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The Curse of the Black Piper
Escape from Ensenada
By Harris T. Vincent AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2015 Harris T. Vincent
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4969-6401-4
CHAPTER 1
The Squash Buds
Tom stood frozen to the helm. His iced fingers held the wheel like a vice as the fifteen foot swells crashed and sprayed over the decks. Crashing through a behemoth wave, he could see that off to the starboard side, one of the Mexican HSB gunboats was on course to either board the Swan or ram her.
Flying over the crest of a swell, the Mexican HSB came around broadside to the Swan's starboard side and the Mexican sailors readied their grappling hooks and began to swing them in the air to hook the Swan and bring her within boarding distance.
"Damnit" thought Tom. "Just when I thought we were in the clear. Now we're dead! How in the heck did I ever get into this to begin with? This is the last time I ever listen to that son of a gun Ernie again!"
He had only moments to think of a way out before he and the crew were to become either inmates of a Mexican prison or residents of Davy Jones' locker.
* * *
Tom, Ernie and Emmet had become fast and inseparable friends after meeting at the bar overlooking the squash courts at the Santa Barbara Athletic Club. And after innumerable Stella Artois' shared there, had several times conjured up the idea of a quick trip to Rio where Ernie's antics had more than once almost landed them all in a Brazilian jail.
Ernie, the lacrosse captain at San Diego State and an ex-Navy SEAL, loved the ocean and especially body contact. He was also the son of a cop. As engaging as he could be, if you crossed him he could snap you like a twig. He had served two tours in Iraq honorably but was notorious for fighting and causing trouble. His CO had finally sent him back stateside during the second tour after he had been caught breaking into the officer's mess and attempting to steal a case of Jack Daniels for his annual "Luau by the Tigris" party. A live pig was found in the stolen Iraqi army jeep he had sequestered. A devout atheist, he was not one to tolerate anyone's religious convictions and was quick to debate any related moral issues.
But Tom had him under control at least most of the time. As the brains behind this notorious trio, he had graduated from Stanford Law School but hated his profession and had been thinking about changing careers. However, he did take pride in defending underdogs in the legal system against overzealous and clueless prosecutors while managing to keep the respect and confidence of the judges in his jurisdiction.
And being suave and charming, his low fees were compensated in other ways by his clients. They greatly appreciated not only his legal sagacity but also his sensitivity and wit.
He was also more than a little mischievous. One of his favorite pranks was to duct tape a coffee cup to the roof of his car. You wouldn't believe the chaos it could cause. People in other vehicles would wave and point to it as if it were an 800 lb. alligator or something. And of course, gluing quarters to the sidewalk at the homeless mission was another favorite dalliance of his. He considered the highlight of his career the time when he tied a dead raccoon to the rear bumper of a rival attorney's 500 SE. It normally would have been just thought odd but in this particular instance the attorney was on his way to the Four Seasons to attend a benefit for the SPCA. It was on the front page of the News Press the next day.
But in spite of all his mischief, Tom had one secret phobia. He was scared to death of storms and feared that if he ever found himself in one on the ocean he would crack and not have the courage to ride it out. This phobia was the result of being caught in a small thunderstorm while sailing on a skiff on a lake where he grew up. Strong winds had capsized the craft and he found himself trapped underwater when the main sail traveler line wrapped around his leg and prevented him from surfacing. He had managed to escape only because he had a Swiss army knife in his pocket and managed to cut the line. He had been deathly afraid of storms ever since.
Then there was Emmet. Emmet was born a natural promoter and salesman. Slick as deer guts on a doorknob, he had become a multimillionaire many times over by taking a mundane idea and turning it into a goldmine. As the creator of websites such as Antennaballs.com and as the creator of companies such as Lucky Wishbone, he was set for life. His activities were now mainly golf and sailing. But as successful an entrepreneur as he was, he had an attitude. Humility was not his thing and sometimes he acted as if his presence on earth was some sort of a gift to mankind.
Each of these people individually was harmless. But place the three of them together in one of their many escapades and you have a volatile prescription for madness, lunacy and the bizarre.
As Tom stood there in horror at the helm with his icy fingers locked to the wheel as the gun boat grew closer portending his doom, he thought this was one prescription he wished the pharmacist had lost.
