Chapter 3

C hapter T hree

"You are not driving home," Roddy said as Michael drank more water.

"I'm fine. I haven't had anything to drink in an hour, and I didn't have that much," he countered. Hell, he could walk a straight line and unravel those stupid brain teasers that the police gave, though he did have alcohol on his breath. But so did Roddy. "Besides, you been drinking too."

"I nursed a drink for the last two hours," Roddy told him. "But something sure got under your skin if you can down three double whiskeys in a few hours." He leaned close enough to him that Michael leaned back and nearly fell off the stool. Okay, so he wasn't going to be driving. "What was it? The guy who was sitting next to you? Did he offer you something, like to jump your bones? Did he have some good shit? What?"

Michael shook his head, trying to clear the damned thing. When he drank, it loosened his lips, and he could already feel the urge to spill all the shit he was wondering about. "No. I think he was fishing."

"For what?" Roddy asked in that expectant tone he had.

Michael shook his head and finished the bottle of water. Then he paid his bill and slowly got to his feet. "Take me home." He could get his truck in the morning. No one at the bar was going to mind, so long as it didn't take up a parking space for too long. Roddy paid his bill, and soon they were in his sporty little Miata, zipping around the curves. "Unless you want me to woof all over your floor, you need to slow down."

"If I do, will you tell me what's going on? There's plenty of shit with your father, but there's always been that. So what's new?"

Michael burped up death-tasting breath. That alone was almost enough for him to ask Roddy to pull over. But he swallowed and inhaled the fresh air, breathing slowly in an effort to clear his head. "Nothing. I was standing at the point on the property."

"Why? It was way too foggy to see anything." Roddy slowed down as the fog where they were got thicker.

"That's just it. I don't quite know what I saw, but there was definitely something to see, and I think that guy at the bar, Thorsen, was also out there for the same view."

"He was there too?" Roddy asked. "The hottest thing to hit this town in years and he was clearly interested in you… and you just let him get away?"

Michel breathed deeply once more, determined to clear his head. "That's just it. I think he was fishing for something at the bar. I don't think he saw what I did, and I don't know if he was there because he was trying to get a handle on them or if he was the lookout or something. Maybe he's involved and he was trying to find out what I saw."

Roddy pulled to the side of the road. "You have been watching too many of those cop shows. This is Mendo, not Criminal Minds . And maybe this guy might be interested because he's trying to stop whatever these guys are up to. I mean, what could you have seen? Were there boats off the coast in fog like that?" He didn't wait for an answer; it must have been obvious. "They could have run into any of a million rocks out there. That was quite a risk."

"I know. But what does it mean? It could be something innocent, like someone in trouble was being helped."

"Yeah. But was it the coast guard? That's who you call when you're in trouble," Roddy said, his eyes huge as Michael shook his head and regretted it. "Could you see the boats enough to describe them?"

Michael thought and then shrugged. "Maybe. The one was big. Like, really good-sized. The other was pretty big, too, but the one up from the south was the bigger of the two, and both boats were expensive." This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to do. It was best if he kept his mouth shut, and now he was blabbing everything to Roddy. "Just forget everything. I had too much to drink, and I don't know what I'm saying. So forget it."

Roddy pulled back onto the road and drove him the rest of the way home. Thankfully, the house was mostly dark, and when Michael got inside, Rosa was nowhere to be found. Michael took off his shoes and went right to his room, passing Peter's closed door. He thought of seeing if little brother was home, but went to his own room, closed the door, and got undressed before collapsing on the bed into an instant sleep.

Michael woke and reached for his phone. It was a little after four, and he had to pee bad. He got up, relieved himself, and took some pain killers with lots of water before returning to his bed. He had just climbed under the covers when he heard footsteps out in the hall, and Peter's door squeaked open and closed. He wondered where Peter had been for hours, but he was too tired to give it much thought and quickly sank back into sleep.

When he woke again, it was light, his head was clear, and, thank God, he was hungry. At least he hadn't done too much damage last night and wasn't hungover. Michael checked the time and jumped in the shower, cleaning up quickly before dressing and hurrying out to an old truck that had been his first vehicle when he was seventeen. It still ran, and he didn't have time to go back to Fort Bragg and still meet the delivery at the Carson Hill job, so he took off and managed to arrive at the job site just as Hansen's trucks pulled in with the roof trusses, framing, and plywood sheeting they needed to enclose the monster addition.

"Thanks for doing this," Michael said as he approached Hansen, shaking his hand.

"You know our agreement. As long as I never have to deal with the ass that is your father, we'll continue doing business." He got the delivery men unloading while the crew got to work, stacking materials and beginning the framing process. These men knew their jobs and got right to it. The plans were in the trailer, and Michael checked that they were the latest ones. There had been a number of changes and updates, and he needed to ensure that the proper ones were being followed.

"This is going to be a great place," Hansen said as he checked over the design.

"Are you really going to go up against Dad on that property out at Rocky Point?" He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. Hansen shrugged, and Michael smiled. "That was a ruse, wasn't it?"

"Your father thought he had that deal all sewn up and for a scandalously low price. The owner is a seventy-five-year-old lady from Fresno. She had no idea what she was doing, and your father's agent talked her into it. So I just told her what it was really worth, and she did the rest. Let your father think I want to develop the land as well. He'll pay closer to the real value of the land, and the retiree will get what she deserves." He leaned against the worktable. "It just seemed fair to me."

Michael smiled slightly. He always knew his father would skin a cat to make a buck, but this sounded shady even for him. "My lips are sealed."

"I knew I liked you," Hansen said before turning to where the unloading was continuing. "You got yourself a really good crew."

"They're some of the best, and I take a lot of shit from my father so they don't have to." It was the only way he was able to keep his team together. Lionel Constantine might be powerful and have money and influence, but he was not well liked, that was for damned sure. And as far as Michael was concerned, whatever deal his father had going on was no concern of his. It was best if he kept his mouth shut and stayed out of it. "Any other flies buzzing?"

"Just that a boat got caught out in the fog last night. Apparently, they got scraped up and limped back into Noyo after dark. It's being patched up this morning, but apparently they only just made it."

"Was it someone local?" Michael asked, but all Hansen did was shrug.

"Not that I heard. Probably some idiot who thought they knew more about the weather than the locals who live and work in those waters every day." He went to check on the unloading, and Michael did the same with his men, making sure all the supplies were accounted for and properly organized. But Michael couldn't help wondering just what was going on with that boat from yesterday. Maybe he could nose around while he was down at Noyo Harbor after he picked up his truck.

At lunchtime, Roddy was good enough to meet him back at the house and took him to pick up his truck. "You want some hair of the dog?" he called with a grin from his convertible as Michael headed inside.

"No. But thanks for the ride." He rolled his eyes and went to the bar, being sure to thank Carl for letting him leave the vehicle there.

"It was no problem." He leaned over the otherwise-empty bar. "Did you hear about the boat that came limping in? John Fisher stopped for a bite this morning, and he said if they had hit the rocks any harder, their pumps wouldn't have been able to keep up, and they would have sunk. Stupid tourists. Any local would have known to stay in port on a night like that. Those waves are rough, and the currents are something else." He shook his head before patting the bar.

"Do you know who brought it in?"

He shrugged. "Nope. Didn't see them. But the boat is on the other side of the river. You can have a look for yourself. I can't see no one from around here doing what they did."

"Well, thanks," Michael told him. "I appreciate you keeping the truck safe."

"Don't make a habit of it. My business wouldn't mind the money in the till, but you should take it easier than you did last night. Let the tourists get plastered. We locals got to keep our wits about us." He went back to work, and Michael smiled, knowing that was Carl's way of saying he cared and was watching out for him.

"I will," he called before leaving the mostly empty restaurant and bar. He got into his truck and took the steep road up out of the harbor and then over the bridge before coming back down the other side and into the parking lot. Then he wandered over toward the river, where it took him three seconds to find one of the boats he had seen last night. As he drew closer, he recognized Thorsen as he looked over the boat.

"Word travels fast," Michael said, startling Thorsen slightly. "Even to someone who's been out of the loop a while?" He drew closer, checking for the dark stripes down the side of the otherwise white craft. It truly was one of the boats he'd seen. "Any idea who owns it?"

Thorsen shook his head. "I was going to ask you the same thing. A boat doesn't limp into port and get tied up without someone knowing whose it is or why it's here. Yet here it is, and all anyone seems to know is that it doesn't belong to someone local." He seemed to be trying to peer inside.

"Well, if it were mine, I'd sure as hell not be hurrying to tell anyone I'd done something that stupid. Going out last night in that fog with those waves crashing on those rocks. Stupid is as stupid does, and all that." He sighed, still looking at the boat, with Thorsen watching him. Michael refused to let that steely gaze get to him and did his best to ignore it. But he was aware of every second, looking at the side of the boat. "If someone doesn't do something, it's going to end up on the bottom of the river damned soon."

"What?" Thorsen asked.

