This is the thirty-two episode of the novel Two Tamas in Paradise. There are fifty episodes. This is the fourth novel in the Trace Troy South Pacific Adventure series.
It may now be purchased on Amazon. It is available in paperback or Kindle digital format.
The Pretty Good Escape
Trace and Coyote stood across the street from the police station. Adam stood several yards away.
“You should have shaved,” Trace said. “You look like a lawyer who is desperate for a case; haven’t had a client in years.”
“It’s the perfect look,” Adam said.
“Anytime you’re ready, Barrister Troy,” Trace said.
Adam strolled toward the main entrance to the police station with a leather folder from The Tramp Islander’s chart desk.
“I’m ready,” Coyote said.
Trace walked nonchalantly down a side street adjacent to the police station. They made their way through some shrubs and walked across a small parking lot belonging to the police station.
Trace found the side door that the boy told them about. He slowly turned the handle and opened it. He turned and smiled at Coyote. They quietly walked along a small hallway and turned left into a long hallway. They listened for any commotion from the lobby of the police station.
They heard Adam’s voice, loud and demanding. A door opened further toward the front of the hallway. Two policemen rushed from the open door and into the lobby.
Trace lightly tapped on the second door.
“Who is it?” A voice said.
“That’s Calvin,” Trace said and opened the door.
All four were sitting on benches against the wall of the room. All of them sprang, standing. Their eyes wide, and mouths nearly agape.
“We’re breaking you out,” Trace whispered.
“What!” Maxwell said.
“We may be shot escaping,” Calvin said.
“These guys don’t carry guns,” Trace said. “Now let’s go.”
“The motor to the getaway boat is running,” Coyote quipped.
They followed Trace and Coyote out of the room. They stopped in the hallway.
“What’s going on up there?” Maxwell said, motioning with his head toward the lobby.
“That’s Adam pretending to be your lawyer and creating a diversion,” Trace said. “Now let’s go.”
They ducked out the side door and retraced the route of Trace and Coyote.
“Coyote,” Trace said, “take them back to the boat. I’m going to wait here to make sure Dad gets out.”
Coyote led the passengers away.
Trace stood across the street from the police station. Two policemen shoved Adam out the front entrance. Adam turned toward them and shouted something about a miscarriage of justice, legal rights of the innocent, and police corruption.
“Don’t overplay it,” Trace whispered loudly.
Adam straightened his tie and jacket. He walked away as if nothing had happened.
“Played perfect,” Trace whispered to himself.
Trace waited for Adam, and they walked quietly back to The Tramp Islander. They saw Sage climbing aboard.
“It looks like Sage has completed his mission,” Adam said.
As they walked toward The Tramp Islander, Makani held a line in one hand and waved furiously with the other. Trace and Adam began to trot.
“How’s your heart?” Trace said.
“Never felt better,” Adam said.
They walked across the gangplank and pulled it onto the boat.
Sage, at the wheel, slid the throttle forward. The engine rumbled. The Tramp Islander slowly parted from the dock.
“So far, so good,” Adam said.
“This is the type of thing fathers and sons should do,” Trace said and grinned. “It’s a bonding moment.”
Adam reached up and ruffled Trace’s hair. “I’m going below and get out of this monkey suit.” And he climbed down the forward companionway.
Trace walked to the pilothouse and entered through the aft door. “Did you get all the wires pulled?” Trace said, approaching Sage.
Sage steered and turned around. He grinned. “You should have seen it. Sparks flew all over the place. I ran, and when I got on the dock, I turned around and looked at the bridge. It was like a little party going on.”
“I never thought,” Trace said, “but Makani was waving so fast I assumed everyone was onboard. It would be a pity if we left your dad and the passenger back there.”
“Yeah,” Sage said, “I’d pity the island.”
Trace grabbed the mic, “Everybody onboard.”
There was quiet. Fear struck the faces of Trace and Sage.
“Oh, no,” Trace said.
“Yeah,” came a collective yell from below.
“Whoa,” Sage said, “I was about ready to crap my pants.”