CHAPTER 2
Santa Barbara, the Gloved One and the Mobster
Santa Barbara is usually beautiful in January, cold at night but warm and clear during the day. As the sun peeked through the east window and the alarm kicked on to MPR, Tom awoke with a start and a parched thirst. Ernie had done it again.
After three sets of squash and two pitchers of Stella Artois at the Athletic Club the previous evening, Ernie had coerced Tom once again into Chopin shots and more Stellas at Brophy Brothers.
"Damn that Ernie ... he 'effin' does this to me every time! I think my head is going to explode" he grumbled as he dragged himself out of bed. "I have to get ready and be in court by 8:30. Why today of all days did I let him do this to me?"
Not only did Tom have to be in court but also the trio was scheduled to rendezvous at Emmet's scenic Alta Vista mansion the following day at 6 pm to drive the Range Rover to Ensenada to take delivery of the Swan and sail it back to Santa B.
"This headache is a bad omen," Tom thought. And he was right.
* * *
The Rover was ready to roll. Everything that was needed for the Swan was packed. Cases of Stella and Chopin Vodka, French bread, fresh Brie and Chardonnay were provisioned in case any south of the border 'chiquitas' were to find their way to the Swan's anchorage.
The group's spirits were high. Although Tom's previous two day's events had proved highly unusual and quite bizarre, he hadn't shared them with Ernie the previous evening because of client confidentiality and besides, he didn't have the energy to share them right now. There would be plenty of time later on the sail back from Ensenada.
But all were anxious to be sailing soon. Emmet hopped into the driver's seat and gunned the 4.6 SE as Ernie cracked a Stella and lit a Marlboro.
"Warp five engage" Ernie snapped to Emmet as Tom reclined the rear seat and started to doze.
"Aye, aye Captain" quipped Emmet in his best Scottie imitation as he slammed the Rover into gear and roared down the hill toward the awaiting adventure.
Adventure was to be an understatement.
* * *
Tom's dozing was restless. Besides the fact that Ernie had the Stones cranked on the Rover's sound system, the two previous day's events had been quite out of the ordinary. His arrival at the courthouse was marked by a series of events he would define as strange to say the least.
As he pulled the CLK into the parking garage that morning he noticed a myriad of reporters and paparazzi mulling about in and around the courthouse gardens. He was already late for court and he knew Judge Atkins did not tolerate tardiness.
Screeching to a halt in the closest available spot, Tom grabbed his briefcase and file materials and ran for the Santa Barbara street light, hoping to make the green one in time. Just as his feet hit the crosswalk, it changed to yellow.
Normally Santa Barbara traffic isn't congested but its drivers are well known for running yellow and red lights. Being already late, it was a risk he had to take.
What exactly happened then he couldn't tell. But when he regained consciousness, he saw that his brief case and files were strewn all over the crosswalk and intersection. He felt a slight pain on the back of his head. Mobs of people were gathered about him and when he began to focus his eyes again, he noticed something quite peculiar. Four or five men who looked like professional wrestlers were making their way through the crowd toward him and they didn't look very happy. From his view on the pavement he noticed a splash of rainbow like colors moving quickly between them.
Pushing the mob out of the way, they formed a circle of protection around Tom and their colorful follower. A strange looking individual in sun glasses, a tie-dyed shirt and a huge black hat knelt over him and spoke in a melodious and soft tone. "Are you alright, sir? We almost hit you!"
There was something extremely familiar about this man's voice and as his eyes began to focus and his head began to clear, he realized who was speaking to him. It was none other than the Gloved One himself.
* * *
Chief Warrant Officer Anthony D'Amato sat on the bridge of the frigate USS Simpson anchored in Mission Bay Harbor near the Coronado Naval Base in San Diego. After having spent the last three decades assigned to various U.S. Embassies in the middle east as a liaison, he had requested transfer to Coronado Naval Base for reasons only he knew about and had received clearance two months later from the Vice Admiral of the Pacific Fleet.
A rather short, ugly and ill-tempered man, he had grown up the spoiled son of a well- known mob boss and even after thirty-two years in the Navy, he still went by the nickname Tony the bull D'Amato. After Sam Giavanni was whacked and the feds started infiltrating the mob in the sixties and early seventies, he decided the best place to hide was the U.S. Navy. He had entered the Navy after being expelled from NYU for breaking and entering a professor's office to steal tests.
