I’m guessing that it was the relief that the transfer the night before had gone off without any nasty surprises as the two of us did not wake up until late morning. Part of it might also have been that the ocean was still as flat as a millpond this morning. Only the faintest of ripples on the glassy sea presaged the arrival of a late morning breeze.
A late start to the day was fine with me as I wanted to enter Government Cut in Miami in the evening when Customs would be closed for the night. We’d check in with Customs via telephone only after I’d docked Vamp at the Sullivan’s decrepit old boatyard far up the Miami River, just beyond the rundown piers where the small rusty old freighters tied up before hauling all sorts of cargos to a myriad of ports in the Caribbean and South America.
I decided on a quick swim while Birgit put together a late lunch using the odds and ends of what was still left in the icebox. I hopped over the side with my mask and flippers on, but other than a vast empty expanse of featureless sand bottom, the only thing I spied was a lone barracuda resting motionless in the shade of Vamp’s hulls.
We got underway shortly after lunch, and enjoyed an uneventful sail back to Miami. We could see the lights onshore from miles away and smell the land. As we drew closer, the temperatures steadily got hotter, with lots more humidity in the air. It was getting full dark by the time we furled the sails and motored past the cruise ships lined up alongside Government Cut. I chuckled to myself as we passed the bunkering station illuminated by security lights. On my very first visit to South Florida by sea, I’d arrived after a long passage offshore and we needed diesel fuel. We’d come alongside the dock there, and asked if we could top off our tanks only to notice that all the fuel nozzles were about fifteen inches in diameter, capable only of delivering thousands of gallons per hour. The fellow we’d asked had a good laugh at our expense, but was kind enough to crack a tiny valve on one of the giant pipes, and filled up three white five-gallon plastic pails with diesel for us. When we’d tried to pay him, he just shook his head and said to forget about it.
Passing under the causeway we headed next across the bay to the entrance to the Miami River. After a brief wait for the first drawbridge to open, we continued on our way up the river, passing by the tall buildings of downtown. The glitz of the steel and glass fronted high rises soon gave way to vistas around each bend of the river of rusting old cargo ships, some seemingly abandoned and left to rot, others with decks piled high with old automobiles, refrigerators, and bicycles destined for points south. This part of the city was notorious for drug trafficking, a sky-high crime rate, and abandoned properties. Another turn and there was Sullivan’s boatyard on the left bank of the river just beyond a couple of cargo ships moored alongside an old rotting wooden pier. The wide berth by the crane was empty and waiting for us.
I turned the big tri sideways to the current in the river while Birgit got the dock lines ready. We’d done this choreographed dance together so many times that not a word was exchanged. Backing the big boat into a slip barely wide enough to accommodate it could be tricky, especially with a current flowing downriver. Maneuvering the vessel with the aid of Vamp’s big twin outboards made the task look easy. With Vamp secure at the dock I turned to Birgit and said, “Ok, my love, now comes the fun part. Are you up for this?”
“Let’s get it done. I won’t be able to relax until all this stuff is gone.”
“Ok, it’s a little bit complicated, but here’s what I want to do. First, I’m going to call the number Diego gave me from the phone booth by the office as soon as I check around to make sure no one’s here tonight. Hopefully, they can be here within the hour. I arranged with Hector that I’d meet him at the Pelican across the street at ten. The Pelican is a really nasty local bar that’s a hangout for crew off the nearby cargo ships and all sorts of other neighborhood villains. I’d like you to come with me and keep Hector and his dog occupied for a while so I can get this stuff unloaded without anyone seeing us. Here’s a hundred dollars to buy drinks for Hector. He likes cheap rum, and I think the dog still drinks Coronas. Can you handle that? No one should harass you as long as you stick with Hector and the dog.”
“What do you think, Jimmy? Of course I can. Just get it done as quick as you can, ok?”
The two of us walked up in the shadows to the phone booth by the office inside the front gate without seeing another soul. I fed a quarter into the pay phone and dialed the number Diego had given me from memory. It was immediately answered in heavily accented Spanish. “Buenas noches, senor Jimmy. ¿Usted se encuentra en Miami, sí?
“Si. Meet us at the gate outside Sullivan’s Marina on the river in a half hour, ok?”
