The Double-Cross in Paradise; Episode 23, Meeting Kelsy Brisker

This is episode twenty-three 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. 

Meeting Kelsey Brisker 

Danny Boy pulled his cab in front of the hotel.

“I just thought I’d let you know,” Danny Boy said. “But somebody is following you.”

“Still?” Trace said. 

“A man in a blue car behind us on the other side of the street,” Danny Boy said.

Trace looked out the back window. “I’m going to get out. Turn around and park behind him. There’s a car in front of him. That will pen him in. Can you do that?”

“You betcha, but what you going to do?”

“Have a conversation,” Trace said.

Trace got out of the cab. He walked across the street and up the steps of the hotel. 

Danny Boy turned around in the street and came to an abrupt stop behind the blue car. Trace rushed down the steps of the hotel. He flung open the passenger side front door of the blue car and plopped into the seat. 

A thin V-shaped-faced man sat at the steering wheel. He jerked back and held his hands defensively. “What are you doing?”

“You first,” Trace said.

“I’m just sitting here.”

“I can see that, but you’re been following me.”

“No, I’m not,” the man said defensively. 

“If you weren’t following me, you’d say I’m waiting for a friend, I ran out of gas, I’m repoing this car. I’ve been followed since I left Port Vila.”

“That’s not me!” The man said.

“But you are following me now?”

The man heaved a sigh. 

“So, who are you?” Trace asked.

“Kelsey Brisker, Australian Federal Police.” He reached inside the lapel pocket of his jacket and showed his ID.

Trace examined the ID and glanced from the picture on the ID to Brisker. “This could be phony.”

“Who would I be if this is phony?”

“Well, you’re not Crocodile Dundee,” Trace smirked. 

“Indeed,” Kelsey said.

“If you are who you say you are, why are you following me?”

“We might say you are a person of interest.”

“What makes me so interesting that the Australian Federal Police would be interested in me?”

“That’s why I’m following you?”

“Okay,” Trace said, “I admit, I must look pretty shady to a lot of folks. I visit a casino owner, and who knows what else he’s involved in, in prison. And his son works for me.”

“He has a son!?” Kelsey’s eyes widened.

“Geez,” Trace said, “that was dumb of me. I let that slip out. I thought you already knew.”

“We are interested in your connection with Waldo Franks,” Kelsey said. “He has a lot of money hidden in a lot of different places: like shell corporations and secret bank accounts. And we were able to follow a large amount of cash that ended up in your broker’s account and attached to you and your ship, The Tramp Islander. And it appears you won the ship in a shady card game at Waldo Franks’ Casino a couple of years back.”

“It was shady, alright,” Trace said. “It was the night of all nights. I was supposed to lose in a card game, but won the boat. Then I was supposed to lose with a spin of the wheel at roulette. And I won.”

“Lucky!” Kelsey said suspiciously.

“I helped put Franks behind bars,” Trace said. “That’s a matter of public record.”

“Why are you visiting him?” Kelsey asked. 

“About six months ago, he showed up at my boat. Mind you, he was incarcerated at the time. He was desperate. His son, whom he did not know, became a part of a cult, and Franks had information that his son was held against his will. Despite our animosity toward each other, he felt he had no one else he could trust. He hired me to get his son off the island. We were successful. Franks and his son became acquainted. And Franks wanted his son to learn the value of hard work. He asked me to hire him on The Tramp Islander.

“And none of that sounds suspicious to you?”

“What would be suspicious about hiring a mathematics whiz to work on the deck of an inter-island cargo sailing vessel?” Trace said and cringed at the sound of his words. “Okay, from where you sit, that doesn't make sense to me now.”

“What are you shipping?” 

“You think we’re transporting drugs?” Trace said.

“You said it,” Kelsey said. “And why did drugs come up so quick? Why not pearls, guns, bootleg rum?”

“Touché,” Trace said. “Here’s the problem, I’ve run into so many people who have not been what they appear to be, I don’t know if I can trust who you say you are.”

“Who do you think I am?” Kelsey said. “Who do you think has a reason to follow you?”

Trace looked forward, beyond the hood of the car. A mass of thoughts streamed through his mind. Fear of implicating himself, betraying Patterson, and dragging his crew into something they were innocent. 

“You’re kinda between a fart and a load in your undies, aren’t you?” Kelsey said wryly. 

Trace stared into Kelsey’s eyes. 

“What do you see?” Kelsey said.

“When you reached for your ID, you could have pulled your pistol out,” Trace said. “I caught a glimpse of it. You flipped your ID open like it was a habit. It’s well-worn. You haven’t replaced it because it was probably a gift. You’re married, but it wasn’t from your wife because your band hasn’t worn a ring on your finger. Likely, a gift from your dad. The picture doesn’t look like it was taken yesterday. Your hair is short in the picture. The shoes, those are cop shoes. Your jacket has elbow pads. Cops do a lot of desk work. You’re wearing a clip-on tie; it comes off easy in a fight. Not just one of those things, but all. However, the question remains, what do you want with me?”