He had pretty much run the college campus the same way his father had run the rackets in New Jersey. The thugs that worked for him were not college students but rather made guys assigned to his territory by his father.
Among other nefarious activities, he operated a loan shark business for students who had lost their tuition money from their wealthy parents gambling or who needed drug money. His rackets included extorting the campus businesses run by students and he had his goons rough up anyone who refused to cooperate. When kids couldn't pay up, he told them they had forty-eight hours and then suggested they make a clandestine night time visit to either their parent's homes or one of the many beach homes in the Hamptons.
He would accept fine art and object d'art in lieu of cash. He even provided them with burglary tools, maps and a list of homes with significant art collections which his goons had cased on the Sotheby's Real Estate online tours. In the process, he had become quite an art expert. He loved art but not for art's sake. He loved the money it brought him.
CHAPTER 3
The Slip and the Altercation
"Are you alright, sir? You slipped on the pavement. We almost ran you over!"
As his head cleared and his eyes began to focus, Tom realized what had happened. That morning, in a fog, he had put on the new Cole Haan loafers he had bought on sale at Nordstrom the week before. Soft and comfortable, they had one drawback; the leather soles were flat with no grip. He had gone backward onto his head when the slippery sole of his right foot hit the newly paved asphalt.
"Sir, we'll have to take you to a doctor."
"No need" said Tom as he got up and dusted off. "Just slipped that's all. I'm also due in court" he said as he began to gather his strewn papers.
"So also am I" said the Gloved One. "But please let me to take you to my doctor afterwards. You may have injured your head."
"Really, I'm alright. It's not necessary."
"I don't think you heard him correctly, sir" said one of the gorillas. "You will be seeing his doctor! And I'm coming with you to see that you will do exactly that!"
As Tom looked over this band of steroid induced muscle heads, he began to calculate his odds of escape and he could see that they weren't good.
"Looks like I don't have much choice, do I? Where's the doctor?"
One of the bodyguards stepped forward and moving his face within six inches of Tom's, he asked with a smile, "have you ever heard of Tierra Bella?"
* * *
Ernie was glad to be on the road. His on and off again romance with Debbie had plunged to new depths this past week when she had seen his cell phone bill and redialed some of the phone numbers only to find that they were mostly numbers belonging to other women.
Ernie loved women and as an alpha male, took advantage of the fact that many women loved his bad boy aura. He didn't cheat much but every once in a while, being a man, he couldn't say no when the opportunity presented itself. Now he'd been busted big time and after a horrendous fight with Debbie, she had thrown him out again for the fiftieth time.
He loved her but just wasn't ready to commit, probably never would be. Marriage didn't make much sense to him. For some people it seemed to work for a while but then inevitably, sooner or later, it would self-destruct. It was a dilemma but one he could forget about as soon as he was sailing again on the high seas.
"Dude, this is so sweet being on the road again" said Ernie.
"Right on, brother ... soon we'll be back on the high seas sailin' our boat back to Santa Barbara" said Emmet.
"Yeh, well there's that part, definitely. But mostly because now the heat's off."
"Heats off ... how's that, dude?"
"Let's just say I got busted."
"Busted ... by whom ...?"
"Debbie ... she kicked me out again."
"That's about the fifth time, isn't it?"
"Yep, something like that ... she got the cell phone bill and called some of the numbers. Unfortunately they were to some lady friends of mine."
"Real swift move there, Nesto."
"How was I to know she'd do that? Oh well, its history now."
"Ancient history, dude ... no worries though ... the sailing gods will save you."
"There are no gods, Emmet. There is no good and there is no evil. We are nothing but cosmic detritus dwelling on a speck of rock traveling through a meaningless and random universe at warp speed. Disaster and chaos is our legacy in this life. If you think there is some sort of omniscient deity watching over us, then you are living in a fairy tale. Grow up and face the music, boys. This is a lonely road we travel and we travel it to the final ugly end where nothing awaits us but oblivion."
"Whoa dude, that's deep."
"Yes, deep and self- centered" interjected Tom. You'll never win the Nobel Prize. That's for certain".
'Well, well ... look who woke up" replied Ernie. "Good timing ... as I was saying, add the fact that most of mankind is in a deep sleep and totally unaware of this condition."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Curse of the Black Piper by Harris T. Vincent. Copyright © 2015 Harris T. Vincent. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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