’s pickin’ up fast. Stow your gear. Time to head in.”

  At the pier they bid Captain Skepich a farewell, and compliments on a rewarding day.

  “I’ll see the catch is cleaned and frozen.” He volunteered.

  Steadying their sea legs they headed for their favorite restaurant, oblivious to the adventure which would be served up to them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Confronting the Counterfeiters

  “You think Flo will be on?” Dan asked.

  “I’m starting to like her earthiness, Rick commented.

  “Earthiness?” Gary asked. “She does grows on you.”

  “Grows or grates? Either way, she’s likely gone,” Dan replied.

  Few patrons remained at Ginger’s. Orange traffic cones and a bucket blocked the right side where a “Section Closed” sign hung from a mop. Two men in work clothes occupied stools at the counter, and a couple in their late twenties sat close on the same bench in the farthest booth. The Jute Box played, Chick-A-Boom, when it clicked on Good Morning Sunshine couple danced.

  Flo was mid-way wiping tables. They interpreted her wave as an invitation to sit anywhere and decided on the second booth. It distanced them from the door and provided separation from the couple.

  “You Limeys want fed?” Flo asked from across the room.

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” Rick answered. “Didn’t expect you’d be on.”

  “Split shift.” She took three steps, sailed utensils wrapped in heavy napkins onto the table, and turned back to wiping the counter in one motion. The bundles landed in the center of the table.

  “That takes skill,” Gary said.

  “Or something,” Dan agreed. “It’s worth coming for the show. Think she puts it on?”

  “Likely as eggs from roosters,” Rick replied. “She has enough spunk to moonlight as a knife thrower at Cedar Point carnival.”

  “That a scientific observation…”

  “Y’us ready yet?”

  “I’ll try the meat loaf,” Rick requested.

  “If’m y’u must,” she answered with a hint of a chuckle.

  “Second thought; how’s the clam chowder?”

  “Hot.”

  “It any good?”

  “Some thinks so.”

  “You ever ate it?”

  “Yep.”

  “You like it?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll have it. With the clam cakes, coleslaw …”

  “Y’u say toss salad; house dressing?”

  “I did and whatever else you think’s best. Don’t wait to bring the chowder.”

  “Weren’t gonna,” she said turning to Dan. “An yu’s?”

  “I’ll try the open face turkey sandwich with green beans,”

  “Worth a try.”

  “Make mine the same, but fries,” Gary said.

  “Y’ur’ learnin’ mate. Want dem mugs filled, wit y’ur wat’r?”

  “Sure.”

  Once Flo passed through the kitchen door Dan asked, “What do you think we just ordered?”

  “Only Flo knows,” Gary said.”

  While waiting, the two men at the counter left. Gary went to the counter and brought back a ketchup bottle. Returning he saw some folded papers under their booth and picked them up.

  “Ketchup on an open face?” Dan asked.

  “Got fries, Gary said unfolding the papers. One was a map, the other sketchy notes.

  “Here she comes,” Rick announced.

  Gary slid the papers to his side.

  Flo sat the soup bowl down and slid it toward Rick. “Chow” Then she raised a pot to hold it at Dan’s cup.

  “Oh, its coffee.”

  Wha’ y’u spectin’? Bilge? It’s a coffee mug ain’t it?”

  “Great! Coffee’s perfect. Caught me off guard.”

  “Sure y’u was, and I’m a mermaid.”

  “We’d all love some, you recommending it,” Rick said.

  “Been sweet talked ‘efore, but yu’ keeps on.”

  “Shucks Flo, you’re a romantic,” Dan added.

  “Comes natch f’r mermaids. Help y’ur selfs to refills,” Flo said leaving.

  They sipped the strong coffee and were soon eating. Two bites into his sandwich Dan remarked, “Whatever else this place is – the food’s great.”

  “Once you learn how to order,” Rick said.

  “Yeah! Let Flo do it for you,” Gary said retrieving the papers and examined them between bites.

  “You find a treasure map?” Dan asked.

  “Not sure, but doubt it’s kosher,” he handed the papers to Dan.

  Dan studied the first one, “I think this is a map to Ginger’s Galley,” he said handing it back. Opening the other sheets he studied them murmuring, “Interesting—real interesting.” Water stains partially obscured the handwriting smudges:

  “Drop se- –r 8:0- —– exchan– –from barn —- -dest— —ss

  “They — –pposed to — –front —- –fix——ble cross. – Care—l

  Buyer will arr— –cadilack.

  Has ot— half bill.

/>   Check ser—numb– — make match.

  Off load at ————– stay with tug.”

  The other was a scrap of smooth paper with greenish smudges. Although the paper felt familiar to Dan, he didn’t know why. He returned them, “What do you make of it?”

  “Off the wall—smugglers.”

  Just then four men clad in a blend of motorcycle and pirate’s attire entered the restaurant. One had a full beard, the other three unshaven. They were in their late twenties to mid thirties, and physically fit. A red scarf wrapped the head of the biggest man. He went to Flo, “We left some papers behind. Did anybody find them.”

  “Didn’t tell me if’n they did.”

  “We were in that booth,” he pointed at Dan’s booth revealing a tattoo of a skull and cross bones holding a dagger in its teeth on his wrist.

  “I remember y’us. Don’t know not’in’ about y’ur papers. She turned to the kitchen cut out, “Anybody give y’u papers?” Larry shook his head and kept on cooking.

  “They got to be here,” the man said stepping toward Flo. Dan slipped a blackjack into his palm, slid from the booth and stepped over to Flo’s side.

  “Tolds y’us, dog breath, ain’t seen ’em. Look f’r y’urselves,” Flo snarled.

  The man starred at Dan and barked, “You seen any papers round here.”

  “Since you’re askin’ nice, no I ain’t seen your love letters. Like the lady said; check for yourself,” Dan said taking a defensive stance facing him over his left shoulder.

  Gary and Rick stepped out of the booth and stood aside.

  Glaring at Dan, he shouted at a companion, “Well, crawl under there and find ’em.”

  The man stooped and looked. “They ain’t there, Skull.”

  Skull slapped the man on the back of the head, “Get out of my sight, idiot!”

  The bearded man left.

  His eyes swept the floor and once more locked with Dan’s, “We’re gonna meet again.” He turned to leave.

  “Please hurry. I won’t be able to sleep ‘til then.”

  The door slammed behind them. Rick slumped into the booth. Gary slid in beside him noticing his pallor and remarked, “Weak knees are often a problem around Dan.”

  “I thought there was going to be an AWFUL fight,” Rick said.