A Fortnight of Fury

by David Culberson

  “Inside?” Boiled Bob called out.

  “Outside,” Ray Samuels answered, inviting Bob to come into the kitchen in the back of the restaurant.

  Ray turned and said, “Bob, me son, wha brings you to my little islan?” They shook hands and Ray said, “Tis been a while. Where yo been keepin yoself, Bob?”

  “You know… just limin’ here and there. I see your son on St. John quite a bit.”

  Ray frowned and said, “Tis hard to keep Tony workin here wit me. He likes to dally around wit da ladies too much on your islan.”

  They both laughed, and Boiled Bob said, “I need some provisions for my new boat,” and pointed to the bay at the sailboat with five dinghies tied to its stern.

  Ray followed Bob’s gaze and said, “Dat boat look familiar… kind of.” Then he shrugged, smiled and said, “Hope yo gonna paint dat ugly boat when you get to where yo goin.”

  After looking at the boat a while longer he asked, “Whatchu doin wit all dem dinghies?”

  “I’m dropping them off for Stewart Black up on Virgin Gorda,” Bob lied. “He’s helping a friend who’s starting a charter business.”

  “I tought Stewart wanted all a de business fo hisself,” Ray said with a laugh.

  “Me too. I’m just doing him a favor before I sail my new boat across the Altantic.”

  “Woah, me son. Dat’s a long trip. Yo sure yo up for it?”

  “Come on, Ray, you know me. I’m up for anything,” Boiled Bob said.

  “Okay, okay. I can give you some provisions, and you can pay me now or on your way back tru,” Ray said and took off the apron he was wearing. He then cocked his head and said, “Maybe yo not be comin back tru. You better pay now.”

  Boiled Bob shrugged and pulled a wad of cash from the front left pocket of his shorts.

  “Whatchu needin, me son?” Ray said as he walked into a storage pantry filled with nonperishable food, water and booze.

  “I need the normal stuff for a week charter. We’ll make Bermuda in a few days and get more supplies there.”

  Ray looked back at Bob as he walked into the pantry and said, “If you make it dat far. Tis hurricane season, ya know.”

  Boiled Bob smiled and said, “I checked the weather. No weather systems are on their way from Africa this week.”

  Boiled Bob gauged Ray’s expression and was fairly sure he’d planted his lie well. He thought for a moment and decided that, as much as he’d like to broadcast that he’d successfully stolen the Happy Hobo, he couldn’t do it yet. The delay caused by his crew had cost him valuable time—time he needed back. He hoped that the red herring about crossing the Atlantic he’d thrown to Ray would find its way back to Captain Jay, or anybody else who might give chase.

  Ray went about gathering provisions and said nothing.

  Boiled Bob decided he could push his lie a bit further and said, “Did you hear about the boat theft and robbery of Caneel?”

  Ray, still in the pantry loading provisions into a cardboard box, shouted, “Wha? Fo tru?”

  “Yeah, the Happy Hobo was stolen from Cruz Bay, and the thieves pulled into Caneel Bay and robbed the night auditor’s office.”

  Ray brought the heavy box out of the pantry and set it on a table in the kitchen.

  “Who be doin something so wicked?” Ray asked.

  “Nobody knows, but I heard that Lisa, Captain Jay’s girlfriend, was kidnapped but jumped out of the dinghy before the thieves got back to the boat. The seas were rough that night. She was thrown against the rocks at the mouth of the bay. She’s probably dead.”

  Ray looked shocked and said, “I know Lisa and her fadder. He brought his boat here many times. Dat is bad, bad news.”

  “I think it was somebody from St. Thomas. I heard that a boat was seen heading that direction a few minutes after Lisa was taken.”

  “Der are many bad men on dat island. Hope dey catch dem, and soon. Tis a bad ting,” Ray said as he shook his head.

  Satisfied, Boiled Bob asked, “How much do I owe you?”

  “How about fifty dollar?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ray said. He peeled off three twenties and handed them to Ray. “I only have twenties. How about you throw in five bottles of Cane Garden Rum, and we’ll agree to sixty?”

  “Okay, mon,” Ray said, still shaking his head about the news about Lisa.

