Chapter 32
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Radioville, AK
Joe brought the ax down hard.
The log cracked, splitting into halves.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and stacked the pieces onto the new row of firewood. They would rest here for a year or more, drying and seasoning before they were ready for use.
A gust of wind blew in from the water. Joe turned into it, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. He picked up the ax and pounded the next log, splitting it on the first strike.
The drone of a boat motor echoed off the nearby hills—approaching. He dropped the ax and walked around to the other side of his house to investigate.
A fast-moving sportfishing boat—white with a forest green stripe—rounded the corner of a neighboring island headed directly toward him. Joe didn’t recognize the boat. He put down his tools and walked to the beach.
The boat neared the island. Looked like Fellows at the helm. It continued toward his beach, faster than it should and jerked to a stop as the bow pushed into the sand.
Fool. Has he ever steered a boat before? Where’d he snag this contraption, anyway?
“How bout this new boat of mine?” Fellows shouted.
Joe slapped the bow of the shiny boat. “Buy that with our money?”
Fellows climbed over the side, his leather dress shoes sinking into the soft sand.
“Had to figure a way to get myself here and back without depending on the supply boat.” He glanced down at his shoes, then continued as if nothing had happened.
“Plus, it’s better if I ain’t seen stopping here all the time. ”
Joe wondered if Fellows ever stopped to actually think. “Not gonna need to drop anchor here anymore. We’re done—leastwise for now.”
He’d better have the dough.
Fellows was not making eye contact, which made Joe feel uneasy. He hoped Fellows wasn’t here without the cash. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep Sam Worlson under control.
Fellows reached into the cockpit and retrieved his briefcase.
Joe grabbed a bow line on Fellows’s boat and realized it wasn’t long enough to reach anything secure onshore. “Never beached a boat before, huh? What in the world do I attach this to?”
Fellows’s face flushed. “Ease up a bit, boss. It’s my first ride in this thing. Missed that short line, sorry about that.”
Joe dropped the useless line into the water, walked up to the shed where he kept boating gear, retrieved a long coil of line, and returned to the boat.
“What’s next, kid? Fancy yourself a fisherman now?
” He attached the new line to the bow cleat and tied it off to a heavy driftwood log higher up the beach.
Fellows faced out at the water, staring toward the horizon.
“Spot them damn killer whales?” Joe had a feeling something was off.
“Nah, just enjoying the scenery.” Fellows’s reply was weak, his voice strained. “Feels good to have my own boat, you know?”
Fellows with a boat was a bad idea. “Do you well to learn how to use it,” Joe said. “These are unforgiving waters.”
Joe led Fellows up the rocky embankment, through the narrow path in the grass, and up to the front of his house.
He took two empty whiskey bottles off the small wooden table outside and handed one to Fellows.
“Give this a try. It’ll perk you up.” Joe wound up like a pitcher and lobbed his empty.
The throw made a beautiful high arc, nailing the rocks just past the edge of the beach.
A satisfying crash echoed back. “Go ahead, chuck it! Don’t hit your new boat. ”
Fellows gave his bottle an unenthusiastic toss and it landed intact, in the sand, far short of the rocks.
“Don’t rightly know how you manage out here, Fellows.” Joe laughed at the kid’s ineptitude. “Seems like the first brown bear saunters by would reckon you for a straightforward dinner.”
Fellows didn’t reply. He followed Joe quietly into the house and pulled a chair up to the dining table.
Joe added a log to the woodstove. The warm heat of the coals on his face made him want a drink. He retrieved a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the cupboard and sat down across from Fellows.
“Toast to our successful enterprise?” Joe asked, pouring the two glasses nearly full.
“Didn’t figure you for a glass man,” Fellows replied snidely, his face deadpan. “Always thought you liked it straight from the bottle.” He took a tiny sip.
Joe drained his glass in one gulp. He dragged his chair over to the utility cabinet.
If Fellows was dealing straight on the cash, he should split the last bag of gold with him as well.
It was a small thing, but it might somehow relieve a little of the guilt he felt for stealing half the take off the top.
“What you plannin on next?” Joe asked, lining the chair up with the shelves.
Joe felt a little woozy on his legs and stumbled a bit. “Reckon I got up too fast.”
Fellows chuffed. “Business rags say real estate is where it’s at.”
The back of the chair steadied Joe. Regaining his balance, he climbed up on the chair, lifted the heavy old transmitter off the top shelf, and set it on his workbench.
No sense in keeping the hiding spot a secret anymore.
“Hey, can you tinker with the radio gear later?” Fellows still sounded uneasy. “I’m aiming to wrap this up and split before the sun calls it a day.”
Fine. Maybe I won’t split that last bag with him.
“Sunset isn’t for…Ah, hell. Okay. Suit yourself. Let’s get on with it.”
Joe went to the galley to retrieve a fresh bottle of whiskey. “Drink up, kid. You barely touched your bourbon.” He moved slowly, being careful not to stumble again.
Fellows raised his glass to Joe’s, clinked in a half-hearted toast, and took another small sip.
Joe savored the warm burn as the bourbon swished over his tongue.
He felt a little like Fellows was the son he never knew.
“Kid” seemed right somehow. Fellows was like an eager teenager, trying to please but wanting to show his independence and maturity.
It reminded Joe of himself in his early years.
Joe liked mentoring him, even though they were technically committing a crime together.
Joe finished off his drink, licked the last traces from his lips, and poured another for himself. “All right, son. Let’s see the money.”