I didn’t sleep a wink all night. My head is still buzzing with the million questions raised by my old buddy’s sudden and mysterious return into my life—and just how the three Ruskies fit into it all.
I’ve tossed and turned throughout the night, getting up here and there for a few fingers of rum just to soothe my nerves. The sun is now inching its orange-red haze above the horizon, and I’m sitting on the upper deck of the Dream, still trying to sort it all out while eating a plate of scrambled eggs and coffee.
I’m taking a sip from my steaming mug when the familiar, yet unwelcome petite figure of police Chief Fidel Armad strolls past the pier’s chain-link gate and bounds down the gangplank onto the dock. He’s alone, which I suppose, is a good sign for me. He’s not prone to officiate arrests without his goons as backup.
I watch him saunter down the dock, his nose turned imperiously toward the rising sun. His coffee-hued skin glistens with sweat, even in the early morning hours. When he comes to a stop at the bow of the Dream, his jaundiced eyes turn toward me and he greets me with a sneer.
“Captain Thacker.” He nods a greeting.
I lift my coffee cup in replied. “Chief.”
He sniffs. “I understand you caused quite a ruckus in Nessie’s last night.”
I shrug. “Depends on who you ask. All but three will say they started it when they manhandled Trixie the way they did.” I finish the last bit of eggs on my plate and wash it down. “Besides, Nessie isn’t pressing charges.”
I could be nicer to the pint-sized chief, but he’s rubbed me the wrong way since Day One. He’s never been a fan of outsiders to his island, and he generally makes life miserable for anyone of European descent who comes to St. Noel. He’s also a racist, plain and simple, and I don’t particularly like racists of any kind. That’s just the way my mama raised me to be.
“That’s fine. That’s fine.” Though a native of the island, Armad spent a great deal of his youth abroad. He’s all but lost his Caribbean accent, which somehow makes him even more unlikeable to me. “I’m not here about that, Thacker. Not here about that at all.”
I finish off my coffee and lean back in my lawn chair, waiting for him to continue. After a moment, he clears his throat.
“I’m here because I’ve been made aware of an unregistered visitor to the island.”
I stiffen at the statement, but hope he doesn’t notice.
“An unregistered…um, what?”
“Visitor,” he repeats. “Someone who has sneaked onto St. Noel without documentation. An American, by all accounts.”
“Er, okay.” I shrug. “So why come to me?”
Armad huffs impatiently. “Well, you’re the only other American on the island…”
“So, you think I must know the guy, is that it? Tell me, Fidel… You’re from the Caribbean. Do you know Carl, who runs the bait shop on the beach on St. Thomas?”
The chief rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I was implying. But you do often charter your boat out for tours and such. I’ve come to see if this man has approached you.”
He holds out a piece of paper. I whistle, drawing Moe’s attention. When the monkey comes above deck, I point to the paper and mutter an indecipherable command. In a flash, he leaps down from the bow to the dock, scurries up Armad’s tiny leg, and takes the paper from his hand. Then the monkey brings it up to me.
Intentionally taking my sweet time, I light up a cigar and take a few puffs before unfolding the paper and giving it a good once over. As I suspected, a black and white, hazy image of my old war buddy, Morris Grant, stares back at me. I read the print underneath the picture:
WANTED
For questioning in regards suspicion of espionage and other illegal activities.
Morris Alan Grant, DOB: July 27, 1914
United States Citizen, Affiliation unknown.
Considered armed and dangerous. Report him to your local constabulary if sighted.
Do not approach.
Espionage? While Morris had been involved in intelligence operations while in the Navy, he’d retired when the war ended. Last I heard, he was working at his father’s furniture store, back in Virginia. I’m not sure what kind of trouble he’s currently in—Lord knows he has the propensity to grift whenever and wherever he has the chance, which got him in more hot water than I can hope to remember back in the Philippines—but I can’t imagine him being mixed up in espionage anymore. When the war ended, he couldn’t wait to get out of government service and return home to his ma and pa.
After a moment, I look back at Chief Armad and shake my head. “Sorry. Haven’t seen him around.” I point to the picture. “So, what’s he done anyway? He some kind of spy or something?”
I hope my natural curiosity doesn’t draw too much suspicion, but I figure it’s a natural line of questioning that anyone might ask.
“Right now, all I can say is that he’s on the island illegally. Snuck in somehow.” His eyes narrow as he makes a show of examining my boat. Like Monday Renot, he’s fully aware of my smuggling operation. It’s actually not surprising he might suspect me of sneaking Morris onto the island. It’s something I would have done without a second thought, actually.
“Before you say anything, no. I didn’t smuggle him here,” I say. “Like I said, I haven’t seen the fella.” I show Armad my teeth, with a Cheshire grin. “But if I do, you’ll be the first to know. Scout’s honor.”
“Oh, I know how much you care about your civic duty, Captain Thacker.” His polite smile appears as more of a sneer than anything else. “Just remember. The Governor has his eyes on you, and he has threatened more than a few times to deport you from our island. Just remember that when you start to wonder where your loyalties lie.”
“Like I said, Chief. I don’t know this man from Adam.” I hold up the Wanted poster. “I’ve got no loyalty issues to worry about.”
He nods, then turns to walk away.
“Just remember to let us know if you see him,” Armad says, as he trudges along the wooden pier, walks through the gate, and disappears up the path heading toward town.
Moe whimpers as we watch the Chief go. I give the monkey a good scratch behind his ear, then mash my cigar into the ashtray on the table, and let out a nervous breath. I’m not sure what kind of trouble Morris is in, but I’ve already decided that I don’t like it one bit.