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.
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