Wave Dancer, A Bimini Twist Adventure: Bimini Twist Adventures

By Patrick Mansell

 

Will Tanner spent a couple of million dollars to buy Wave Dancer, a luxury sport fishing boat, but he doesn't know the first thing about fishing or yachts. And he hired Reginald Cordelle, the most incompetent, unscrupulous captain in all of the Bahamas Islands to run it. What else Will does not know is that Cordelle has been approached by international arms smugglers to use Wave Dancer to smuggle very dangerous weapons from Lucaya in Grand Bahamas Island, to an offshore pick-up. But Will catches on fast and has the good fortune to have Max Carson and his two sons, P.J. and Gaffer, to help him connect with the authorities in the Royal Bahamas Defense Force. Cops running down bad guys in eight foot seas in the driving rain in the middle of the night work to prevent an international incident of the gravest proportions, and offshore fishing action that's as good as it gets, keep this adventure moving along at full throttle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Wolff
• Release date: Dec 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201620004

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents

are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual events, places or persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

Will Tanner

Wave Dancer made its way out of the Port Lucaya Harbor at exactly the wrong speed. At 1600 RPMs the Hatteras was bow high and stern down throwing a six-foot wake as it approached the outer buoy. Gaffer Carson, now seventeen years old and on semester break from school, had the helm of Bimini Twist , a twenty-five foot open fisherman, as the yacht blasted by. On the first wave the bow of the smaller boat rose high in the air. It rocked violently as it came back down and was nearly swamped as it was hit broadside by the second wave. Gaffer steered hard right and was able to skirt the side of the wave, but it was the third one that really got him. Green water splashed over his bow as a ton of water streamed in and sloshed around his feet. He switched on the electric bilge pump and turned hard left. Water began streaming through the scuppers and pumping out of the bilge. The left turn placed Bimini Twist in the wake of Wave Dancer and following directly behind. P.J., Gaffer’s older brother by two years, opened the door to the center console and reached in. He grabbed the emergency flair gun and loaded it.

What are you doing? asked Gaffer. Thinking that P.J. meant to signal for assistance he said, That’s not necessary. We’re OK.

I’m gonna shoot that boat, P.J. answered as a matter of fact.

You can’t do that, screamed Gaffer. Now he turned hard right to leave Wave Dancer’s wake so that his brother could not do something stupid. But it was too late. P.J. let one fly at the captain who was sitting on the bridge. No one but Gaffer saw this, and the flair fell into the cockpit of the luxury yacht. It burned and sizzled on Wave Dancer’s deck as Gaffer put as much distance as he could between himself and the offending sport fisherman. He shook his head and hoped that he would be out of sight before anyone on board the yacht noticed. As P.J. was about to load another shell into the flair gun’s chamber, Gaffer quickly knocked the assembly out of his hand and onto the deck.

That’s enough, screamed Gaffer. Are you crazy?

That guy’s going to pay, said P.J. He can’t go round swamping other boats.

And you can’t go around shooting flairs at other boats. They could shoot back with real bullets.

Hey, I’m just saying, I’m tired of captains who don’t know how to drive their boats. That guy almost sank this boat and he didn’t even turn around to see if we were OK. I’m not going to take it.

All right, said Gaffer. All right. Just, no more shooting flairs. There are other ways of getting even without burning a boat to the waterline.

I’m listening, said P.J.

Don’t be a wise guy. That was real stupid.

P.J. nodded his understanding, but had no remorse. Fair enough. He picked up the gun and the loose shells, replaced them in their plastic box and put the kit back into the center console. Gaffer breathed a sigh of relief and continued on his way back into the marina.

An hour later Gaffer was sitting with his father on the balcony of their rented suite in the luxurious resort in Lucaya, Grand Bahamas Island, the newly remodeled playground for the fishers, golfers, and gamblers just across the Gulf Stream from tony Palm Beach.

This place is sick, said Gaffer.

His father looked at him in surprise. I think it’s beautiful, said Max Carson. He looked around at the lush tropical landscaping and watched a procession of bull sharks swim by two floors beneath his window in the man made outdoor aquarium. Look at this place. What’s not to like?

Some of it’s nice. Up here it’s nice. But down there it’s ugly.

Max shrugged. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Oh, it’s beautiful all right, said Gaffer. But it’s also sick.

What’s that supposed to mean? asked his father.

So many people with too much money, disrespecting everything they see.

