Welcome to Deep Cove

Garrett leaned against the compound fence, waiting for Vic to reappear from the main building. He nodded as one of the groundskeepers passed. The man returned the gesture and continued on his way. Garrett knew nobody would question his presence on Kline’s property, but he also knew that to investigate the two red barns without Vic would be risky. Since the death of the warehouse guards, Kline had doubled security and it seemed you couldn’t go anywhere on the compound without being watched.

Vic appeared shortly, carrying two large pails and wearing an oversized set of rubber boots. The dullard stopped when he saw Garrett leaning against the gate leading into the penned in area. He looked confused then lifted one of the pails toward the sign on the fence. “Can’t you read, dummy?” he asked. “It say only me and furries allowed in barn.”

Garrett glanced at the warning board and nodded. It read ‘Authorised Personnel Only. No Exceptions!’ “Of course I can read,” he said. “Mr. Kline said I could help you tonight.”

Vic looked suspicious. “Mr. Kline not let anyone help Vic feed de squirrels before.”

“There’s always a first for everything,” said Garrett shooting a disarming grin at Vic.

“Okay,” agreed Vic, thrusting his pails at Garrett.

The smell hit him immediately and he almost turned away. “Gods, Vic - what is that?”

“Fish balls,” answered Vic.

“I didn’t know fish had balls,” he said, accepting the pails.

Vic let burst with a snort of laughter. “You a funny guy, Garredd.” He turned without further comment and walked back to the storeroom door. Garrett held the pails unsure of what the younger man was doing. At last Vic reappeared with two more pails.

“Assistant Chef Gunny makes de fish balls out of flour, eggs, flaxes seeds, and um sometin’ else.”

“Fish?” supplied Garrett.

“Oh ya, dat.” Vic set his pails down and opened the gate. He motioned Garrett inside, before closing it behind them. He led Garrett to the first of the red barns and up to the side door leading into the building. “Why Mr. Kline tink I need help? Is it ’cause of de babies?”

“I asked if I could help,” lied Garrett. “He doesn’t think you need help. He thinks you are doing a very good job.” Vic puffed out his chest and undid the latch on the door. He led the way into the barn and Garrett could hear the scuffling of many animals. A warm stink washed over them and Garrett allowed his eyes to adjust to the darker confines of the structure before following Vic inside. A row of windows built into the roof allowed a little light to reach the lower floor. Garrett could see a central aisle in the middle of the barn and dozens of pens lining either side of the walkway. The height of the barn had been cut in two and a second walkway led up to the storey above and more pens.

Stopping at the first enclosure, Vic smiled at Garrett. “I love de spring. Dat’s when my squirrels have babies!” Garrett looked closely and could make out several small critters in the pen. Two adult animals were at least three times the size of any squirrel he had ever encountered. “Want to hold one?” asked Vic excitedly. He placed two of the fish balls into the pen and scooped up one of the babies.

“No thanks,” said Garrett, assessing the barn again. He recalled the day on the docks with the rotting marlins. He was now certain he knew what goods the fish had contained. At the time, Maury had divulged that Mr. Kline did not deal in drugs but was more of a commodity man, preferring precious gemstones and the like. The answer had hit him when Detective Honi told B.S. that the most prized sable fur was known as black diamond. There had been other clues as to Kline’s trade commodities, like the fine fur coat the man wore. Then there was the twice daily feeding of Vic’s squirrels and the stringent rules surrounding the visitation of the barns.

In reality Garrett didn’t care if Kline moved drugs or illegal furs. The confirmation of the sable farm was only important in helping B.S. with his memory quandary. Garrett was certain that Honi had indeed recognised B.S., and that the boy had been taken from his grandfather and his home on the Ghondorian.

“Vic how long have you worked for Mr. Kline?” he asked as the other man put the baby sable back inside the pen.

“Long time,” said Vic, moving to the next pen.

“Did he always have the squirrels here?”

“No,” said Vic, delivering food into the cage. “He get dem when I was ten. I member cause he said I could feed dem as my birfday present.”

