A Cult in Paradise; Episode 50 (Final Episode), A Complete Crew

This is episode fifty, the final episode, of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It has been featured in episodes over the last few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you have enjoyed this adventure. And thanks for stopping by.

A Complete Crew

After a good meal, Trace and Tom visited a clothing store. Trace bought Tom a couple of changes of clothing. They tossed the robe away.

Walking on the sidewalk away from the store, Trace asked, “Where have you been sleeping?”

“Here and there,” Tom said. “I found an empty shed for a couple of nights. Any place I could find that was out of the way. I thought about getting arrested so I could, at least, sleep in jail and get a meal.”

“Come back to The Tramp Islander tonight,” Trace offered. “You can stay in one of the cabins.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be too proud,” Tom said. “I’m going to jump at it.”

“Good,” Trace said. “You’re at risk of becoming sick without proper food and rest. It looks like we’ll be in Pago Pago for a couple more days. My dad married someone from the island. I don’t know if that means I have any influence, but I’ve met a few people related to my dad’s wife. Maybe we can put something together for you, a job, and a way back to The States.”

“I’ve lived five years not making any decisions on my own,” Tom said. “It’s like being institutionalized. I’m not used to doing things on my own.”

They reached the dock and walked across the gangplank and onboard The Tramp Islander.

Trace opened the hatch to the front companionway. “Go all the way through, past the galley, to the very end of the hallway. The last room on the left will be yours. Get some rest.”

“Appreciate it,” Tom said.

“I’ll tell Makani you’re onboard,” Trace said. “He always has snacks on the bar; help yourself.”

Tom ducked down the companionway and made his way forward to his cabin.

Sage rested on the lid of the forward hatch. He watched the sun cast its final glow below the green vegetated hills laying lazily west of  Pago Pago harbor. His thoughts bounced from one situation to another; the future, the past, and the wide gulf in between. Adam, his dad and trusted advisor, was long gone, enjoying life with Talei in Hawaii. Coyote, the straightforward, honest friend of Adam, was likely in Texas, conjuring up stories about the last few months in the South Seas. Sage is here. That is why he is here; for times like this. 

He climbed below, using the forward companionway. He walked to Sage’s room and rapped on the door. 

Sage opened the door. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Come up to the pilothouse,” Trace said. “I want to talk for a while.”

“Sure,” Sage said. “Let me get my shoes on.”

Trace climbed up to the pilothouse. He sat in the chair at the chart desk and waited for Sage.

Sage arrived a couple of minutes later. He carried two cups of coffee. 

“I could tell you have something on your mind,” Sage said, handing a cup to Trace. “I wasn’t sure it was coffee or whiskey. I thought we’d start with coffee.”

“Good choice,” Trace said.

“You know I was reading The Sea-Wolf when you knocked,” Sage said as he sat on the bench.

“Let me guess,” Trace said, sipping the coffee, “I’m Wolf Larsen and you’re Humphrey Van Weyden?”

“You’ve read it?” Sage said. 

“Required, the ninth grade,” Trace said.

“Oh, yeah,” Sage said, “you told me all about it so I could give a book report. I knew the story sounded familiar. I can’t remember how it ends—don’t tell me!”

Sage sipped his coffee while he looked beyond the cup at his lips toTrace. He pulled the cup away and asked, “So what’s up?”

“Sage, you and I have roots in this world,” Trace began. “We’re going to be ranchers. We’ve been raised that way. But if we decide to do something else, we have something to fall back on.”

“You mean like take off and sail the South Seas,” Sage said.

“Exactly,” Trace said. “This is a quest, an adventure, a diversion. We’re serious, but this is not a serious endeavor. It’s going to college and taking all the easy courses.”

“I follow you,” Sage said, “but where does this lead?“

“Remember Tom?” Trace asked.

“The guard who took a cane to your head and you kneed him in the coconuts,” Sage said. “By the way, if you ask me, he still had something comin’ to ‘im. Like a for real knee in the balls.”

“He’s in the last crew cabin on the left,” Trace said.

“What!” 

“Yeah,” Trace sipped. “Let me tell you what happened to me today.”

Trace told him about how he found Tom eating from a garbage can, all the way to him taking the cabin.

“So that’s it,” Trace concluded.

“You left out something,” Sage hesitated. “Your feelings.”

“Yeah,” Trace said, “you know my feelings, maybe better than anyone.”

“So we just hired a deckhand who’s some sort of brainy-ack and never worked anything harder than the Pythagorean theorem Sage said. “And now you want to hire a sick, emaciated former cult member who eats out of garbage cans and snitches on his friends.”

“That sums it up,” Trace said.

“I say go for it,” Sage said, and reached his cup out to toast Trace.

They clinked cups.

“Let’s get ‘im up here,” Trace said. 

