“Yeah,” I replied.
“Don’t suppose you could spare one of those beers, could ya?”
He looked a little older than Jimmy, maybe twenty-two or twenty-four. Tall and lanky, with a decided Texas drawl. “I don’t usually drink with strangers,” I said.
“Ken Wood, 10th Marines,” he said.
I stood up slowly and looked down at him. “Gun Bunny?”
“FDC,” he replied, meaning he was with Fire Direction Control in an artillery unit. I wish I had a nickel for every poser that claimed he was Recon, a Ranger, or a SEAL.
“Come aboard,” I said. “Won’t your ladies miss you?”
“Employers,” he said as he set his bag on the dock and stepped lightly over the gunwale into the cockpit.
“Come on up, Wood. Name’s McDermitt. Jesse McDermitt.”
He climbed up the ladder to the bridge and offered his hand. He had a firm grip, without testing mine, sandy blonde hair a little over his ears and clear blue eyes. Up close, I could see that he might be a couple of years older. I handed him the last beer from the cooler and asked, “Those two are your employers?”
I look younger than my thirty-eight years from a distance and he noticed. “Yes, sir. They hired me to pilot their boat from Beaufort to Key West. They’re sisters. Sounded like a pretty good gig at the time.”
“Just McDermitt,” I said. “Retired Enlisted. Let me guess, you’ve been stopping three times a day so they could shop?”
“Pretty much,” he replied. “Was supposed to be a four-day run, but it’s already been eight. They paid me extra, and to be honest, the eye candy doesn’t hurt, but I need to be gettin’ home. When did you fall out?”
“Three months ago, from Lejeune.”
“Ground pounder?”
“Sometimes. You been out long?”
“Discharged in ’93, shipped over in ’94 and got out again about two years ago. Downsizing.”
“Desert Storm?” I asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Force Recon, north of Al Wafra.”
“Romeo, 5/10, Al Batin. Wait, did you say Al Wafra? Kuwait?”
“Spent most of my time with a buddy in a spider hole, north of the city. Then another one just outside Kuwait City Airport.” He gave me a puzzled look then a light went on behind his eyes.
“You’re a sniper?”
“Nope, not anymore. Charter Captain, now.”
And like that, just like it happens to military people all the time, we found a common bond. Sand and black oil smoke. We talked a while longer then he had to go get a shower so he could take the sisters back out to the boat. He pointed out a sleek looking forty foot Riviera aft cabin motor yacht moored to a buoy not far from the dinghy dock.
With nothing going on the next day, I went down and grabbed a couple more beers from the galley and returned to my perch on the bridge. I’d begun calling this late night entertainment Dockside Follies. Twenty minutes later, the door to the deck area of the bar flew open and Wood came tumbling out. Two guys shouted something from the open doorway and it closed. He got up, picked up his bag, and at first seemed like he was going to go back inside. Then he must have thought better of it and started down the dock.
I climbed down from the bridge and stood at the transom as he walked up. “What was that about?” I asked.
“Just a misunderstanding,” he muttered in reply.
He explained that his employers had been drinking since earlier in the day and were pretty toasted. After he’d showered he found them at a table with four rough looking guys and suggested they go back to the boat. One of the sisters started to get up and the guy next to her pulled her into his lap, while two others ‘escorted’ him out the door.
“You think your employers might be in some trouble?” I asked.
“If they are, there ain’t much I can do about it, McDermitt. Besides, both were giggling and laughing when those guys tossed me out. I’m about ready to just wash my hands of them and catch the next bus north.”
“About to?”
“Naw, I guess not. Just burns me they were laughing.” I could see the tenseness in his face and eyes and knew what he was about to do.
“That was just the booze. Care for a little company when you go back in?” He looked across the transom at me, trying to judge my motivation. “Come on, I’m bored sitting up there,” I added as I vaulted the transom and landed lightly on the dock next to him. Truth was, I was pretty sure I’d seen the four men he mentioned, when they arrived an hour earlier. They weren’t locals.
