[Lothithil]

Mac’s Voice-over:
Of all the things that could be said of Jack Dalton, one must mention that he is an excellent pilot; in the air, on the land, or by lake, river, and sea. He might be a man of boisterous style, a man who takes outrageous chances… a man you’re parents might warn you about! But Jack could also be precise, focused, and reserved when the circumstances demanded it. Granted, circumstances might have to demand it firmly, but Jack always comes through. It was one of the things that I liked about him.

That… and his tendency to save my life. Then again… if Jack happened to be around and I got into trouble, chances are it would be his fault!

The Three Musketeers in Martinique continues with

Finders Keepers, Losers Seekers

The boat glided up to the dock and gently shouldered the bumpers. Mac leapt nimbly down onto the warped planks and caught the rope that Mike threw to him to secure the craft. He handled the ropes as if he had been born on a boat instead of an apple farm in Minnesota, deftly tying them to the guy-hooks that studded the pier.

“I’m dying for a nice warm shower and a meal that I don’t have to cook myself,” announced Mike as she began passing gear down to Mac. “Let’s get all this stuff where it belongs, so we don’t have to worry about it walking off when we’re not looking.”

“I can take the diving gear back to the place we rented it, if you want to help Jack off-load our stuff,” Mac offered.

“Tell you what, my good friends,” Jack said jovially, “why don’t you, Mac, take the diving gear back, and you, Mike, take your lovely bones to the bungalow? I’ll get the gear myself.”

Mike looked at Mac, who looked right back at her. “What’s this? Jack Dalton… volunteering to do work? Am I hearing this right? Maybe I’ve got water in my ears!”

“Maybe you’ve had too much sun,” Mac said slyly, “and you’ve baked your brain!”

“Maybe I might change my mind if you two don’t get off my back!” Jack laughed. “Go on now-- git!” He waved at them as if shooing away a swarm of annoying flies.

“Okay! Okay! Just let me grab my pack,” Mike said. She swept up her light backpack that she used as luggage everywhere that she went. It contained everything of value that she needed. She then leaped down to the dock and hit the boards running. Mac grinned as he looked after her, and then turned around in time to see Jack watching her, too.

Dalton hurriedly turned his gaze elsewhere when he noticed Mac watching him.
“Are you sure that you don’t need any help, Jack?” Mac asked, failing to conceal his grin.

“Quite.” Jack said stiffly. He turned then to Mac and added, “And you, young man… you just be sure not to forget to get back the deposit we paid for that stuff.”

Mac easily boosted the empty tanks up onto his shoulder. “I’m thinking they may want to keep it when they find out we left one of their tanks on the reef!” He grabbed up the rest of the gear in his other hand. “Don’t worry about it, Jack. I’ll take care of it.”

Jack watched surreptitiously while his friend walk the length of the pier and for a few moments after he disappeared among the fish markets and souvenir shacks that grew up around the marina like barnacles. Only then did he move, dashing toward where their gear was stacked. He ignored the bags aside and knelt down next to the ice chest. Glancing around to see if he was being watched, he pried up the lid and looked inside, scooping the ice away from the contents hidden below.

A glint of gold shone up at him, and his eyes twinkled. “The early bird gets the gold,” he murmured happily. “I wonder if I can persuade Mac and Mike to go to Spain by way of Zurich…”

⌂

Mac’s Voice-over:
The sunsets in the Caribbean seem to last forever. It was the darker side of dusk when I finally reached the rental store. It was a smallish place, kinda ramshackle-looking but it had offered the fairest rates and the gear was perfectly maintained. That’s important when your trusting your life to the equipment. Anyway, there it was in the dying daylight, a single floodlight lit to illuminate the sign on the roof, “Best Diving and Seafood”, with a neat native mural painted around the borders. I liked it.

The diving gear was starting to get heavier as the day caught up with me, and I slung my burdens down onto the porch with a gasp of relief. My scraped-up leg was stinging a little and my shoulders were aching, but I still had a good feeling about everything.

