Salvage (10 page)

“Jesus Christ, they're a wild bunch,” she said. “It's like the fucking
Dukes of Hazzard
. There's cars all over the fucking place, dogs running around barking, kids running around half-naked, their noses running. They got all the lobster and fish a person could want down on the wharf, but they eat junk food all the time. We had Pizza Pockets and potato chips for supper last night.”

Scarnum laughed. “Momma Zinck doting on you?”

“Jesus, Phillip, she wants me to move down with them,” she said. “She keeps telling me I'm a Zinck now, and I'm gonna be the mother of a Zinck. I think she wants me to take up with one of Jimmy's brothers. Last night after we all finish watching TV, she tells Hughie to show me my room, even though I been sleeping in it for two days. I was like, ‘Uh, I think I'll find it OK, Hughie.' ”

“They ask you what happened to Jimmy?”

“Hughie did,” she said. “I told him I don't know, but that I asked you to find out for me. Was curious about the salvage thing, how that works. Seemed to think you didn't deserve any money from the
Kelly Lynn
.”

She imitated Hughie then: “Oh da Jesus, to tink dat boy wants to get paid for towing da boat dat Jimmy was killed on. Don't seem right to me, you.”

“Where'd Hughie go to law school?” asked Scarnum.

“Law school? I don't think he graduated from Southwest Queens County Consolidated Elementary, that boy. Not a lot of books in this house. Hughie told everybody a nice story at dinner last night,” she added. “One of his cousins — a fisherman lives down the next bay — was fucking the neighbour's wife, sneaking in early while her husband was out checking his traps. Buddy finds out about it from the boys talking on the wharf, comes home at suppertime, grabs his wife by the hair, drags her next door. The family's eating dinner. He walks in, throws his wife down on the kitchen floor. Says, ‘You fucked 'er. You feed 'er.' ”

Scarnum laughed long and hard. “Jesus,” he said. “Them Zinck boys is rough.”

She was quiet. “They loved him, though,” she said. “Jimmy was the apple of his mother's eye. And the boys were some proud of him. They're awful sad.”

“Where's the funeral at?” asked Scarnum.

“The little Baptist church in Port d'Agneau, at the head of the bay, by the highway there.”

“I know where it is,” said Scarnum. “What time is the ceremony?”

“Eleven a.m.,” she said. “You gonna come up?”

“I might do,” said Scarnum. “But don't tell no one.”

“Who am I gonna tell, Momma Zinck? Hughie? Jesus, I can't wait to get out of here.”

“If I come to the funeral, play it cool, will you?” he said. “They gonna be watching you.”

“Phillip, what do you think I'm gonna do, make out with you during Jimmy's funeral? You think I'm fucking stupid?”

“All right,” said Scarnum. “I know. I just don't want Hughie and his brothers to get it in their heads that I'm the only thing stopping you from becoming a full-fledged Zinck.”

“Oh, I told them you were fucking me the whole time I was going out with Jimmy,” she said. “Told 'em I didn't know if you were the daddy or Jimmy was.”

“Jesus, Angela,” said Scarnum. “What did you …”

Then he heard her laughing. He cursed, then laughed with her.

F
alkenham didn't give Scarnum a second glance when he came out of the meeting room and into the yacht club bar with a couple of dozen other club members. They were a nautical-looking group, with expensive sailing jackets, deck shoes, and sailing caps. Scarnum's lawyer, Mayor, was one of the group.

Scarnum took his pint and walked out onto the veranda overlooking the boatyard. He leaned back with his elbows on the railing and stared at Falkenham, watching him move through the crowd, slapping backs and shaking hands.

It was chilly, with a strengthening breeze blowing off the bay. Scarnum could see a good chop building up in the open water past the islands.

Soon enough, Falkenham came out. He held a heavy crystal glass half-filled with amber liquid.

“Hola,” said Scarnum. “Having a little Laphroaig?”

He could see the beginnings of the red lines of the serious drinker on Falkenham's nose. He carried a bit of a gut under his expensive sailing jacket and blue button-down shirt. The collar of the shirt had a little line of yellow piping and there was a little yellow sail on the breast pocket.

“What the fuck do you want, Scarnum?” he said. “Thinking about joining the club? I don't think you'd like it. I don't think it's your style. You're more the Isenor's boatyard type.”

“D'you get your flask back?” asked Scarnum.

“Yes, I did,” he said. “But I can't say I was grateful. You scared the shit out of Karen with your bullshit story. She showed up at my office this morning, as upset as I've seen her. Took me hours to calm her down. I was surprised that she fell for your shit in the first place, and I told her that.”

Scarnum looked away in disgust, into the bar. He caught Mayor watching them, although the lawyer turned away when Scarnum caught his eye.

“The fact is that somebody stole the canoe,” said Falkenham. “After Karen told me your story, I called up and had the neighbours look. I must have left the flask in it the last time I was up at the lake. For all I know, you stole the fucking thing to fit in with whatever weird fucking scheme you've cooked up.

“Whatever it is, I don't want anything more to do with it, and neither does Karen. If you show up at Twin Oaks again we'll call the Mounties, and you can tell them your fucking fairy tales. Do you understand?”

Scarnum stared at him and laughed. “I wish I coulda seen your face when I hit the canoe with that goddamn battery,” he said. “Too bad you never fell into the water. I woulda laughed my ass off. Jesus, you paddled that son of a whore hard, though, when I come after you in the runabout. Oh da Jesus, you come onto 'er.”

