Thursday, March 24
“Bulldog, come here.” Harry was standing beside an open crate in Spike Africa’s hold. Wood shavings spilled onto the deck. “What do you make of this?”
“Bones,” Bulldog said.
“Yeah, I gathered that,” Harry said. “What kind of bones? Look at the size of them. You think we’re smuggling elephant bones?”
“Who would pay us this much money to smuggle elephant bones?” Bulldog said.
Harry passed Bulldog the crowbar. “Open another crate but be careful not to damage anything. I don’t want Hoffer knowing.”
Bulldog opened a second crate and cleared the packing material. He sucked in his breath.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
“I’m pretty sure this is the skull of Tyrannosaurus Rex.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“We’re smuggling dinosaur bones?” Harry said. “How do you know?”
“I was a Paleontology geek as a kid,” Bulldog said. “Especially dinosaurs. I’m pretty sure this is a T. Rex. If not, it’s something equally old.”
“Why?” Harry said.
“I was a kid. I didn’t know better,” Bulldog said.
“Why are we smuggling the bones of extinct animals?” Harry said. “They’re extinct, right? Who cares?”
“The government of the United States, for one,” Bulldog said, caressing the dinosaur skull. “These bones were probably smuggled out of Mongolia. It’s against the law. There are international sanctions. People pay big money to add them to private collections.”
“People collect dinosaur bones?” Harry asked.
“People collect almost anything,” Bulldog said.
“Harry, you need to get up here,” Nit called from the cockpit.
“Seal these crates so they look like they’ve never been opened,” Harry said, then climbed out of the hold onto the deck.
“What’s the problem?” he asked Nit.
“Them,” Nit said and hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
In the moonlight, Harry could see the white hull and orange slash of a Coast Guard cutter on the same course a mile astern.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” Harry said. “We’re in one of the most heavily trafficked shipping lanes on the coast. It’s probably just a coincidence. For Christ’s sake, don’t stare. Act like you’re completely innocent.”
“If I was completely innocent, I’d stare,” Nit said.
When Bulldog stuck his head out of the companionway, the cutter was only a quarter mile astern and closing. “Holy shit,” he said and disappeared back into the cabin. He returned with an ancient AK-47 and chambered a round.
“What the hell is that?” Harry shouted.
“I’m not going down without a fight,” Bulldog said.
“You idiot. That antique will probably blow up in your hands. If they do board us, you’ve just made it worse. They’re too close to throw the damned thing overboard. It will look suspicious as hell. What else did you bring onboard?”
“A machete. Brass knuckles. A Claymore.”
“A Claymore? You thought we’d need an anti-personnel mine? Get back on deck and keep pumping. And leave that crap below.”
When the cutter was alongside, separated by only a few hundred yards of water, a bright spotlight raked the schooner from bow to stern. A few crewmen were on the cutter’s bow near the .50 caliber machine gun, still covered. The crew rested their forearms on the rail.
“Act natural,” Harry hissed between clenched teeth, then turned and waved at the cutter.
A voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “Are you in need of any assistance?”
“No,” Harry shouted between cupped hands. “Batteries are dead. Pumping by hand. We’ll make port.”
There was a long pause and the voice boomed again. “Do you want us to report your position?”
“Not necessary. We’ll be in Port Angeles in a few hours. Thank you.”
There was a longer pause. Harry bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.
“Safe passage,” the cutter broadcast and steered away.
“Hellfire and damnation,” Bulldog whispered between clenched teeth.
“Mind your course,” was all Harry said.
By the time they anchored in Slee’s Bay, they were exhausted. They were on the downhill side of night. The Milky Way spanned the sky. They loaded the first crates into the longboat and pulled for shore, Nit on the oars, Harry in the stern.
Nit stopped rowing and looked around. “What are we doing here?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Harry said. “We’re offloading crates full of bones.”
“I mean, Tse-whit-zen,” Nit said. “This is Tse-whit-zen.” The big man seemed to shrink. “I’m not going near that place.”
