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.

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 14. Night Talk

This is episode fourteen 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. 

Night Talk 

An hour into Trace’s time at the wheel, storm clouds gathered from the southwest. He flipped on the weather channel to the shortwave. The report indicated heavy rain with ten to twelve knot winds.

“Not enough to worry about,’ Trace thought, ‘but enough to keep everybody off deck. With that bunch cooped up below, Sage may get his wish without even trying.’

Trace grabbed the ship’s mic. “Attention, everybody. We will be having heavy rains and moderate winds. I suggest going on deck and taking in some fresh air before it comes.” He hung up the mic.

In a matter of minutes, everyone appeared on deck. 

Trace grabbed the mic. “This will be nothing like yesterday. Also, we will make Port Vila in about ten hours. This will be your last night on board.”

The four passengers shouted jubilantly. They danced and waved their arms. 

Trace pressed the mic. “You can walk the rest of the way if you like.”

Trace hung the mic and thought, ‘That’s no way to treat paying passengers.’

Trace grabbed the mic. “Hey, I’m only kidding. I’d at least give you a raft and a paddle.”

‘There,’ he thought, ‘I’ve cleared my conscience—kind of.” 

The rain came in a sudden burst and lasted for three hours. It settled into a light rain for another hour and tapered to a sprinkle. 

Later, Paul handled the pilothouse from 10:00 PM until 2:00 AM. Trace returned at 1:45 AM.

“Hey, Paul,” Trace said through a muffled yawn, “looks like lights on the starboard bow.”

“I got an AM radio signal not long ago,” Paul said. 

“Port Vila?” Trace asked.

“An English-speaking station,” Paul said, steering and looking beyond to bow. “Aussie accent.”

“Music?” Trace inquired.

“Rock,” Paul said. 

“Let me take a look at our position,” Trace said, looking over Paul’s shoulder.

He sat at the chart desk. He flipped on the light over the desk, and ran his index finger from one side and the other from the top until they met at the control panel’s reading. He laid a ruler on the chart and measured to Port Vila.

“Fifteen miles,” Trace said. “Two hours. You can catch an hour and a half or so of sleep before the sails are dropped.”

Paul slid from the pilot’s chair. “It’s all yours. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stick around for a few minutes to wind down.”

Trace sat in the pilot’s seat. He adjusted the height down. He scanned the instrument panel. 

Paul sat on the bench. “Everything okay?”

“Just the way I left it,” Trace said. “So, how are you liking the sea?”

“It’s nothing I’d choose as a vocation, but it’s good work. I’m really enjoying it. I like The Tramp Islander. I like the crew. The passengers—not so much. What about you?”

“I’m a rancher,” Trace said, turning to face Paul. “That’s where I’m going to end up. I didn’t want my life the be ranching and that’s all. I chose the sea for a while. As my dad did when he was my age. I worked on the Bering for a year. Crabbing during crab season and one season of fishing. I took some of my money and went to a merchant marine school. I got to know some cargo captains when I was on the Bering. I contacted a couple and took the best job for me.”

“And what was the best job?”

“A small cargo ship named The Blue Mist. The crew was promised that after a year on the Bering, they would be going to the South Seas. I spent two years on the Bering.”

“They lied to you?”

“No, it’s just part of the business. The captain and owner was promised by his broker, and the broker backed out of his promise. And I’m sure the broker had every intention of The Blue Mist going to the South Seas. You can’t send an empty boat five thousand miles.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I took a vacation—and stayed. I won The Tramp Islander in a card game. I couldn’t leave.”

“Is that where my dad comes in?”

“Yeah. And I really think that from our first meeting, we had sort of a liking for each other. However, he was on one side of the law and I was on the other.”

“My dad really respects you. He said you can never hate a man doing the right thing, even if it’s the wrong thing for you.”

“I take you as a good man. You had to have been raised by a good mother. And your mother must have loved your father very much. She, as a good person, must have seen the good in your dad.”

“She did. Dad didn’t start out being a shady character. It all seemed to find him. Mom said he is a genius.”

“Morality and genius don’t always end up in the same brain.”

“It was Dad’s upbringing. His dad was a small-time crook. From all accounts, a real evil sort. Cared for nothing but himself. His mother left him with his dad to raise.”

The waves passed by, and the lights from Port Vila shone brighter.

“I’ve really messed up, haven’t I?” Paul said. He waited for Trace to reply.

“How do you figure?” Trace turned to Paul.

“The island and the bizarre religion, following a cult; that’s not rational thinking. I’m afraid that will be a pattern for my life.”

“Youth is full of indiscretions.”

“It was more than an indiscretion. I can’t call it that. To call it that makes it seem acceptable. Do you have any idea what it was like to face my father? He’s a man who sees through people. His life revolves around taking advantage of weak-minded people and exploiting them. And there I was, the very epitome of what he preyed upon. I must have looked like a fool to him.”

“I have no idea what the total amount is for your dad getting you off that island, but I know it’s well north of one hundred thousand. Yeah, you got hornswoggled, but who’s sitting in a crummy cell on the island of Fiji? I don’t know how much your dad had squirreled away, but he may have spent every last dime he had to get you away from that island. Waldo Franks, doesn’t place a bet unless the odds are heavily in his favor.” 

“In my life, I’ve never been so confused about things,” Paul hung his head.

“Well, hold tight on the reins and tighten up your butt cheeks, life is ahead of you and a lot more confusion.”

“My dad said time at sea with you would help me.”

“I don’t know about the ‘me’ part, but there is something about the sea. It can cleanse a man, if he allows it. You face storms that test your will, like the one we just went through. You can stare for days and endless waves and sky and think this is all there is. And that allows you to arrange your own little universe. On a clear night, you can stare into the vast heavens and wonder and figure out how little you are. And you realize the universe you arranged in your mind can only function if it is in harmony with the universe that is real.”

“My dad’s universe, the casino, is based on chance. The universe is not.”

“In a casino, you can tip the scales, fudge the odds, but not the universe.” Trace smiled. He reached over and flicked Paul on the knee. “Get some sleep.”

Paul stood and placed one foot on the companionway steps. “See you in a while. Thanks.”