Falkenham just stared at him.

Suddenly, the door to the bar opened and both men looked up to see Mayor coming out holding a cocktail in his big, soft hand.

“Hey, boys,” he said. “I hope you're not talking business. I'd hate to see you cut out the middle man.”

Falkenham laughed easily and slapped Mayor on the back. Mayor was smiling, but his eyes were nervous.

“Jesus, William, I'd never do that,” said Falkenham. “I'm looking forward to paying Scarnum here. Mind you, I might regret it if you spend your cut on new sails and you start beating me on Wednesday nights.”

The two men laughed at that. Scarnum stared at them, his face blank.

He interrupted them. “We was just talking about Jimmy,” he said. “He left a widow — Angela — and I was talking to Bobby here about her. Her boy's gonna grow up without a daddy.”

Mayor frowned into his drink. Falkenham's smile softened into a smile of concern, but his eyes got cold. He looked at Mayor.

“Phillip is friends with Angela, and he's worried about her,” he said. “It's a terrible thing that happened. We're all still in shock. Everybody liked Jimmy and we' d like to know what the hell happened to him out there. I was just about to tell Phillip that SeaWater is going to do its best to make sure Angela's baby's looked after.”

Scarnum stared at Mayor. “We was just having a chat here, Mr. Mayor,” he said. “It won't take long. I appreciate all the help you gave me with the salvage.”

Mayor started backing toward the door. “Well, don't stay too long out here in the cold,” he said and smiled.

Falkenham gave him a reassuring nod and a pat on the shoulder. “Don't worry, William,” he said. “We won't be long.”

He kept smiling after the lawyer had closed the door. He leaned on the rail and looked out at the bay.

“Phillip, we used to be friends, and that's why I told our lawyers to make you a good offer on the
Kelly Lynn
,” he said. “You think I like to think of you living on your shitty little boat down there in that shithole? I've sent some work your way over the years, discreetly, so you wouldn't know I had anything to do with it. I'd do more for you if I thought we could do business together. You're still a young man, and I know that you've got skills. Christ, there's not too many men on the South Shore know more about boats than you do. When you're sober, you're the best sailor I know. Fuck. You should have your own boatyard, have men working for you. Maybe a marina.”

He turned back to Scarnum and gestured with his glass of Scotch. “I keep expecting you to do something with your life. You probably think I got rich screwing people over. That's not how business works. I got rich by offering people things that they wanted, creating value in their lives.

“Look, Chester's full of rich people with boats,” he said. “If you weren't such a hardass and a drunk, you could make a lot of easy money off them. Use that bullshit South Shore accent you use when it suits you and they'd be eating out of the palm of your hand. But you got to make them feel good as they sign the cheques.”

He turned to face the bar and pointed with his chin at Mayor, who was inside chatting with a bearded man and his wife.

“Look at William in there,” said Falkenham. “There was no reason to chase him off the way you did. He was just checking up on us. If you learned to think about other people's feelings, you'd do a lot better in life.”

He turned to look out at the choppy water. “When we met, I was one of a dozen guys haggling on the wharves around here, buying lobsters from these fishermen, guys with nothing to do all day out on the water but think of how they can fuck over the lobster buyers. Now I own a lot of their fucking boats, supply restaurants and fish markets all over the goddamned place.”

He gestured with his glass at the boats in the twilight, his domain. “You think I got all that by fucking people over? No fucking way. I'm good at figuring out what people want and giving it to them.”

Scarnum stared at him. “You finished?” he said.

Falkenham turned to look at him. “What?” he said.

“You finished with your bullshit?” said Scarnum.

Falkenham sighed. “I shouldn't have wasted my breath,” he said.

“If you're finished, why don't you go fuck yourself?” said Scarnum.

Falkenham laughed and shook his head, but Scarnum could see he was very angry.

“What a hardass,” Falkenham said. “That's not really necessary, for me to go fuck myself, is it? I've got Karen for that. You know that.”

Scarnum's fists clenched and his face got red, but he stopped himself from punching Falkenham. He glanced inside at Mayor, who was watching them.

Scarnum laughed and shook his head. “Yes, I suppose you do,” he said. “Tell me this: What do you do with the cocaine once you get it ashore? I can't see you cutting it up into little vials and retailing the stuff. You must be dealing with some bad people in Halifax. Isn't that kind of a risk? Badass Mexicans running around with machine guns. Bodies washing up. I can see why you would have needed the money in the early days, but surely you're making too much money from lobster now to fuck around with this cocaine shit.”

Falkenham finished his whisky in one gulp. “Scarnum, the longer I stand here talking to you, the more depressed I get,” he said. “Stay away from me and Karen.”

Scarnum stepped forward and blocked the door to the clubhouse. “Make the Mexicans leave me alone,” he said. “Convince them I don't have their fucking cocaine.”

Falkenham smiled at him. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Phillip, but I'll tell you something. If I had some cocaine that belonged to some badass Mexicans, which I think is what you're saying, I'd give it to the motherfuckers.”

He pushed past Scarnum and into the clubhouse. “Adios,” he said.

S
carnum was getting ready to round Birch Island, with the sails taut on the port side and a good west breeze blowing, when he looked back over his shoulder to look at the light from the sunset hitting Chester. In the day's last light, he saw a little speedboat, looked like a seventeen-footer, being pushed by an outboard. It had no lights. There were two men in it — both wearing life jackets — and it was on his course.