Wood set his bag on the dock and followed after me. “You don’t have a truck in this, McDermitt.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. I saw the four guys earlier. They’re not from around here.”
I pulled open both doors and stepped inside. It was nearly closing time and there were only a handful of people still inside. Aaron and the flirtatious bartender, Robin, were just coming out of his office. She pointed toward the corner where the four men and two women sat and Aaron started that way. Wood and I started that way, too. When I caught Aaron’s eye I held up my hand motioning him to wait. They never really have need of a bouncer at Dockside, it’s more of a restaurant café than a bar and when one of the locals gets too rowdy, others are there to handle it and Aaron was barely big enough to politely ask someone to leave.
As we approached the group, both women were in two of the men’s laps and it looked like they’d recently figured out they were in a bad situation and were trying to extricate themselves. The two guys on the other side of the table saw me and Wood approaching and stood up, one of them knocking his chair to the floor.
Both men were rough looking. The bigger of the two standing was only a little shorter than my 6’-3” and heavier, but it was all flab. He had a crooked nose and mustache that said he’d taken at least one hard right hand. The other guy was shorter and probably didn’t tip the scales at more than a buck fifty. He wore his hair long, touching his shoulders and had the beginnings of a beard on his chin, even though he looked to be in his early thirties.
“I thought I told you to get lost!” Crooked Nose bellowed as he moved clumsily around the side of the table. The smaller man took a step back and to the side, his eyes darting all over the barroom and his whole body seemed to be jerking and twitching.
Great, I thought, a meth head and he’s tweaking.
The two guys holding the women both looked back over their shoulders at me and Wood then almost simultaneously dumped them on the floor and stood up. The women scrambled away and came to their feet, moving off toward the bar unsteadily.
These two guys were big. One was my height, maybe a little more and had at one time been a powerful man, but he’d let it go to booze and drugs and it settled around his middle, but was still well past my two hundred-thirty pounds, probably two-fifty or more. He had a shaved head and the attitude that a lot of big men have, that they can push anyone around. Trouble with that is, they rarely run into anyone that pushes back, so they lack any kind of fighting skill. The other was about 6 feet tall and also looked like he’d passed his peak, physically, but still had a handsome face.
Baldy and Handsome stepped apart as Crooked Nose moved to Baldy’s right. Tweaker remained in the corner, his eyes darting around seeing everything and nothing. Meth heads are really hard to figure. You just never know what they’re going to do and rarely do what you’d expect. I took all four of them in and calculated him to be the most dangerous.
I’ve been in a bar fight or two. Okay, a few dozen, maybe. I wasn’t sure about Wood, though. Would he run, or would he stand. He looked steady enough and being a Texican, he’d probably been in a few fights himself. As if reading my mind, Woods said forcefully, “We’re leaving. All four of us.”
“Ya got that wrong, kid,” Baldy growled. “You two are leavin’ and these two are leavin’ with us.”
The challenge was plain, the gauntlet laid down. The first to speak is always the leader. Take out the le
ader and the others usually cave. So that’s exactly what I did. The rum stink of Baldy’s words had barely left his mouth when I shifted the weight to my left foot, turned slightly, and executed a snap side kick that caught him flush in the face, lifting him completely off the deck and depositing him spread eagle on the table, out cold. The table swayed slightly, then seemed to vibrate and collapse under his weight.
I turned to Handsome, but kept Tweaker in my peripheral vision. “You really have only one choice here,” I said. “You’re leaving. The matter of how you do it is up to you. Carrying Baldy or being carried by the EMTs. Make your choice.”
Tweaker made it for him, charging at Wood and grabbing a chair. Crooked Nose moved quickly to his right, trying to flank me. I held my arms wide, palms up, as if saying, ‘This is how you want it’ and took a slight step toward Handsome, drawing Crooked Nose further to my left flank and slightly behind me.
