The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 18, Patterson Needs Help

This is episode eighteen in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle. 

Patterson Needs Help 

Trace and Sage crept down the companionway steps and through the mess and salon area. Sage pointed to the last cabin on the right. Trace slowly gripped the door handle with one hand. He held his hand in a fist for Sage to see. He held up one finger at a time. When the third one raised, he pulled down the handle and burst into the cabin.

Patterson sat on the bunk and rolled away from the door as if a blast of wind pushed him over. His face flashed with fear. He held his arms and hands up as if he expected to be struck. As soon as he recognized that the intrusion was Trace and Sage, he relaxed. Yet, fear remained on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Trace demanded.

“I’ve got no place to go,” Patterson’s lips trembled. 

Trace turned to look at Sage. Sage shrugged.

“Okay,” Trace said, “you’ve got nowhere else to go but here, why here?”

“It’s a long story,” Patterson said.

“I want to hear it,” Trace said and turned to look at Sage. “Don’t you, Sage.”

“I don’t like fiction,” Sage said. “So, it better be the truth.”

“I’m in big trouble,” Patterson said.

Trace squinted, looking closely at Patterson. Dirt and smudges covered his clothing and body. “You look terrible. Are you sick?”

“I haven’t eaten much the last two weeks,” Patterson said.

“Let’s go out to the mess,” Trace said. “I’ll warm some leftover stew for you.”

“And we better get some liquids in him,” Sage said. “He looks dehydrated.”

They moved to the mess table. Trace warmed leftover stew in a pan. Sage poured two cups full of water and instructed Patterson to drink them slowly. The same instructions were given when Trace set a bowl of stew and a spoon on the table in front of Patterson 

Patterson ate slowly and savored each spoonful of stew.

Patterson consumed about half the bowl before Trace asked, “Okay, why are you here?”

“I’m being hunted by the police and a drug smuggling outfit.” 

“You mentioned police first, why them?” Trace asked.

“They think I murdered Erin.”

“You mean Erin?” Trace asked. “Your buddy, the guy who was on this boat?”

Before he answered, Sage blurted, “Did you?” 

“No!” Patterson said as if being accused.

“What about Margot and Zoey?” Trace asked.

“They’re fine,” Patterson assured.

“Let’s dig a little deeper,” Trace said. “Why us? Why The Tramp Islander?”

“Finish up,” Sage said, nodding toward the stew that remained in the bowl.

Patterson scraped the bottom of his bowl and put the last spoonful of stew in his mouth.

Trace grabbed the spoon from his mouth and dropped it in the bowl. He pushed the bowl away. “That’s enough. No more until we get the story.”

“First of all,” Patterson began, “we didn’t sail here to experience paradise; well, kind of. Erin and I are frat brothers, and we wanted to raise startup money for a business idea we had. My parents have the money, but they said they’d invest once we had something to show for it—go raise money from people you don’t know. We wanted to go the shortcut.”

“Let me guess,” Trace said, “it involved drugs.”

“How’d you guess?” Patterson said.

“Fast money, no notes to sign, it’s not hard to figure,” Sage said. “You’re young and dumb. Probably never gave it a risk evaluation.”

“Yeah,” Patterson, “and I’m a business major. Statistically, your first couple of businesses fail.”

“True,” Trace said, “but most don’t fail with a prison sentence as part of the failure option.”

Sage added, “Or death.”

Patterson hung his head and shielded his eyes, and began to sob. Trace and Sage looked across the table at each other. Sage pointed to his cheek and motioned with his head toward Patterson. Trace looked at Patterson’s cheek and noticed a tear roll over his cheek.

Trace placed his hand on Patterson’s shoulder. “We’re sorry for the loss of your friend, but we have to know more and know it now, before going any further.”

Sage stood and grabbed a napkin from the counter between the mess and the galley. He handed it to Patterson and sat down. Patterson wiped his tears.

He sniffed and said, “I have a pilot’s license. I’ve had one since I was fifteen. Erin and I got in contact with a guy who got us in contact with a guy, and a couple of guys after that, met a guy who specialized in organizing drug trafficking. A sharp guy, a lawyer. He represents drug dealers. What’s funny is that the dealers he represents have no idea he’s in deeper than they are, and some of them actually work for him, and they don’t even know he’s their boss. They think he’s just a scumbag lawyer.”

Sage stood. He got another cup of water for Patterson and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” Patterson said. He took a swallow. “We planned to come here like some vacationing college students, which we were. I fly a Piper Malibu loaded with drugs to Australia or New Zealand.”

“That’s a long way,” Sage said.

“The Piper Malibu has better than a thousand-mile range,” Patterson said. “It can make fields in Australia or New Zealand. I’ve done it a couple of times, but most of the time I land at Norfolk Island and refuel.”

