Chapter 5

 

The waves were running from one to three feet and I was thankful that the sea was cooperating with us on our first time out alone with the Scarab. The night before, while in a state of insomnia, I had decided that our first port of call would be Bimini. I had been told by a few people that the island would be a good place for running into someone possibly knowing something that could help us with our search. Besides, I was already familiar with the proper information needed to feed the navigational computer to get us there.

The weather that day was near perfect and we were fortunate to have the sea’s cooperation. With the auto pilot doing its thing, we took turns topside standing watch while the other straightened our things below.

Thanks to the aid of advanced technology, we once again found our way to within eyesight of the island. This time though, it was on our own and helped to reassure that we could, in fact, operate the navigational system.

The island looked just as it had a few days earlier when we were at that same point with Bob and Lee. This time though we headed for its shores. Part of our navigation aid included complete, detailed charts of the waters around these islands.

Looking over the charts, I noticed a reef that extended along the shore within a few hundred yards of where we were. We needed to go up the shoreline, cut in around the reef, then head back down the shoreline into a small channel where we could see a number of boats tied up to docks. The sun was still high in the sky and with the various shadings of the water, the reef stood out like a sore thumb.

As we made our way into the channel, I noticed a couple of seaplanes tied off to a pier and beyond that a place where we could tie up. As we were tying our lines to the pier, we discussed the need to pay close attention to the boat. We decided that one of us would stay with the boat while the other checked things out.

“I’ll be back in about an hour,” I told Tom as I headed down the narrow road which seemed to be leading somewhere.

There wasn’t much life at this end of the island and I figured that whatever was happening had to be down the road. Most of the people I passed on the road were tourists and those who looked like they were most likely off the various boats that were anchored in the deep water off the channel or out beyond the reef.

I took notice of a small little building that wore an old weathered beer sign like a badge on its brightly colored side and walked toward it. From inside I could hear the familiar sounds that were indicative of a bar and decided I’d go in.

The small building was built right on the sand and in fact, the sand served the purpose of its floor. There were only a half dozen or so people inside and as I walked in, they all looked at me as though I were some new kid in town.

I surely didn’t look like a tourist and vagabond boat person was out of the question. Suddenly, I felt that I had successfully dressed the part. I wanted to be perceived as someone on an illegal mission and as they as stared at me there in the doorway, I believed that was what was on their minds.

“Hey, mon, what’ll it be?” the man behind the bar asked, breaking the silence.

“You got any Crown Royal?” I asked.

“Sure do,” he replied.

“Make it a beer and a shot of the Crown then.”

“You on vacation?” he asked as he sat the liquor down in front of me.

“No, not really,” I replied. I’m here looking for a friend.”

“A friend, we’re all lookin’ for friends,” he said.

“Yeah, well this is an old friend of mine who said he might be here.”

“Your friend got a name?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah, his name is Bruce Saxton.”

“Well, I couldn’t say, mon, but if your friend told you he was here, then I’m sure someone could be able to tell you of him.”

Throughout my conversation with the bartender, I sensed that the others in the bar, despite their own conversations with each other, had heard every word that was said between us. I finished my drink and headed back to the boat.

“How did it go?” Tom asked as I stepped from the pier onto the boat.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think that some folks here might be a bit suspicious of us.”

“Wait till they see the boat,” Tom added.

“By the way, some guy stopped by here and wanted to see our passports, along with the papers for the boat.”

“Did you show him?” I asked.

“Yeah, no problem,” Tom explained. “I also made a money deal with the guy who owns the dock we’re tied up to.”

“Great,” I said. “I think we’ll just hang out here for a bit.”

Tom and I were both down below when I heard a loud rapping on the hull.

“What the fuck was that?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know but I’m gonna find out,” I said.

As I came topside I took notice to a guy standing on the pier next to the boat.

“Something I can do for you?” I asked him.

“I was wondering mate, might ya be goin’ towards Nassau from here?”

From his accent, I guessed him to be English and from his appearance someone off of one of the boats in the channel. I told him that we were returning to the mainland from the island in a couple of days.

“Ah, too bad,” he said. “I need to be getting to Nassau.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Well, ya see mate, I’m late for work,” he explained. “I’m an engineer on a ship there and I was due back there yesterday after me vacation time.”

“Yeah, well, don’t any of these seaplanes here fly to Nassau?” I asked him.