“That was nice of him,” said Garrett in a soft tone. “How old are you now, Vic?”

“Twenty-tree!” Vic beamed over at him. “I take good care of my squirrels for a long time!”

“Yes you have,” agreed Garrett. Vic’s answer came as no surprise and he had already guessed that Vic’s tenure as sable keeper would coincide with the amount of years B.S. had lived in Deep Cove.

* * * *

Garrett knocked on the guardhouse door and waited several seconds before Maury opened it. The Ogre smiled and allowed him entry into the building. “Garrett, what brings you our way?” The ogre retraced his steps to the hardwood counter where he was preparing himself a pasta dinner. “You want something to eat buddy? I made enough for the whole tribe!”

“No thanks,” returned Garrett, removing his footwear and stepping in from the entranceway. He stood there idly as Maury topped his dinner with a thick brown sauce. “It smells good though.”

“Ah,” said Maury, glancing up and winking, “It’s my grandma’s secret recipe. Boy, could that woman cook. I think I inherited some of her skill.” He gave a lopsided grin and pulled a chair out for Garrett. “If you don’t want pasta we have some leftover turkey in the cold room. I’m pretty much the only one who eats it, come the third day.”

“No no. You go ahead and eat. Merle fixed us a bite before I left. Unfortunately, he wasn’t working from any secret recipe.” Garrett considered this for a moment. “At any rate, if he was, it should have remained a secret.”

Maury laughed and nearly spilled the milk he was pouring. “You know, Frank was right about you. You are a funny guy. Maybe we could go on the road together.”

“I keep hearing that,” admitted Garrett. “I’m not much for people or crowds. Speaking of which, are we alone?”

Maury glanced at Garrett a fork full of dangling pasta half raised to his lips. “I don’t have any candles,” he said sheepishly and batted his eyes.

“Stop it,” said Garrett “I want to talk to you about something important.”

Maury nodded and lowered his fork. “Yes, we’re alone. Frank and Hector escorted Mr. Kline to the paddle ball match. You know how the old man likes to watch his paddle ball.”

“Good,” continued Garrett. “I had a conversation with our friend, Mr. Honi.”

“I don’t know why you’re keeping that cop around your place, Garrett. Cops can’t be trusted.”

Garrett stared at the ogre. “I know what you’re doing here,” he said at last. “I came to ask you to pull out.”

Maury slammed his fork down and pushed his chair back from the table. He didn’t bother to stand and looked to be fighting to find the right words. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Garrett, but you better not try me.”

“Look, Maury. I know why you’re here, and I know that cops can be trusted,” he said with intent. “Things are very dangerous for Mr. Kline’s employees, right now. You gain nothing by staying.”

“Why did you come to me?” asked Maury, shaking his head. “You know I’m a dead man if they uncover the truth.”

“They’ll never hear it from me,” assured Garrett. “I only came because Honi wanted me to talk some sense into you.”

“What the hell do you owe him?” snorted Maury.

“I don’t owe him anything,” said Garrett softly. “You’ve been good to me, Maury and I feel we’ve developed a friendship. I came because I owed it to you, no one else.”

Maury looked flustered. “Why in Hell did he open his big mouth? Is he trying to get me killed?”

“It wasn’t like that,” assured Garrett. “Merle and I went to Honi’s place the day after he was beaten. We went to get some of his personables, but discovered the apartment overturned. We found a letter written to the bureau’s senior officers. It detailed information about the sting and their undercover man. Honi never mentioned your name. I just put two and two together.”

Maury sat across from Garrett, his pasta forgotten. “Damn it,” he swore at last. “Honi didn’t send you to talk sense to me. He sent you to show me my cover was blown. Protocol dictates that I now disengage.”

“I didn’t think about it from that angle,” admitted Garrett.

“He’s a canny man.” Maury stood from the table and rubbed at his chin. “I can’t let four years of work go down the drain because of this gang infighting.”

“Honi says you have lots of data on Kline. They may not be interested in prosecuting now, but the information could be used in the future.”

“Enough,” said Maury with authority. “We can’t discuss this here. It’s not safe.” He glared at Garrett. “Does anyone else know about me?”

