Dicing With Diamonds

by Gerry Skoyles



  Dicing With Diamonds

  By

  Gerry Skoyles

  Copyright 2012 Gerry Skoyles

  Chapter 1

  The Pride Of Goodway, a small old inboard engine wooden fishing boat with a fishing rod lodged in the stern moves slowly through calm waters along a tropical shoreline. The setting sun turns sky and sea orange. Palm-fringed beaches, rolling forested hills and a backdrop of towering mountain peaks paint a peaceful scene. The boat passes a noticeboard on a sandy beach reading, Welcome to Goodway Island. Polynesia at its best.

  The boat splutters to a halt alongside an ancient, dilapidated wooden jetty. Jed Namara, an American in his thirties, tanned and in good shape, wearing an old straw cowboy hat, sleeveless top and shorts, throws a tuna fish onto the jetty, steps from the boat and ties up. He takes off his hat and wipes his rugged, amiable face with a hand.

  Akolo Rangi, a Polynesian teenager, slim and bare chested in his colorful traditional Lava-lava, hurries along the jetty from the shore, stoops and picks up the tuna.

  Jed beams at him. “Hi Akolo. Where's your sister?”

  “Kami said to tell Mister Namara she's gone over to Rockyway Island to buy some more can labels.”

  A large, modern tuna boat close to the shore makes loud siren blasts as it passes the jetty. Jed turns, raises an arm and gives a one-finger gesture. “Kami's just wasting money. It's only a couple of days before the guy from the government's health and safety department arrives. 2012 is going to be the year Jed Namara bites the dust . . . unless . . .” He rubs his chin thoughtfully.

  Akolo looks puzzled. “Unless what?”

  “Oh nothing. Just expecting too much I guess. Come on Akolo . . . I need a beer.”

  “There isn't any more of your American beer left. Do all you Americans drink Bud?”

  “I do, but the local stuff's okay.” Jed grabs a tackle bag from the boat, shoulders it, places an arm round Akolo's shoulders and they stride along the jetty towards the shore, Akolo cradling the tuna in his arms. Several Polynesian men unload crates, boxes, bottles and tins from an old supply boat tied up at the jetty.

  Captain Sam Kirkston, who quit America years ago, wearing peak cap, shirt and shorts, waves from the supply boat deck. “Hey Jed! How's things?”

  “Bad. How's life on Hamerstown, Sam?”

  “Hamway City's just as crowded and noisy as ever.”

  Akolo waves to Sam. “Hi, Captain Kirkston.”

  “Hi Akolo. Nice fish.”

  “Only one today.”

  Sam looks at Jed. “Not sending any canned tuna back with me today, Jed?”

  “Nope. One month trading and doomed already.”

  Sam sighs. “Yeah. Your last batch got confiscated by the health department after an outbreak of food poisoning. See you next week.”

  Jed and Akolo move on, pausing by a timetable board at the end of the jetty reading, Ferry Service Goodway to Rockyway. 2012 timetable.

  Jed glances at the unreadable shredding paper pinned to the board. “Who needs a yearly timetable? One boat a day each way . . . providing Captain Lazarus Hornby is sober . . . or at least half sober.”

  * * *

  A low hut made from woven palm fronds stands in a small clearing surrounded by coconut palms just off the beach. A freshly-painted signboard across the frontage reads, Namara's Tuna Cannery. Established 2012. An electricity generator at the side of the cannery rattles noisily. Roosters crow even more noisily. A loud whoosh and clouds of steam burst from within.

  Kami Rangi, a slender, pretty Polynesian in her twenties, wrapped in a colorful traditional puletasi, runs screaming from inside. “Jed! Jed! Quick! The pressure cooker's blown up again.”

  Jed, carrying two cans of diesel fuel towards the generator puts them down and walks over to Kami. “Well Kami, I'll just have to fix it. We've got a batch of fish to cook quickly before they go off”

  “Go off? They can't go anywhere. They're all dead.”

  “Kami Rangi, you're hopeless . . . but I don't know what I'd do without you.”

  “Everything's hopeless. You've been trying to make a go of this useless business for a month now. Just why did you buy it from me? My family couldn't make any money from it.”

  “Sure, but I bought it for another reason. That's not looking very good either. And to think I gave up a perfectly good job in advertising in New York to be here.”

