This is the fifth episode of the novel I'm currently writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. I'm about halfway through my first rewrite, and I think it will be completed in six or eight weeks. I hope you enjoy this episode, and more will follow.
Episode 5
They returned to the casino. He walked passively by many of the gambling tables and distracted for a moment, feigning aloof interest.
At the bar, Parker tossed down a twenty-dollar bill and asked the bartender for a Scotch and soda. He told the bartender to keep the change. He feigned nervousness as he downed the drink in three gulps. He headed toward a hallway where the poker rooms and the bathrooms were. At the end of the hallway was a door. Parker opened it. It was a parking lot. He made a dash between the parked cars into the night.
Trace returned to the motel. He quickly walked to the elevator and rode it to the third floor. He got off and found his room. Inside his room, he stashed the money into a backpack and slung it on. He grabbed his bag and opened the door of the room. He looked both ways down the hallway, dashed to the fire escape door, and down three flights of stairs. He exited on the ground floor, looking to his left and right as he peered out. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he dashed to a grove of palms and fought his way through about fifty yards of thick growth. He came upon a lane. It led to the street that led to the harbor.
‘Why is it?” He thought, ‘When you try to look inconspicuous, you stand out like a sore thumb? Come to think of it, I’ve never in my life picked out anybody who had a sore thumb. And I know they exist. I had one once, and nobody knew it. Nobody said, It looks like you have a sore thumb. Maybe we should be saying he sticks out like a man with a bag full of money trying to act nonchalant.’
At the end of the lane, a lone two-masted schooner floated tethered to the dock. A dim light shone through the porthole of the main deck’s housing. The hull was black, and the housing and pilot house were white. Trace swung his legs over the boat’s rail. He turned around to see if anyone had followed.
Trace cupped his hands. “Ahoy?” He waited. “Ahoy!”
Two men opened a door in the main deck housing.
“Who goes there?” One said.
They came to full view in the light provided by dim, distant harbor lights.
“My name is Trace Troy. I just won this boat.”
The men stepped closer. They flashed a flashlight on Trace’s face.
The shorter of the two men had coarse, wavy black hair and appeared not to be pure native. His skin shone lighter than native Fijian’s. The other man had blond, curly hair. He had strong Scandinavian features.
“How do we know you own this boat?” The Fijian said.
Trace reached into the backpack. He pulled out the title and handed it to the men. They both looked at it.
“That’s Spence’s signature. Did he lose it in a poker game?” the Scandinavian said.
“Sounds like you know him well,” Trace said.
“He was pretty deep in debt. He owes everybody,” the Scandinavian said, handing the title back to Trace.
“Can we step below?” Trace said. “I need to know some things.”
The two crewmen motioned with their heads to follow them. They walked aft to the pilothouse and through its door. The Fijian flipped on a small light. The pilothouse was cozy and functional. A high chair, secured to the deck, stood behind the helm. A chart table and radio were behind the chair. On the opposite side, a bench with plenty of length for a good-sized man to stretch out. It extended the length of the pilothouse.
They climbed below.
“These are the crew’s quarters,” the Scandinavian pointed to four small doors. “This is the captain’s quarters,” he tapped on a fifth door. “The next two doors are the head and shower. And on the left is the galley. And this is the saloon,” he said, stepping into a room that stretched the entire width of the hull and was about seven feet long.”
“I’ll get us some coffee,” a paunchy Fijian man said. He disappeared into the galley and returned with three cups. “I made fresh before you came. We were waiting for Spence.” He sat the cups of coffee on the table and slid a sugar jar and a small container of powdered creamer to the middle of the table.
They sipped the coffee without adding anything.
“Good coffee,” Trace said. He extended his hand to the Fijian. “My name is Adam Troy, Adam Troy The Third. They call me Trace—Spanish for three.”
The Polynesian grasped Trace’s hand. “My name is Chuck Hicks. My family’s last name used to be Hikialani. When they settled in California, they didn’t want people looking at them funny, so they changed it to something that you wouldn’t have to repeat.”
The Scandinavian-looking man, blonde hair and a faint scar on his left cheek, reached across the table. “Sean Murphy. Used to be McMurphy, but my great-grandfather changed it to just Murphy. He said they’d be calling’ ya mick enough without givin' ‘em another opportunity.”
“Wow,” Trace said, “all we need to know about each other is revealed in our names.”
“So how did you win the Paurova?” Chuck said.
“Pair, six high,” Trace said. “The absolute worst hand I had all night. I had the luckiest night of my life. I won big at the dice table. I won at roulette and blackjack. A guy invites me to a poker game in the backroom. I said to myself, I’m only going to lose what I’ve won. That’s what the house wants. They want their money back. Two of the guys at the table were house players. I had somebody with me. I owe him a lot. He may have saved my life and at least a night or two in the hospital. And then there was Jasper Spence. The two guys said they were businessmen just looking to toss their money around. After I won the boat, I grabbed my winnings and took off. By the way, has anybody been looking for me yet?
“No,” they said.
“How long have you two been with Spence?” Trace said.
Sean cleared his throat. “I was with Spence for two years when he had the Ellie. It belonged to a shipping outfit. They decided it was getting too expensive to keep in service, so they had it scrapped. They had the Paurova. It was too small for them, so Spence got it for next to nothing. At first, he put his heart and soul into it. He’s always had a problem with women, booze, and cards. He was good at two and bad at one.”
“I can guess which,” Trace said.
“If I was smart, I’d have signed up with some other crew.” Chuck said, “But I knew the Paurova like the back of my hand. I didn’t want to learn things all over again and become part of a bigger crew. I liked where I was.”
“What about you, Chuck?” Trace asked.
“I came back to the islands wanting to reconnect with my culture,” Chuck said. “I looked like them, but I didn’t think or speak like them. I saw the Paurova at a dock and talked to Captain Spence. He hired me. I worked on a loading dock in LA. That was my experience. Spence gave me a chance. There were plenty of times I could have left and with good reason, but I’m loyal; I stayed.”
Sean sat his coffee down after a sip. “Other than winning a white elephant in a backroom poker game…”
Trace grinned and sipped his coffee. “I worked on a couple cargos on the west coast. I had a friend who worked on cargo in the Aleutians. He told me they were short a man. He told me in a year they’d be going to the South Seas. I took on with them and worked a year in the Aleutians. That turned into two years. You save your money up there. There’s not much to spend it on. So I decided to take a vacation and come down here. I figured that was the only way I was going to see these parts. Now I own a white elephant.”
“Do you have a pilot’s license?” Sean asked.
“Yeah,” Trace said. “I went to school, and the ship I piloted was twice this and in seas that make you crap your drawers.”
“Why don’t you just pick up where Spence left off?” Chuck said.
“I don’t think it’s that easy,” Trace said. “I don’t have a broker or contacts. It’s a part of the business I know nothing about.”
“When Spence ran out of money, he made a few calls,” Sean said.
“Those are probably relationships he had,” Trace said. “It takes years to establish relationships.”
“He has a little black book in the drawer of the chart table,” Sean said. “He makes calls from that book.”
“Spence and The Paurova was the last choice for a lot of shipments,” Sean said. “There was no one else. Spence and The Paurova had a reputation—not a good one.”
They talked for another hour.
“Which door did you say was the captain’s quarter’s?” Trace yawned.
“Third on the left as you go back,” Chuck said.
“I’m going to turn in. We’ll talk more in the morning,” Trace said.
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