“This is where we’re landing the goods. This is where the trucks are waiting.”
“It’s a graveyard.” Nit shook his head slowly and set his jaw. “I’m not defiling sacred ground.”
“They’re dead,” Harry insisted. “Dead as dinosaur bones. What does it matter? We deliver the crates, we get paid. Everybody’s happy.”
Nit could not be moved. “You don’t mess with the dead without consequences.”
Harry couldn’t budge the bigger man and couldn’t wrest the oars from him without upsetting the heavily laden longboat. They returned to the schooner.
“Get out,” he ordered Nit. He took the oars himself. “Bulldog, get in.” Harry glowered at Nit and spit into the bay.
“You’re late,” Sully said when they finally beached the longboat. “You should have been here hours ago.”
“It’s a sailboat, for Christ’s sake,” Harry said. “Schedules are aspirational.”
“Whatever. Just get the stuff ashore before people wake up. The trucks have been here for hours already.”
By the time they unloaded the longboat, Harry realized they wouldn’t finish the entire cargo in the darkness remaining.
“What are we going to do?” Bulldog asked.
“I have an idea,” Harry said. “Row me to the wharf. I need to make arrangements ashore.”
Bulldog waited for Harry at the wharf 30 minutes before he heard the rumbling of a diesel engine. Out of the darkness, an amphibious truck appeared, shouldering the water aside. Harry stood at the wheel. He drove the truck alongside the longboat.
“Shit, Harry. You stole Qwackers?”
“Borrowed,” Harry said. “I have every intention of returning it when the job is done. Climb onboard. We’ll tow the longboat. Hurry up. We’re burning darkness.”
Qwackers allowed them to offload the entire cargo in a single trip. Nit remained onboard the schooner, carrying crates from the hold and lowering them over the side. It took Harry and Bulldog both to stow them in the boat.
Harry drove Qwackers onto the beach, over the dunes, and to the parking lot where Hoffer’s trucks were parked. When Qwackers returned to the water, Sully used a tree branch to brush away the truck tracks in the sand. “Saw it on an episode of Bonanza,” he said.
Harry and Bulldog were motoring back to the boat ramp, towing the schooner’s longboat astern, when Bulldog noticed his shoes were wet. There was water rising above the floorboards of the Duck.
“Harry, we have a problem. I think we’re sinking.”
“What do you mean, sinking?” Harry said.
“I mean the water level is rising above the floorboards,” Bulldog said. “That’s not normal.”
By the time they got the hatch covers off the engine compartment, the water was above their ankles and rising fast. “No time,” Harry said. “Abandon ship.”
They pulled the longboat alongside and got in just as Qwackers took a headlong dive to the bottom of the harbor. Only a greasy sheen and a few bilious bubbles remained to mark its passage.
“Damn,” Harry said. “We almost got away with it. A few more yards and we would have made the shore.” They returned to the schooner.
In the morning, after sleeping several hours, Harry rowed the crew ashore. He still wasn’t talking to Nit.
A crowd had gathered on the beach. A sheriff’s boat lay just offshore. A diver surfaced and tapped the top of his head with his hand. Harry landed the longboat at the wharf, then joined the crowd.
Sandy Crab, still dressed in blue flowered pajamas, was talking to a Port Angeles policeman. “…those damned squatters,” he said, pointing toward Shantytown. “And that degenerate dwarf. He’s a ringleader. Bolsheviks, the bunch of them.”
“A dwarf,” the policeman said.
“Don’t be fooled by his size,” Sandy said. “He’s dangerous.”
“A dangerous dwarf.” The officer seemed incredulous.
“I want him arrested,” Sandy said. “I want them all arrested. Atheists, radicals, breeding in their filthy nest like rats. They resent my success. You better take me seriously, officer. I have influence with the city council.”
Harry found it hard to take a man in blue flowered pajamas seriously.
In mythology, the hero descends to the underworld. What happens when the underworld ascends? Whistlepig, a serialized fiction. Table of contents.
@ Copyright 2018 Charles Thrasher All rights reserved.