Trap Line - Carl Hiaasen [18]
To the east, in the Atlantic, he throttled the Miss Alice toward a big Texas shrimper. Another crawfish boat was ahead of him, alongside the shrimper, and Albury imagined he could hear the sound of the bales dropping onto the deck, the muted rushing footsteps on the bigger boat.
“Is that the Diamond Cutter?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t think so,” Albury replied. He hoped not. It would be just fine with him if Tom had decided to use the Diamond Cutter as one of the barren decoys.
Silence enveloped the Miss Alice. Diesel just ticking over, Albury could now distinctly hear from the shrimper the sounds he had imagined before. Street music at sea.
Albury watched the other crawfish boat cast off, and then he guided the Miss Alice into place. “One o’clock,” he called to the dark figure on the deck of the shrimper.
“You got it,” the man answered.
The bales came fire-brigade style, with Jimmy and then Albury the final links. Each fifty-five-pound package was wrapped with black plastic over the burlap; the odor was pungent, almost sickeningly sweet. Albury stacked the bales in the hold of the Miss Alice. After about a half-hour, he could feel the boat settle with its new weight.
Once he looked aft to trace the sound of another boat. He saw in the shrimper’s wake another crawfish boat, waiting its turn. The Diamond Cutter. He tugged on Jimmy’s sleeve and pointed. Both of them saw two figures in the wheelhouse.
Albury figured he had loaded about two tons when the bales abruptly stopped.
“What’s up?” he asked one of the crew on the shrimper, a bearded young fisherman in white rubber boots.
“That’s it. See you around.”
“But that’s not a full load,” Albury protested.
“You’re the one o’clock, ain’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all she wrote, one o’clock. Move along now, bubba. You’re blocking traffic.”
Puzzled, Albury steered the Miss Alice in a deft arc away from the shrimper and gave a backward glance to judge how smoothly the stranger docked the Diamond Cutter. Albury ran the crawfish boat blacked out, with only a sliver of green compass light to guide them. Jimmy sat on a stack of bales near the stern.
It didn’t figure. Albury had assumed he would be hauling at least four tons. Christ, even the Cubans could run a boat in with two tons. You had more speed, less water beneath you. Yet Tom had paid the full freight and made such a Hollywood production out of it. It made no sense.
Albury puzzled over it while the Miss Alice browsed through the gentle sea. He wondered if the other boats were getting the same loads; maybe the Machine was splitting the cargo among more boats to cut its losses if one got taken. If one got taken. He remembered what the driver of the T-craft had told him about switching boats.
Albury bickered with the radio until he was able to raise Crystal. “Smilin’ Jack, this is Lucky Seven.”
“For sure. You fat and sassy yet?”
“Yeah, right on schedule, but not as fat as I expected.”
Crystal was silent for about twenty seconds. “You want me to see what I can find out?”
“I would appreciate it,” Albury said into the hand mike. “Hey, and listen, I’ve got a new lady, too.”
“Oh? Why?” Crystal was confused.
“I don’t know, but she’s old and slow, Jack, and I’m a little worried.”
“Lemme call you back, Seven, OK?” Then Crystal was quiet.
By the time he reached the mouth of Niles Channel, Albury had made up his mind about one thing. He killed the engines and turned to Jimmy. Miss Alice drifted and turned slowly in the tide.
“You get your money?” Albury asked in a whisper.
“Yesterday, in the mailbox, where you left it.”
“Good,” said Albury. “Jimmy, I want you to take off. Swim to shore. I’ll take her in.”
“God, Breeze, what are you talking about? Who’s gonna unload?”
“Shit, they got a dozen Cubans waiting there