“But they cost money, mate,” he replied. “Nice boat ya got here. Is it yours?”

Just then Tom came up from below.

“This your partner?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I was about to give the guy money enough for a one way ticket out of my face and on to Nassau when I thought that perhaps he could be of some help to us.

His name was Steve and after about an hour of conversation, he turned out to be a decent type of guy. He worked on an old 300 foot sailing ship that was in the business of ferrying vacationing passengers through these islands.

Through the course of the conversation he told us that he had been sailing these islands, as well as through the Caribbean, for the past seven years. With his knowledge of the islands, I was thinking that perhaps he could be of some help to us with our attempts at locating the whereabouts of Bruce.

 When Steve suggested going into town for some liquid refreshments, I decided that I would go along and get to better know this English character. Before leaving, I promised Tom that I would bring back a befitting meal for someone who got stuck twice in a row with the boat sitting chores.

The place Steve had in mind was a quaint little eating establishment that had its inside walls full of photographs reminiscing days gone by. Many of the pictures were of a famous American author who, for many years of his life, had frequented the island as a place of refuge or as a base from which to launch various fishing excursions. Most of the photographs boasted him with large fish that he had caught in the island waters.

As we entered I took notice to a few of the same people I had seen earlier that day in the floorless bar. Upon seeing Steve most of the patrons voiced out their greetings to him in a manner which led me to believe that he was well known to the people there on the island. I felt that being there with Steve helped my acceptance to his friends because, as he spoke with them, they gradually included me in their conversation.

Many beers later and after remembering a meal to-go for Tom, Steve and I headed back down the main road. We must have sounded like two drunken sailors to the tourists that passed us by as we made our way back towards the dock.

“So tell me, mate,” Steve said. “What really brings you to these islands? I mean with a big fancy boat like the one ya got there, surely there be more exotic places for ya to be than here.”

“Well, ya see,” I said, trying to mimic his heavy Liverpool accent. “I be lookin’ for this friend of mine who seems to have found his way into some trouble here in these islands.”

“Somethin’ like trouble in Paradise?” Steve asked.

“You might say that, mate.”

“A lot of trouble could be found here if a man took a notion to go lookin’ for it,” Steve informed me.

“Well,” I said, “I believe my friend to have found more than he could handle.”

“If it be the transfer of illegal substances that your friend be involved with, then I might be of help to ya mate, but it ain’t here that ya need to be.”

I wasn’t sure if it was Steve’s drunken state of being that prompted him to make any decisions dealing with the matter. I knew though that sooner or later I was going to have to take someone into my confidence and explain the situation as it really was.

When we got back to the boat we proceeded to further indulge our intoxication as Steve entertained us with his endless stories of adventure. The last thing I remember before lapsing into unconsciousness was Tom and Steve arguing about sixteenth century English history.

I awoke the following morning with beads of sweat rolling off my face. Insufficient ventilation of the forward cabin was the reason and as I got up to rectify the situation, my thoughts began to focus on the plan of the day.

Living on a boat in the islands, one can get a general idea of the time of day by the amount of heat from the sun that has collected below decks. I figured it to be around noontime and that I had better get things going. Over coffee I thought about Steve’s offer the night before and decided that it was, at this point, our best bet.

Either the smell of coffee or the heat below decks soon had both Tom and Steve up and about. With the three of us up topside sitting around the cockpit, I had a chance to ask Steve if his offer the night before in helping us find some information on Bruce was still good.

He assured us that he knew people in Nassau that were knowledgeable of most of the illegal doings that transpired here in these parts of the Bahamas. He went on to say that if Bruce was involved in the business, there was a good chance that someone he knew in Nassau would have known of him.

Steve then offered us a deal. For a ride to Nassau, he would investigate for us any information he could find about Bruce. It had now been about two weeks since the incident with Bruce and I didn’t want to waste any unnecessary time.

“How quickly can you be ready to go?” I asked Steve.

“I’m ready now.”

“What about your gear?”

“This is it,” he said producing a tooth brush from his back pocket.

Talk about traveling light, this guy had it down to a science - one t-shirt, a pair of swim trunks under his jeans, a pair of sandals, a hundred and fifty dollar pair of sunglasses and his toothbrush. From its appearance, I would have taken bets that it held more substance of unknown origins between its bristles than any man’s teeth possibly could.

“Ok, then, we’re out of here,” I said.