Max looked at his son quizzically. Gaffer continued. You know how we make fun of those people in the fancy boats who don’t even know how to drive them?

I wouldn’t say we make fun of them. I’d just say we’re glad we’re not them.

You know what I mean, said Gaffer. "Well, Bimini Twist nearly got swamped coming in the inlet. A big old Hatteras, or should I say a big new Hatteras, threw a huge wake. It was rocking every boat it passed. It nearly sank us, I’m not kidding."

Max grimaced. The thought of danger to his boat, and more importantly to his sons, was the kind of thing that could cause him bad dreams. So what did you do?

I negotiated the wake and took on a whole lot of water. Then I sped up and allowed the water to run off. I’m telling you, it was ankle deep inside the boat.

Max shook his head. This was the kind of thing that angered him to the core. You want me to talk to the Harbor Master?

Gaffer thought about the flair that had been launched into Wave Dancer’s cockpit and decided that the best course of action was no action at all. Maybe if it happens again, he said.

His father shrugged and returned his attention to the shark procession beneath his balcony. He loved the sharks and could watch them for hours.

After three hours of exploring the resort, P.J. and Gaffer met up with their father back at the marina. Max had been rearranging the coolers and refreshing the ice. It was just busy work, but on vacation Max liked doing anything having to do with the boat. He would have washed it had the boys not done that just a few hours earlier.

We were just down there watching the tables, said Gaffer. At one table I saw a guy who was nearly too drunk to stand up lose twenty thousand dollars in less than half an hour. He was playing blackjack at the hundred dollar minimum table. Every time he ran out of chips he would reach into his pocket and take out another thousand-dollar roll. I saw him do it three or four times. And the dealer kept selling him chips and then winning them from him.

They’re not supposed to do that. If somebody is that drunk they’re supposed to cut him off.

I saw a kid around my age, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen, was making four thousand dollar bets at the craps tables. He wasn’t drunk, but I’ll bet he was down a hundred thousand dollars.

Max shook his head in disgust. You’re right, Gaffer. That sounds sick.

Is there anything you can do to stop it?

Max shrugged. What did you have in mind? This goes on everyday.

I don’t know, said Gaffer. Maybe talk to the floor manager about cutting off the drunk.

That’s the fastest way to get us thrown out of here, said Max.

I wouldn’t care, said Gaffer.

We’re guests of the government, replied Max. "I think they’d

look unfavorably upon us getting booted when they’ve done so much to make us feel at home."

I’d feel more comfortable in a smaller place that doesn’t have a casino, said Gaffer.

Max stood. I’ll tell you what, let’s go have a look. He did not want to do anything that might result in being kicked out of the resort, but he also wanted to see for himself. They walked up a flight of stairs to the ground level and walked out to the main concourse. From one end of the resort to the other was a good fifteen-minute walk. The casino was centrally located and was only about five minutes from the marina.

They came into the brightly lit gaming area and entered a new world. The noise of the slot machines was overwhelming. Hundreds of people sat on padded stools pulling the levers and pushing buttons that could mean fortune or bust. The vast percentage of the time, it was bust. The crowd was a crush of humanity, all jockeying for a position either at a craps table, card table, roulette wheel, or slot machine. For the high rollers there was a roped off area where poker, baccarat, and blackjack were played for the highest stakes. Cocktail waitresses cruised the floor handing out free drinks to the patrons in an attempt to make them feel welcome and weaken their powers of concentration. Croupiers and floor managers worked at feverish paces to make certain that every dollar that the patrons had in their pockets made it into their coffers. Max agreed with Gaffer. It was a sick place.

Gaffer led his father over to where the man he had described as ‘the drunk’ was sitting. He was now betting two hundred dollar hands at the fifty-dollar table. He had recently purchased another thousand dollars worth of chips, so his stack looked quite impressive. It appeared to Max that Gaffer had been correct about the man not having enough sense to make an intelligent bet. He walked around to the side to get a better look.

In front of the man was a puddle created by the condensation from all the drinks he’d had. There was also an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Ashes were strewn about; there was an expensive looking lighter and a gold cigarette case. It was a disgusting spectacle. Max had only glanced at the man at first. Now he took a better look. The man looked back at Max and looked away. In that instant Max recognized him. It was faint recognition but the man was no stranger.

At that moment the woman sitting next to the drunk got up from her seat and walked away from the table. Max quickly took the seat and looked more carefully at the man’s face. He knew this guy. Who was it? He thought hard. The man glanced at Max briefly and looked away again. Now the impatient dealer wanted Max to place a bet.