  “Jed Namara, you're crazy. Just go and fix that awful machine in there so at least I can finish what I started.”

  “Your parents would be proud of you . . . and young Akolo . . . if they were still around.”

  “Yeah? Thanks. We miss them. If only they hadn't gone out to sea in bad weather. But at least they're resting in a place they loved.”

  * * *

  Jed, seated at a long wooden table outside the cannery, picks a sealed can from a pile, places it in front of him, peels a label from a sheet that reads, Namara's Gold Brand Tuna, and fixes it around the can. Next to him, Kami puts the labeled can in a carton. At the end of the table, Akolo assembles a flat carton. A chicken and her chicks scavenge on some tuna remains. Jed shoos them away, opens a bottle of water, drinks and tosses the empty plastic bottle into a box.

  Ofa Latu, a Polynesian man of about thirty, wearing a Lava-lava, sweeps around the table with a twig broom. “Sorry, Mister Namara, won't be a minute.”

  Jed looks up. “No problem, Ofa. You're doing a good job. Problem is it's only one more day before the man from Health and Safety arrives to pull the plug anyway.” He selects another can of tuna from the pile, shakes it and turns it upside down. Liquid dribbles out. “Oh-oh! That antique can sealer is on the blink too. Just where did it come from?”

  Kami yawns and stretches. “My grandfather shipped it over when he started the cannery.”

  Ofa puts a bottle of drinking water on the table, squats against the cannery wall and busies himself sorting can labels into piles.

  Jed stands and mooches around. “My father met your grandfather during the second world war.”

  Kami gives him a quizzical stare “What was he doing on Goodway Island?”

  “He was an American soldier. His ship went down and he kinda got washed up here. He used to come to the cannery and learned how to operate that sealing machine. One day he put some diamonds in a can and sealed them.”

  “Diamonds? Did you say diamonds?” Kami blurts, wide eyed.

  Jed throws the leaking can into a bin and takes another. “Yeah, that's right. Problem is he hid the can in a cave without telling me which one before he died. There are hundreds of caves around here.”

  Kami slowly gets up. “What? Why didn't you mention this before? My father told me a story passed on from grandfather about an American soldier who asked to keep a tuna can he'd sealed himself. Grandfather saw him take it to Sharpstone Cave. He just thought the war had made him a little crazy and never mentioned it to anybody again.”

  Jed kicks sand over a prowling mangy cat, throws the can of tuna in the air and catches it. “Yes! Oh boy! I just knew I'd have some luck.”

  Ofa arrives at Jed's side. “Anything else boss?”

  “No thanks, Ofa. Tell you what, pop over to my house tonight for a beer. It'll make a change from being alone in that little hut.”

  * * *

  Jed's single room house made from woven palm fronds glows in the light of battery lanterns. Lightning stabs, thunder rolls and rain lashes down outside. Jed, lounging on a bed consisting of low wooden frame, planks and blankets, stands up, moves to the glassless window and lowers the raffia blind. Kami and Akolo, sitting on the plank flooring, scramble up in alarm.

  Ofa sweeps the floor.

  Jed tells him, “You're not at work now, Ofa. Relax.”


  Ofa puts the broom against a wall and sits in a wicker chair.

  Lazarus Hornby, an American well into his sixties, gnarled, a permanent black patch covering one eye, his soaking wet T-shirt sporting a skull and crossbones motif, flowery Bermuda shorts sagging round his hips, comes through the doorway holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a lighted battery lantern in the other. “Ahoy there, me hearties! Party time!” He stumbles inside, plonks the lantern on a table, bangs the whiskey down beside it, takes off his blue sailor cap, shakes off the water, scratches his bald head and puts the cap back on.

  Jed sinks down on his bed. “Captain Lazarus Hornby himself. Did you remember to bring the ice over from Rockyway?”

  Lazarus shakes his head. “Clean forgot, buddy. Sorry. One of those days. Not a single passenger on board coming back. Must be the weather. Mind you, I went over empty as well. Here . . . have a sup of this. The beer will keep.” He offers the whiskey bottle.

  Jed shrugs his shoulders. “No wonder you lost your captain's license in California. Oh well, that uncooked fish stored in a box full of lukewarm water will have to go. I'll find some mugs.”

  Akolo chimes in. “I'll do that. Hi Mister Hornby.” He goes to one end of the room and gathers four mugs from a shelf.

