This is the seventh episode of the novel I'm currently writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. I'm about halfway through my first rewrite, and I think it will be completed in six or eight weeks. I hope you enjoy this episode, and more will follow.
Episode 7
Trace visited three brokers. They were less than enthusiastic. The next two days kept him busy setting up accounts and making certain all legal and insurance matters were up to date. Spence wasn’t completely inept. However, Trace still had to lay out a couple of thousand dollars to bring everything up to date.
Trace drove to the fuel depot. He needed to fill the tanks if he was going hull cargo anyplace. At the depot, a secretary introduced Trace to Mr. Bordau, a man speaking English with a French accent. His office was dirty and smelled like a gas station.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Troy?”
“I’m the new owner of The Poerava.”
“Congratulations.”
“I want to set up an account.”
“I can’t sell you any petrol until the account is paid,” Bordau smiled politely.
“There is another depot,” Trace said.
“He won’t sell you petrol either,” Bordau smiled bigger.
“I think you are trying to extort money from me,” Trace said firmly.
“How so?”
“The money is owed to you by Spencer, not me nor The Poerava. That’s how the invoices are made out. It’s to Spence personally. Not his boat or business. I buy a car and the previous owner owes a gas bill it doesn’t pass on to the new owner nor is it attached to the car. It is very simple.”
“With shipping it is different. The debt goes with the ship. It is like back taxes.”
“Find yourself better legal advice. I spoke with a Maritime layer yesterday about this very thing. The debt belongs to the previous owner. That’s how you sold it.”
“I won’t sell you a drop of fuel. Go elsewhere.”
Bordau rose and extended his hand. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do business.”
Trace’s eyes dropped to look at Bordau’s empty hand. “I don’t shake hands unless there’s a deal. I can assure you of one thing, every time I come to this port I’ll have enough fuel to get me to the next depot. I’ll never buy fuel here.” Trace grabbed Bordeau’s hand before he could pull it away. “Now that’s my deal.”
Trace gave a crooked smile and left.
Trace hailed a cab and had the driver take him to Chumley Oil. It was a fenced-in place with three large fuel storage tanks. A man greeted him at the door to the small office.
“Are you that Troy fellow?” Chumley said with a New Zealand accent.
“Yes I am,” Trace flashed that crooked smile.
“Well it’s a small island,” Chumley said. “I got a call from Bordeau.”
“I take it, I’m wasting my time,” Trace said.
“Nah,” Chumley said. “Come on in, let’s get things started.”
They walked into the office. Chumley sat behind a well-used desk stacked with papers.
“How much are you going to need?” Chumley asked.
“Five hundred gallons.”
“Tomorrow morning okay?”
“That will be fine. It’s The Paurova. I’ll need my propane filled too.”
Chumley quickly added the figures on the adding machine. He filled out an invoice and handed it to Trace. “Due in thirty days.”
“I was thinking about paying for it now,” Trace said.
“Now?”
“Cash,” Trace said.
“Cash?” Chumley squinted his eyes and turned his ear toward Trace.
“Cash,” Trace affirmed.
“My lord,” Chumley said, “can’t wait to tell Bordeau.”
Trace counted out the money and Chumley handed him a receipt.
Trace rode back to the harbor in a cab. A man in a beige suit sat on a piling. As Trace walked toward The Poerava, the man stood.
“Are you Captain of this ship?” The man said.
“Yeah, Trace Troy.”
“Arthur Hamilton,” he said. “I heard you’re for hire.”
“Did a broker send you?”
“No, I heard from a business associate who heard a broker talking to somebody.”
“I need a small bulldozer and materials sent to Pualu.”
“I’m new in this part of the world and have no idea where Pualu is. But if it’s on a chart, I can find it.”
“It’s almost 600 miles from here,” Hamilton said.
“That’s going to cost a lot. The tip will cost more than the bulldozer,” Trace said.
“I think make it worth your while,” Hamilton said. “The company I work for and their investors want to develop a couple of islands in that area. The islands are out of the way. I can probably fill your ship with building materials every week or so. The larger ships won’t make the trip. They will have to return empty. We need somebody we can work with.”
“Does that mean you’ll pay us a charter fee for the return trip?” Trace said.
“Yes,” Hamilton said. “Since you sail, the fuel costs will be negligible.”
“That means you are propitiatory, right?” Trace said.
“There will be a contract,” Hamilton said. “And we expect our cargo to take priority.”
“Normally a contract like that means you get bullied and manipulated,” Trace pressed his lips and stared into Hamilton’s eyes.”
“I’ll not deny there may be demands,” Hamilton said, “but I’m the project manager. I’ve been at this a long time. Businesses are built on hard work, meeting demands, and reputation—yours and mine. You have no reputation. Your previous owner has. From what I hear you’ll be the type of man to change that reputation.”
“That’s what I intend,” Trace said, “but what about you.”
“If I don’t treat you right, we can kiss this project goodbye. Hire a good lawyer, he’ll find a loophole. Investors will not be happy. Then, my reputation will be in question. My next project may be a storage depot in the Aleutians.”
Trace grinned. “I just got done spending two years in the Aleutians. They don’t need any storage depots.”
“Can we do business, Mr. Troy?” Hamilton said.
“The question is, can I make money,” Trace said. “And I think I can. You have me coming back empty. Taking the time to pick up a small shipment spreads my reputation. When you’re project is over, I have to have something to rely on. If I’m always turning down business, it will be like a barbershop that’s never open because the barber is too busy trimming the hair of a rich guy. The rich guy dies, and the barber has no customers.”