“I’ll go below and tell him to come up to the pilothouse,” Sage said. “You handle it. I’m going back to The Sea-Wolf.”

Tom climbed up the aft companionway and into the pilothouse. He looked intensely at Trace, trying to read why he called him to the pilothouse.

“Have a seat,” Trace said, nodding to the bench.

Tom sat on the bench.

“How’s your cabin?’ Trace asked.

“Cozy and nice,” Tom said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sage and I have been talking,” Trace said. “You really don’t know what’s next, do you?”

“Do any of us?” Tom said.

“No,” Trace said, “but a week from now, chances are, I’m on the seas heading to Fiji. On the other hand, what can you say?”

“I really don’t know,” Tom said.

“Here’s what Sage and I have come up with,” Trace said. “We’d like to take you on as a deckhand.”

“I know nothing about being a deckhand,” Tom said.

“Neither does Paul Purnell. He has the cabin next to yours,” Trace said.

“Paul?” 

“Yes,” Trace said, “he’s going to be a deckhand.”

Tom looked around the pilothouse as if looking for someone to provide an answer. 

“There’s no one here to help you,” Trace said. He reached across to Tom and jabbed his finger on his chest. “The answer is there. It’s inside you. It’s your choice.”

Tom clenched his jaw. “I’ll try.”

“That’s not good enough,” Trace said.

“I’ll do it,” Tom said.

Trace stood and grabbed the mic. “All hands in the mess. All hands in the mess.”

Trace hung up the mic. “Do you know what the mess is?”

“I know what it sounds like,” Tom said.

“Follow me, you’re in for a surprise.”

Trace introduced Tom to the rest of the crew. Paul was pleased to be reunited with Tom. Trace cautioned everyone that everyone was new on The Tramp Islander at one time and that working and learning had challenges.

Trace concluded by saying, “Tom and I had a confrontation with a three-hundred-pound gorilla back at a restaurant. I know his breed. Revenge is in his genes. So let’s get out of port before he storms onto  The Tramp Islander at midnight with a dozen of his goons. Sage, show these landlubbers how to toss the lines, and let’s get out to sea.”

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 49, A-Two-Hundred Dollar Meal

This is episode forty-nine of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by.

A Two-Hundred-Dollar Meal

Paul stowed his gear in one of the empty crew’s cabins. Then, Sage took Paul to a local clothing store to buy attire worthy of a deckhand. In the meantime, Trace said he would visit a couple of Talei’s nephews to see if they knew of anyone who needed a job. Makani returned to The Tramp Islander to watch over it. He promised not to speak to reporters, only the police.

Trace walked along the street next to the harbor. It led to a fishing gear store and bait shop owned by one of Talei’s nephews. Trace got along well with him at the fautsi. Trace thought he might be a good resource to steer a deckhand The Tramp Islander’s way. 

On the way there, Trace came across a sobering and pitiful sight. Someone, in a soiled white robe, bent over a garbage can next to a restaurant. It was one of the ex cult members. He retrieved discarded food wrapped in a napkin. He picked through it and flicked the flys away. 

“Geez,” Trace said to himself, “I saved him for that.”

Trace hurried his pace and drew closer. “Hey!” He said.

Without looking, the man in the white robe began running away. 

‘I know I can catch a guy in a robe,’ Trace thought, and ran after him. 

Less than two hundred yards, Trace came within an arm’s length. He grabbed his shoulder, and the man lost his balance. He stumbled and fell to the ground face down.

Trace breathed heavy, trying to catch his breath. The man in the robe rolled over and faced Trace.

“Tom!” Trace said, “What on earth?”

Trace extended his hand and helped Tom to his feet. They both rested their hands on their knees for a moment until they stopped gasping for air.

“I thought everyone your members were off the island,” Trace said. “What are you still doing here?”

“I don’t have any money,” Tom said. “No one to vouch for me back home.” 

“There has to be somebody,” Trace said. “What about the others? Couldn’t they have helped you?”

“Because I was the spokesmen for the group, I was detained longer,” Tom said. “When the authorities were done with me, everybody was gone. I applied for assistance at the embassy, but they said it could take as much as six weeks.”

“When’s the last time you had something to eat?” Trace asked.

“Two days ago,” Tom said. “If you hadn’t come along, it would have been five minutes ago.”

“Come on,” Trace said, “let’s walk back to the restaurant where you were going through their cans. I’ll get you something to eat, and we’ll see what we can do about getting you home.”

They started walking back to the restaurant. 

“I don’t understand why nobody can vouch for you back in The States,” Trace said.

“Like most on the island, I come from a pretty good background,” Tom said. “My dad was an investor. He invested other people’s money. When I became involved with Members of the Cosmos, Dad sent a couple of thousand a month. Like everybody else, it was disguised as paying for a spiritual enlightenment. Some paid more, much more. A couple of years ago, my mother died. Dad took to the bottle. He invested poorly and devised some sort of Ponzi scheme to pay for his lifestyle, money lost on neglected investments, and my spiritual journey. It all caved in on him. He was about to face the consequences when he consumed a bottle of pills with a bottle of vodka.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Trace said.