Bet, Sir?

Shuffle the deck, said Max.

It’s not time yet, responded the dealer.

Then I’ll bet on a new shoe, answered Max. He would wait for the dealer to finish this set of six decks of cards.

The dealer shrugged. His words were, Yes, Sir. But to Max it sounded like he meant, Suit yourself, Jerk. The dealer was a cold fish, as were so many of the dealers at this casino. He acted impersonal, but still his contempt for the casino clientele was evident.

While the dealer continued sending losing hands to the drunk, Max thought hard about that face. He turned to Gaffer who was right behind him.

I know this guy from somewhere but I can’t place him.

You better do something, said Gaffer. He’s going down fast.

The card shoe was finished and the dealer made a display of shuffling the decks. The drunk reached for his drink but lost his grip on the slippery glass. It came tumbling down spilling its icy contents partly on his right leg, and partly on Max’s left. It startled both of them. The drunk bolted backwards and began a profuse apology.

I sorry! Please, I didn’t mean to do that. He looked at Max and there was immediate recognition in spite of his inebriated state. Max, old man. Son of a gun. How you doin’ Max? After a brief pause he added, Sorry about the mess there. Let me buy you a drink.

Max looked puzzled. He still could not place the vaguely familiar face. The man seemed happy to see Max, although he did not seem able to focus his eyes for a long period of time. Not knowing whether to be embarrassed for failing to recognize this man, or be angry about the drink down his leg, Max backed away. The dealer had finished shuffling his decks and was now impatient to have the patrons place their bets.

Are you in or out? he asked, with an edge to his voice.

Max did not hesitate to come back at him. Did you see what just happened here?

I did, Sir, answered the dealer. Would you like to place a bet?

Fury flared inside Max Carson. He took several seconds to measure his response and then he let the man hear it. You’ve been allowing this man, who is obviously too drunk to think clearly, to bet away thousands of dollars at your table. That is against house rules, and I want to see the floor manager right now. It looked as if the surly dealer was not going to move, so Max continued. In case you did not hear me, I said I want to see the floor manager right now. I’m going to make a petition to have all this man’s losses returned to him. It will be a public disgrace to this casino and it will also be your last day as a dealer anywhere in the Bahamas Islands. Now call your manager.

Max had raised the level of his intensity without raising the volume of his voice. It was a frightening thing for the dealer. He tried to turn things around. His face went slack and he lowered his eyes.

Sir, I apologize. And I admit that I should have stopped this man from playing quite some time ago. I hope we can come to an understanding.

What’s that supposed to mean? asked Max, decidedly calmer, and responding to the dealer’s contrite approach.

It means that I’m going to buzz for the floor manager as you requested and we’ll discuss some sort of redress for your friend. I don’t want this to be done under protest. It’s my hope to solve this problem for your friend in a fair and equitable way. He hesitated for a moment and added, It is also my hope that there will be no formal complaint.

This was good enough for Max. Good. I don’t want to make a big fuss either. We do the right thing for this man, Max motioned to the drunk, and we forget the rest of it. Apology accepted.

The dealer extended his hand in friendship to Max who accepted the gesture. He then reached under the table and pressed a button to call the manager over. While waiting the thirty seconds it would take for the floor manager to arrive, the dealer addressed the drunk. Sir, I ask your pardon as well. You should not be playing at the tables in your condition, and I should have done something about it an hour ago.

Gaffer stood behind his father with his mouth agape. He had seen him work through sticky situations in the past, but he had never seen someone capitulate so thoroughly. These casino dealers were like ice most of the time. This one had melted to the ground.

Max turned to the drunk. I know you know me, and you look familiar, but I’m embarrassed to say I can’t exactly place you.

The drunk stood and walked away from the table, walking like he was on the deck of a ship in eight-foot seas. Max followed. Do you remember the resort you financed in Abaco? asked the drunk.

The Sierra Beach Club? Max responded quizzically, looking ever

more carefully at this man and trying harder to recollect.

That’s it. Sierra Beach.

That goes back a few years, said Max. Is that how we know each other?

Now the drunk, who had no interest in pursuing the conversation with the floor manager who had been summoned, was leading Max away from the tables and out into the corridor. I was the co-sponsor of that development. We met on several occasions.

Max wracked his brain. He now remembered the context in which he had met this man, but the name still would not come. I remember now, he said. William? Billy?

Will Tanner.

