As the men in Ivan's life gathered at the Dive, Surf, and Bait Shop. They looked for a way to get Ivan out of the fix he was in. It was intellectually challenging, deadly serious, and each saw his dilemma differently.

The gathering fell silent once they'd laid out the facts.

Clay moved a deck chair over beside Ivan's chair. After a few minutes Clay rested his hand on Ivan's hand. Clay was offering him his support, no matter the popular opinion on such things.

McCoy wasn't surprised by the show of affection. Most couples would want to be close in difficult times. The fact they were both men didn't change the equation. Each of them was concerned using his own logic for how best to react.

McCoy noticed Clay's hand resting on Ivan's hand. Recognizing Ivan was endangered, Clay was giving him all the support he could in front of friends.

"Stand up and turn around," Clay said, wanting to have a look at Ivan's back.

No one understood the order. Ivan did what Clay told him to do.

"He didn't do it," Clay said. "If he'd known Mason was here, he'd have gone and gotten his gun."

"I'll take your word for it, but a jury might need a little more to convince them," McCoy said.

"Ivan, what did you do as soon as you knew Mason was here the last time?" Clay asked.

"I called Harry. No, I went to get my gun and after that I called Harry."

"He didn't do it. He didn't come to get his gun. If the guy was stabbed, that's why he couldn't have done it. Ivan did not want Mason to get close enough to him to pull anything. A gun would keep him away. He'd need to get right on top of him to stab him. If Ivan killed him, he'd have been shot."

"He's right about that, McCoy. I'm good with the gun. I wouldn't have taken the chance of getting close to him. I saw the man fight. His hands are deadly weapons. I wouldn't let him get close enough to grab me, besides, I wouldn't know how to kill someone with a knife," Ivan said. "I knew better than to get too close to Mason."

"You quarreled. A knife is in easy reach. You grabbed it and stabbed him in a fit of rage," McCoy explained the prosecutor's theory.

"Time. A quarrel would take time. I knew where he was all night. He left with Dylan at six. He was on the beach picking up trash after that. When was there time for a quarrel? He couldn't have done it," Clay said, excluding Ivan as a suspect.

McCoy considered what was being said. There was a lot of circumstantial evidence that pointed away from Ivan. There was only one piece of evidence pointing directly at him. The threat.

"It's something. If I walked into this case cold, I'd listen and consider what's being said and who was saying. Clay is persuasive. Dylan is believable and I had you in sight from the time you left campsite 8, on your way to 7 to pick up the trash. It's close to an airtight alibi, but getting the real killer is the key. The killer is caught in most cases, but sometimes it takes years to catch him."

"Don't the feds have the death penalty?" Ivan asked.

"They do," McCoy said. "Another reason to find the killer. The CIA would definitely send you to the gallows for killing one of their own."

"Harry called again," Tag said out of the blue.

"I was at the Conservancy all morning," Clay said.

"He asked for Ivan," Tag said, remembering the call.

"It's Ivan's shop. Of course he'd ask for Ivan," Clay said.

"No, when he calls and wants to talk to Ivan, he asks, 'Can I speak with Ivan?' If he calls and is looking for you, he says, 'Is Clay there by any chance?' He asked for Ivan," Tag said.

"If Tag said that's what happened, that's what happened," Ivan said.

"I'm glad he didn't ask me what's going on at the cove. I'd have had to ask, 'You want to hear about the fire or the dead guy over on wilderness 2." Tag lamented.

"Why is the sheriff so suspicious of you?" McCoy asked.

"It's fate, McCoy. We went to school together. I was popular. Let's just say Gerald wasn't," Ivan said. "The old Bait Shop burned shortly after I bought it. I'd been home from Asia about a year. Later, I had a run in with a New Jersey mobster. That's after Tag and I built this shop. The man was a bigot. He insulted Tag. I tossed his ass out of here. He had a slip in the marina, and then, he didn't."

"You tangled with a mobster?" McCoy asked. "You do cover a lot of ground."

"That's one way to put it. He took offense. He sent a hood to do Lord knows what. He had a can of gasoline and he intended to burn my boat. He ended up burning himself up and the end of the pier went up with him."