  Lazarus swigs from the whiskey bottle. “Listen, I could go home to work in the USA any time. I happen to like it here. Anyway, I ain't got nothing to go back to.” He sits on a wooden chair at the table. “So we have the lovely Kami and her little kid brother Akolo joining us. Must be something important you want to talk about, Jed.”

  Akolo places the mugs on the table, pours whiskey and hands mugs to Lazarus, Jed and Ofa before pouring some for himself. He sits on the floor. Kami joins him.

  Jed puts his mug down on a makeshift shelf, a strip of wood resting on blocks of wood near the bed. “During the war my father spent time on Goodway and had the good fortune to be given some valuable diamonds by an old African man from what used to be the Belgium Congo.”

  Lightning flashes, thunder cracks and rain lashes the roof.

  Lazarus slurps from his mug, staring at Jed. “Go on.”

  Jed continues. “Seems this guy held a grudge about treatment back home. He grabbed some diamonds and turned up here en route to deliver them to the allied forces to help the war effort. He was dying when the war ended and gifted them to pop, who'd looked after him. Pop arranged his burial on Goodway after he died.”

  Lazarus grins. “So that's why you chucked in your high flying advertising job in the Big Apple. How come you know all this?”

  “My pop told me before he died back in The States not that long ago. He sealed the diamonds in a tuna can and hid it because there was no way he could take them with him after the war. All he managed to tell me is he hid them in a cave on a beach.”

  Lazarus grunts. “Pity. Could be any one of a hundred caves.”

  Jed nods towards Kami. “You finish the story, Kami.”

  Kami leans forward. “My grandfather saw Jed's father take the tuna can into Sharpstone Cave.”

  Lazarus wipes his mouth. “Never! Well would you believe it. Canned diamonds. Sharpstone? It's on the other side of the island. Boy, that cave is treacherous. Narrow, dark, twisting, not much headroom. And folklore says it's haunted. Nobody goes there anymore.”

  Jed stands and crosses to Lazarus. “I need your help, Lazarus. You've got some caving experience.”

  “Me? Now wait a minute. I'm an old man.”

  “Well at least come with me . . . show me the ropes.”

  Lazarus swallows the remaining whiskey in his mug and adjusts the eye patch. “Well, maybe. But you'll have to be patient for a day or two. I've got business to attend to on Rockyway first.”

  * * *

  A dusty recreation area surrounded by a cluster of humble houses and huts made from woven palm fronds, not much space between them, buzzes with life.

  The village chief, resplendent in ceremonial headdress and costume,walks down steps from his house, sits on a chair and claps his hands. “Begin!”

  Polynesian musicians belt out rhythms on drums, guitars and bamboo flutes as young women in colorful costumes gyrate their hips and make graceful arm movements. Men with headbands and tassels round their waist and legs stomp around. School-age children play together while elders and mothers with babies look on from the shade of doorways. A withered old lady carrying a battered bucket hobbles to an antique cast iron pump on the edge of the recreation area and pumps water from a well. Chickens and roosters scratch and peck in the dust, ignoring a few pigs and goats looking on disinterestedly. Dogs and cats lie panting in the shade.

  Jed looks on from where he's sitting on the step outside Kami and Akolo's house. Kami comes from the house carrying a bottle of Vailima lager, hands it to Jed and sits beside him.

  “Wow! Cold beer. Where did the ice come from?” Jed asks.

  Kami tells him, “My neighbor had a little left in her box.”

  Jed drinks some beer. “How can old Lazarus go all the way to Rockyway with an empty boat, come back empty and still forget to bring the ice? Anyway, he said he'll be back with a load tonight.”

  “Do you think he'll take you to Sharpstone Beach tomorrow?” Kami gushes excitedly.

  “I can only hope.”

  Penny Markham, an American of middle age, tall and elegant in skirt and blouse, walks up to Jed and Kami. “Hi guys. Quite a performance, eh? Gives me a break from trying to teach these uncontrollable kids. They're worse than the monsters I had to contend with back in Key Largo.”

  Jed jumps up. “Penny! Penny Markham! Thought you'd thrown the towel in and fled. Nice to see you again.”

  Penny smiles. “I tried to, but what the heck? I'm just restless since my husband died. Too many good Florida memories.”