Max examined the man more closely. He thought about that name for a long minute. He had met Will Tanner, and he could remember that he had heard something about him in the years since he had worked on the Sierra Beach project. Something tragic, but it would not come. Now they were out of the casino and moving toward the elegant rotunda area. They found comfortable wing-backed chairs out of the main traffic pattern and sat. Will Tanner seemed to have sobered considerably.

Again Max looked at him quizzically. There’s a story here but I can’t remember it.

Tanner shook his head. You’re thinking about my partner, Roy Zahn. He’s probably the guy you knew best. If you provided the financing he probably was the one who contracted with you to place the loan.

Yeah, said Max. I knew Roy pretty well. Is he the story?

Again Tanner shook his head. He passed away last year. They say he drank himself to death. And I believe it. He ended up quite an alcoholic.

It bothered Max to be reminded that Roy Zahn had died that way,

but he could not help noting the irony. Are you one too? he asked.

Tanner stiffened. Me? An alcoholic? 

Max shrugged. You’re drunk as a skunk, he said. And you just lost quite a few thousands of dollars in the casino. What should I think?

Will Tanner stood and walked slowly toward the exit that would lead him into the lavish aquatic gardens of the mega resort. Max and Gaffer followed, but P.J. had peeled off and headed back to check on the action in the casino. It was several minutes before they came to the Plexiglas tank teaming with scores of tropical fish. A lemon shark that appeared to be about five feet long glided by. Tanner pointed to it. I love those things, he said.

Me to, said Max. I think they’re beautiful.

It’s not their beauty that gets me, said Tanner. It’s their attitude and purpose.

Explain.

They’re perfect animals, said Tanner. They’re at the top of the food chain. They’re survivors. Then Tanner added, And they’re honest.

Oh, you’ve been talking to them? amused Max.

Tanner was deadly serious when he answered. I don’t communicate with them, but they communicate with me. They swim around all day looking for food. They’ll kill and eat anything in their sight. They’re right out front with their intentions. They don’t say ‘I’m a shark but today I’m going to act like a butterfly’. They’re consistent. You can count on them to act like what they are at all times. Unlike humans who will be what you want them to be to get what they want, who will act like a friend but behave like a shark, and stab you in the back when they think it will do them some good.

Max was pensive for a moment before answering. "I think you

judge too many people by your experiences with others. That’s not always how it is."

Tanner shook his head. Then you understand why I prefer the sharks.

Max could not disagree. He had always reconciled the concept of dangerous animals doing what they were created to do. He had caught and released some of the ocean’s most frightful predators, always being thankful for their existence and appreciating their beauty.

All right, Sharkman, he said to Tanner. I get your point. Now let’s get you to your room before you do any more damage to your liver or your wallet. He led Tanner by the arm back toward the hotel.

I’m not in the hotel, Will said. I’m in the marina.

Then to the marina, said Max. No more drinking for you and no more gambling until you get your head on straight.

Tanner allowed himself to be led through the hotel and down to the docks. He and Max made small talk on the way, but from it Max elicited a promise from Will Tanner that he would go straight to his cabin and not return to the casino that night.

Gaffer nearly gasped out loud when Tanner stopped at the gangway to Wave Dancer. Could it be possible that this was the man who owned the boat he had encountered earlier in the day? He did not think so much about how rudely the captain of the yacht had driven his boat, and the dangerous wake it had thrown, but more about the signal flair that had been launched into the yacht’s cockpit. He slid by Tanner and crossed the gangway, making the appearance that he was trying to steady Tanner for the three steps across into the boat. His real intention was to get a look at the yacht’s deck to see what the results of P.J.’s temper outburst had been. 

Tanner gripped the rails of the gangplank and did not accept Gaffer’s help. As the drunk man stepped down the two steps into the cockpit Gaffer backed up and got a good look around. The damage was not hard to spot. A black burn mark that looked much like a charcoal drawing of a small baseball bat ran along the deck terminating at the side of the bulkhead. Even though the lighting was bad, this mark could not be missed. Gaffer looked away from the spot and back to Tanner. He was not being watched.

Max stayed on the quay and Gaffer again slid around Tanner, this time in an effort to mount the gangway and get away from the boat. He backed away a little further as his father and Tanner said a last few goodbyes.

Soon enough Gaffer was walking with his father back toward the main resort building and further from the marina. He just shook his head and thought to himself, Wait ‘til P.J. hears about this.

The Rude Young Gaffer

Max was not certain he wasn’t dreaming when the telephone on his nightstand rang.