The Intriguers - 14 by Hamilton Donald

Author:Hamilton, Donald [Hamilton, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-01-04T05:00:00+00:00

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He was a big, weathered man with stiff gray hair that, cut quite short, made a kind of wiry brush on top of his head. His face was square and seamy, with a big mouth and a blunt nose. He had bright blue eyes, rather like Carl’s, but somewhat paler and lacking the crazy intensity. He was wearing only a pair of faded khaki shorts. His deeply tanned body was in good shape for his age, which I placed somewhere in the early sixties. He leaned against a mop handle as he looked down at us from the cockpit of the big sportfisherman-at least it looked big from where I was sitting, at the wheel of my open, fifteen-foot job. “Marty, girl,” he said, “aren’t you ever going to stop growing? Damned if those aren’t just about the longest legs I’ve seen all week. And you’re Helm? Well, you can make fast to the dock back there, astern of the Whaler, while I finish swabbing down this cockpit. Better give her a bit of slack. The way the kids from that new development go racing past she’ll yank those tin cleats right out of that plastic gunwale if you snub her too tight.” “Yes, sir,” I said. I guessed at least four stripes of gold braid and a silver bird on the collar, at one time or another. It’s a principle of the profession that it never hurts to be respectful to the brass, ex-or otherwise. It makes the relationship a lot smoother in the beginning, and it doesn’t make them a bit more bulletproof in the end, if it should come to that. I backed us past a small, shovel-nosed, open boat with a large outboard motor on the stern, and did a reasonably good job, if I do say so myself, of maneuvering into the indicated opening. Martha jumped ashore with the bow line while I secured the stern. On foot, we approached the big boat once more. She was a real fishing machine, with the tall, thin outriggers pointing skywards on either side of the tapering, spidery framework of the lookout tower surmounting the cabin and the flying bridge. I could see how a Tinkertoy skyscraper like that might come in handy on occasion, but it wasn’t really a structure I longed to be on top of, particularly if the boat was rolling in a heavy sea. There were two husky fishing chairs bolted to the deck aft. The name on the stern was Frances ii. It was an impressive hunk of seagoing machinery. They come much larger, of course, but at a grand or more a foot, she was a lot of boat and a lot of money. Well, Sheriff Rullington had sold some land and put a Cadillac into his back yard. We all have our dreams. Uncle Hank Priest emptied a bucket over the side as we came up, and put the mop to dry in one of the fishing-rod holders set into the cockpit gunwale.

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