Hatteras Blue (12 page)

"Stow it, you two." For a moment, in silence, the old man sat in his chair in everlasting dark. "Fact is, we're going to want a piece of it."

"You want what?"

"This time, mister, the Aydletts are not goin' to sell out for no mess of lentil pottage. This time us colored folks is in for part of the profits."

"I don't see how that can be arranged," said Keyes.

'You arrange it. Or you ain't seeing what I got."

"But a split—how would we—"

"That's pretty easy," said Aydlett, turning his sightless eyes from one end of the room to the other. "One of my boys is going with you from now on till when you collect. Now which one? Abe is smarter but Shad is meaner. Shad is stronger too. Yes sir, I think Shadrach will be accompanying you all in your venture."

Keyes looked at Galloway helplessly. At last he said, "You drive a hard bargain, Aydlett. All right. He's in. But in that case I want my thousand back."

"That was for hearin' the story. You done heard it. Now we're talking about something else. If you don't want it after you see it, that's fine. Ain't neither of us out nothing. That sound fair to you, Lyle?"

"If you got the cards to back it up, Cap'n."

The old man smiled. He rose and stretched; they could hear his joints snap like breaking twigs. He moved slowly toward the kitchen, into total darkness. They heard him shoving things aside and muttering. Galloway met Shad Aydlett's eyes steadily, conscious that here was another who would neither forgive nor forget.

When the old man returned he had a bundle of oilcloth. He laid it on the table and his hands trembled over it for a time and when he took them away a folded chart lay faded and water-marked under the slow buttery glow of the kerosene lamp.

Keyes examined it in silence. Tiller, over his shoulder, could see that it was in German. And that it had pencil lines still faintly visible across its yellowed faded surface. At last Keyes glanced up. "It's real!"

"'Course it is."

"I've only got one question."

"What's that?"

"How did you get this? You were the youngest. And you were black."

Aydlett's face closed. "What's that matter? Seems to me you got some secrets you want to keep. Goes both ways. You got what you wanted. Don't need to know nothin' more."

"There's something you're not telling me."

"If there is they's a reason I ain't going to neither."

They regarded each other, or at least faced each other, for another moment. Then Keyes stood up. He reached for the chart. The muzzle of the shotgun stopped him.

"I'll take that," said Shadrach Aydlett.

Keyes seemed about to object, then to think better of it. He straightened his chair. "Well, if that's all, I believe we'll be going back to your boat, Tiller."

"With me," said Shad.

"With Shad," said old Clifton. "Get your things, quick, boy."

Shadrach handed the gun to his brother and disappeared. Galloway stood up too. At the scrape of his chair old Aydlett muttered, his face pointing toward the sound, "Tiller, I remember how you used to come fish with us. I didn't expect never to say these words. Only part of me wants to say them now. But I ain't unhappy to see you again."

"I'm glad to see you too, Cap'n. I only wish—"

"Don't want to talk about it anymore. You go on out now. Shad'll be waitin' for you."

When they were halfway to the car Keyes turned back. "Forgot my checkbook." "I thought you put it in your jacket."

"No, I left it on the table. I'll be right back. Put the—put Aydlett in the back, you can slide your seat forward for him."

Galloway had Aydlett's ditty bag in the trunk and the man's big frame packed into the rear seat when Keyes returned, striding rapidly forward in the glow of the parking lights. He got in and the motor roared. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"I'm ready too," said a deep voice from behind them. Tiller closed his eyes. Shadrach Aydlett, he thought.