  Boiled Bob thanked Ray, carried the provisions to his dinghy and sped out to the Pappy Bobo. He felt good for the first time in days. The Happy Hobo’s disguise seemed to be working. He’d secured provisions for at least a week, nobody was hot on his trail and, best of all, he had Lisa in the forward berth—tied up and ready for more abuse.

  * * *

  The Pappy Bobo set sail as soon as the provisions were loaded. Boiled Bob didn’t look back. If he had he would have seen Ray standing outside his restaurant with his son, Tony.

  “I saw you sneakin round in da bar when I was talkin to Bob. I tought he was yo friend. Why yo be hidden out like dat?”

  “I know him, but he’s not a friend of mine. He and his crew are jus a bunch of crazy white folk who be doin too many drugs and always talkin bout de revolution,” Tony said, pointing to the boat that had just raised anchor and was setting to sail. “Dat is the Happy Hobo, and Boiled Bob stole it and kidnapped Captain Jay’s girlfriend two nights ago.”

  Ray squinted toward the boat, whose crew was setting its sails. After a minute he smiled and said, “Tis the Happy Hobo. Looks different, dough.” Ray then asked, “Yo hear bout wha Bob say bout Lisa?”

  “I heard everyting, Pops.”

  “Yo believe Bob bout her bein dead?”

  “Don’t know. He took her dough. Dat’s fo true.”

  “Why yo didn’t tell me bout Boiled Bob and Lisa when yo arrive?” Ray asked his son.

  “I’m glad I didn’t. Boiled Bob tis an angry mon and might have tried to hurt you if he tought you knew bout Lisa. If dat crazy Maynard is wit him he would have fo true carve yo up wit his knife.”

  Ray looked at his son and said, “I didn’t know dat Bob was such a bad mon. I only saw him when he’d sail tru now and again. He was always behavin hisself. I didn’t see no problem wit him. Now I know different.”

  “I need to get to Tortola and to a phone.”

  “Yo can use da marine radio to call da police.”

  “I can’t Pops. Da police doan have boats—none dat are workin anyway. I got to call Captain Jay by phone. I doan know if he is on his boat or has his radio on. Dis is somethin fo his ears only.”

  Tony paused and then said, “Captain gonna be mighty pissed.”

  Ray looked at the sailboat before it disappeared around the point and said, “Tis a pistarckle.”

  “Fo tru, Pops. Tis a big cluster fuck.”

  * * *

  Tommy and Arlan stood in the parking lot discussing the project and keeping an eye out for Captain Jay. A small truck filled with sawdust and construction debris stopped next to Tommy on its way to the island landfill. The driver waited for Tommy to look in the truck bed and give him approval to continue out to the main road. Tommy pulled a six-foot-long piece of cypress wood from the bed, smiled and waved the driver on. Construction materials are hard to get on an island. Shipments come from the US and take weeks to get there. What would normally be discarded lumber on a project in the US is saved and reused on the island. Arlan looked over at a stack of good boards that Tommy had taken from trucks that were heading to the landfill earlier. He didn’t keep track of how much money Tommy had saved the project so far but guessed it was easily into the thousands.

  Tommy threw the board on the grass next to the other boards and said to Arlan, “I-I could build a h-house with all of th-the boards I’ve saved from th-the dump.”

  Arlan grinned and said, “Why don’t you?”

  Tommy cocked his head and fr
owned.

  “I’m serious, Tommy. You’ve been building that shack on your property for a couple of years. Why don’t you use some of the wood you pull out of the trucks to finish it? Consider it a bonus. You’ve more than earned it.”

  “Th-that’s mighty b-big of you. Thanks.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll earn it even more before this Lisa thing is over.”

  “Do y-you think C-Captain Jay is c-concerned that m-much about Lisa?”

  “No. Somebody took something from him. Not just anybody, but Boiled Bob. It doesn’t matter that it was Lisa. It could have been a car, or a chair. Captain Jay wants it back.”

  “Wh-what is Captain Jay going to do?”

  “He’s going to go after Boiled Bob. I guess I’m expected to go along. Who knows how long it will take.”

  “Wh-when are you l-leaving?”

  “I don’t know. Soon, I think. Is the Black Ops going after the Happy Hobo?”