“Merle,” admitted Garrett.

“I hope that meathead has enough sense to keep quiet.”

“He does,” said Garrett. He was offended that Maury would lash out about Merle, but he reminded himself it was Maury’s life on the line and remained quiet.

“You keep your lips sealed until I have time to think about this.” Maury began to pace in front of the table. “I can’t just walk away, they’ll know.” He glanced at Garrett, a nervous look crossing his features. “You don’t work with a bunch of guys for four years and not become close. I mean Kline’s business is one thing, but Frank and Hector are security, they only take orders.”

“I’m sure this is difficult for you,” said Garrett. “You have to do what you feel is right.” He thought about mentioning the ogre’s duty as a policeman, but knew that Maury was already well aware of his obligations. In the end, the ogre would have to decide for himself what action to take.

Maury was startled as the door to the guardhouse banged inward and Vic trundled in with his muddy rubbers and an empty feed pail. “Hey, I tought you might be in here. Dere is two barns!” he said grumpily, and holding up three fingers. “You left me all by myself to finish de job again.” Vic closed the door behind him and set the stinking pail down. He removed his thin jacket and dropped it on the floor, before making his way to the table. “What’s for supper?”

“Here,” said Maury, pushing the plate of untouched food towards Vic.

“My favourite!” said Vic, reaching for the plate.

“Your hands,” chastised Maury distractedly.

“Oh ya, I forget.” Vic trudged off to the shower room to clean up. Garrett and Maury remained silent until the younger man returned. The quietness of the guardhouse was evidence enough that the ogre had a lot on his mind.

“Can I play my game?” asked Vic, carrying his plate of noodles into the sitting area. He placed the plate on the coffee table and flicked on the G.V. unit with the remote. The screen blazed to life with the image of dancing fairies. Pipe music resonated from the speakers and Garrett cringed at the frantic melody.

“No,” said Maury. “I need to think.”

“Ah come on, Maury,” pleaded Vic, a half mouthful of supper hanging from his lips. “I’ll turn de volume down.” As if to prove his good intentions, he tapped the remote and a solid bar of yellow lines decreased in sync with the fading volume.

“Damn it,” yelled Maury. “Why are you always under foot? Just eat your supper and be quiet, for once.”

Vic jumped at the sudden explosion from the ogre and then looked crestfallen as Maury’s words hit him. He put his head down and ate in silence.

Garrett frowned at Maury and then went to Vic. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. “Maury has a lot of security issues he has to work out.”

Vic slurped up a noodle and frowned at the floor. “I miss Sal,” he whispered. “He let me play my game whenever I wanted.” His eyes raised from the floor his gaze pleading with the Ogre.

“Oh for the love of Pete,” ranted Maury, pulling out his chair and sitting again. “Play your game, Vic. Just do it quietly.” The ogre cradled his head in his hands and did not see the grin covering Vic’s face. Vic reached for the remote again. This time he flipped through the channels until he came to a signal displaying a series of alternating coloured bars. Timing the rhythm of the flashing blocks, he began to depress a succession of buttons on the remote.

“Is that your game?” asked Garrett mystified.

“No silly. Dis just to get into de game. You have to match de pattern with de numbers on de remote.” He rolled his eyes at Garrett’s foolish question.

“What pattern?” asked Garrett.

“Red one. Red Tree. Green two. Yellow eight,” said Vic lowering the remote exaggeratedly with each depression of the buttons. Still, Garrett could not identify the pattern.

“Don’t ask,” mumbled Maury from the table, “no one but Vic gets it.”

The screen changed and a list of options was displayed across the globe. Vic moved the selection until the words “Troop Movement” were highlighted. He clicked a button and a giant map of the globe swirled into view. “Where do you want to move de army men?” asked Vic “I tink we should stop attacking Ho-Horaan with de Sung-Ti troops. Dey is getting dere butts kicked good.”

“I don’t care,” grumbled Maury.

“Frank always helps me,” sulked Vic.

A feminine voice issued from the speakers, cutting off Maury’s reply. “You have Mail.”