Jesus Christ.

eight

«>T< HAT'S AN EXCELLENT PIECE OF EQUIPMENT,
JL
sir." The clerk tore off a strip of paper and held it up for the three men to read. "Eight-color display, with a printed readout, so you can find a good fishing spot again. The bottom shows up as a black trace, like this—" he pointed—"and fish as vertical lines. Very easy to read. It's the top of the Marinetek line—"

Galloway looked away, around the interior of the store. Boots, nets, reels of cordage, foul-weather gear crammed the interior of Manteo Marine Supply. His glance met Keyes's. The historian had gone casual that morning in a light-blue jogging suit, Reeboks, and a Casio runner's watch. Behind Keyes his eye met Shad Aydlett's, distant, sarcastic, silent. They'd spent Sunday night on
Victory.
Aydlett, who had brought a ragged sleeping bag, had insisted on dossing down just outside the companionway hatch. Keyes had wakened them both at daybreak and they'd breakfasted quickly on the boat and left for Manteo for the supply run.

The assistant stopped speaking; Galloway turned his attention back to the counter, where the circuit diagrams and specs had been laid out for him. "What kind of hookup do I need in the boat?"

"Standard twelve volts. Bolt-in installation. You'll need to drill a hole for the transducer. That mounts on the outside of the hull, pointing down." Holding the sonar head poised, he looked at them expectantly. Galloway half-turned to Keyes, who was inspecting a gleaming new Hobie. "He's the moneyman today," he explained to the clerk. "Hey. Dick. This unit looks good."

Keyes glanced at the electronics on the counter. "How much?" he said. When the clerk told him he began to count out the money.

"Cash?" said the man dubiously. Keyes stopped counting. "No, no, go ahead. It's just that most people around here don't carry that much ... would you like a receipt?"

"That won't be necessary."

"Yeah, we would," said Galloway. "Just in case it doesn't work."

"All right, fine," said the clerk, pulling out a pad of blanks. 'Tour name and address, please."

"Chapman, Bill, Two hundred Main Street," said Keyes. Galloway turned around and inspected the Hobie.

"Where is that, sir? Norfolk?"

"Yes."

He handed Keyes the carbon. "If anything goes wrong, Mr. Chapman, just bring the unit back. But I'm sure you'll be happy with it. We used to sell a lot of those to the trawler people."

"Now what?" said Keyes, when they were outside. It was blazing hot already. "Anything else we need? It's almost ten."

"What's the hurry?"

"I told you last night, I want to get to sea as soon as we can."

"Well." Galloway looked at the sky. "Line ... food ... buoys ... fenders ... drinks, white gas, transmission oil, new vest cartridges, torch tip, primacord. Shad, you think of anything else?"

"Sound like you bought the town clean, you and Keyes."

"Then that should do it."

"You don't want any hard stuff?"

"I think the Budweiser will be enough," said Galloway.

The trunk and half the backseat of Keyes's BMW was crammed with grocery bags, coils of line, cases of soda and beer. Keyes laid the fathometer on the console between the front seats. Galloway followed him around the car, then stopped. Aydlett had tipped the seat forward and was motioning him in.

"What's this?"

"In to the back, Tiller, buddy. We partners, right? Old Shad don't plan to sit in the backseat of this expedition."

Galloway paused for a moment, then shrugged. He stepped past the grinning waterman and wedged himself in among the supplies.

The BMW purred across the narrow bridge that separated Roanoke Island from the sandy strip of the Banks proper. It was lined with fishermen; cars from many states bumped along in slow lines; the season was in full swing. Galloway was glad to turn south, back into the empty expanse of Hatteras. As they crossed the inlet he stood up in the open convertible, holding on to the back of Aydlett's seat. There was still no sign of the trawler.

They pulled into Kinnekeet an hour later. The first sign of town was a distant sparkling over the dunes; sunlight from the windows of the first scattered cottages perched above the sand and scrub. Then the oceanfront developments, still building, and the pen-nant-decked sales offices where agents lurked tenacious as morays to exchange cheap cookware for an after-noon-long hard sell. Last came the soundside, old Kinnekeet. Here the houses were low, huddled close, the oldest ones patchworks of mismatched timbers from

long-wrecked ships. And then the dock. They pulled past two dead gas pumps and braked in a cloud of dust. The pile driver was whanging away. "Oh, hell," said Galloway from the backseat.