“I can’t help but think I had as much to do with it as his drinking and bad business.”

“Things happen beyond our control,” Trace said. “If you knew, you probably would have done something about it.”

“By the time I found out, it was too late,” Tom said. “Demeter found out and held it over my head. Because he wasn’t receiving anything from my father, he gave me other things to do. I had to prove my loyalty and worth.”

“You became a snitch,” Trace said.

“How did you know?” Tom said.

“I know the man, Demeter, and I know his type,” Trace said. “And why else would, at least, somebody from the group not offer some sort of help? I’m sure they were aware of what happened.”

“On the voyage here, I confessed to everyone,” Tom said.

“They already knew I was a snitch,” Tom said. “Before my dad died, I was already in trouble with Demeter. He forgave it, but it was always present.”

“What was it?” Trace said.

“Paul, Sylvia, and I had expressed doubts,” Tom said. “He figured it out. He knew that he could not compromise Paul or Sylvia, and with the situation with my dad, I was perfect.”

They walked up to the restaurant. It had wooden shutters that flapped down from above by pulleys. The ocean breeze passed through the restaurant. It was charming and cozy. 

“Here we are,” Trace said.

“This is kind of an expensive place,” Tom said. “Some arrogant American owns it. He chased me away from his cans yesterday. When you yelled, I thought it was him. Can’t we try someplace down the way?”

“It’s too far to walk,” Trace said.

“The guy looks like he belongs to the mafia or the New York Giants,” Tom said.

“I spent time on the Bering,” Trace said, “tough men, real tough. Tough men understand guts and money.” Trace clicked his cheek. “I got guts and money, and I’m from Texas. We don’t scare easily.”

They walked into the restaurant. It was empty. A large man with black wavy hair sat at the bar. 

“That’s him,” Tom said.

“He’s big,” Trace said.

A waitress walked up to the man and whispered something. The man turned. A large scar ran from his right ear to the mid-jaw. He breathed deep. His pig-like nostrils flared.

“That looks like a nice table over there,” Trace said and pointed to one having a view of the surf. 

They sat at the table. 

The man walked over to the table. “Your friend will have to leave.”

“Why,” Trace said.

“He’s filthy and not dressed properly for my usual clientele,” the man said.

“Look at me,” Trace said. “I’m dressed in kakis smeared with grease, motor oil, and grass stains.”

“Then you both can go,” the man said.

“Look,” Trace said, ‘my friend hasn’t eaten in two days.”

“Get up and get out or I’ll throw you out,” the man said gruffly,  grabbing Trace under the arm.

Trace stood and stared coldly into the man’s eyes. “Get us a menu.”

The man raised his hands to shove Trace, but before they made contact, Trace kneed him in the crotch. The man growled painfully. Trace grabbed the man’s hair and pulled his head up. “If you don’t get us a menu, I’ll grab a spoon and dig your eye out of its socket,” Trace released the grip on his hair.

The man struggled while walking away. He studied himself by grabbing chairs. He returned with two menus.

“Thank you, sir,” Trace said. “Before you go,” Trace continued, reaching for his wallet. He pulled it out and removed two hundred-dollar bills. “I think this will cover everything.”

The man took the money and took a step away.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Trace said.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said.

“Give us a couple of minutes and send the waitress. Thank you,” Trace said.

Tom leaned across the table and whispered, “What if he goes and gets a gun?”

“He’ll shoot us,” Trace said. “Until then, let’s look at the menu, order, and enjoy our meal.”

Tom looked at the menu. Then he looked over the top of the menu at Trace. “Should I tell him about the coconut?”

They broke into laughter.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 48, A New Deckhand

This is episode forty-eight of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by.

A New Deckhand

Three days later, the wedding occurred without a hitch. It was held on the deck of The Tramp Islander. A fautasi was held at a nearby beach. 

The next day, Adam and Talei flew to Hawaii, where they planned to honeymoon for a week. Then they planned to return to Texas.

Coyote flew out on a later flight. Pete flew back to Suva. 

After the wedding and reception, a detective returned to The Tramp Islander and took statements from Trace and Sage. He did not seem to be bothered that Adam and Coyote had left Pago Pago. Trace surmised it was less paperwork for the detective, who seemed not too interested in the case anyway. 

Trace and Sage sat in the pilothouse. Trace sat at the chart desk, and Sage was on the bench across from him.

“Well,” Sage said, “how do ya ’spose we find a crew?”

“If we were in Suva, Allie could help us,” Trace said. “I met some of Talei’s cousins, maybe they can help us.”

“I’m gonna get a beer,” Sage said. “Ya wanna come along?”