“You’ve been doing this since we left you off?” Trace asked.

“Yeah,” Patterson said. “I’m almost in the air more than on the ground.”

“What about Margot, Zoey, and Erin? Did they go with you?” Sage said.

“No,” Patterson said. “Erin came on a couple of flights, but the girls stayed on Tanna Island. They had a small cabin. They didn’t want any part of what I was doing. They knew what was going on, but that’s it. The people I worked for used the girls to make sure I returned.”

“How was Erin killed?” Trace asked.

“I put in two months,” Patterson said. “That’s all I signed up for. Margo and Zoey had enough. They wanted to go home. The bosses thought the girls would be a risk. They planned on killing them and Erin, and if I failed to continue to fly, they were going to kill me also. At least that’s what they said, but I think that was just to keep me in line until they got to me. We planned an escape one night. I got the girls to the plane. Erin diverted them. He made it look as if he was heading south on the island, but he took a moped east, where there was a small motorboat. From there, it was ten miles across the sea to a small island and an airstrip. I flew in at sunup, and no one was there.”

“About fifteen miles east of Port Vila is a road with a straight strip on it. I landed the plane there and abandoned it. I wandered around the island for a couple of days. I made my way back to Port Vila and found out Erin’s body had been found. He had been beaten to death, and a club was found nearby. Two men said they saw me beat him. The police have been looking for me. If I’m caught, I’m going away for a long time. I’m sure they’ll get me for the drugs and the murder.”

Trace and Sage looked across the table at each other.

“So,” Trace said, “you want us to get you out of Dodge?”

“That would be nice,” Patterson said.

“But you would still be wanted,” Trace said. “We could sail you anywhere, even back to the States, for instance. What will happen? Eventually, you’ll be found. Let’s say you’re not. You will be looking over your shoulder the rest of your life. You have to clear yourself.”

“There’s no way I’m turning myself in,” Patterson said. “The police are so corrupt, they’d turn me over to the drug runners.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” Trace said. “I know how corrupt these islands can be. I’ve had my share of dealings with them.”

“I don’t see anything but two options,” Patterson said. “Turn myself in or disappear.”

“What do you think, Sage?” Trace said.

“Well, old buddy,” Sage leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers behind his head, “we’ve done a few crazy things since we’ve been here. I don’t know where this would rank, but we should give it some thinking. One thing is for sure, as much as the fella has given us every reason to tie him up and turn him in ourselves, it wouldn’t be right. We can come up with something.”

“Sage,” Trace said, “I’ll give you a few dollars to get this guy some clothes.” And said repulsively to Patterson, “And in the meantime, take a shower.”

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 17, Unexpected Passenger

This is episode seventeen in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle. 

Unexpected Passenger 

Paul and Tom stepped lively away from The Tramp Islander toward Port Vila’s business area. Makani left shortly after. He said he wanted to buy some new clothes. Trace and Sage opened a couple of beers and sat on the benches of the aft deck.

Trace took a swig from his beer. “I’m going to get hold of Allie tomorrow. See if we can visit another island group or return to Suva. If there’s nothing to haul back to Suva, I just might go back empty.”

“What! You don’t like it here?” Sage said.

“I like it plenty. I would like a few days between islands. The seas are nice here, but Paul and Tom work the sails and then unload and load cargo. They’ve hardly had any time behind the wheel.”

“Have they complained?”

“It’s not their nature.”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“I’ll call Allie tomorrow. See if she can get us some long hauls; time at sea, maybe out of these islands.” 

Sage sipped his beer. “What do you have in mind?”

“Don’t know,” Trace sipped his beer. “We’ve given it two months, and that’s all Allie said we’d do. So it wouldn’t be presumptuous to ask for something else.”

“You don’t like these islands, do you?” 

“I’m tired of slipping money to so-called officials,” Trace said and took a swig. “We do our best to stay law-abiding. Remember that dirty uniformed policeman?”

“Yeah,” Sage said, “he not only shook the ship down, but everybody onboard. He was the worst.”

“But not the only,” Trace added. He continued, “If Allie has nothing, I’m going to sail back to Suva empty. At least the corruption there is limited and a little more discreet and negotiable.” 

“Ready for another?” Sage said. 

“Sure, but two’s the limit. You drink two and pee four.”

Sage stood. He grabbed the door handles to the pilothouse and hesitated. “That reminds me, you owe me twenty dollars.”

“How’s that?”

“I had our waste tank pumped. There was not only the usual fee and graft but a National Environmental Security Fee.”

“They have that?”

Sage grinned. “I think we’re the first.”

“If there’s a next time, we’ll pump it out in international waters.”

“I was warned,” Sage said, “There is an inspection fee, and if the tanks are empty, they assume we pumped it at sea. That’s where the heavy fines come in.”

