Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,8
as white trash Pablo Escobar,” he announces, with a dramatic wave of his hand and an exaggerated bow.
I tug on a fitted baseball cap with Logan’s Beach Septic printed across the top onto my head. I make sure the brim is low over my eyes and my hair is tucked inside so I won’t be too recognizable if caught on any traffic or security cameras. The same logo is painted on the side of the truck and embroidered on the back of our coveralls. “I’m not gonna lie,” I tell him, pondering the name. “I don’t fucking hate the name. White Trash Pablo Escobar.” I chuckle. “I should have business cards printed.”
“Dick,” Nine laughs.
Thirty minutes later, we’re at the dock. It’s over an hour before the boat we’ve been waiting for slowly pulls in. “Charley’s Charters,” I read the name on the side of the boat quietly to Nine. “That’s the one.”
The fifty foot fishing boat finds its way into the empty slip we’re standing in front of, and the engine is cut. The large off-shop fishing poles mounted into the holders at the back of the boat rattle and bounce with the boat’s movements. A rope is thrown down over the side and then another, landing at our feet. Nine and I make quick work of rigging the vessel to the dock.
A man with a long, black beard and an actual white captain's hat climbs down from the secondary steering wheel perched several feet above the main deck. Four men wearing polo shorts and button-down Hawaiian-style shirts climb and meet him at the back of the boat where another man wearing a Charley’s Charter shirt opens a small gate and lowers the steps. “Gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed your time out there today. I told you that you were all fishermen, and I think you proved me right today.”
“Great time!”
“We’ll do it again!”
“Great meeting you, Captain!” The three men respond as they hobble off the boat, a bit tipsy and laughing, slapping each other on the back with smiles on their sunburnt raccoon faces. They make their way up the steps toward the parking lot behind the indoor boat storage building without so much as acknowledging us as they pass.
“Boys, do what you gotta do,” the captain says with none of the cheeriness he’d just shown his charter clients. His first mate is already cleaning out the coolers. “I don’t know a thing.”
I shrug. “So then, you won’t need to get paid.”
He twists his lips. His face reddens. “You know what I mean. Just get it over with.”
Nine jogs over to the septic truck which is parked so the back is facing us just above the lowered dock area. He pulls off the hose and jogs it back down to the dock, plugging it into the boat's sewage disposal system. He flips the switch, and the sound of a large vacuum fills the air. The captain reaches the dock and stands beside me. He bends over to tie his shoe, and his hat falls to the wooden planks. I pick it up, and before handing it back to him, I pull the envelope of cash from my coveralls and place it inside.
The captain pretends he doesn’t see it, and folds his hat in his hands, walking off into the night with a whistle on his lips.
The first mate waddles down the ramp with two buckets in his hand. He’s glaring at the captain’s back.
“Hey, man,” I stop him. “You okay?” I need to make sure this operation is going to go smoothly, and if the first mate is about to murder the captain in the parking lot, it’s attention I can’t afford.
“I know what you guys are doing,” he says, still staring at where the captain is now long gone.
I eye him warily and reach behind my back, feeling for my gun underneath my coveralls. “And? What exactly does that mean to you?”
He meets my gaze, realizing what he just said his face pales. The kid is no more than eighteen years old. He’s scared, but he’s too pissed at the captain to understand how fucked he might be depending on his next choice of words. “I made eighty fucking dollars today. The charter was over fifteen hundred, and the fat fuck didn’t lift a finger. The fishing spots we went to are all ones I’ve found on my own, and when we docked in the Bahamas, I’m the one who loaded your shipment. Not him.” He looks at