“That’s pretty good,” Kelsey said.

“I’ve been reading a lot of crime novels lately,” Trace said.

“So why are you in Suva, now, and why are you meeting with Franks?”

“I need his help,” Trace said. “It is the kind of help that only a man like Franks can provide.”

“Dirty help?” Kelsey said.

“If you’re hanging by a thread and the only hand that can save you is dirty, who cares?”

“You’re hanging by a thread?” Kelsey asked.

“No, but I know somebody who is?”

“Is Franks’ son in a jam?”

“No, it’s not him.”

“A friend?” Kelsey asked.

“Not really,” Trace said. “Just somebody out of options, and his life is about to be ruined for something he didn’t do.”

“Do you want to tell me more?”

“The guy has done some things I can’t abide by,” Trace said. “He transported drugs. If he got convicted on that, I’d be happy to lock him up. If you ask me, I think he romanticized the whole thing. He’s young, didn’t think it through. He should have some time to think it through.”

“The law is the law,” Kelsey said. “But all of us have a conscience. I have friends who have been in this business a lot longer than I have. They say there are times when justice is carried out long before a criminal appears before a judge and sentenced. We sometimes turn a blind eye in favor of hope. A judge lets a guy off because of hope. Who has the better perspective? We see the raw person. The judge sees the one all spiffied up and clean. Who is most likely to be fooled?”

“I hate to negotiate for a man I hardly know,” Trace said,
“But I want to save his life or keep him from going to prison for a long, long time.”

“Can your man help me?” Kelsey asked. 

“I’m sure he could,” Trace said.

“Can we arrange a meeting?” Kelsey offered.

“Will this end up with him being tried for murder?” Trace asked.

“We can’t guarantee how he’ll feel,” Kelsey said. “Let’s keep something in mind: you have no proof other than his word that he didn’t murder someone. Maybe he did, and he’s banking on your being naive.”

“He and his friends were passengers on my boat a couple of months ago,” Trace said. “And I do not doubt that the manner in which we departed, I’m probably the last person on earth he would come to for help. I’ve made a couple of friends in Vanuatu, friends you don’t like to be seen with. I’ve called them and they confirmed the guy’s story. So, what do you think?”

Kelsey cocked his head and grimaced. “That’s the word of a drug dealer and guys who you don’t want to be seen with.”

“In the final analysis, I think he knew I treated him and his friends better than they deserved, and I was fair. And—I probably was the last person on earth. He had no place else to go.”

“Can we work together on this?” Kelsey asked.

“Do you have to get approval?” Trace said.

“I’m what they call a PSO, Protective Service Officer,” Kelsey said. “I have a longer leash than regular officers.”

Trace paused and drifted into deep thought.

“You’re on my radar,” Kelsey said. “And to be straightforward, you can’t get off of it. We have to trust each other. I’ll give your man a fair go.”

Trace offered his hand, and Kelsey gripped it firmly.

“I was raised in West Texas cattle country,” Trace said. “A man’s word and handshake is his bond.”

A wry grin flashed on Kelsey’s face. “Ya don’t say, mate. I was raised on a station in Queensland, a proper stockman before going to university and joining the AFP.”

“That’s good to know,” Trace said, his face relaxed into a smile. “We all think alike.”

“What do you plan on doing next?” Kelsey asked.

“I’m going to see Waldo Franks in a day or so,” Trace said. “I’m hoping he can help me get close to the people who killed a man named Erin Hemley, and are trying to frame somebody for it. What’s your next move?”

“I’ll be following you,” Kelsey said.

Trace and Kelsey parted. Kelsey sat in his car, and Trace went to his hotel room.

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 22, Visiting Sneaky Pete’s

This is episode twenty-two 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.  

Visiting Sneaky Pete’s

Trace checked into the motel around the corner from Franks’ casino. By law, Franks had to sell it within ninety days of his conviction. It was sold to a long-time associate and stooge of Franks, named Bernie Beagle. Everything was on paper; no money exchanged hands. The money went from Franks’ account to Beagle’s. And Beagle knew better than to dip into that money for his own benefit. The joke around town was that the only reason Beagle had a driver was that he couldn’t figure out his way to the casino on his own. However, Beagle knew how to follow orders. If a left knee had to be broken, it wasn’t the right. Of course, he had to ask which one was the left.

It was near sunset. Trace called for a cab and took it to Sneaky Pete’s. Pete, the owner, had been with Trace on their last adventure rescuing members of a cult from Flint Island.