Trace glanced starboard and port. “I think we are out of the harbor.”
“You want to take over?” Sage asked. “Dad and I can hoist the sails.”
“Go ahead,” Trace said. “We should be in international waters in another hour and a half.”
“It will be a week before they repair the wiring,” Sage said. “I’m sure it’s union labor.”
Sage dashed below to get Coyote. Soon, they were on deck raising the sails.
Trace stood at the wheel. He heard footsteps from the companionway. It was Maxwell.
“Can I come into the pilothouse?” Maxwell said.
“No,” Trace retorted. “We’ll talk later. Right now, I have a crew and a boat to worry about.”
Maxwell slowly gave a nod and sank back below.
Trace steered on. He looked aft, like a man on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder and driven by fear. ‘That’s an island we can never return to,’ he thought. ‘If word spreads, we’ll be under suspicion wherever it spreads. That’s not the reputation I want for me, the crew, or The Tramp Islander. They were unjustly held. However, I feel the right thing was done. The police may have been corrupt.’
Trace continued to look in all directions for any fast-approaching vessel. He glanced at his instruments for the exact location.
More than an hour passed.
Adam climbed up the companionway in his work clothes, khaki shirt, and pants. “Are they on our trail?”
“I don’t think so,” Trace said.
“Is something bothering you?” Adam said. “I think you’re steering more than this boat.”
“Sort of tussling with my conscience,” Trace said. “Back there, did I do the right thing. I decided for everybody to break the law.”
“Any one of us could have said, ‘I’m out,’” Adam said. “But we didn’t, not one of us—no hesitation.”
“It feels right,” Trace said, “but feelings are deceptive. They often lead you to do the wrong thing. People follow their hearts all the time, and it is wrong.”
“Sometimes the right thing is so obvious it doesn’t take a lot of thinking,” Adam said. “True, that may also turn out to be wrong. Sometimes there are facts hidden from us. With the facts presented to us, we could have let it go and said, well, there may be another side to the story. We chose to believe a boy.”
“This is sounding flimsy,” Trace said.
“Not at all,” Adam said. “It seems like only yesterday, your mom said her labor started with you. We got in the truck and I had it floored heading down the road to the hospital. I was doing ninety-plus. Here comes a county sheriff’s car. I don’t pull over. He pulls beside me, sees what’s going on, and takes the lead. I was breaking the law. I could have delivered you if need be. I put other lives at risk to get your mom to the hospital. And that’s what the deputy told me after you were born. He didn’t write a ticket. He could have, and no matter what the circumstances, I’d have gladly paid it. Your mom didn’t deliver for another week. In a way, we both made the right decision and the wrong one. Right and wrong are not black and white, and black and white is not right and wrong. It sometimes depends on how much light is available.”
“That’s something I’ll have to think over,” Trace said.
“Here’s something, too,” Adam said. “That kid who told us everything. He knows the police are corrupt; at least the ones involved. He was brave. He was trying to even justice. When he hears about this whole thing, he’s going to feel good. And if that boy knows about the corruption, there are a whole lot of others who do. Likely tomorrow they will be drinking a toast to that boy’s bravery and to us.”
“They say there’s ten thousand islands in the South Pacific,” Trace said. “And there are fifteen islands in the Cook Islands. I don’t think I’ll miss the Cook Islands.”
“And,” Adam smiled, “I don’t think they’ll miss you either.”
Maxwell’s head popped into the pilothouse again. “I know what you told me, but we haven’t had a bite to eat since morning. They didn’t feed us while we were in custody.”
“I’m sorry, Maxwell, “Trace said. He grabbed the mic. “Makani, our passengers haven’t eaten since this morning. I’ll be down to help you fix something.”
“Aye aye, captain,” Makani said through the intercom.
“I’ll take over,” Adam said.
Trace looked at the instruments. He swirled in the chair and looked at the chart. “We’re in international waters now. Sail another fifteen minutes and set a due forty-eight degree heading.”
“Aye aye, captain,” Adams said.
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