ROCCO AND TOMMY got on the road by mid-morning the next day. Rocco brought up the rear again, with Tommy in the lead in his truck with a new cab Acme had put on when he paid the bill. The manufacturer had gladly taken an extra $100 to do a fast riveting job. Both trucks had the cases of first-grade whiskey stacked on their cargo beds, well hidden under tarps tied down this time to keep greedy eyes from seeing the lucrative cargo.
Several hours later it was Rocco in the lead as they drove into the docks area of Port Maitland. The smell of fish was heavy as Rocco slowly cruised past old wooden piers and buildings, not really sure how he was going to find a boat. He turned right and followed along a string of boat slips. They were empty, except for a couple of slips with boats that were in obvious states of repair. Damn, I never thought of that. All the fishermen are going to be out on the lake looking for a catch to pay the bills. Now what? A sailboat? Rocco was about to turn around when he spotted a good-sized fishing tug sitting in a slip. An older man in a black, fisherman's rib-toque was sitting on the tug's railing to the left of the open back end, puffing on a pipe. Rocco brought his truck to a stop and considered the man for a moment before getting out.
The older man on the boat lifted his head at the sound of the truck door slamming shut.
Tommy had parked right behind Rocco and got out, joining Rocco as he crossed the dirt road, heading for the tug.
The older man stood up and took a few steps to the stern as he puffed on his pipe, watching them approach. He took the pipe from between his lips and spat a glob of tobacco juice over the side of the boat. The man's voice was gravelly from years of battling with the elements, "You the fellers what wanted to buy my boat?"
Rocco shook his head, "No, sorry." Rocco pegged the older man to be in his late seventies.
The old man grimaced and spit again, "Didn't think you looked like a couple of fishermen. Ah well." The man turned and moved back to sit on the railing of the tug.
Rocco considered the man and the boat again, "Why are you selling?"
The old man took a few puffs on his pipe, closed one eye and considered Rocco, "Why? What's it to you?"
"No offense," Rocco said, "just trying to have a conversation."
"I'm in no mood for conversation." The old man took several drags on his pipe defiantly, sucking his checks in on each pull.
Rocco glanced at Tommy and shook his head before looking back at the old man, "What if we wanted to hire your boat–"
"–why? So you can drop a body in the middle of the lake?" The old man spat over the sides again. "And before you ask, yeah you two look like someone who would do that."
Tommy and Rocco looked at each other again.
"This ain't no pleasure boat," the old man growled, "why else would you want to hire a fishing tug?"
Rocco looked at the man for a moment. The constant squeal of seagulls filled the air. Gasoline and oil mixed with the heavy smell of fish. "Answer me one last question. How much do you make fishing?"
The old man puffed on his pipe, one eye closed as the other considered Rocco. Finally, the man took the pipe from his lips and wiped the back of his hand across his nose, "Age caught up with me but...use to make a hundred, hundred and twenty a month–"
"I'll pay you one hundred dollars to take us over near Buffalo and back."
The old man froze, his jaw dropping. After a moment, he recovered slightly and stuck the pipe back in his mouth. He looked at Rocco as he puffed away. He looked at Tommy, thinking. Then he glanced across at the two trucks, "Just you two or....?"
"And four hundred cases of whiskey," Rocco said bluntly.
The old man startled and blinked his eyes.
"We've got the customs papers to ship them to Cuba."
"Cuba? But you said...?"
Rocco nodded, "Our Cuba is over near Buffalo."
The old man eyed Rocco for a moment and then grinned a nearly toothless smile. He looked down, puffed on his pipe a few times and then looked up, his eyes filled with a mischievous glint, "Two hundred–"
"Done."
The old man blinked and puffed on his pipe, "Why do I think I should have asked for three?"
"We'll back the trucks up and do the loading," Rocco said, "you just tell us where to put it, to balance the load right on the tug."
The older man stepped up onto the back rail of the tug, stepped over onto the weathered boards of the dock and extended his hand, "Captain Herb Gamble. Welcome aboard."
***
The Port Maitland customs office was a rickety old room inside a rickety old building. Gamble led the way inside.
