pace on the run back to the pier, the package thumping against my back. It was awkward, but I didn't care. I had my job.
There was another package hidden in the rocks Saturday. On Sunday afternoon in the front pouch of the backpack I found a sealed envelope. Inside were four fifty-dollar bills.
CHAPTER FIVE
October 31âHalloween. When I got home from school, my dad was sitting on deck wearing his heavy parka and reading the newspaper. It was cold and drizzly; he should have been in the cabin. But when I went down below, I understood why he wanted to stay outside. On the navigation table was the bill for the moorage fee. I grabbed it and climbed back up. "You got enough money?" he said.
"Yeah. I got enough."
"And next month?"
"I'll have enough to pay for everything."
"Even food?"
"I think so."
"So you don't need your old man anymore for anything, do
you?"
"I'm going to go to the office and pay this," I said, holding up the piece of paper. "I'll see you later."
When I reached the marina office, I pushed open the glass door and stepped inside. The fat guy was sitting at a desk in the back. Our eyes caught, but I didn't nod and neither did he. A fiftyish woman stood behind the counter. "Can I help you?" she said.
I pulled the paper out of my back pocket and laid it on the counter. "I'm here to pay the moorage fee. Pier B, slip forty-five. Taylor is the last name. I know we're a month behind, but I'll be paying that soon too." I opened my wallet and counted out two hundred and eighty dollars.
Instead of picking the money up, the woman just stared at it.
"What's wrong?" I said.
She looked up at me. "Oh, sorry. Nothing's wrong. It's just that most people drop a check into the collection box outside the door." She smiled and picked up the bills. "But cash is perfectly OK. I'll write you a receipt and get you your change."
She went into a little glass cubicle. I could see her talking to a man in there. He looked out at me, and then said something to her. A minute later she came out.
"Thanks," I said after she'd counted out twelve dollars and given me a receipt.
Stupid,
I thought as I stepped out. The first chance I got, I'd open a checking account. Next month, I'd write a check and drop the fee in the box, like regular people did. I had to be careful. Very careful. I had to make sure nothing I did looked suspicious.
CHAPTER SIX
I was a criminal, involved in a smuggling ring, but the amazing thing was how quickly it became routine. My heart didn't pound anymore when I reached the maple tree. I took my time when I stretched so I could look carefully in the rocks. Most days there was nothing. But every three or four days, there'd be a package.
I was pretty sure I had the basics of the operation figured out. Boats come into Puget Sound all the time. If a boat is from Canada or China or some other foreign country, the captain has to call a customs agent and somebody from immigration. Maybe the boat gets checked thoroughly and maybe it doesn't. But getting drugs off the boat before any possible inspection would be the smart thing to do, just in case. It would be easy to slip someone to shore at night, store the drugs in the rocks, and then have that person return to the boat.
The smugglers probably used the same boat over and
overâmost likely some sort of charter boat that was familiar enough to Coast Guard patrols that they left it alone. The captain could do the smuggling without the owner of the boat even knowing about it. Or some crewman could be doing it without the captain knowingâthough that would be less likely. In middle school, the D.A.R.E. cop told us that on the street an ounce of marijuana could sell for as much as a hundred bucks. The packages I was carrying weighed between five and ten pounds, which would translate into over ten thousand dollars. At two shipments a week, the total value would be more than a million dollars a year. If cocaine were ever in those packages, the street value
There was another package hidden in the rocks Saturday. On Sunday afternoon in the front pouch of the backpack I found a sealed envelope. Inside were four fifty-dollar bills.
CHAPTER FIVE
October 31âHalloween. When I got home from school, my dad was sitting on deck wearing his heavy parka and reading the newspaper. It was cold and drizzly; he should have been in the cabin. But when I went down below, I understood why he wanted to stay outside. On the navigation table was the bill for the moorage fee. I grabbed it and climbed back up. "You got enough money?" he said.
"Yeah. I got enough."
"And next month?"
"I'll have enough to pay for everything."
"Even food?"
"I think so."
"So you don't need your old man anymore for anything, do
you?"
"I'm going to go to the office and pay this," I said, holding up the piece of paper. "I'll see you later."
When I reached the marina office, I pushed open the glass door and stepped inside. The fat guy was sitting at a desk in the back. Our eyes caught, but I didn't nod and neither did he. A fiftyish woman stood behind the counter. "Can I help you?" she said.
I pulled the paper out of my back pocket and laid it on the counter. "I'm here to pay the moorage fee. Pier B, slip forty-five. Taylor is the last name. I know we're a month behind, but I'll be paying that soon too." I opened my wallet and counted out two hundred and eighty dollars.
Instead of picking the money up, the woman just stared at it.
"What's wrong?" I said.
She looked up at me. "Oh, sorry. Nothing's wrong. It's just that most people drop a check into the collection box outside the door." She smiled and picked up the bills. "But cash is perfectly OK. I'll write you a receipt and get you your change."
She went into a little glass cubicle. I could see her talking to a man in there. He looked out at me, and then said something to her. A minute later she came out.
"Thanks," I said after she'd counted out twelve dollars and given me a receipt.
Stupid,
I thought as I stepped out. The first chance I got, I'd open a checking account. Next month, I'd write a check and drop the fee in the box, like regular people did. I had to be careful. Very careful. I had to make sure nothing I did looked suspicious.
CHAPTER SIX
I was a criminal, involved in a smuggling ring, but the amazing thing was how quickly it became routine. My heart didn't pound anymore when I reached the maple tree. I took my time when I stretched so I could look carefully in the rocks. Most days there was nothing. But every three or four days, there'd be a package.
I was pretty sure I had the basics of the operation figured out. Boats come into Puget Sound all the time. If a boat is from Canada or China or some other foreign country, the captain has to call a customs agent and somebody from immigration. Maybe the boat gets checked thoroughly and maybe it doesn't. But getting drugs off the boat before any possible inspection would be the smart thing to do, just in case. It would be easy to slip someone to shore at night, store the drugs in the rocks, and then have that person return to the boat.
The smugglers probably used the same boat over and
overâmost likely some sort of charter boat that was familiar enough to Coast Guard patrols that they left it alone. The captain could do the smuggling without the owner of the boat even knowing about it. Or some crewman could be doing it without the captain knowingâthough that would be less likely. In middle school, the D.A.R.E. cop told us that on the street an ounce of marijuana could sell for as much as a hundred bucks. The packages I was carrying weighed between five and ten pounds, which would translate into over ten thousand dollars. At two shipments a week, the total value would be more than a million dollars a year. If cocaine were ever in those packages, the street value
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