I timed it just about right, clapping both hands as hard as I could on the side of Handsome’s face. I knew the force would rupture one or both ear drums, an extremely painful experience. Crooked Nose came at me from behind, as I knew he would. I spun completely around to my right, bringing my elbow smashing into the side of his head. He nearly did a cartwheel as he went down next to Baldy, on top of what was left of the table. Handsome had fallen to his knees, both hands cupping the sides of his head screaming in pain, with blood trickling between his fingers. If the tables were reversed, I doubted these men would show quarter, so I didn’t. I stepped forward and brought my right knee straight into his face. He landed in a heap on top of his two friends.
I heard a crash and turned to my right. The chair Tweaker had grabbed disintegrated across Wood’s back and shoulder as he stepped into the blow. In a heartbeat, he was upright and took the little man into a suplex move that I’d only seen on late night wrestling TV shows. Tweaker landed hard across Baldy’s legs, his head snapping back onto the floor, knocking him out cold.
“Guess it’s the EMTs, then,” I hissed. Then I turned to the two women and said, “You better go with your Captain, now.” They rushed past me toward Wood, almost stumbling over the pile of men and table parts on the floor. Turning to Wood I said, “Go. The cops’ll be here any minute. I’ll take care of this.”
The three hurried out the door as I reached into my pocket for my money clip. I quickly peeled off two hundreds and stepped over to the bar where Aaron and Robin still stood. Stuffing the two bills into the tip jar I said, “Sorry, Aaron. That’ll cover the table and chair.” Pointing to the four men, I added, “Those four beat each other up, right?”
“Huh,” he said a little in shock. “Um, yeah. That’s what happened. Go on, I got it covered.”
As I trotted out the back door, I could hear sirens approaching the front and saw Wood and the two women rowing away from the dock, both women chattering animatedly. He lifted his head in salute as he bent into the oars and yelled, “Semper Fi, McDermitt.”
I waved at him as I stepped aboard the Revenge, still shaking a little from the adrenaline rush. I went into the salon and poured a couple fingers of Myers’s Rum and tossed it down, feeling the burn in the back of my throat. A few dozen and one. But, who’s counting.
Chapter Five
It was well past sunrise and I was sitting on the bridge enjoying a cup of coffee and listening to the marina sounds. Gulls wheeling and diving for breakfast, the bell like ring of steel cables on aluminum masts, and the occasional splash of baitfish trying to fly away from an unseen predator below.
I heard a sound and turned to see Wood and one of the women bumping the dinghy dock. He tied off and the two of them climbed out and walked over. “Permission to come aboard?” Wood asked.
“Welcome,” I replied then grinned and added, “I’m all out of beer, though.”
He laughed, as I climbed down the ladder to the cockpit and shook his hand. “Captain McDermitt, this is Miss Charlotte Richmond, of Beaufort. Miss Richmond, Captain Jesse McDermitt.”
“Pleased to meet you, Captain,” she said with a charming southern drawl while offering her hand, which I took. She had a firm dry grip. “Or may I call you Jesse?”
“Any way you choose, Miss Richmond.”
She was even more striking in the soft morning daylight. About five feet, eight inches tall, with a nice figure, brown wavy hair past her shoulders, with a touch of highlighter maybe, and ivory skin, which just didn’t work down here. She looked to be around thirty, but her eyes were a little cloudy, maybe from drinking too much the day before.
“Please call me Sharlee, all my friends do.”
“I was just about to go into the galley for some coffee,” I said. “Would y’all care to join me?”
“Thank you,” she said. “We’d love to.”
I opened the hatch to the salon and followed them inside. “Have a seat anywhere.”
She took a seat in the middle of the u-shaped sofa to port and Wood took the narrower part of the sofa aft. I’ve met women like Miss Richmond from Beaufort before. Everything they do, even choosing a place to sit, is intentional. I poured coffee in three mugs, set them on a small folding table that is stored by the freezer, along with a sugar bowl and cream dispenser and carried it around the island to the salon. Her choice of seating left only enough room to sit close to her, so I leaned against the island and watched her over the rim of my mug, taking a drink.
“Your boat is beautiful, Jesse,” she said. “I never dreamed a fishing boat would be so luxurious.”
“Thanks. Is there something I can do for y’all?”