"Not to mention he shot your sidekick," Tag said.

"Not to mention he shot Tag while trying to spread the gasoline. Tag saw him first and he took off after him. I was right behind him. As Tag hit the pier, the guy turned to shoot Tag. Not a good idea when you're carrying a can of gasoline. He burned along with that section of the pier. The FBI got involved. Captain Popov flushed the head guy out of hiding and the FBI arrested him right outside the front door of the shop. Gerald is convinced I had something to do with the mob. It's why the mobster came after me."

"You do seem to be a magnet for trouble," McCoy said. "How much of that story is true?"

"Every word," Tag said. "I was in on most of it. The only reason I took the bullet, well, you know how slow white men are. I got to the pier a few steps in front of Ivan. I thought he was going to burn the boats. He stopped running and turned around to shoot me. He would have shot Ivan too, but when he fired at me, it set off the gasoline. I didn't see him go up in smoke, because I was busy falling down, but I helped rebuild the part of the pier that burned."

"You guys are a barrel of laughs," McCoy said. "You ran toward a guy with a gun?"

"We saw the can of gasoline, not the gun, but he was dressed just like all the New Jersey hoods dress. The hat gives them away," Ivan said. "We knew he was up to no good. If I'd have given some thought to it, I'd probably have figured on him having a gun, but I didn't and Tag got shot."

"The New Jersey hood that was the bigot, turns out he was among the FBI's most wanted. It was written up in the New Jersey papers. We don't have any papers down here."

"Well, I see by the old clock on the wall, it's time for fried clams," Ivan said. "Babe, hungry?"

"Yes. I came here to go to lunch with you," Clay said.

"Mr. McCoy, you and the wife are invited to go along," Ivan said.

"No, Mildred is already working on lunch. She'd jump at a chance to go to JK's, but I kind of like her cooking. We can do JK's for dinner."

"Suit yourself," Ivan said.

"I'd like to go, Boss," Tag said, leaning on the counter.

"You're watching the shop. Your regular takeout order?" Ivan asked.

"Fried clams, French fries, and something orange."

"You got it. Hold down the fort," Ivan said.

The shop emptied out.

Clay and Ivan turned toward JK's.

McCoy headed for campsite 9.

It wasn't long after one, when Clay left Ivan at the corner of the shop to return to the Conservancy to wait for Harry's call. He told Ivan he might or might not stop for him on the way to pick up Dylan. School let out at three.

Ivan stood and watched Clay drive away before going back into the shop with the bag for Tag.

"One order of fried clams. One order of French fries, an orange slush, whatever that is," Ivan said, taking the items out of the bag.

"Harry called."

"This is getting monotonous. Every time I go out, Harry calls. What did he say?"

"Nothing. He asked if you were here. I said you weren't. He said, and I'm quoting here, 'Tie him to his chair. I'll call at three o'clock when we have our lunch break. It's important,'" Tag said.

"I guess that means he does want to talk to me and not Clay."

"I told you that earlier. I know who he wants by who he asks for, and he seldom wants to talk to you, Boss."

"I'll call Clay and tell him he can stop waiting for his call, but then he'll want to know why Harry's calling me."

"Well, he'll call back at three. The best way to find out what he wants is to be here at three," Tag said.

Ivan called Clay and Clay told him he'd stop for him at three.

Promptly at three, the phone rang and Ivan picked up.

"Cove Campgrounds, Ivan," Ivan said. "Yeah, Harry. Why do you keep calling me here. Clay's at the Conservancy."

"I should have called you a couple of days ago. It's a zoo up here. I haven't had time to take a piss."

"Clay says this goes on every time the budget comes up. Why don't you guys just pass last year's budget and add ten percent."

"It doesn't work that way. That would be too easy."

"What's up, Harry. You never call me."

"We have a situation," Harry said, forgetting what he'd prepared to say since Tuesday.

"We, as in you and me?" Ivan said.

"Yes, I talked to the director earlier this week. He asked me for a favor," Harry explained.

"You better not have included me as part of any favor anyone is doing for whomever," Ivan said. "I have nothing to say to those people."

"Ivan ..."

"Harry, the answer is no. You should know better than to include me in any way before talking to me. It would save you a lot of trouble. If anyone just happens to be listening in on this call, no, no, no."