“I’ve been in these parts for almost a month,” Hamilton said. “I’ve talked and listened. There may be some shipping between the islands on your way back. I’d check with the brokers. Before you leave with a shipment, you will always know when the next shipment is due. If you have a couple of days to spend, I don’t care if you spend it hauling cargo or getting drunk. The contract has in it words like ‘reasonable.’”
“I’ll have to talk the brokers into taking a chance with me,” Trace said. “The Poerava doesn’t have a good reputation in these parts. I’ve thought about going elsewhere.”
“It’s the man who has the bad reputation, not the boat,” Hamilton said.
“I understand that,” Trace said. “Folks have a hard time separating the two. Plus, when they found out I won The Poevara in a poker game that does nothing to enhance any reputation.”
“You can always change the name of the boat,” Hamilton suggested.
“That rolled off the tongue pretty quickly,” Trace said.
“I’ve changed the names of a few companies and projects in my professional career,” Hamilton said wryly.
“Trade secret?” Trace asked.
“Not so much. It’s done all the time.”
“What are you suggesting?” Trace asked.
“Businessman to businessman, professional to professional, change the name of your boat,” Hamilton raised his eyebrows.
“Well,” Trace extended his hand, “I’ll change the name and we’re partners.”
Hamilton gripped Trace’s hand. “Keep that in mind, every customer, every employee, every contractor is a partner and everybody else is a potential customer, employee, and contractor.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Trace said.
Hamilton smiled and placed his left hand on Trace’s shoulder. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “It’s not advice; it’s the terms of the contract.”
“When do we start loading?” Trace said.
“Do you have a crew?”
“Two men. They came with the boat. Good men, experienced,” Trace said. “But I’m going to hire two more men.”
“I have three trucks loaded with material,” Hamilton said. “They can be here starting tomorrow morning. That load is worthless unless it includes a small bulldozer with accessories. The last I heard it is somewhere near here on a ship. Delivery is expected in three days. I’m expecting some red tape delays, so I’d just say, off-hand, you will likely have five days to load up and get ready.”
“We’ll start loading right as soon as your trucks arrive,” Trace said.
“I talked to a broker last week,” Hamilton said. “Not really; I talked to several brokers. They couldn’t help me. That’s why I went around them. But I came across this older lady. Well, not older, probably just ten or fifteen years older than me. Her husband was a broker and he died a couple of years ago. She’s trying to make a go of it. We can run all this through her. It would make things easier for us. Sometimes relationships can get strained. It’s nice to have somebody in between us. Every broker around here works for fifteen percent. She’ll work for ten. She might be able to help you with some cargo on a return trip. That way you don’t come home empty and she’ll know your restraints. If she knows your boat, she’ll be able to know what it takes to fill it and keep you happy. Allie Carmichael, a Brit.” Hamilton pulled her business card from his shirt pocket. She treated me like an unwelcome bill collector. I think that’s her way but if a good-looking young guy comes in there, she might treat him a bit better.”
Trace looked at the card. “Thanks. It looks like she’s only a short walk away.”
“Do you have a card?” Trace said.
Hamilton removed a leather business card holder from the inside lapel pocket of his jacket. He handed not to Trace. “My room number at the Suva Suites is on the back.
Hamilton walked to his car and drove away.
Trace checked the card of the broker again and stepped in the direction of the address. Chuck and Sean walked toward him with a scrawny young Polynesian boy. The boy carried a bag on his shoulder.
“We found ya somebody,” Chuck said,
“It would have been nice if I could have made the decision or at least pretend I made the decision,” Trace said.
“You said it was up to us,” Sean said.
“It was a weak moment,” Trace said.
“His name is Makani,” Sean said.
“He worked for a plantation owner,” Chuck said.
“He’s got three years of experience,” Sean said.
“He can cook anything,” Chuck said.
“He doesn’t get seasick,” Sean said.
“He even has a passport,” Chuck said.
“Yeah, the plantation owner took him to Australia with him,” Seas said.
“Does he sign?” Trace asked.
“You mean like sign language?” Sean said.
“Yeah.”
“Why would he have to know how to sign?” Sean said. “We don’t sign.”
“I was wondering,” Trace said, “You two have done all the talking for him. I figured he couldn’t talk.”
“Sorry,” the said.
“I do have a question for you two,” Trace said. “Did you ask his age? There are restrictions.”
“No we didn’t,” Sean said.
“I’m twenty,” Makani said.
“You don’t look a day over fifteen,” Trace said.
“Like they said, I have a passport,” Makani said.
“Can you cook and keep a clean galley?” Trace asked.
“I can do that and more,” Makani said with a surprisingly deep and mature voice. “I may look like a boy but I can outwork a lot of men.”
“Show him his cabin and where to stow his gear,” Trace said. “We got cargo coming in the morning. Petrol will be delivered tomorrow too. Makani, have a meal ready at five. I have some business to take care of. After you load three trucks, you’ll have to find room for a small bulldozer.”
“How big?” Sean said.
Trace clicked his cheek. “You guys don’t find out how old a guy is and I don’t find out how big of a bulldozer we have to ship.”
“Rookie,” Sean joked.
The guy we’re shipping for has done this a lot,” Trace said. “I don’t think he’d have us hull something that we couldn’t handle. In the meantime, go over the boat and make sure we’re ready to take on cargo.”
“Where will we be going?” Chuck said.
“Puala,” Trace said.
“I’ve heard of it,” Chuck said.
“How far?” Sean said.
“Six hundred miles,” Trace said.
“Let’s get started,” Sean said.
Sean, Chuck, and Makani walked to the ship and climbed aboard.
