Chapter Twelve
79th. Street Boat Basin - Upper West Side of Manhattan
With all traces of fog rapidly fading away, we made our way up the West Side of Manhattan past all the decaying and mostly abandoned piers. Much of that prime real estate had reverted to ownership by the city over the years in lieu of back taxes. Proposals for the use of various parcels were continually floated and discarded due to the obstacles set in place by governmental bureaucrats. The river frontage would eventually get developed by entities with deep pockets, and convincingly realistic plans to best serve the interests of the citizens of Manhattan. It hadn’t happened yet.
As we rounded a bend in the river, we could see vistas of the Palisades on the New Jersey shoreline to our left, and the span of the George Washington bridge straight ahead marking the beginning of the Hudson river. Off to our right, the city-owned 79th. Street Marina was visible against the background of the West Side highway with the green forested park, and the medieval looking Italian stonework of the Boat Basin in the foreground behind the marina. It’s semi-circular courtyard and vaulted archways were evocative of another era in the history of Manhattan.
We’d left a message for Felipe on his answering machine in Miami that we’d be arriving this afternoon. I clicked twice on the loudhailer to get Birgit’s attention. She’d been standing mesmerized on the foredeck ever since we passed by the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Entering Manhattan by sea was a far cry from her experiences visiting the historic capitals of the European countries she’d seen. I couldn’t wait to see her reaction to the city itself.
“Hey sweetie. Wanna take the wheel while I contact the marina on the ship to shore to make sure the dock space reserved is open for us?” My call to the marina on the VHF bought an immediate response.
“Good afternoon, skipper. We’ve been expecting you. You’re going to be on the outboard side of our gas dock . Your owner called to reserve space for you for two nights with a 220 electric hookup. I suggest you make your approach from downriver. The current runs about four knots by the gas dock. As soon as you’re tied up, the dock boys will have rat guards for your lines and power cables.”
I replied, “Roger that. We’ll be with you shortly. Thanks. Vamp out.”
Birgit said, “Rats? I really hate rats!”
I replied, “Ok, Indiana.” Seeing the quizzical look on her face, I added, “Never mind. You had to see the movie. The waterfront in New York is just teeming with very large Norway rats. They can get to be a scary size, and the last thing we want is one of those bastards finding it’s way on board. Once we’re tied up, the dock boys will have these metal discs that we’ll fasten to any dock line, hose connection, or power cable leading on board. They keep the rats from climbing up them to get aboard looking for food. Don‘t worry. This is a standard procedure in any big city with a vermin problem.”
Birgit looked a bit unconvinced at this reassurance, but she made a expert toss to the fellow waiting as I eased our bow up to the dock. I followed suit throwing the stern line to the other teenager standing by, and we were soon secured safely at the downriver end of the gas dock.
Birgit shut down the engines and checked that we were getting electrical power, while I got the gangway ready for use. After a long and luxurious shower below, she and I were relaxing in the main salon and watching the early news on the television. “What’s the plan, Jimmy? Are we still going out to dinner on Felipe?”
“Sure, but there’s one thing I want to do first. The dock master told me that Vamp’s owner called him to make sure we arrived safely and to say that a couple of his friends from New York would be stopping by to retrieve a few personal items for him while we were here. I’d like to leave when it gets dark, and just hang around for a while to see who shows up. We can have a late dinner at this great steak house in Brooklyn called Peter Luger’s.
As shadows lengthened, and twilight turned to dusk on the warm Fall evening, Birgit and I went below to change into casual “dressy” clothing for the night. I was waiting in the salon for her when she appeared looking absolutely stunning in a light gray and black outfit from an Italian designer. She looked fantastic, and I told her so. My reward was a dazzling smile as we turned the lights to low and set the alarm. When we walked up the dock and into the parking lot, the marina personnel had left for the night and there were only a few cars left in the lot under the floodlights. Presumably, there was a night watchman somewhere about, but we could see no sign of him.
“Hey, girl. Let’s walk up the hill a ways and keep an eye on the lot for just a bit under those trees. We’ll give it an hour or so. If no one shows up by eight, we’ll just grab a cab and head over to Brooklyn for dinner.
“Sounds like a plan, Jimmy. I’ll feel a lot better once that cocaine is off the boat and we can get rid of the “E” tomorrow.
As it turned out, we had to wait less than a half hour before two men drove up in a nondescript sedan, and casually headed down the dock to La Forza. We watched from under an old oak tree up the slope as they punched in the alarm code and vanished from our sight down belowdecks. They reappeared five minutes later lugging two duffle bags. They tossed them into the trunk of the car with a thump we could hear clearly a hundred yards away, and drove off.