“That’s what I mean,” Trace said. “They’re picking guys like us out of business. We can haul freight cheaper, but after the shakedown, money is added in…”

“I’ll get those beers,” Sage said. He walked through the pilothouse and down the companionway.

Sage returned with a beer for each. He handed a beer to Sage. “Before you take a sip, I should tell you something.”

“And that is?”

“When I was below, I heard something in the forward quarters. I went forward and peeked through the keyhole of one of the cabins.”

“And?”

“And there was Patterson.”

“The Patterson Beaushon we hoped never to see again.”

“That’s the only Patterson I know.”

Trace stood. “I suppose we should check the passenger list and if he’s not on it, we'd better find out why he’s here.

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 16, The Crew Takes A Break

This is episode sixteen in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle. 

The Crew Takes A Break

Trace and the crew docked for three days at Port Vila. Their cargo was offloaded, and then The Tramp Islander’s hull was filled with outgoing cargo. Each day it rained, but late in the day, so it did not interfere with the offloading and loading work. 

On the fourth morning, they sailed to Makers, then to a long string of islands. Each has its own unique appeal, yet the same languid and smooth tropical ambiance of a melodic life pacing with the sway of palms and gentle rolling waves.  

Two months passed quickly. The cargo varied. At times, they took on a few passengers, nothing like the brood they brought from Suva to Port Vila.

The smaller island inhabitants extended friendly greetings to The Tramp Islander’s sails, crew, and the cargo delivered. However, such greetings appeared well-rehearsed and commonplace. 

The crew lived the idyllic life of South Sea adventurers. It was the type of life Trace thought would greet him from the time he first touched down in Fiji. Trace and Sage seemed to grow into the lifestyle. They spoke less and less about Texas and ranching. Likewise with Paul and Tom. The conversations revolved around their work and subjects, and events related to sailing and islands. It was almost as if life did not exist before the South Seas. Of course, for Makani, the South Seas were all he knew.

Paul and Tom transformed into rugged and strong deckhands. Gone was the vacant, disturbingly placid, and frail look from the time Trace first saw them. 

The Tramp Islander clung tightly to the dock in Port Vila. A small load of cargo had been offloaded. And for the first time since arriving in the Vanuatu Islands, nothing waited on the docks for them, and nothing was scheduled. 

Trace called the crew to the pilothouse.

Trace sat in the pilot’s chair, Sage sat at the chart desk, Makani stood in the companionway, and Paul and Tom sat on the bench.

Trace handed everybody an envelope. 

“There’s five hundred dollars in each,” Trace said. “It’s a bonus. It’s been a good two months for The Tramp Islander. We’ve made all our deliveries on time, and no cargo has been damaged. Other than blisters, scrapes, bruises, bumps, and sore muscles, there have been no injuries. That is remarkable.”

Makani raised his hand.

“What?” Trace said.

“I had diarrhea,” Makani grinned.

Everyone chuckled.

“You’re the cook,” Trace retorted jokingly. “That’s on you.”

Everyone thanked Trace.

“Everybody take three days,” Trace said. “It would be good if you stayed on board at night. But that’s up to each of you. It’s just my recommendation and opinion. No offense, Tom or Paul, you’re Americans and still a little green. I wouldn’t be a good captain or friend if I didn’t say something.”

Paul cleared his throat. “No offense, Makani, but I’d like to have another meal besides what comes out of a galley.”

“No hurt,” Makani said. “That  what I do too.”

“I haven’t had a steak in years,” Tom said. “There has to be some place in Port Vila that has a fat, juicy steak.”

“Man,” Sage said, “I haven’t felt homesick in months. Just the mention of steak makes me weep. A ribeye on a wire grill cooked over mesquite, I’d trade all the pearls in the South Seas for one.”

“What are you going to do?” Paul said to Trace.

“Nothing,” Trace grinned, “I divided all the bonus money between you guys—there’s nothing left for me.”

“That’s a load of BS,” Sage said. 

“BS is all I could contribute from Texas,” Trace said.

“Why don’t you guys take a week or so?” Paul said to Trace and Sage. “Go back to Texas for a couple of days and get it all out of your system.”

“If I go, I ain’t comin’ back,” Sage said.

“You know,” Trace said, “for now, this is home. I’ll know when my time is up, and I’ll leave with everything done I want to do and have no regrets.”

“Times two,” Sage said. “I got more South Seas’ sunsets yet to fill my memories.”

Paul and Tom stood.

Paul said, “Tom and I have been talking about getting some ice cream. It’s been a while.”

“Watch how much you drink,” Trace warned. “The local police might arrest you for drunk and disorderly. Then they steal your money.”

Sage spoke up. “Take only what you’ll need.”

