Chapter 20 - DEEP HOLE

Sonny's alarm clock went off at midnight, and he sat on the edge of Suzy's bed for a moment after he clicked it off. He fished a smoke out of the pack on the night stand and groped after a bic. He didn't want to turn on the lights and attract any unnecessary attention.

After he got the smoke going, Sonny moved around the bedroom with the cigarette in his mouth, putting on socks, stepping into his jeans, and slipping into a flannel shirt. He buttoned and tucked in the shirt, fastening his belt, as he went downstairs, along the hall, and across the kitchen. At the mudroom door he pushed his feet into his rubber boots. Taking Grandpa Tink's old dark lantern down from a shelf, he lit the wick, and adjusted the flame, closing the shutter after.

"Like old times, Tink," he said to the empty room.

Sonny crossed into the barn through the connecting building. Once inside he forked the hay away from where he'd piled it, pulled the tarp off his preparations, and levered up the trap door. It swung open silently. Sonny smiled. He stood the barrel on end, and climbed on top of it, holding the line he'd attached to the welded loop. He reached up to where the bottom hook of the block and tackle hung, and fished a quick release knot onto the hook. Then he got off the drum, and took up the slack in the tackle until the drum lifted off the floor and swung out over the open trap. Sonny lowered it away slowly and carefully, until the barrel slipped silently into the water below. It was high tide, and the water was only a few feet below the level of the floor. Sonny secured the tackle line, leaned down into the opening, and jerked the release knot. The buoy line uncoiled as the drum sank, until it struck bottom, and the line went slack. Sonny kicked the rest of the buoy line into the water, tossing the float last. He hauled on the tackle until it was twoblocks overhead, then he closed the trap, and spread hay over it again.

Taking the fish tub full of salt bags under one arm, and holding the bail of the lantern in that hand, Sonny swung open the back door of the barn, and stepped quickly across the Tink's fish house. He climbed down the ladder to the float, and set the tub down. Aiming the light into Tink's Cove, he could see the unpainted buoy bobbing his way.

"Pretty slick," he observed. The old man had rigged it so the eddy in the cove would set anything floating under the barn alongside the float. As the buoy drifted up, Sonny grabbed it, hauled the slack out of the line, and tied it to the outside of the float, where the ledge dropped off into deep water.

Sonny went back into the barn, where he picked up his toolbox. He carried it and the lantern into the kitchen, where he replaced the lantern, and lit another smoke. Then he went out the kitchen door with the toolbox, which he set into the passenger side footwell of his pickup. He fired up the truck, and drove out of the dooryard, the Camel Filter lighting his face as he sucked on it.

Sonny drove over the bridge and into the Co-op parking lot, where he pulled into a dark corner, slid a blanket off the seat and over the toolbox, and got out. Walking swiftly toward the ladder above the float where his skiff was tied, Sonny heard a low groaning coming from the shadows at the foot of the Co-op building. He stopped and listened. There it was again. Someone was lying curled in the shadows.

"Probly drunk, " Sonny thought. But then there was movement in the darkness, and a cry of tortured pain.

"Shit," muttered Sonny. But he went over to investigate just the same. At first he couldn't tell who or what was up, but when he touched the crumpled figure, it lashed out at him, screaming, "Fuckin gooks.. fuckin gooks.. won't get me.. oh no..," followed by another cry of pain. Sonny jumped back.

"Buster?" Sonny spoke sharply. It had to be. "Buster!" louder this time. "It's me.. Sonny.. Buster.. It's OK." Buster groaned, but stopped trying to strike out.

"What the Jesus happened?" Sonny asked, but he kinda had a feeling he knew. Granny Jones had been on the phone all afternoon, and Sonny had heard just enough of her end, coming and going, to guess that some kind of judgment was being rendered on Buster, and the family had decided to mete out punishment. Because Buster was on his crew meant Sonny'd been kept out of court.

"They beat me," Buster groaned. "Fucking Charlie got under the wire and ..." Buster babbled off into incoherence.

"Come on then," Sonny said, getting an arm under the beaten man, "I'll see you home."

"NO!" Buster screamed. "Not home.. never home.. they said home's boobytrapped.. full ah claymores.. not home.. no.. no." Buster was shaking with apprehension. Then he seemed to get a grip. "Let me stay on the boat, Sonny. It's safe there. Please, Sonny."

God it was awful. Hearing that tough little ratholer beg for a place to hide, wrung Sonny's conscience. He knew Buster was hard on his wife and kids, but that was his business, after all, and he was a hard worker on the boat, with never a complaint. But Sonny had wanted to move the drum tonight all by himself, so it was truly hidden, in case.. in case whatever. Sonny stood with his hands on his hips staring down at the huddled form for a long minute.

"OK, Buster," he finally said. "Let's go get SUZY-Q."

But it didn't prove to be that easy. Buster was pretty badly pranged, and Sonny had to help him the long way around and down the ramp to the float. He left Buster there, collapsed in a heap, while he rowed out to SUZY, tied the skiff to the mooring, fired the diesel, dropped the pennant, and motored into the float. It took two tries to get Buster over the rail and into the boat, and Sonny saw him safely stowed below in a bunk before he cast off the float, and rumbled across the reach for Tink's fish house.

Once there, Sonny quickly brought the fish tub aboard, untied the buoy line, ran it over the davit pulley, and let it run slackly out as he backed away from Tink's float. When he came to the last few feet of line, Sonny threaded the line on the hauler, engaged it, and throttled the engine, pointing SUZY into deep water. The taut line bounced a couple times, as the drum hit ridges in the ledge, but in no time at all the buoy line was straight up and down. Sonny motored away from the island dragging the drum through the water, until he was well out of sight and sound of shore, then he put SUZY out of gear, brought the drum up alongside with the hauler, passed a bridal around it, and rolled it up over the rail and onto the open deck. Then he put SUZY back in gear, and idled down the Reach, headed east.

Sonny stopped near the channel marker off Sawyer's Point and went below to check on Buster. The beaten man was sound asleep, only groaning when he moved. Sonny stuffed pillows around him and went back above. Sonny pushed the throttle forward until she was making way, then put it in the corner, and the fishboat thundered up onto the step, as much step as SUZY had, and flew past the Eastern Bay.

Sonny had decided the best place to stow this cargo was somewhere out of sight of any houses. A place where he couldn't be seen dropping it off, or picking it up, except by another boat close at hand. Somewhere he could go at midnight, and no one the wiser. He figured Bunker's Hole was about right. He'd measured out enough buoy line for the deep spot in the back corner of that hideyhole, and he ran SUZY into the side door, full throttle.

Once in the hole, Sonny turned on SUZY's big spot light, and swung it 360. Nope, not a soul to see, or be seen. Sonny found the deep spot on the sounder, got the drum back up on the rail, lashed one 24-hour bag of salt to the buoy, and dropped the works overside. Then he ran out the other door, headed offshore, and made a big circuit through the Eastern Bay. The wind was picking up again, now.. filling in from the southeast. Plumes of mist were hugging the water.

"Thick a fog, by mornin," Sonny thought. And he grinned. "All the bettah."