''What's wrong?" said Aydlett, twisting around to look at him over the headrest.

"That Hyundai."

"What about it? Whose is it?"

"Just be patient, Shad. You'll have enough of her in about a minute and a half," said Galloway.

Hirsch was sitting on deck, under a kind of sun awning she had rigged out of a plastic tarp and bungee cords. Today she was wearing white ducks and a blue cotton tank. Canvas espadrilles sat neatiy aligned by her bare feet. Her sunglasses were totally opaque. She sipped at a diet RC as the three men began carrying gear aboard.

"Hello, Bernice," said Keyes.

"Good morning."

"Who's this, Tiller?"

"Shad, meet Bernie Hirsch, my parole officer."

"Miz Hirsch." Aydlett grinned down at her from beneath three cases of beer. "You not from around here, are you?"

"Hello. No, I'm not. Going out, Tiller?"

"Yeah, thought we'd head out this afternoon."

"What for?"

"Dick thought he'd like to take a little pleasure dive, it's so hot. Maybe we'll do some fishing. Just a little stag party, you might say."

Galloway's voice was casual. Perhaps it was just that that made her pause suddenly in rearranging her hair and glance toward him. "Stag. I see. That's an awful lot of groceries ... for how long, Tiller?"

"Day or two."

"Do you mind if I come along? Just let me call the office from the pier, and get my beach things out of my car—" "Well, look, I don't want to get you in trouble with what's-his-face, Mr. Mutton—"

"Mr.
Moulton
There won't be any trouble. I have some vacation days coming."

Galloway sighed. "Suit yourself."

She ran down the pier, bare feet slapping on boards. Keyes glanced after her. Galloway saw the look. "I tried. Looks like we're stuck with her."

"Well, she adds to the scenery."

"I see your point."

"I'll help her," said Aydlett, coming up from below.

"Hold it a minute."

"What, man? What's this money for?"

"The reefer's broke. Get us about five bags of ice. Block, not the cube."

Aydlett took the money and went off after Hirsch down the pier.

Galloway flipped open one of the deck lockers and brought out tools. Drill, diagonal cutters, electrical tape, a roll of light insulated wire. "We'll get this installed before we leave. Can you give me a hand?"

"Sure," said Keyes.

Below in the cabin Galloway dumped the tools in a corner and crowbarred up part of the deck planking. The inside of the hull came into view beneath. He tightened a quarter-inch bit on an extension rod and cinched that into the drill. Sitting back on his heels, he fished the sonar head out of its Styrofoam packing. "Know how these work?"

"In general."

"This converts electricity to sound and back again. Goes on the outside of the hull. Normally I'd install it with the boat hauled, but we can do it pierside. I'll go overside, under the keel. You drill. When the bit comes through pull it right back and I'll push the wire in. The edge of the head seals to the hull with monkey shit, so there shouldn't be any leakage after that. Got it?"

"Sure," said Keyes. "Rap on the bottom when you're ready."

Galloway took the transducer topside, stripped to his trousers and put on a mask. "What's going on?" said Hirsch, coming down the pier with her arms full.

"Installin' some gear."

"Be careful."

Galloway didn't answer. He took several deep breaths and swung himself over the side.

The water of the basin was warm and murky, and the mosquito whine of propellers filled his ears. The mud bottom was only three feet below
Victory's
keel. He frog-kicked along under it to where he estimated the drill would exit, then raised the head and thumped it twice against the wood.

It didn't sound very loud. He was raising it again when a grinding sound came through the hull, followed by the glint of the bit, about a foot from where he'd expected it. When the grinding ceased and the glint disappeared he pushed the wire through. When he could feel tension on the other end he set the head firmly in place. The epoxy putty sealed and he released it and made for the surface, his arms and chest stinging from drifting jellyfish.