“Oh come on,” yelled Vic. “I told Frank to check de mail on dere. How come I’m de only one who does dat? You know I can’t play my game without getting dese messages.”

“Nobody checks the damn thing, because it’s always advertisements. Besides, the boys don’t know how to use the G.V. mail feature.”

“I already show dem,” said Vic impatiently.

“The last time I cleared your account there were four G.V. mails in there and not one of them was from someone you know, Vic. There was an invitation from the college to support their new science centre, an ad from the witch’s conclave selling a new non stick broom powder, the ferry schedule from the harbour, and the last one had a subject line that read ‘Wish you were hung like an ogre?’ I didn’t bother reading that one.”

Vic growled in frustration and hit the mail button. The map disappeared and a picture of an envelope twinkled onto the globe. “You have one new message,” echoed the feminine tone from the speakers.

Vic waved the remote at the G.V. and the envelope icon was replaced by a dark screen. The view shifted slightly and a man’s naked body became visible in the dim light. Ropes tied the man’s wrists above his head and he was secured to a wooden beam. The man’s head hung limp and his body was slumped forward against his bindings.

“Vic,” said Maury sharply. “What is this?”

“I dunno. You want me to delete it?”

“Wait!” said Garrett, tugging on Vic’s arm to aim the remote at the floor.

The G.V. picture closed on the disheveled man and a glove shot out of the darkness to grab a handful of his hair. The fist jerked the bound man’s face up to look into the G.V. camera. Despite the blood and the swelling, there was no mistaking B.S.’s features.

Recognising his friend, Vic shrieked and dropped his bowl of noodles on the floor. “Dey killed him!” he wailed.

“Shush,” said Garrett, trying to sooth the other man and listening closely as a deep accented voice echoed from the speakers. Maury ran into the sitting room, his eyes locked on the suspended globe.

“Daniel Kline, we have your son. You crossed the wrong people when you started meddling in the dons’ affairs.” The voice was chastising. “It is lucky for you that the men we work for are lenient. They realise the value of networking and accumulating new business partners. They also realise that sometimes these new ventures sever older commercial ties. Now you have a decision to make. Realign with your old friends and pay your fines or dissolve the aforementioned bonds with my employers and push forward with your new endeavours. I do not suggest the latter, however. I have never known it to be a profitable or health conscientious choice.”

Garrett glanced at Maury and the ogre’s look was bewildered. Beside him, Vic curled up into a ball on the sofa, his eyes locked on the shadowy scene unfolding on the G.V., his whole body trembling.

“If you wish to set things right with the dons, you have until midnight tomorrow,” continued the cold narrative. “There are three conditions you must satisfy. One: you will deliver fifty thousand gons to the west end pier and a ship named the Siren’s Call. Do not attempt to accost the Captain. He has been hired as a third party and knows only that you will bring several chests for transport. He does not know the whereabouts of his destination or the men who have hired him. You may bring three men to unload the money. Do not involve the authorities. Two: your monthly dues have now doubled. Three: you will pay in body as a reminder of your transgressions against the dons. You may have your son fulfill this debt on your behalf; the choice is yours. We shall leave his fingers unmolested until we have your decision. The boy will be released when you have satisfied the first and third conditions.”A knife flicked out of the darkness, drawing a line across the boy’s cheek. B.S. grunted as the blood trickled from the shallow cut and the screen went black.

Garrett swung to face the ogre. “What do they mean they have his son? B.S. isn’t Kline’s son.”

“No,” agreed Maury. “The boy was picked up on a ship and brought to Deep Cove years back. Everyone knows B.S. works for Mr. Kline though. The men who took him probably heard B.S. referred to as Kline’s boy. That would be my guess.”

“Are dey going to kill B.S?” asked Vic, his voice trembling.

“They mean business,” returned Garrett. He looked to Maury again. “Will Kline pay for his release?”

“Of course Mr. Kline will pay!” piped up Vic. “He likes B.S!”

“He will pay,” said Maury, resting a hand on Vic’s shoulder in assurance. The look he gave Garrett, however, was not so certain.