When Trace and his dad visited Sneaky Pete’s, a few months earlier, his dad said it had not changed in thirty years. It still needed to be painted, it smelled the same, and the same boards creaked while walking to the bar. The outside had peeling paint, and it was open air.

Trace sat at the bar. Pete, a robust Norwegian, worked behind the bar and gave Trace a double take. “When the heck did you get back in town!?”

“Flew in a few hours ago.”

“Flew in? You sell The Tramp Islander, or did it sink?”

“I had some urgent business here,” Trace said. “The Tramp Islander and the crew are docked at Port Vila.”

“How’s those two young pups working out for you? Have you replaced them yet?”

“Good men,” Trace said. “I’ll have a beer, tap, dark.”

Pete grabbed a glass and drew a dark beer from the tap. “On the house.”

“Thanks.”

“You here from your dad and Talei?” Pete asked. 

“They spent two weeks in Hawaii. They’re at the ranch in Texas now. I called him two weeks ago. Things are fine. He wanted me to stop in and see you and say hi.”

“I’m going to call him,” Pete said.

“He’d like to hear from you.”

“Have you seen Allie yet?” 

“I called her from the hotel. We’re having breakfast tomorrow. Before I see her, how’s she doing?”

“The shipping business is picking up, and she’s picking up with it. That’s what I hear. How are things in Vanuatu?”

“We’ve been very busy.” Trace sipped his beer.”They don’t have beer this good in Vanuatu.”

“You’re not here for beer, are you?” Pete leaned closer.

“I’m here to see how one of my dad’s old friends and my friend is doing,” Trace assured. 

“One of the people you took to Vanuatu, I hear he’s in big trouble,” Pete whispered.

Trace sipped. “So I hear.”

“Without you asking,” Pete said, “if I hear something, I’ll pass it on.”

“Thanks,” Trace said. “What have you heard?”

“One of the guys you had aboard killed the other guy,” Pete said.

Trace twisted the glass of beer around.

“You’ve heard different?” Pete said

Trace slowly nodded his head and blinked slowly.

“So you’re mixed up in it?” Pete asked.

Trace said nothing. 

“Be careful, my friend,” Pete said. “The kind of people you deal with are ruthless. They don’t care about life. Killing is a business reality, as easy as I draw a beer.”

“I sure wish they had this beer in Vanuatu,” Trace said.

Pete left to wait on two men who came in. 

Trace reached behind the counter and picked up the telephone. He called for a cab.

Trace finished his beer and stood. Pete waited on a woman who walked. 

“Thanks for the beer, Pete,” Trace waved.

“Hey,” Pete said, “whatever you need.”

“I may stop in again before leaving,” Pete said, stepping toward the doorway. 

He waited outside for a couple of minutes before the car arrived. 

Trace climbed into the cab. He sat in the back seat. “Aren’t you the driver who brought me?”

“That’s me,” the driver said.

“Take me back to the hotel.”

The driver pulled into the road.

“Aren’t you the son of Adam Troy?”

Trace grinned. “I am.”

“I know your dad good. He was here a few months ago.”

“Dad and I sailed together for a few months,” Trace said. “How do you know him?”

“We go way back. I was teenage boy when I met your dad. He take me to find my mother.” 

“Are you Danny Boy?” Pete asked

“That me,” Danny Boy smiled.

“Dad told me about you. You sailed with him for a while, didn’t you?”

“Yep, we have good time. He get me out of big fight one time. He always help low dog. That what you do now, you helping someone.”

“What makes you think I am?”

“I look in mirror. See you face. Same face you dad had. You can tell when man only help self or when help other. You got look.”

“I bet you’re a whiz at poker,” Trace said. “Yeah, I’m helping someone and don’t know how I can.”

“I take you to hotel. Park across street. You need me, I there.”

“You’ll lose fares.”

“No big deal. I do this for you free. I know what you do is good for somebody. I know it secret too.”

“The look on my face?”

“Yeah, I know when man have secret.”

“You should give up the cab and get on the poker circuit.”

The Double-Cross In Paradise; Episode 21, Visiting Franks

This is episode twenty-one 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. 

Visiting Franks

The plane to Suva was a small passenger twin prop. Trace sat at a window and watched the sea below. ‘This is a terrible way to experience the sea,’ he thought. ‘I can’t imagine being an airplane pilot in the South Seas. I’d have to drink while flying. It’s beyond boring. How do they do it?’

The plane suddenly lurched, and there were gasps from the fifteen passengers. 

“That was just some turbulence,” the pilot said over the intercom. 

‘At least on The Tramp Islander, you expect it and can see it coming.’

Fiji airport was on the west coast of the island, and Suva was near the east coast. 

‘I bet it will take me longer to get from the airport to Suva than from Port Vila to Fiji,’ he thought.