“Paul and I don’t drink,” Tom said. “That was a prerequisite before joining the cult—no booze.”

“Ah,” Trace said, “we’re treating you guys like ya just fell from the back of the turnip truck. Go have a good time.”

“You want to come with us, Sage and Makani?” Paul asked.

“Me not go,” Makani said. “I got things to do. Then have fun.”

“You guys go on you’re own,” Sage said. “I’d be a third wheel.”

“Tell ya what,” Paul said, “Tom and I will see if we can find a ribeye. Mesquite is probably out of the question.”

“Tell you what,” Sage said, “if ya can’t find a ribeye, just bring me a cow. In every cow there’s a ribeye just waiting to be discovered.”

The Double-Cross in Paradise: Episode 15, Farewell To The Poopy Faces

This is episode fifteen in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to  The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle. 

Farewell To The Poopy Faces 

Just past 3:00 AM, three miles from Port Vila, Trace called Paul’s and Tom’s cabins. “Let’s get shaken.”

From the pilothouse, Trace saw them pop up from the forward companionway. 

Trace lifted the mic from its hook. “Lower the sails.”

Trace watched them. He grinned and thought, ‘I remember the first time they lowered sails. ‘Like a calf taking its first steps.’

“Now look at them,’ he thought. ‘They’re seaman of the first rank.’

As soon as they began strapping the sails to the boom, Trace started the engine. It sputtered and settled into a steady hum.

He called the harbormaster. He gave directions to a dock. 

Port Vila’s harbor could be tricky during the night. The water lay calm, and the currents mild. 

Port Vila was on Mele Bay on the southwest part of Efate Island. In the Bay, there are two options to arrive at Port Vila’s waterfront docks: a small southern passage to the south of a bay island named Ifira. It was a little more than three hundred feet across. Trace chose the much larger northern route around Ifira Island, the safest way. 

Trace eased The Tramp Islander alongside a pier at the shipping area of Port Vila. Trace reversed the engine to slow The Tramp Islander to a crawl. Paul and Tom tossed the lines. They jumped ashore and tied the lines.

Paul and Tom reported the pilothouse, and Trace told them to get some sleep. Trace fell asleep on the bench.

Only Sage awoke for the crew’s breakfast. 

Trace climbed below during the passengers’ breakfast. Makani poured him a coffee, and he leaned into the mess. “We’re at Port Vila. You have an hour to debark.” He reached over Patterson’s shoulder and grabbed a muffin from a plate on the table.

“Hey,” Patterson said, “that’s the last one, and that’s from the passengers’ table.”

“My obligation to you and your friends ended as soon as Tom put the gangplank in place. That was just before 4:00 AM. Last night I foolishly decided to allow you to sleep out the night and provide a free breakfast. And what do you do? Complain about a bran muffin. I should have tossed your derrières ashore three hours ago.”

Erin stood. “This hasn’t exactly been a pleasant experience for us, ya know.”

“I want 10 dollars from each of you for this morning's breakfast,” Trace said.

“Pound sand,” Patterson said.

“Put your forks down, get up from the table, and get off the boat,” Trace said, taking a vicious bite from the muffin.

“We’ll pack and leave, but we won’t pay a penny more,” Margot said.

“I’m holding your baggage until I get my money,” Trace said.

“You can’t do that,” Zoey said.

“I can and I will,” Trace said. 

“What are you going to do, manhandle us?” Margot said. 

“You or any one of your crew better not lift a hand to any of us,” Erin said.

“All I have to do is lift a finger,” Trace held out his index finger. “All I have to do is dial the harbormaster. It’s marine law. I can confiscate goods until I’m paid.”

Patterson reached into his back pocket and pulled out his billfold. He opened it and fetched two twenty-dollar bills. He tossed it on the table. He stood. “There you go.” He motioned with his arm to Erin, Margot, and Zoey. “Let’s get off The Bounty.”   

No more than five minutes passed before all passengers filed from The Tramp Islander.

Trace and Sage stood on deck watching them saunter away.

“I wonder if they’ll hurl one last insult?” Sage said.

“I can guarantee it,” Trace said.

Zoey turned and cupped her hands around her mouth. “I hope you get lost at sea and sink.”

“Wow, that hurts,” Sage said to Trace, sarcastically. 

“Yeah, what a sharp tongue,” Trace clicked his cheek. “That will stick with us a long time.”

“I got a good one for ‘em,” Sage said and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Please don’t,” Trace said, “Don’t sink to their level.

“Poopy face, poopy face, poopy, face poopy face!” Sage called out.

Trace grinned and cocked his head. “On second thought, that was brilliant.”

“An oldie but a goody,” Sage said. “And one for which there is no comeback. By the way, can we really confiscate their baggage?”

“I don’t know,” Trace shrugged.