An older man sporting a gray sailor's beard, smoking a pipe and wearing a worn uniform and cap sat beside a stove.
Gamble stepped towards him, "Good day, Sam."
Sam pulled the pipe from his mouth and spit a gob of juice on the floor, "Good day to you Herb. Watcha doin' here?"
Herb gestured to Rocco and Tommy, who shut the door behind them, "I'm just helping these two fellas go through customs."
Sam closed one eye and considered the two men with Herb. He spit on the floor again, "Well, you come to the right place."
"Of course I did," Herb complained, "I wouldn't-a-brought them to Sarah's Diner now, would I?"
"No. Cause that would have been the wrong place," pointed out Sam as he used the arms of the chair to rise. He walked slowly over to stand behind an old counter, "I hope you have all the right papers?"
"I hope so too," Herb said as he waved Rocco forward, "cause I don't want to be in here any longer than I have to."
"I feel the same way," Sam said as he took the papers from Rocco. He set them on the counter, smoothing them with the back of his hand. Setting the pipe between his teeth and puffing on it, the customs agent looked over the papers.
Rocco glanced at Tommy, fidgeting and hoping Besha's handiwork would pass muster.
Sam did a double-take, looked up and pulled the pipe from his mouth, pointing it at Herb, "You're taking this cargo to Cuba?"
"Yep."
"On what ship?"
Herb shrugged, "My tug."
Sam did a double-take again, "Your tug. You're taking this cargo...on your tug...all the way to Cuba?"
"Yeah. Now do you want to go down and inspect it or you just gonna send us on our way?"
Sam puffed on his pipe a number of times and then blew a big cloud of smoke as he pointed the pipe towards the docks, "Herb, you go fishing on the lake, it's right out there. Cuba is..." Sam made a series of twists and turns with his hand and then extended his arm out to the left, "...and Cuba is way over there. I sailed the seven seas, I know. How you gonna get there on your tug?"
Herb puffed his chest out, "I know where Cuba is. You don't have to tell me. I can head up through the Welland, up the St. Lawrence and down through the Erie and hug the coast."
Sam puffed on his pipe for a moment and then picked up a stamp, pounded it in the ink pad and then pounded it on the papers, "I think you're nuts. And I hope you fellas know what you're doing. The ocean isn't always friendly, especially on a tugboat. I'd hate to see you all comin' back into town in pine boxes."
Herb glared at Sam, stepped forward, snatched up the papers and handed them to Rocco. Then he turned on his heels and headed for the door.
Rocco nodded thanks to Sam and followed Herb to the door.
Tommy nodded at Sam as well and followed the other two.
Herb pulled the door open and glanced back, "See you later tonight when I get back, Sam."
Sam did a double-take.
***
After Captain Gamble helped Rocco and Tommy to get through customs, they had a nice belly-busting fish supper at Sarah's Diner. Rocco had explained they needed to make the run to shore on the Buffalo side after dark and Gamble was genuinely worried about running aground. But after Rocco assured him he would pay cash if the tug was lost, they were on their way. Gamble was eager to test his old sailing skills, as he put it.
***
Little Jack's men bitched when they had to wade into the frigid water to transfer the load ashore. But Little Jack was more than happy to get a load of four hundred cases. He said Monterosso's establishment could barely keep up with demand already.
The air was cold and snow started falling when the tug berthed back into its slip in Port Maitland. Rocco and Tommy were glad to get their feet back on dry land as they jumped off the end of the tug.
Gamble stepped off behind them and stuck out his hand, "It was a real pleasure doing business with you men."
Rocco shook his hand, "You do realize we'll be back tomorrow?"
Gamble looked confused, "Tomorrow?"
"Yeah. And I figure we'll have...700 cases?"
Gamble's mouth hung open.
"And we'll be back every day after that. We'll pay you $200 a day. If that's okay with you?"
"B-but that's...."
Rocco nodded, "That's over $70,000 a year to you."
Gamble could only blink.
Rocco slapped the old man on the upper arm, "And the loads will get bigger. Just let us know when you need a bigger boat."