Chapter Four

 Four

Paine Harbor

Late October

Sheriff Charles Byer squeezed his ample girth into the booth at the only sit down restaurant in Paine Harbor. Portia’s Place was owned and operated by Portia Galeener, a middle aged spinster well known for her caustic humor and her generous serving portions.

“What's up, Chuck?” she asked with the familiarity that only occurs in small town America.

“Same ol’, same ol’, Portia. You know nothing changes around here, except you just get nastier and nastier!”  Sheriff Byer replied with the slightest smile on his red face.

“Funny boy,” she said pouring her syrup like coffee in Chuck's stained mug. “Hey Chuck, you want the special?”

“There ain't nothing special here Portia. But I'll take whatever it is.  Be to sure to add extra gravy,” he responded disinterestedly.

“Honey, you've got enough gravy on your shirt to feed the entire fleet. Speaking of fleets, if your stomach gets any larger, they may hire it out as a fishing boat,” she said sarcastically walking away to place his order.

You might think these two didn't like each other but they, in fact, had known each other since grade school and considered each other to be friends. Portia talked to everyone in town this way. It’s just how she operates. Truth is, she is not a happy woman and this is how she deals with it. 'The best defense is a good offense' is a strategy she adopted as young girl and had never abandoned it as the years passed by.

A few minutes later, she carried the platter of deeply fried foods, including a piece of gristly steak, a pile of fried potatoes, four thick cut slices of bacon, three eggs cooked in bacon fat and about a pint of steaming hot sausage gravy.

“Hey Portia, bring me a Diet Coke would you?” Sheriff Byer said with a straight face. “I'm trying to get my girlish figure back!” Portia gave him a look that could have caused spontaneous combustion.

As he began digging into his mound of food, a hush fell over the restaurant. The door chimed as the most powerful woman in all of Paine Harbor walked in. Most everyone in Paine Harbor took Mrs. Penelope Gourmand’s presence as a sign of bad things to come. The atmosphere at Portia's place grew tense. Officer Byer quickly wiped his face and double-checked his tie and shirt for food residue. Satisfied he was reasonably presentable, he slid out of the booth to greet the newcomer.

“Hello Mrs. Gourmand, how are you today,” he said in his best try to impress voice. Mrs. Penelope Gourmand was clearly the wealthiest person in town, owning several foundries, half the fishing fleet and the dry goods store. Having been widowed at a young age, she never remarried and had taken the modest resources her late husband Edgar had left her and multiplied it many times over through shrewd, although some might say illegal, investments and business maneuvers. Always dressed in black, head to toe, she carried significant weight in town. Most people were smart enough to either avoid her completely, or show her a good deal of respect when that became impossible.

“Oh, sit down, Sheriff Byer,” she snarled. “Who are you trying to fool, anyway?”

Turning to Portia, she commanded a hot tea be brought to her immediately in a clean cup with a fresh slice of lemon. “I want whole milk, none of silly low-fat stuff.  It's not fit for human consumption.”

Portia knew enough to be certain all of Mrs. Gourmand's requests were satisfied without delay.

Brushing off the seat with her ever-present handkerchief, she gingerly sat down while looking around the grimy restaurant in utter disdain. When she was fully satisfied she had minimized her exposure to grease, grime and germs, she turned back to Sheriff Byer, only to catch him wiping his sweaty face with a paper napkin.

She grimaced. “I wouldn't have come here, except there is an urgency to a certain matter which I fully expect you will resolve before the end of business today,” she said with the kind of confidence that comes from one who is rarely disappointed by those in her service. “Do you understand me? I expect this matter to be resolved. Today. And if you know what is good for you, it'll be your top priority, if you can tear yourself away from your plate.”

 “Of course,” he replied anxiously. “You know you can count on me. Whatever you ask, I'll see to it. That's our arrangement. I get it.” She kept him on a secret payroll and he did her bidding. Thus far it had been mutually beneficial, although illegal.

“Hmm-mph. I never know about you Charles. But you are my best bet. Do not disappoint me,” she said clearly. “I want you to bring in two young men who are causing my captains some trouble. Don't hurt them, but let them know that you just might if they don't straighten up and fly right. And, remember, this is off the books. Do not fill out any paperwork on this. Do you understand me, Chucky?” she said with complete certainty.

“Yes, ma'am I do. Except for one thing, what young men do you want me to talk with?”

“Oh, of course,” she said through a half smile. “I thought you'd know. I want you to have a serious conversation with Ricky Böndunum and his friend, what's his name? Oh yes, Dusty something or other. Do you know him?” 