Clay walked into the front door and when the bell jangled, Ivan and Tag looked up to see who it was.

Clay came in on the final, no.

"Is that Harry, Taggart?" Clay asked.

Tag said, "Sho' Nuff. From what I gather, Harry wants him to do something, and you came in to hear his reply."

Clay moved further into the shop.

"No, Harry. Wait a minute. Does this have something to do with Mason? Mason is dead. They carted his body away this morning. You're calling me to tell me Mason is coming. You're a little late, Senator."

"Oh my God. Mason is dead. Oh my God. I'm too late. Ivan, what have you done," Harry babbled as a car pulled onto the boat ramp.

The ramp was clearly marked, 'No Parking.'

The sheriff didn't pay attention to such signs.

Sheriff Davis banged into the shop, gun drawn.

"Ivan Aleksa, you're under arrest for the murder of Bill Mason."

"Gotta go, Harry. I'm being arrested. Have a nice day, Senator," Ivan said, putting the phone down on the desk and putting his hands up as he looked down the barrel of the biggest damn handgun he'd ever seen.

"Gerald!" Clay objected. "Put that thing away."

"You need to back off, Olson. I don't want to arrest you for interference, but I'll do it if you don't back off," the sheriff warned. "You're coming with me, Aleksa. I want you to sit in the back of my cruiser."

Ivan did as he was told.

Tag moved to the desk to pick up the phone.

"Senator. Senator. You there, Senator?"

Tag hung the phone up.

"Guess not," Tag said. "Never a dull moment at the cove."

A couple of minutes after Ivan's arrest, McCoy came in the front door. Tag looked up from what he was reading when the bell jingled.

"He arrested Ivan?" McCoy asked. "I saw the sheriff's car. Didn't figure he'd make it through the day without being arrested. If I was working the case, I'd have arrested him this morning," he said.

"Police work is a bit slower at the cove," Tag said. "Gerald sleeps in, you know."

"I know, but there's a reason for him to be at the top of the list of suspects who had a reason to kill Mason and plenty of opportunity. I can walk over and tell Clay if you'd rather I do it. I've got a lot of experience with notifying people ill winds have blown their way."

"McCoy, I knew I liked you right off, but there's no need. Clay was here when Gerald came for Ivan. He was on his way to pick up Dylan. I thought he might wrestle the gun away from Gerald."

"Clay?" McCoy asked with surprise.

"You don't want to mess with Clay's man. Gerald hasn't seen the last of the hostility that's heading his way. Dylan is going to like it even less than Clay does."

"That's a young man who is going to take his father's arrest badly," McCoy said. "I don't think I've seen a boy closer to his dad," McCoy said, trying to calculate the range of the fallout.

"That ain't the half of it. He's just as close to Clay. This isn't going to go over well with anyone at the cove. Ivan's highly thought of. My mama says Harry is the best white man she knows. My money is on Ivan. He's as colorblind as folks get. I may have taken a bullet for him, but he took one for me when he stood up to the bigot who didn't want the black kid touching his gear."

"Can you get in touch with the senator?" McCoy asked. "He should be told. He could find out what facilitated the arrest. The sheriff had nothing but suspicions when he left here this morning. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him once the body was taken away. For some reason, he came back to arrest Ivan. I find that interesting."

"No need to call the senator," Tag said. "Ivan was talking to the senator when Gerald came in to arrest him. The senator knows."

"Maybe he can call someone before the sheriff decides to execute Ivan. Save the courts the trouble," McCoy said, sounding serious.

"You came here to get away and you walked right into a hornet's nest, McCoy."

"Hate to leave in the middle of a good mystery, but Mildred is getting tired of collecting shells. If she doesn't find something else to do, we'll be pulling out before too long. I could do some good here, but that sheriff is having none of it"

"Shame you can't stay to get to the bottom of this. Sheriff Davis couldn't get to the bottom of a well if he fell into it," Tag lamented in an easy southern drawl.

McCoy chuckled. He couldn't have put it better.

Clay drove past the shop on the way to the Conservancy house, Dylan looked back over his shoulder. They often stopped at the shop after Clay picked him up from school.

