Anna bid.
“Goodnight,” Lethe said, and then he walked away, leaving five one-hundred-dollar bills on the table to cover the tab.
««—»»
“Eh man, all done here,” said the lanky black man, who headed the marina crew, as he handed Jason an invoice for the work. The man in the army issue jacket that said EMMERSOM was all teeth under his mustache.
Jason signed it and handed it back. “Heavy son a bitch.”
“Damn straight. Weighed more than my Uncle Albert.”
“What’s that?”
“Took twelve of us pall bearers, and he was in a pine box. The old bastard ate fried clams three times a day at Benny’s when he was workin’ the dock. You ever had a plate of fried clams at Benny’s, man?”
“Uh, no,” Jason replied.
“Pile of clams bigger than your head. No wonder Uncle Albert weighted four-fifty when he kicked.”
Jason didn’t give a hoot about Emmersom’s uncle, but he knew what he was getting at. He felt the flush in his cheeks and a cold razor’s edge work up his spine. He had to admit, the crate looked like it could hold a coffin. “Tell me, you saying you think that’s a coffin?”
“I think nothin’, but whatever is in that thing ain’t secured, like machinery would be, you dig?”
Hmm. The crate was meticulously packed, a steel box on the outside, which stood to reason considering what Lethe claimed to be in it. But—
Jason shuddered. A hazy chill of old childhood dreams came back.… ashes to ashes, dust to…
“Man, you all right? You look pale.”
“Just a long night.”
“With that bouncy little German thing? Shee-it, I’d probably look pale too,” Emmersom barked. Jason just smiled and let it go. But the chill hung on as they stood a moment more to look at the huge crate now secured in the master stateroom.
“And it was a perfect bitch gettin’ down here, hadda practically take the whole companionway apart and put it back together.”
“Hey, better you than me,” Jason laughed.
Emmersom displayed his middle finger. “And just what kind of a fuckin’ nut’d wanna do that anyway?”
Lethe, Jason thought. A nut? “I wouldn’t necessarily call him a nut. Eccentric, maybe. And what are you griping about, man? The four bills I gave you to haul this thing down here came from him.”
“Next time, keep it. And what’s this shit? Says on the shipping invoice it’s a ‘anteekee’ footstand,” Emmersom remarked. “What dah crap’s a footstand, man?”
“It’s a,” Jason began. Then he frowned. “Don’t ask unless you want to hear a lot of shit about King Richard’s ransom note.”
“Shee-it.” Emmersom chuckled, lit a butt. “Well I’ll tell ya what it ain’t. It ain’t a box full’a drugs.”
Jason looked at him. “Yeah?”
“That thing weren’t off the pallet one minute ’fore the Harbor Police were all over it with them dope-sniffin’ dogs of theirs. And the mutts couldn’t’a cared less about it. Couple of ’em wouldn’t even go near it.”
Interesting, Jason thought. A bit relieving too. Everything was fine…
So why didn’t he feel fine?
“Anyway, thanks, man,” he offered. “Thanks for getting this big hunk of shit down here. I’ll see ya in a few weeks.”
Emmersom smiled again, shaking his head. “Shee-it. A fuckin’ foot stand?” Then he left for abovedecks.
Two hours later, Jason and Anna had topped off the fuel and water tanks and were underway.
Yeah, Jason thought at the helm, watching Anna bend over the mooring box. Everything’s fine.
««—»»
Jason had taken the first salon aft of the bridge, giving Anna the first full shift at the Betruger’s wheel. It was night somewhere off the Washington coast. His stateroom was lit by a red night-vision light. It gave a ghoulish feeling to the room. Naked, he climbed out of the king size bed and stretched. The cabin door opened. Anna was illumined in red. Her blonde hair fell behind her shoulders. She wore jeans cut off above her pockets which
“Goodnight,” Lethe said, and then he walked away, leaving five one-hundred-dollar bills on the table to cover the tab.
««—»»
“Eh man, all done here,” said the lanky black man, who headed the marina crew, as he handed Jason an invoice for the work. The man in the army issue jacket that said EMMERSOM was all teeth under his mustache.
Jason signed it and handed it back. “Heavy son a bitch.”
“Damn straight. Weighed more than my Uncle Albert.”
“What’s that?”
“Took twelve of us pall bearers, and he was in a pine box. The old bastard ate fried clams three times a day at Benny’s when he was workin’ the dock. You ever had a plate of fried clams at Benny’s, man?”
“Uh, no,” Jason replied.
“Pile of clams bigger than your head. No wonder Uncle Albert weighted four-fifty when he kicked.”
Jason didn’t give a hoot about Emmersom’s uncle, but he knew what he was getting at. He felt the flush in his cheeks and a cold razor’s edge work up his spine. He had to admit, the crate looked like it could hold a coffin. “Tell me, you saying you think that’s a coffin?”
“I think nothin’, but whatever is in that thing ain’t secured, like machinery would be, you dig?”
Hmm. The crate was meticulously packed, a steel box on the outside, which stood to reason considering what Lethe claimed to be in it. But—
Jason shuddered. A hazy chill of old childhood dreams came back.… ashes to ashes, dust to…
“Man, you all right? You look pale.”
“Just a long night.”
“With that bouncy little German thing? Shee-it, I’d probably look pale too,” Emmersom barked. Jason just smiled and let it go. But the chill hung on as they stood a moment more to look at the huge crate now secured in the master stateroom.
“And it was a perfect bitch gettin’ down here, hadda practically take the whole companionway apart and put it back together.”
“Hey, better you than me,” Jason laughed.
Emmersom displayed his middle finger. “And just what kind of a fuckin’ nut’d wanna do that anyway?”
Lethe, Jason thought. A nut? “I wouldn’t necessarily call him a nut. Eccentric, maybe. And what are you griping about, man? The four bills I gave you to haul this thing down here came from him.”
“Next time, keep it. And what’s this shit? Says on the shipping invoice it’s a ‘anteekee’ footstand,” Emmersom remarked. “What dah crap’s a footstand, man?”
“It’s a,” Jason began. Then he frowned. “Don’t ask unless you want to hear a lot of shit about King Richard’s ransom note.”
“Shee-it.” Emmersom chuckled, lit a butt. “Well I’ll tell ya what it ain’t. It ain’t a box full’a drugs.”
Jason looked at him. “Yeah?”
“That thing weren’t off the pallet one minute ’fore the Harbor Police were all over it with them dope-sniffin’ dogs of theirs. And the mutts couldn’t’a cared less about it. Couple of ’em wouldn’t even go near it.”
Interesting, Jason thought. A bit relieving too. Everything was fine…
So why didn’t he feel fine?
“Anyway, thanks, man,” he offered. “Thanks for getting this big hunk of shit down here. I’ll see ya in a few weeks.”
Emmersom smiled again, shaking his head. “Shee-it. A fuckin’ foot stand?” Then he left for abovedecks.
Two hours later, Jason and Anna had topped off the fuel and water tanks and were underway.
Yeah, Jason thought at the helm, watching Anna bend over the mooring box. Everything’s fine.
««—»»
Jason had taken the first salon aft of the bridge, giving Anna the first full shift at the Betruger’s wheel. It was night somewhere off the Washington coast. His stateroom was lit by a red night-vision light. It gave a ghoulish feeling to the room. Naked, he climbed out of the king size bed and stretched. The cabin door opened. Anna was illumined in red. Her blonde hair fell behind her shoulders. She wore jeans cut off above her pockets which
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