  “Charlie’s been d-down island on D-dominica or Grenada. I don’t kn-know which, but I h-heard from Henry and F-forrest. I think they’re going to organize a search, but I don’t kn-know the details yet. I th-think they’re waiting to hear from Charlie.”

  “Charlie’s heard about Lisa?”

  “I th-think so.”

  “If the Black Ops give chase I hope they find Boiled Bob before Captain Jay does.”

  “Why’s th-that?”

  “Captain Jay won’t be as forgiving as the Black Ops.”

  Almost before Arlan finished the sentence, Captain Jay sped into the parking lot and slid his baby-blue Willys Jeep to a stop in the graveled parking lot a couple of feet from Arlan and Tommy.

  “Rookie, I just heard from Tony Samuel. He was on Cooper Island helpin’ his father, and Boiled Bob sailed in on the Happy Hobo,” Captain Jay said as he stepped out of the Jeep. He was wearing sunglasses, shorts, a Polo shirt and flip-flops. He didn’t wear his normal grin and offered none of his normal good-natured, off-color trash talk. “He says the boat’s been painted and has a new name… Pappy somethin’ or other.”

  “D-did he see L-lisa?”

  “No. Tony says he hid in the bar while Boiled Bob told his father a bunch of bullshit about the boat heist and robbery. Said he thinks it was somebody from St. Thomas and that he heard that Lisa was kidnapped and jumped from the dinghy near the rocks and was probably dead.”

  “Why would Boiled Bob say anything to Tony’s father about that? Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Boiled Bob told Ray that he and his crew were deliverin’ a bunch of dinghies to Virgin Gorda and then headin’ across the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. He bought some provisions from the restaurant and sailed away.”

  “That’s a long trip,” Arlan said.

  “It’s bullshit, Rookie. He’s goin’ down island.”

  “Do you believe Lisa jumped?”

  “She certainly has the balls to jump. She’s a strong swimmer. You know that. But there’s only one way to find out, Rookie. We’re goin’ divin’ off Caneel and the cays in the sound.”

  “That was a few nights ago. Nobody’s seen her or found a body. If what Boiled Bob said is true, her body could be anywhere,” Arlan said.

  “Maybe. Or just as likely to have drifted into some coral heads or underwater rocks. We’ll motor around the closest cays and look on the rocks. If we don’t see anythin’ we’ll dive the cays. If she got caught up someplace it’ll be the Durloes.”

  Or she could’ve drifted out into the Atlantic, or south into the Caribbean, or been shark food, or still on the boat, Arlan thought.

  “What if it’s a r-red herring? What if B-boiled Bob could have m-made it all up just to th-throw us off his trail?”

  Captain Jay said, “Probably is, but we’ve got to check out the water before we go down island and kill the son-of-a-bitch.”

  “We?” Arlan asked.

  Captain Jay ignored Arlan and got back into the Jeep. “You’re comin’ with me, Rookie.” He looked at Tommy and said, “You comin’?”

  Tommy sighed and said, “I m-might need to go with Forrest. He’s g-going to be flying down island tomorrow t-to search from the air. I’m t-taking my parachute.”

  Arlan smiled. Tommy could land a parachute on a dime. He didn’t know how he’d land on the deck of the Happy Hobo but knew Tommy had done this type of work before and didn’t question him.

  Captain Jay said, “Okay. You can dive with us today though.”

  “I c-can do that.”

  “We’ll leave in an hour. The two of you and I will dive. Gizmo will follow and pick us up when we surface. We’ve got a lot of territory to cover.”

  Chapter 5

  DAY 4: October 17 (Afternoon)

  By early afternoon Captain Jay, Arlan, Tommy and Gizmo had checked most of the island’s northwest coastline from the boat and had circumnavigated all of the cays in Pillsbury Sound. They’d found a dinghy that had broken loose from somewhere up on the rocks on the east side of Lovango Cay and decided to grab it and drop it off at the national park headquarters in Cruz Bay later in the day so its owner had a place to reclaim it. Arlan and Gizmo suffered more than a few cuts after snorkeling through the breaking waves and climbing onto the rocks to rescue the dinghy. Other than the dinghy they’d found nothing.