When they passed the shop, they usually turned into the Conservancy entrance and parked beside his father's Lab, because Clay had something or other to do. If Dylan got bored at the lab, he would walk over to Pop's shop and see if there was anything his pop wanted him to do.

Once they passed both places they usually went, and turned into the driveway at the Conservancy house, Dylan realized they never went to the house that time of day. Mama was busy preparing dinner and she didn't want people in her way if they had somewhere else they could be.

Something had gone seriously wrong and Clay's instincts had kicked in. When there was trouble, going home always helped.

Aunt Lucy had come home at the end of last week. The house passed their budget and they wouldn't be back in session until the senate passes their budgets. Aunt Lucy coming home was nothing new. It never changed the schedule before. They'd all be there at dinner.

There was something wrong and Dylan felt it in his bones.

"We aren't going to stop at the shop, Dad? There was a lot going on this morning. We don't want to find out what happened?"

"Your father had somewhere to go," Clay calculated might work.

"What's wrong?" Dylan asked, watching his father stare straight ahead at the Conservancy house's driveway like it was unfamiliar.

There was no answer to the question and in five minutes they stopped near the front door.

"You going to tell me. I'll just call Tag and get him to tell me."

"Don't bother Taggart. He needs to take care of the shop."

"You going to tell me what's going on. They ran me off this morning. No one said anything about what was going on. I'm not stupid. I'll find out what's going on. I'd rather hear it from you, Dad."

Clay held the steering wheel and looking straight ahead.

"Sheriff Davis arrested your father."

"What?" Dylan bellowed. "He can't do that. What did he arrest him for? He didn't do anything."

Clay wasn't in the habit of answering Dylan when he was acting like a child, but this was different.

"They ran you off because there was a body on wilderness 2."

"A body?" Dylan asked, considering the implications.

"Why'd he arrest my father?" Dylan said calmly.

"I'm not entirely sure, Dylan."

"I want to see my father."

Clay wanted to see Ivan too.

Sitting in the kitchen with a glass of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, Clay briefed his mother on what took place in the cove that day.

"I can't imagine why he'd arrest Ivan. I know Gerald is a bit pig headed at times. He usually doesn't go off the deep end," Mama said.

Lucy swept into the kitchen going straight for Clay.

"Hello, Brother of Mine. You look quite a fright. You run out of air on your dive today?"

"Gerald arrested Ivan," Mama said, using a spatula at the stove.

"My goodness," Lucy said, considering the situation.

She took a cookie off the plate and kissed Clay's cheek for support.

"Ivan didn't salute when he clicked his jackboots?" Lucy asked, only half serious.

"A man was killed at the campgrounds sometime last night. Gerald has it in mind that Ivan killed him," Clay said. "Dylan is not taking it well and I don't know what to do. I feel helpless."

"It's his one fear since Ivan came home," Lucy revealed as if it were a secret she'd been asked to keep. "Dylan is so intelligent, but emotionally he's a child, and this isn't an intellectual exercise. It's anyone's guess how he is going to react."

"I need you guys to keep him busy. If you run out of errands for him, send him to Pop, I'll make sure he saves some work Dylan can help with. I'm going over there to see Ivan tonight."

"Promise not to hurt Gerald, Clayton. He's just a poor dumb hick sheriff who thinks he's doing his duty," Lucy said.

"I'll fix a plate for him. I've heard about that food they give prisoners. That's a crime," Mama said. "I have enough lamb chops and I made the dressing you all like so much and broccoli casserole. He's fond of that and I'll bake extra biscuits."

"Don't be trying to slip him a file in his food, Mama," Clay said. "He's in enough trouble."

"He says anything, you tell him to read his bible," Mama ordered. Our Lord said, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.' In Matthew Jesus was speaking of the hungry, the sick, the poor, the stranger and those imprisoned.' You tell Gerald if he needs me to come down there to explain his obligations to the Lord, I'll do so."

Mama was certain of her facts and both Clay and Lucy knew, you didn't argue with Mama when it came to Jesus.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

On to Chapter Twenty-One

Back to Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Index

Rick Beck Home Page

"The Gulf and the Spy" Copyright © 2023 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer