28
The sky grew suddenly gray and the dark clouds above swelled in direct proportion to the angry ocean below. And off the coast of Massachusetts, Sam Devereaux held on to the stainless steel railing of the speedboat wondering what had possessed him to call Geoff Frazier, a man he thoroughly disliked… Well, perhaps «disliked» was too strong. Nobody who knew «Crazy Frazie,» as he was sometimes affectionately called, could really dislike him, because the «Spaced Cadet» as he was frequently referred to, had a heart as big as his monthly inheritance stipend, which he would willingly give to anyone he knew to be in distressful circumstances. What disturbed Sam at the moment was Frazie’s maniacal maneuvers that intentionally sent the narrow, sleek, twin-engined cigarette boat into the monstrous waves.
«Have to do it, old sport!» shouted the grinning skipper, his braided captain’s hat askew. «These thin things can go belly-up if you don’t take the water on head first!»
«You mean we could sink?»
«Actually, I’m not sure; never happened!» A gigantic spray washed over the boat’s windshield, soaking both men. «Damned exhilarating, isn’t it, sport?»
«Geoff, are you sober?»
«Perhaps a touch, old boy, but it won’t interfere!» yelled Frazier. «The sauce always makes one better in these sudden squalls! Gives you the edge over nature, if you know what I mean… Can you hear me, Dewy?»
«Unfortunately yes, Frazie.»
«Not to worry. These billy-blows kick up quickly but they can go away sometimes just as fast!»
«How long?»
«No more than an hour or so,» shouted the happily grinning Frazier. «Our only problem will be finding a basin until then.»
«A basin?»
«Can’t head in till we find a cozy nook, as it were.»
«Speak English!»
«Just did, sport. An inlet that reduces the wind and the water, and there’s damn few along the shoreline.»
«Go into the beach!»
«There are a lot of rocks and jetties, Dewy, and these sweet things aren’t the easiest to control in weather.»
«Whether what …?»
«Never mind—»
«Damn it, go into the beach! There’s a whole stretch up ahead without a rock in sight and I’ve got important things to do!»
«Well, rocks and shoals aren’t the only impediments, old fellow,» yelled Frazier. «Boats like this one beaching on private property aren’t exactly welcome sights, and if you’ll look closer, there’s nothing but dune houses as far as you can see!»
«You went in almost a half hour ago down in Swampscott!»
«Down there people like me pay for beachfront they never use so the neighbors can’t hear us or pollute our waters. Also, everyone knows the Birnbaums’ house, and anyone who reads the society pages knows they’re at the estate auctions in London. I took a chance, Dewy, but not up here—not with this squall and not with my past boo-boos!»
«Boo-boos…?»
«Just silly little traffic violations, you might say, old boy. Nothing to worry about, but there are rotten apples in every decent barrel, you know!»
«What apples? What barrels?» roared Sam as harsh, simultaneous sprays from both port and starboard overwhelmed him, drenching him to the skin.
«Grandpapa’s stupid Power Squadron—snitches, all of them, and they hate me because my boat’s faster than any of theirs!»
«What the hell are you talking about, Frazie?» A tremendous midair lurch and subsequent pounding return into an onrushing wave caused Devereaux to lose his grip; he crashed to the deck, grabbing the handle of a stow-away cabinet and yanking it down, the force propelling his head inside. «Help!» he screamed. «I’m stuck somewhere!»
«Can’t hear you, Dewy, but not to worry, chum! I can see the Gloucester markers up ahead. ‘Red right return,’ as they say.»
«Red … mftt … mfitt!»
«You’ll have to be clearer, Dewy! Can’t make you out in this wind, but I’d be most grateful if you’d uncork a bottle of Dom Perry for me. There’s an iced case in the aft locker, that’s a good fellow!… Just spin it up on the deck the way we used to do with the girls from Holyoke, remember? The centrifugal motion loses only half the precious liquid. Physics One-Two at dear old Andover! Most vital thing I ever learned!»
«Mfttt … oww … ouch!» shrieked Sam, pulling his head out of the deck recess, a coil of white rope around his skull. «You want a bottle of wine when we’re in the middle of a hurricane? You’re certifiable, Frazie, absolutely nuts!»
«Come now, sport, this is merely a heavy squall, that’s all.» The grinning captain, the visor of his cap of authority now over his right ear, turned and looked at his deck-prone passenger with the rope around his head. «Oh, come now, old boy, is that your crown of thorns?» he roared, laughing.
«I will not get you a bottle of champagne, and I demand that you get me on shore or I’ll personally wax your tail as an officer of the court with regard to your incapacity on the high seas!»
«Two hundred yards offshore?»
«You know what I mean!» As Devereaux rose to his knees, another massive wave crashed over his shoulders, splaying him back on the deck. «Frazier!» screamed Sam, once more gripping the stainless steel railing on the gunwale. «Don’t you care about anything but yourself?»
«That in itself—or myself—is a very large territory, chum, but, of course, I do. I care about old friends who still call me a friend. I care about you because you called me in need!»
«I can’t deny that,» said Devereaux, deciding to open the stern ice cabinet, suddenly thinking that Frazie might need that «edge over nature» after all.
«Oh, oh!» roared the captain of the Swampscott rescue mission. «We’ve got a problem, Dewy!»
«What?»
«One of those snitches from Grandpapa’s dumb Power Squadron must have spotted us!»
«What?»
«There’s a C.G. cutter on our tail, old friend! Turn aft and look!»
«Holy shit!» whispered Sam to himself as he saw the sharp-bladed bow of a white Coast Guard patrol boat with red stripes leaping over the waves several hundred yards behind them. Then through the erratic bursts of wind he heard the sound of a siren. «Are they trying to stop us?» he roared.
«Let’s put it this way, sport, it’s not a courtesy call!»
«But I can’t be stopped!» yelled Devereaux, uncorking a bottle and spinning it across the wet deck. «I have to get to the authorities—the police, the FBI, The Boston Globe, somebody! I have to expose one of the most powerful men in Washington who’s done a terrible thing! I have to do it! If the Coast Guard or anyone in the government finds my evidence, they’ll stop me!»
«That sounds heavy, old boy!» shouted Frazier, his voice carrying over the wind and through the sprays of the waves as he picked up the bottle. «But I have to ask you a question! You’re not carrying little pills or packets of powder or anything like that, are you, sport?»