“I know everyone in Paine Harbor ma'am. Of course I know him,” he said confidently.

“Well then,” she said in conclusion. “That's that, then. I expect to hear back from you before dinner time this evening.” Just then, Portia brought the tea to the table. Mrs. Gourmand looked at it disgustedly, pushed it aside, got up and left the restaurant, much to the relief of all persons present.

“The gall of that old broad!” Portia said angrily. “And not only does she not drink my perfectly good tea, she left without paying. Who does she think she is?”

“You know darn well who she thinks she is, Portia.” Officer Byer replied. “Put her tea on my tab, I'll take care of it.”

“Well since you mentioned it, Chucky, your tab hasn't been covered in quite some time. It's well over $300. Would you like to take care of it now?” 

“I'll get to it soon, Portia,” he replied as he stood to leave. “I've got work to do.”

“How are on earth am I supposed to survive in this dump,” Portia said to anyone listening. “When even the law man won't pay his bill!”  With that she picked up a washcloth and gave the table a cursory wipe.

Paine Harbor Fishing Fleet Docks

Same Day

Ricky Böndunum was hosing down the deck of the new boat he was working on at the Paine Harbor Fishing Fleet Docks. Only a month had passed since the accident resulting in the loss of two fingers on his left hand. Ricky believed the captain was responsible for the accident that resulted in the loss of two fingers on his left hand. After a terrible barroom brawl with the captain, he’d found himself unemployed. Fortunately, a friend hooked him up working for a new captain, Ben Brudte.

Captain Ben was a second-generation fisherman who had recently taken his first boat as Captain, and had immediately hired on his old friends Ricky and Dusty. Part of what united Ben and Ricky was their common hatred of Mrs. Gourmand and everything she represented. So far, their working relationship was proving to be successful.

Ricky and Dusty had snuck out to the docks and vandalized one of Mrs. Gourmand's fishing boats after a particularly active night of heavy drinking at Portia’s Place. Because of this Mrs. Gourmand activated Sheriff Byer. When Ricky looked up from the deck to see the sweating hulk of the Sheriff struggling up the gangplank, he knew he’d been found out.

Ricky greeted him anxiously, “Sheriff.”

“Ricky,” came the reply. “I think you know why I'm here, don’t you, boy?”

“I'm not sure what you mean, Sheriff,” Ricky lied.

“I think you do, Ricky. Where's your friend Dusty?” 

“Not sure.”

“You and I have some business to attend to and we can do it here or we can do it down at the station house, I'll leave that up to you.”

“I'd imagine here is as good as anyplace.”

“Good,” he said. “I'm going to say this once. And you'd better not lie to me. I'll know if you do, and trust me, it'll get worse if you lie.” The two men stared at each other for a while, sizing one another up.  “You and Dusty did quite a bit of damage to your old boat, the Wet One. I know you were drunk, and I know you are really stupid. But, listen to me, son. Listen really well. You cannot do this. You are messing with people way above your pay grade. These are the kind of people who always get their way. These people aren't like you Ricky.  They win every fight, and believe me, you'll lose this one!”

“Wait!” Ricky interrupted.

“Shut up. I told you not to lie to me. Don't start with your lies and denial. You and I both know you are full of it! So just shut your stinkin’ mouth!” Office Byer shouted above his interruption.

After a moment of assessment, Ricky wisely did as he was told.

Byer continued, “Here's what is going to happen next. You and Dusty are going to meet me Saturday morning at 7am at the Wet One's berth. Bring marine paint and brushes because you are going to undo what you did do. Are we clear about this, boy?”

The look of hatred was obvious as the two men stood eyeball to eyeball. But Ricky wisely blinked first and muttered agreement.

“What did you say, boy? I couldn't hear you?” he rubbed it in harder.

“We will be there, Sheriff. Dusty and I will be there as you've requested.” Ricky replied defiantly.

“Well now, we are getting somewhere. You are smarter than you look!” he said in victory.

“But you need to understand something, Sheriff. Get this clear. I'll do what you ask but I'm not admitting to anything and I'm not saying you are right.  I am saying it's just easier not to fight this.” Ricky said defiantly.

“You and me, we both know the truth. Let me give you some advice which might just save you a great deal of heartache: I don't care if you don't want to work for Mrs. Gourmand, but the reality is this is a small town and she owns nearly everything in it. You'd better tow the line or there will be some very serious heat headed your way. Now it looks to me like you've got work to do, so I'd suggest you stop loafing around and get back to it,” he said as he stepped back onto the docks. Looking over his shoulder, he shouted over the wind, “See you Saturday morning. Bring the donuts and don't be late!”