The flight lasted two and a half hours. He rented a car. He drove three hours before parking a block from the prison in Suva. Fifteen minutes after leaving the car, Waldo Franks sat in front of him at a table in the prison’s visiting room.

“How is my son doing?” Franks asked.

“He’s a good seaman,” Trace smiled. “I have him charting and piloting the boat on his own.”

“What about the other guy?” Franks asked.

“He’s a good seaman too,” Trace said. “If you’re asking for a comparison, you’d be proud of Paul.”

“How are you doing?” Trace asked.

“I’m doing well,” Franks smiled and bobbed his head.

“You look as if you’re holding something back from me,”  Trace returned the smile.

“I’ll tell you in a bit,” Franks said, “but I thought it would be good to let you know that you are being followed.”

“How do you know that?” Trace said.

“It’s the police,” Franks said. “They’ve been watching you for a couple of weeks.”

“Why?”

“Small sailing ship, cargo, going to small out-of-the-way islands,” Franks said. “Routine. Justifying their existence.”

“Is that the word or your intuition?” Trace asked.

“That’s the word,” Franks assured.

“Do you know why I’m here?” 

“No,” Franks said. “You flew and left your boat and crew at Port Vila.”

“I have a stowaway on The Tramp Islander.”

“Now there’s something I don’t know.”

“He’s hiding out from the law and drug smugglers.”

“How can you tell the difference?” Franks chortled and bounced. “Let me guess, they suspect him of stealing drugs or the money.”

“Murder,” Trace said coldly.

Franks rubbed his chin. “Why are you hiding him away?”

“He’s innocent.”

“So am I!” Franks smiled broadly and flipped his hand around. “And so is everybody in here. We’ve all been framed. Now, how’s the freight business in Vanuatu? How’s their soccer team? They usually have a pretty good one.”

Trace continued with a cold stare.

“You’re not amused, are you?” Franks said.

“Check it out,” Trace said. “I could have laughed in your face six months ago when you were desperate. I didn’t. I helped you when all logic suggested I walk out of here and forget you existed. I’m not saying you owe me anything. You owe me nothing. I’ll go back to The Tramp Islander and give your son his walking papers. I don’t want anything that I do to evolve your son to come back on me.” Trace stood. “I hope you enjoyed my visit.”

“Sit,” Franks said.

Trace sat.

“Does Paul know about this?”

“He does.”

“Is he willing to go along with it?”

“He had some reservations. Everybody did. But he’s willing to help in any way he can.”

“What’s in it for him?” Franks leaned closer.

“When I was a little boy, I went fishing on a steam that ran through our land. I went alone. My line got tangled on a log in the middle of the stream. I walked out to get it untangled. I got swept away. An old cowpoke from our ranch was out rounding up steers. He heard me yelling for help. He came, tossed a rope, and pulled me to the bank—saved my life. I’ve been paying it back ever since. I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but it rings as true to me as the sunrise.”

Franks’ gaze moved to a small window on the wall near the ceiling. It allowed the sunlight in.

“He’s becoming the people I’ve mocked,” Franks said.

“It’s funny, in a way,” Franks continued. “I wanted him to walk into my casino and look around and say, ‘Wow, this is all yours. I’m so proud of you.’ I don’t think I want him to see what I’ve done. He is morally superior. Morally superior people have never bothered me. But what I see in my son is not moral superiority, but only a good person who doesn’t think of himself as better.”

“He struggles with things,” Trace said. “Maybe you should.”

“At this moment, I’m not seeing it, but I’m willing to try,” Franks said. “I see something in him. I’m not sure what it is. But I know it’s good. And I want to have a little bit of it, just to see what it is. I’m not sure you understand.”

“More than you know,” Trace said. 

“What is it you want?”

“You can find out who killed Patterson Beaushon’s friend, Erin Hemley, with a few phone calls,” Trace said. “Knowing and proving are miles apart. I want your advice on how to get close to those who did it—or something. Just as there are things about me you will never understand, there are things that I will never understand about…”

“About my kind?” Franks said.

“Yeah,” Trace said.

“How long are you in town for?”

“As long as it takes.”

“It may take three or four days,” Franks said. “Where will you be staying?”

“That place around the corner from the casino.”

“I’ll get word to you when I have something.”

Trace stood and looked at the prisoner’s door to the visiting room. “Where are the guards?”

“They don’t escort me anymore.”

“What do you do, come and go as you please?”

“Not quite,” Franks grinned, “but almost.”

“You mentioned you had something for me?”

“Yeah,” Franks grinned. “My sentence is about to be commuted.”

“To what?”

“I may be on the flight to Port Vila, right after yours,” Franks said. “Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it could happen in a month or two.”

“How did that happen?”

“I got juice.”