  “You do it from the heart, Penny. Volunteering with no pay says it all.”

  Penny changes the subject. “Have you heard about Lazarus? He didn't show up on Rockyway today. His ferry's not down at the jetty either.”

  The music increases in volume and enthusiastic hooting and hollering erupts all around, whipping the dancers into a frenzy.

  * * *

  Moonlight shimmers on the sea. Steep cliffs tower over a rock-strewn beach.

  A small dugout canoe comes to a halt in the shallows. Somebody wearing a black long sleeved shirt and trousers, face covered by a black balaclava, gets out carrying a holdall and a hand torch and shines the torch around. The beam picks out a sign at a cave entrance that reads, Sharpstone Cave. No Entry. Danger.

  Chapter 2

  A ferry, an ancient wooden boat with a canopy over bench seats, slowly moves along Goodway jetty to its mooring close to the shore. Flaking sign writing along the side reads, Goodway-Rockyway Ferry. Lazarus, in swim shorts, jumps out carrying a holdall, puts the bag down and ties the boat up. He looks at Jed, Kami and Akolo as they move towards him, and picks up the holdall.

  Jed stares at Lazarus and the holdall. “What's going on? What happened?” He crosses to the ferry and looks inside. “Where's the ice?”

  Lazarus waves an arm agitatedly then fiddles with his eye patch. “Don't ask. Engine trouble. Never made it to Rockyway. Spent hours drifting before I patched up the engine just enough to crawl back. I need to sleep.” He turns away and marches off along the foreshore, the holdall swinging at his side.

  Jed catches up with Lazarus. “Okay, you go and get some sleep. I guess you'll need to get that engine sorted before the old girl can go out again.”

  “Reckon I can fix it later today. Your expedition to Sharpstone will have to wait a bit . . . and so will the ice.”

  Kami and Akolo arrive at Jed's side.

  Akolo says, “I could take your boat over to fetch the ice, Mister Namara.”

  Jed shakes his head. “No, I'd rather wait, thanks all the same. Tell you what, though. Do you fancy taking a trip with me round to Sharpstone Beach . . . just to take a look?”

  Kami skips en
thusiastically. “Ooh yes please!”

  Jed rubs his hands. “Right, what are we waiting for?”

  Kami tells him, “I need to change into a bikini. Wait, I won't be long.”

  Jed whistles softly and clicks his tongue. “Now that's worth waiting for. See you at the boat.”

  Kami pouts sensually before hurrying off. Jed and Akolo head back to the jetty.

  * * *

  A group of children, sitting on the ground in the shade of trees on the edge of the recreation area, listen to Penny as she teaches them using chalk, blackboard and easel.

  Lazarus, in swim shorts, carrying a holdall, crosses the recreation area.

  Penny stops teaching and watches as he goes inside his modest house. “Okay children, that's all for this morning.”

  The children cheer loudly and scamper off.

  Penny crosses to Lazarus's house and stops outside. “Lazarus? May I come in? It's Penny.”

  Lazarus calls from inside, “Just a moment . . . I'm half dressed.”

  “You were only half dressed when you went in.”

  A thud comes from inside. Lazarus rasps, “Damn crate lids! Always getting stuck. Okay, come in.”

  Penny goes through the doorway.

  * * *

  Penny looks quizzically round the small, simple room then stares as Lazarus, still in swim shorts, pulls a cloth cover over a wooden crate and sits on it. He reaches for the holdall, closes the zip and drops it behind the crate.

  “Are you all right, Lazarus? I mean . . . not ill or anything?” Penny ventures.

  “Why shouldn't I be? Just had a bad day, that's all.”

  “We were all worried about you . . . not coming home last night.”

  “Is that so? Well . . .” He stops in his tracks when Kami bursts in wearing a tiny hipster skirt and skimpy bikini top.

  Lazarus sighs. “No. You're right, Penny. I'm not well. My good eye is playing me up. Going the same way as the other one.” He wipes his good eye, staring at Kami.

  Kami spouts, “Guess what? Jed's taking me to Sharpstone Beach . . . now. See you later.” She turns and rushes out.

  Lazarus pushes himself up from the crate and calls after her. “No! no! You can't go there without me. It's dangerous. Hey!”

  Penny shrugs her shoulders and grins. “Too late, Captain. What's dangerous anyway? The beach or being with Jed Namara?”