Fangtooth

Chapter 7

Zander stood at the helm and steered his vessel into the inky black sea. The sound of the engines and the waves slapping against the bow carried easily on the night air.

Clouds masked most of the sky, and few stars were visible. A fine spray obscured the glass, and he switched the wipers on to clear it away. He preferred to see miles ahead of him, but when the sun went down it was hard to see anything.

He often thought being on a boat at night on the seas was one of the loneliest places in the world. Other than Brad toiling away in the engine room, he was alone. But he felt as though someone was watching him, which was ridiculous. He was four miles out, and there wasn’t another vessel in sight. In rough weather, the radar sometimes showed little blips on the screen from the tops of waves, but today it was calm and yet there were still a couple of blips showing up. He looked outside, but couldn’t see any running lights to indicate the presence of another vessel. Thinking it could be flotsam or there might be a problem with the radar, he altered its sensitivity to tune out the blips. Technology was a wonderful thing, but it wasn’t infallible.

Once the blips disappeared, he recalled the incident with the shredded net. It had taken days to repair and had cost more than he could afford. That’s why this trip was so important.

Satisfied no one was around to see, he flicked a switch and spotlights above the helm illuminated the sea, creating a glare that was almost blinding. Less than fifty yards off the starboard bow he spotted a red buoy that marked the lobster pot in the depths below. Easing back on the throttle, he headed towards the pot and dropped anchor.

The deck was slick with water, and he cautiously made his way to the starboard side. Using a hooked pole, he snared the buoy and dragged it on board. Then he started to haul the pot from the deep. The cold rope felt slimy in his hands, and he braced his feet against the side of the boat and pulled hand over hand. Weighed down with its contents and the pressure of the sea, the basket was heavy and it took all his strength to raise it.

Water sloshed against the deck and ran back out to the sea as the boat pitched in the waves.

Something banged against the hull and Zander jumped. The rope slipped through his fingers before he tightened his grip. He tied the rope onto the gunnel and peered over the side into the inky black depths where the spotlights failed to illuminate. There was always the danger at sea of hitting submerged objects, perhaps some of the flotsam he thought the radar detected, but he couldn’t see anything. The hairs prickled at the nape of his neck. Something didn’t feel right, and over the years he’d come to trust his feelings.

The sooner he was done, the sooner he could head home, so he returned to hauling up the lobster pot.

Eventually the pot broke the surface and he lifted it aboard. Inside he could see the sealed packets of cannabis, which had a value anywhere from fifteen to twenty thousand pounds. It was a lucrative sideline now the fishing grounds seemed to be drying up. Eager to finish, he removed the packets as quickly as he could and dropped them on the deck. When he was done, he threw the pot overboard and watched as the rope snaked back into the icy sea. When the pot was on the bottom, he threw the buoy back out and then picked up the packets and returned to the wheelhouse where he stowed the cannabis in a secret hatch in the boards beneath his feet.

When that was done, he raised the anchor and turned the spotlights off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a faint blip on the radar screen. When he looked, the blip disappeared. He gave the radar a quick tap, but nothing reappeared.

Then Zander opened up the throttle and sailed into the night.