She took a sip from the coffee, looking back at me with big brown eyes. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she said. “For what you did last night. I’m afraid my sister, Savannah, and I might have had a little too much to drink.”
“Wait,” I said. “Charlotte and Savannah Richmond, from Beaufort?”
“We get that a lot. Daddy’s name is Jackson and Momma’s is Madison. They felt it necessary to continue the tradition.”
“Got a brother named Memphis, by any chance?”
She laughed and said that no, they didn’t have any brothers.
“So, where’s your sister?” I asked.
“I’m afraid Savannah doesn’t share my sense of etiquette. Don’t get me wrong, Jesse. I love my sister, but at times she can be quite a handful.”
“Don’t give last night another thought, Miss Richmond,” I said. Her eyes told me she would have preferred my using her first name. “Just helping a fellow Marine out of a bad situation. But, if you don’t mind a little friendly advice, it would probably be a wise decision on you and your sister’s parts, to heed your Captain’s warnings. While this area might seem quiet and serene, these are pirate waters. Always have been. Had it not been for him, the two of you might have been sold as sex slaves this morning and your boat used in drug trafficking this afternoon.” That caused her cheeks to redden a bit.
She placed the coffee mug on the saucer and stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality, Captain. But, we really must be going now.”
Wood stood up and gave me a slight eye roll as she headed toward the hatch. I shook Wood’s hand as I opened the hatch for her and she strode out onto the deck. “Be careful,” I warned him. “There really are pirates in these waters.”
“Thanks, Gunny.”
Once they left, I put away the table and washed the dishes, before pouring another cup of coffee and heading back out to the cockpit. Deciding I’d had enough of sitting on the bridge, I opened the hatch to the engine room and stepped down. Flicking on the light, I got a pleasant surprise. Jimmy must have scrubbed and polished everything in sight. The engines, generator, compressor, and everything else were gleaming like new. I went ahead and checked the oil and filters in everything and cleaned out the water intake filters, though there was very little debris.
As I was coming up the ladder, a woman’s voice called out, “Where can I find the Captain?” It was the sister, Savannah.
“I�
��m Captain McDermitt,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“You were rude to my sister, bud.”
Bud? I thought. Charlotte did say she was a handful, but bud?
I climbed up the last two steps and walked over to the transom where she stood on the dock, hands on her hips. If anything, she was more beautiful than her sister. Taller, about five-ten, a couple of years older, but it was hard to tell. She was dark tanned, blonde hair streaked by the sun, and an athletic looking body.
“How was I rude?” I asked.
“That story about being sold as a slave.”
“Sex slave,” I corrected her, placing my empty mug on the transom. “And it ain’t no story. Happens all the time in the Caribbean. Just a week ago the seventeen and fifteen-year old daughters of a couple were abducted along with the mother. They were cruising ten miles south of Boca Chica. The father was shot, but lived to tell the tale. The girls and their mother still haven’t been found. Probably in some Saudi sheik’s harem, by now.”
No color came to this woman’s cheeks. “Stay away from my sister, if you know what’s good for you.”
“She’s not my type,” I shouted as she stomped off toward the dinghy dock in her bare feet and cutoff jeans. Just then Jimmy came down the dock from the opposite direction.
Both of us watched her retreating form and having heard my shout, Jimmy said, “I’m thinking that one might be, dude. What was that all about?”
“Just a couple of tourist women,” I said. “Charlotte and Savannah Richmond, of the Beaufort Richmonds,” I added with a southern drawl. “Hey, I was just down in the engine room. Looks like you could eat off the deck down there.”
“Just doing my job, el Capitan. What’s on for today?”
“We got nothing on the schedule,” I said. “You have any plans?”
“Nada, man.”
“Then let’s go to an electronics store. You can help me pick out a good sound system.”
“I know just the guy, man.” I figured he would.
I vaulted over the transom and as we headed toward the parking lot, I glanced back and saw Savannah rowing the little dinghy like it was a crewing shell. Her wide shoulders and long, tanned arms pulling for the finish line.
Fallen Out: Jesse McDermitt Series, The Beginning Page 5