“Nah,” Trace said. “Makani is someplace in Pago Pago. I want somebody here just in case one of the ex-members shows up or the police have some more questions.”

“I heard most of ‘em have left the island,” Sage said. “Some of ‘em have probably had a belly full of paradise.”

“Heard anything about Demeter?” Trace asked.

“He’s sitting in jail,” Sage said. “I guess they’ve been trying to get him for a while. Law enforcement put it on the back burner. I heard murder charges are on the table.”

“I want to get a crew and get out of here before it becomes news,” Trace said. “The government is going to have to make a case without me.”

“And me,” Sage said.

“We probably speak for Makani, too,” Trace said.

“Nobody speaks for Makani,” Sage said.

“That’s for sure,” Trace said. “He’s probably selling the story  to some tabloid right now.”

Sage stood. “There’s a beer in a little bar not far from here. It’s an off-brand. It’s label says, Sage.”

“You can also have the one labeled, Trace,” Trace said. 

“See ya after I finish yours,” Sage said, and he walked out of the pilothouse.

Trace picked up a book that lay on the chart desk. “Texas by Michener,” Trace said. “He wrote about the South Seas and Texas, right down my alley.”

Trace lay on the bench and began to read. It did not take him long to realize this novel would touch him like no other because he would see himself, his ancestors, the folks he grew up with, those who worked the Troy ranch, and all their ancestors in between these pages. He couldn’t wait to arrive at its end.

After half an hour, his eyes became heavy. He laid the book on his chest and began to visualize what he read. Seeing Texas was a sure way to ease into a peaceful sleep. However, “Ahoy!” He heard.

Trace laid the book on the chart desk and looked out the window. A scrawny, dark-haired lad stood on shore.

Trace leaned out the window. “What’s up?” He thought it might be a reporter looking for a story.

“Permission to come aboard.”

“Permission denied,” Trace said firmly.

“Please.”

“Please denied!” Trace retorted.

“Pretty please.”

“No, now go away,” Trace said.

“Petty please with sugar on top.” 

Trace squinted his eyes. The lad looked familiar. “Okay, come aboard. I’ll give you a minute.”

The young man walked into the pilothouse.

Trace stood. “Don’t I know you?”

“Sort of,” he said. “You probably know my father better. And our meeting was brief and not among the best of circumstances.”

Trace smiled. “You’re Waldo Franks kid, Paul.”

“Paul Purnell,” he said and reached out to shake Trace’s hand. “I want to thank you. And so does my dad.”

Traces smiled broadly and shook Paul’s hand. “Have a seat,” Trace gestured to the bench.

Paul sat on the bench.

“So you flew to Suva to meet your dad?” Trace asked.

“Yes,” Paul said.

“How is he?”

“He’s good.”

“You never met him before, right.”

“No,” Paul said. 

“Was it hard?” Trace showed a willingness to be understanding.

“Not at all,” Paul said. “It was something we both wanted very badly. I don’t understand his life choices and he can’t figure out mine, but he’s glad of the ones I chose.”

“Well,” Trace said, “I can tell you, he loves you very much.”

Paul smiled and bobbed his head. “We met every day for a week. It’s incredible how many years we crammed into that time.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Trace said. “And how is Sylvia.”

“When Sylvia and I were locked up, we already made up our minds that we should separate for a while. We didn’t know whether it was love or just emotions, given our dire circumstances. So she went back to The States with he mom and dad. We both needed a breather.”

“And what about you?” Trace asked.

“My dad gave me some advice,” Paul said. “I ask him for it.”

“Stay away from casinos?” Trace responded.

“Yeah,” Paul said, “really.”

“Well,” Trace said, “I’m sure he gave you good advice.”

“He did.”

“I’m curious,” Trace said.

“He told me to see you about a job,” Paul said. “Even if it’s a cabin boy.”

“You’re kidding me,” Trace said.

“No, I’m not,” Paul said.

“Exactly when do you slit my throat in my sleep?” Trace smirked.

“I understand how you feel,” Paul said, “but my dad speaks very highly of you. He said working and learning from you would be the second best thing he could ever do for me.”

“What’s first best?” Trace asked.

“It’s sad,” Paul said, “but he said the best thing for me is for him to stay locked up.”

“I don’t know,” Trace said, “It takes some muscle and stamina to work the decks on a schooner.”

“I was a wrestler in college,” Paul said, “first place in my weight class in our conference. I’m stronger than I look.”

“Well,” Trace said, “you do have a good grip. But do you have any idea what it’s like to be in the middle of the ocean with nothing to do and few people to talk to?”

“Remember,” Paul said, “Flint Island.”

Trace half smirked. “Okay, but if Sage comes back here with two deckhands you’re out. And by the way, I don’t think they have cabin boys anymore.”

Sage returned a few minutes later. He was alone.