“Well B, I think you just got the first half of your wish. If that wasn’t Felipe’s coke leaving just now, I’ll be very surprised. I’ll check the bank account in the morning to make sure he’s wired the deposit. Let’s go collect on that dinner he offered.” We called a taxi from the pay phone by the security gate for the marina, Twenty minutes later we were in a cab heading towards the Central Park traverse that bisects the park, and takes you over to the Upper East Side.
New York city is home to literally thousands of restaurants offering every cuisine you might desire, and counted among them are some of the world finest and most famous. When I had lived on 82nd. street, I loved being able to pick up the phone and have whatever struck my fancy delivered right to my door. Two perennial favorites had been Zabar’s and H&H Bagels. I pointed out both of these to Birgit as we drove by.
Tonight, however, we were heading across the East river to Brooklyn to dine at Peter Luger. Year after year, this steak house is voted the best in the country. They serve only prime aged steaks cooked to perfection, and each and every meal I’d ever had there was memorable. Everything on the menu is a-la-carte and the very formal waiters have all worked there for ages and ages. The only methods of paynent accepted are personal checks. a Peter Luger credit account, or cash. My customary order is a couple of cocktails, followed by a ribeye, paired with a salad of beefsteak tomato slices, and white asparagus, finished off by strawberries and cream with a Grand Marnier in a brandy snifter. Dinner for two could exceed several hunded dollars, but Felipe was picking up the tab so what the hell?
I passed all of this along to Birgit on the drive over in the cab so we were primed to order long before we arrived. Amazingly enough, we had the same waiter I’d had when I’d last dined there almost a year earlier, and I was astounded when he asked if I’d like the ribeye again with the same choices. We doubled that order, and his prodigious memory earned him a gigantic tip from my reserve of Felipe’s cash. He called us a cab without asking while we finished our cordials and coffee. By eleven we were snug in our bunk aboard La Forza, after checking that the freezer in the galley had been emptied of fully half of its contents. The first order of business in the morning was going to be checking our bank balance.
We’d had our best night’s sleep since leaving Miami, in part because the cache of drugs had been safely removed from the yacht and also because there was no urgency to get up and get underway this morning. Our stash of Ecstasy was concealed at the bottom of a drum of lube oil in the engine room in a big triple sealed Tupperware container. Aside from Desmond and my pal in Connecticut, no one even knew we possessed it, and they had no clue where it was, or even that it was on board. I’d be making the call later in the day to arrange for its delivery and to collect the cash.
While Birgit was in the shower, I logged on to the Internet using La Forza’s onboard PC. We’d given Felipe Birgit’s bank account back home in Germany for the wire transfer once the coke was delivered. I opened the URL to the bank’s website and input her account number and password. She’d left only a minimum balance to keep the account active when she took the trip that ended up with us together in St. Thomas. My German language skills sucked, and the balance shown was listed in Deutchmarks. Using an online currency converter showed the available balance as $100,075.00.
“Hey lover, you’re rich! Well ok, maybe not rich, but you’ve got a really healthy bank balance at the moment. Felipe came through today, and wired the cash into your account.
Wrapping a towel around her head as she emerged from the shower, Birgit replied, “Great, now let’s get rid of those pills.”
“I’m making that call right now.”, I said. “I’m going to set something up for later today.”. I found the number in my address book and dialed Rob’s cell phone. I’d met him back in the days when I was really into the whole club scene in New England. Growing up, he had to have been a techno geek and a charter member of his A/V club in high school. He’d parlayed that interest into a thriving business providing sound systems to dance clubs and quasi legal raves all over New England. On any given weekend, he and his crew could be found somewhere at a venue setting up amps and speakers for the DJ’s to spin their vinyl. The cognoscenti among house music fans knew that Rob and his girlfriend, Tessa, could be counted on as the safest source for party drugs in a scene that was rife with rip off characters and questionable pharmaceuticals. They sold only to people they knew personally, and that precaution had served them well.
His phone rang only once before he answered with “Northeast Sound Systems. Whassup?”
I replied, “Hey Rob, It’s Jimmy. We got in from Miami yesterday. Wanna hook up later today? I’d like you to meet Birgit, and I brought you a present from Florida like I told you last week.”
“Sure thing. I’ve got a little gig early tonight doing sound for a trance DJ that’s going to be spinning at a bar on Houston, and then my crew has to set up for a rave in a warehouse by the river over in Brooklyn, but that doesn’t get going till midnight. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up. I’m still at home in Middletown, but I’ll be heading into the city around two-thirty or so.” He rang off after giving me the address of the bar in SOHO where we’d meet later in the day.
I hit the “end” button on the cell phone and said to Birgit, “All set. We’re going to meet him downtown for a drink later, and then we’ll come back here to get rid of the E. I told Des that my contact was in New York, but Rob is actually from Connecticut. I just wanted to leave as few traces of this deal as possible.”