"See how low it's getting in the water? If someone doesn't get the pumps started, it's going to sink." He turned to meet that gaze. "I'd say we'd be doing the owner, however stupid he may be, a favor if we got that water out." Michael stepped onto the boat. The keys were on the seat, so he got her started and the pumps running.

Thorsen jumped on as well. "I think I better see how bad things are below." He went through and came right back out. "It seems dry."

"Hey, what are you doing?" a man hurried over, but his lips turned to a grin when he saw Michael.

"Hey, Wally. We heard what happened, and it seemed a little low in the water. Didn't want her to sink on you," Michael told him. Wally had taken Michael out on his first Pacific fishing trip when he was ten. Wally got two small salmon while Michael caught half a dozen. Afterward, Wally always said Michael was good luck. "The pumps got what was left."

"Good, I did a quick patch on the scrape this morning," Wally said as Thorsen climbed off, and Michael turned off the boat's systems to preserve the batteries. "Didn't want it to litter up the harbor."

"But no one contacted you?" Michael asked, and Wally shook his head. "If you don't hear anything, you let me know. I'll make sure you get paid for your time and for the boat slip." Wally was just getting to retirement age, and there was no way he was going to let someone take advantage of his good graces.

"And if it's been abandoned?" Wally asked.

"Then I'll back your claim, since it was done on your property and you were good enough to keep it from sinking." He jotted down the registration numbers and handed them to Wally. "Call these in to try to find the owner, and then in a few days, if no one shows up, make the report of it being abandoned. If they do come around, be sure to have a bill ready."

"Oh, and lock it up. You have a claim against it now," Thorsen added and then they both walked back toward the parking area. "Do you want to tell me what that was all about and why you were so interested?"

Michael stopped next to his truck. "Do you want to explain the same thing? I'm a local and want to make sure Wally comes out of this whole. But you…." It was his turn to give the death stare. He wasn't ready to trust Thorsen quite yet. "Maybe you should be the one to spill your guts. A few well-placed words about you nosing around, and all doors will slam closed for you."

"Are you involved in this?" Thorsen asked, and Michael laughed.

"I don't have the foggiest clue what this is. But if you'll remember, I did just help you get a look inside the boat, and you disappeared into that cabin pretty damned fast. So I'm going to ask you the same thing. Are you involved in whatever this boat was used for?" His instincts said no.

"Okay. I am, but more along the line of stopping it."

Michael nodded. "I take it the boat was being used to smuggle something."

"I think so, yes. But I can't prove it, and the cabin was a mess, but there was nothing incriminating in it. Not that I really expected to find anything." Thorsen drew closer. "What I really want to know is what you saw last night on the cliff. I watched you, and I saw you tense. You saw something."

Michael wasn't quite ready to give him that answer. "Is that why you were there?"

"Yes. We got a tip that there was going to be some activity last night. The fog was thick as shit…."

"But you were out there hoping to see something. Instead, I was there, and you think I saw what you were hoping to see." Okay, he was talking in circles.

"I sure as hell hope you did. Because otherwise I'm at square one. So tell me what you saw. Did that boat meet someone out on the ocean?" Those intense eyes grew as hard as the stone walls of the harbor.

"Yes. That boat met another, bigger one from the south. The fog parted for maybe fifteen seconds. I recognize the boat here by the blue stripes, and whoever was piloting it just made it back. I'm guessing that no one is going to claim it, and Wally just got himself a boat once he reports that it's abandoned and that he kept it from sinking. As for the other one, it was bigger, like really expensive. Maybe fifty feet or more. Whatever they were smuggling, there's plenty of money involved, that's for damned sure. A boat like that will cost plenty."

"Could you describe the larger boat in more detail?"

Michael shook his head. "Not really. There's only so much that I could see, and like I said, it was for maybe fifteen seconds. No longer. Then the fog came back in and the view was gone. It was maybe fifty feet, white, sleek. It really cut through the water." He thought for a few seconds. "There is something I do know. That boat had to go into port somewhere, and it wasn't here. I'm guessing it returned south, back where it came from." He met Thorsen's gaze and wondered what was going on behind those intense eyes.

"Thanks," he said flatly before turning to leave.

"That's all I get—thanks?"

Thorsen paused. "What do you want? A medal?"

Michael stalked closer, anger building. "I want to know what's going on. I think I have a right to that much. I helped you with the boat, and I told you what I saw. Now I think it's your turn." He worked with plenty of rugged, hard guys like this, and he knew how to deal with them. Most of his crew fit into this category. They didn't give up information very easily. "I can hear those doors closing all over town." Michael had played his one card, and now he had to see how Thorsen reacted.