Chickenhawk: Back in the World

Patience and I are standing on the balcony of our new house. She’s happy, beaming like she does, looking like the little drawing she puts on her notes. We can see the river from the deck that comes out from the bedroom. She has a table and two chairs on the balcony. I sit down and put my foot on the railing. Patience pours steaming coffee into two mugs. “I love you,” she says. “You built me a beautiful home, and you did it by writing. I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad you decided not to go on that stupid trip.” She smiles at me. “See? See, asshole, I was right. I knew they’d buy your book.”

“I knew it, too, Patience.”

“You knew they’d buy your book?”

“No, I knew you were right about the trip. I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it anyway. It’s just too damn chancy. They make it by luck and they think it’s because they’re clever. Someday, they’ll wake up.”

CHAPTER 19

“Ali! Wake up!” I heard Ireland, felt him shaking my arm. I figured it was time for my watch, then remembered we were probably ready to unload. My adrenaline shot up and I was wide awake. I could barely see Ireland, but I could see the look of panic on his face in the dim light.

“Call Dave!” he said.

“What?”

“Call Dave. Call Dave.” Ireland’s head jerked toward the hatch. I saw lights wavering across the cockpit. Shore team? Wasn’t Dave with the shore team?

“Call Dave. Tell him we’re busted! We’re busted!”

He turned and climbed up onto the deck.

I could barely breathe. This was no joke. He wasn’t screwing around with me. Ireland wasn’t that good an actor. I climbed down from the marijuana and grabbed the radio mike. I heard a strange voice outside say, “Customs. May we come aboard?” I heard John, trying to seem as calm and as matter-of-fact as possible, say, “Sure, why not?” A shadow moved in the lights above. I peeked up the hatch and saw a man—a man climbing aboard. My heart dropped into my stomach. I felt weak. I put the mike to my mouth and clicked the switch. “Dave. Dave. We’re busted. We’re busted.” I heard his reply overwhelmed with electronic noise. Must be pretty far away. I heard Dave saying, “Crackle. Say. Sssssssst… repeat… rreeeeep… what?”

I repeated the message and put the mike back on its hook. I had to fumble for the hook in the dark, but this was important. If I left the mike loose, it’d fall off the counter and maybe break the cord. As I climbed up the hatch ladder, I heard Dave’s garbled reply coming from the radio. I couldn’t make it out. Probably he still doesn’t know what the fuck was going on, probably never did.

Two men dressed in blue jackets stood by John. One of them held a flashlight pointed at John’s face. The other guy was sniffing. We couldn’t smell the pot anymore, but they probably couldn’t miss it. In the water next to the Namaste, I saw a small skiff with a man wearing a matching blue jacket operating the outboard motor, keeping up with us as the Namaste idled serenely down the creek, her engine chuffling softly. The Namaste only dealt with problems of the sea, but I felt a little let down that she ignored our plight—at least the engine could quit, couldn’t it? I stood in front of the hatch to block the Customs agent’s view. The man flashed his wallet. I saw the glint of a badge. “U.S. Customs,” said the man. “We’d like to see your identity papers.”

“We’re Americans,” John said.

The Customs agent nodded. “I’m sure,” he said. “But it looks to us like you’re coming from beyond the three-mile limit. We saw your light for miles. We have to check your IDs. Do you have driver’s licenses? Passports?”

John nodded and looked at me. All our stuff was down below in a nifty waterproof bag we’d bought at Brasington’s Trail Shop in Gainesville. “Yeah. We do. Stuff’s down below. I’ll go get it.” John turned and walked toward me. Nice try—he figured the agent might just stay where he was until John came back up with our identification. The agent followed him to the hatch. My heart stopped beating. My nuts dropped off. I stepped aside. The agent stood beside me and watched John climb down to the counter and lean across it to get the waterproof bag we’d stuffed in the rack where we kept some books. He flashed his light inside. “Need a light?” the agent said.

“No,” John snapped. “I can see fine.”

“No bother,” the agent said. His light flashed from the counter and illuminated a burlap bale. The agent turned to me and grinned. “Have a little extra? Something to declare?”

I didn’t answer. The agent said, “Roger. Come take a look.”

The other agent came over and saw the marijuana. “My, oh, my. What do we have here?”

The first agent called to the man in the boat. “Sam, call the state police, Coast Guard, local sheriff. Believe we have a little importation violation here.”

“They have pot?” the man called back.

“Oh, yes.” The agent laughed. “Lots of it.”