  It was time to check underwater, which normally would have given Arlan a surge of excitement, but this was different. They were looking for a body. He and Captain Jay had recovered bodies before, but this was a friend—a friend Arlan didn’t want to find shoved by the seas into a rock crevasse or coral head. He suspected that Captain Jay was right; Boiled Bob and his crew of misfits had taken the Happy Hobo down island. Jay was also correct in that they had no choice but to search for Lisa’s body before giving chase.

  Three days had passed since the kidnapping—six changes of current alternating north to south, then south to north, every twelve hours. If not washed up on a beach or rocks, a body could have drifted out of the sound and into the open ocean and could be anywhere. The coast guard, the local DNR and national park rangers had all searched for two days and found nothing. Captain Jay had reasoned that nobody had gone underwater to search and that the body could be hung up on a coral head or an underwater rock formation. He’d checked the tide charts, which showed a northerly current when the kidnapping had taken place. In its path, about a mile north, were three small spits of land that made the Durloe Cays.

  “We’ll check the Durloes first,” Captain Jay said. “The current’s goin’ slack. I’ll have Gizmo drop me off at Ramgoat Cay. Tommy, you take Rata, and you get to swim around Henley Cay, Rookie.”

  “Why do I get the big one?” Arlan asked. “Henley’s twice the size as the other cays.”

  Captain Jay said, “Because you swim faster than us and breathe a lot less air. Tommy and I would have sucked our tanks dry by the time we got halfway around it.”

  Arlan shrugged. He knew he could make it around the cay on one tank but hoped he didn’t have to stop to recover a body.

  The three divers geared up and walked to the stern carrying their flippers, spearguns and a mesh bag. They sat on the stern with their feet on the large, grated dive platform that had been lowered on hinges for easy water access. Arlan put on his flippers, checked his air and then spit into his mask. He rubbed the spit around the glass and dipped the mask into the ocean water that bubbled through the aluminum tubing that made up the grate.

  Arlan looked at the speargun he’d placed, unloaded with the spear tip pointed to the sea, on the dive platform and said, “I thought we were looking for Lisa. Tell me again why we’re taking our spearguns.”

  “Jesus, Rookie. We’re goin’ on a trip, and we’ll need provisions.”

  Arlan shrugged. He felt more comfortable diving with a speargun anyway, just in case a shark or a barracuda got a little too curious and he’d need to
push it away.

  The cays were grouped close together with the largest, Henley, in the middle and the two smaller cays a couple of hundred yards away on either side. Gizmo drove the boat to Rata Cay where Captain Jay put his regulator in his mouth and slid off the dive platform. As Captain Jay sank feet-first in the crystal-clear water, Arlan could see him rest the butt of the speargun on his stomach and pull the first of three surgical rubber bands that hung from the front of the three-foot gun and clip it into the first of three notches on the top of the back end of the spear, just above the short handle at the shooting end.

  Gizmo dropped Arlan off next. He went through the same ritual he’d seen Captain Jay go through a couple of minutes earlier—sink feet-first while placing the butt of his speargun against his stomach and start to pull the three thick, bronze-colored surgical rubber bands back toward his stomach and into a notch on the spear. He knew Tommy would be doing the same thing a couple of minutes later.

  The plan was for each to circumnavigate the island, covering as much vertical coral and rocks as possible, checking more closely in deep holes and caves. They went in the water just twenty minutes after the northerly current slackened and knew they had another twenty-five minutes before the current would turn and carry them south. Each was dropped off at the southwest side of the islands and would swim counterclockwise, using slack tide to swim north and east and the southerly current on the opposite side of the cays. Gizmo would eventually pluck them from the water as they drifted back toward Caneel Bay.

  Arlan finished loading his speargun and dove to where the coral met the sandy bottom, about sixty feet under the surface. The visibility allowed him to see a hundred feet in all directions. He looked up to scan the shallow coral and then spent time checking the large coral heads near the sand. Some were as large as Volkswagens, with deep holes that housed scores of fish. He spotted a large Nassau grouper that swam into the depths as soon as it saw Arlan. From deep within a hole a few yards farther a dogtooth snapper showed its gnarly head. If he was free-diving he could have fit into the hole and found the retreating snapper. Wearing bulky SCUBA gear and a tank, all he could do was stick his head into the hole, which was met with the open mouth of the snapper’s roommate—a five-foot long and very fat moray eel. Arlan pushed himself back from the hole and continued his search.