“Bueno, estaremos allí pronto.”
I was guessing that my rudimentary Spanish had been up to the task. I wanted Birgit as far removed from the entire transaction as possible, so I’d not asked her to make the call for me. I was not so naïve as to think that Felipe and Diego had not checked us out thoroughly, but I still wanted to keep them at arms length as much as I was able. We slipped out the gate and it locked with a click behind us. Across the dark tree lined street was a low stucco building lit only by single neon Red Stripe sign flickering in a lone grimy window. There were a few older pickups and two Harleys parked outside. When we pushed open the unlit door, all ten heads at the bar swiveled around to stare at the two of us. Ignoring them all, I spotted Hector at his usual table in the corner with his massive dog curled up at his feet, and led Birgit by the hand over to introduce her.
“Hey, Jimmy. You made it. Who’s this lovely lady? You got the slip ok?”
“Thanks, Hector.”, I replied. “Yes, we’re all settled in. This is Birgit. If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave her here with you for a little while. I’m going to run down to the corner for cigarettes, get a few things for breakfast, and stash them back onboard before it closes. Got a key for us?”
He handed over the key to the front gate with a gap-toothed smile. I hurried back across the street, arriving just a nondescript panel truck pulled up in front of the gate. I opened the gate and stepped up on the running board to direct them to Vamp. There were two Hispanic males in the cab, and just for a moment, I was struck by the thought that maybe these weren’t the guys until one said “Hola, senor Jimmy. ¿Dónde está su barco?”
I pointed in the direction of where Vamp was berthed. He backed the truck up to the water, opened the back doors and two more men jumped out. I led the way onto Vamp’s starboard hull and opened the hatch. The resinous smell of marijuana was overpowering. The plastic wrapped bales didn’t do much to contain the odor. If there was a drug sniffing dog anywhere within a quarter mile of where we stood, he must be howling in excitement. I never asked his name, but the four of them had Vamp unloaded in less than fifteen minutes. After carefully counting the bales one last time, he said “¿Todo es bueno, sí?” and handed me a cheap briefcase. I unsnapped the catches, glanced inside, and said, “Si, muchas gracias.” I stashed the case under our bunk, locked up Vamp, let the truck out the gate, and hurried back across the street to the Pelican. Hector and Birgit were sitting right where I’d left them, and a row of empty glasses in front of Hector attested to the fact that she’d spent some of that hundred dollars. The big dog was sitting with his head in Birgit’s lap as Hector was telling her how he’d trained the dog to “get the jig” on command. She saw the smile on my face and stood to leave. I said to him, “Thanks for entertaining Birgit, dude. We’re going to turn in.”
“My pleasure, Jimmy. Holy shit. I’m late for my rounds. I’ll walk back over with ya.”
My final task for the night was a quick phone call to the Miami Customs office via the twenty-four hour check-in phone number. As expected, I got a polite thanks. and was simply assigned a number to show that we'd complied with the requirements.
Back on board Vamp, I showed Birgit the stacks of hundred dollar bills in the case under our bunk, eliciting a squeal of excitement and the comment “That restores the bank balance for a while.”
Come morning, the first thing I did was to make sure any trace of lingering odor had been aired out of our outboard hulls. I’d left the fore and aft hatches open to both of them the night before. Next, I used our handheld vacuum to erase any small bits that might have escaped for the bales. After a quick coffee break, I wandered up the docks to find the yard foreman, Xavier, and asked him to book us for a half hour with the crane at nine o’clock, telling him I wanted to change the bulb on the masthead and replace another on one of the spreader lights. This was a task that Birgit and I could have done anywhere using one of Vamp’s powerful primary winches, the main halyard, and the Lirakis bosun’s chair we carried on board, but I wanted to be able to document our reason for this trip up the river should anyone ever inquire. A while later, I was strapped into the webbing of the bosun’s chair, and dangling from the crane’s cable sixty-five feet above the deck. I replaced a perfectly good bulb with a spare at the tri-color masthead running light, and Xavier then lowered me twenty feet to repeat the process on the starboard spreader light. I tipped Xavier ten bucks once I was safely back on deck and had extricated myself from the heavy wire cable. By ten we were underway, heading back downriver to our berth at Dinner Cay.