That is… until I stepped through the door and found a whole bunch of really unfriendly people staring at me. It was almost enough to make me want to walk out again without saying a word.

When Mac went through the doorway to the shop, the top of his head gently bumped a wind-chime that had been strategically placed to alert the shop-owner when he had a client. The light, bell-like ringing sounded oddly discordant against the tension in the crowded little room.

The two darkly tanned and rugged men who were standing at the counter turned at the sound. The shop-owner, a short native fellow with brightly colored red, green, and yellow beads woven into his dreadlocks, offered Mac with a kind of desperate smile.

Mac took a slow step forward and raised one hand in a lazy wave. “Hi there… Ricky?” Mac hoped he had remembered the man’s name correctly. “I brought back that equip—“

“I’m sorry, mon,” Ricky said nervously, “the store is closed. Come back tomorrow.”

Mac blinked. “But, we only paid for one day—“

One of the rough men came toward Mac menacingly. “You heard the guy, bucko. Take a hike.”

Mac nodded as if in slow understanding, all the while his sharp eyes took in the details; the too-casual way that the men were standing-- concealing possible weapons--, the scars on their knuckles, the sweat that dampened their collars even though a cool breeze had been blowing in from the ocean. Mac figured that they were extortionists, leaning on the shop-keeper for protection money. A hot wave of anger burst in Mac’s gut as he looked at poor Ricky, sweat running off of his face and his eyes showing white all around in his fear. It just wasn’t right…

“Well,” Mac said, backing up slowly toward the door, “I can see that you guys are busy… closing up and all that… I’ll just come back tomorrow, shall I?” He paused by the door where an open crate of live crabs were scraping and clawing to get free. A part of Mac’s mind laughed as he quickly conceived of a plan to liberate two of the incarcerated crustaceans. He reached into the crate and picked out the largest and most energetic pair. “Before I go, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to pick up dinner. How do you guys feel about seafood?”

Neither man expected to get an angry crab thrown into his face. One brought up his arms and tried to block his face with the baseball bat he had been holding behind him. He was too slow, and suddenly he was shrieking and clawing at the crab as it viciously pinched his face. The second man completely dropped his club—it looked as if it might one have been an oar-handle—and twisted around, trying to dislodge the crab that had latched onto his ear.

Mac didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the netting that was hanging near the door and flung it over the heads of both men. Ricky recovered from his own shock and picked up the oar-handle, which he used to knock both men senseless.

“O, mon! You saved my life!” Ricky pointed at the men lying on the floor of his shop. “Them’s some bad mon come up from the Big Islands, makin’ troubles for all of Ricky’s folk.” He waved the club as he spoke, gesturing wildly. “They’ve been leanin’ on all o’ Ricky’s friends along the marina, mon. But they the ones who’re gonna be sorry soon. They gonna need protection from this Rasta!”

“Yeah… okay, Ricky.” Mac made peaceful gestures toward Ricky until he calmed down a little. “You need any more help with these guys?”

“No, mon. These bums are for the police. My boys’ll help me get them sorted. You gowan now and take my thanks. Oh, an’ here,” Ricky popped open the register and took out some money, offering it to Mac. “Take you money back, mon.”

Mac raised his hands in refusal. “I couldn’t… we lost one of your tanks on the reef. I should be paying you more money for that…”

“Forget it, mon!” Ricky shook his head, making his beads go snapping and flying. “What these bums would have taken… I’m saving money, trust me! Take it. Take it!” Ricky thrust the bills into Mac’s hands. “An’ when you come back ‘round these parts, you come and see Ricky the Rasta again!”

“Thanks, Ricky,” Mac said, stuffing the cash in his pocket. “You’re all right.”

“I am now, mon,” Ricky said, dialing a number on the telephone. “More’n these bums are gonna be soon!”

---tbc

[MacNymph]

Jack’s scheming in private and Mac’s poking a hornets nest with a stick.

I love it!