Firefly - The next job

Firefly - the next job

Submitted by Ray Stone on Tuesday 15 April 2014

This is the second chapter of a short story I am working on. Thank you.

I sat nursing a cup of coffee in Denny’s thinking about ‘Firefly’s’ letter. The old lady’s money was good but getting caught would mean ten years in the pen. Smitty was all for it but then he wasn't taking any risks. It had been several weeks since the job in Milford and it was time to make up my mind before someone else took my place. Maybe they already had and if that was the case then I wasn't going to lose any sleep over it.

Mildred appeared beside my booth, hovering with a coffee jug. She was a big black woman with bright brown eyes. Around fifty, she was a native of Alabama with a sing-song husky voice and a no-nonsense attitude. She brushed one large hand down the side of her blue apron and then clicked her fingers at me.

“Now, Johnny baby, I’m here to serve you whatever you wants but that ‘aint supposed to be just coffee. This time of the mornin’ I can serve over easy egg and grits or a steak and eggs, sunny side up, or…” she leaned over me, her unblinking eyes looking into mine,…“ I can kick that cute little tush of yours straight out the door.”

With that she broke into a loud laugh that boomed across the restaurant, disturbing one early morning diner from his breakfast and another old man in a dilapidated Stetson who glared over the top of his newspaper. He promptly flapped the paper with annoyance before returning his gaze back to the news. Mildred took no notice and continued to laugh, her large buttocks and bosom shaking vigorously. She poked me with a bright red fingernail that protruded from a thick forefinger

“You should see the look on your face, Johnny baby.” She swung the jug my way. “You want more coffee, honey?”

“No thanks, Mildred,” I answered, placing a hand over my mug. I smiled. “I’ve got to make a call.”

I left the diner and walked across the car lot, a dusty square of tarmac pot-holed by eighteen wheelers. Strewn across it were discarded plastic drinks cups and fast food boxes full of dog ends left by truckers and travelling salesmen. None of the locals, except a few old timers who spent hours shooting the breeze, used the diner. In need of remodeling, the building stood between two vacant overgrown lots.

My car, an old Plymouth Fury, sat parked in the shade down one side of the building on the delivery driveway. I lifted one foot onto the rear fender, lit a Lucky Strike, and blew a long stream of blue smoke into the air as I reached inside my jacket and pulled my cell phone out. Thumbing in the number, I waited several seconds before I heard a familiar voice.

“I thought you might call back. I take it you want the job?”

“Yes. Can I ask you a question first? Will all the properties be empty…I mean, like, there won’t be anyone living in them, will there?”

She came straight back at me. “Young man, there is a perfectly good reason why you will be called upon to work on the properties I assign to you. At no time will anyone get hurt as long as you follow your instructions. Our clients have one thing in common. They have been hurt in some way by other corrupt people or involved in some kind of personal tragedy. Most of them want the insurance money to resolve their problem.”

“I take it we will never meet,” I said, “but I would like to know how you get these clients. I mean…you can’t advertise so how do they know where-?”

“It is none of your business, young man. All I can assure you is as long as you follow your instructions to the letter, you’re not going to get caught. Are you ready for the next job?”

I said I was, still a little uncomfortable but reassured by her answer.

 “What if I get into trouble?” I asked.

“You have a new number to ring for each job. You will receive that number in the post before each current job comes up. Memorize it and don’t carry it on the job.”

With that the line went dead. I rang the number back and an electronic voice told me the line was no longer in service.

***

“Johnny, Fedex left your money!”

Smitty’s excited voice reached me on the back stoop as I read the sports page of USA Today. The Buffalo’s latest buy was creating a lot of interest. Smitty’s news was a whole lot more interesting.

“Here.” The screen door squeaked as he pushed through it, waving a small brown envelope like a flag. Still dressed in his underpants, as always before noon, dirty white T shirt and flip flops that clattered on the wooden deck, he was still munching on a mouthful of toast. His unshaven face was thick with 24 hour shadow. He only shaved every three days. ‘To save money, ‘he once told me, but I knew different.

I ripped it open and as before there was a letter inside. This time though, there was also one thousand dollars in two thin wraps. One was marked expenses. I opened the letter and was surprised to see a marina address. In the bottom of the envelope was a key. Smitty peered over my shoulder.

“Friggin hell, man, you gonna’ torch a damn yacht?”

The address was in Washington at a marina along the Puget Sound near the ferry terminal at Bremerton. Like the first job, Firefly gave me precise instructions. I read them through a couple of times and was happy that there was nothing about being on the job a couple of days early or that I should be alone, although common sense said otherwise.

“Okay,” I said, “let’s take a ride and see what the place is like and where the boat is.”

An hour later we left and after stopping to pick up gas, joined the ‘five’ at Portland.

***

Bremerton marina was a large new site with over two hundred berths and several millions of dollars’ worth of boats. It stood a hundred yards from the ferries’ main docking ramps. The other side of the terminal, three aircraft carriers were towering over the navy shipyard; two decommissioned and being scrapped and another in for a refit. Firefly gave me a lot of information about the area, including the address of a motel that didn't ask questions of its guests. I guessed that was because it was a Navy town.

We were standing on a large open concourse looking down on the marina. Several owners and sailors were busying themselves around their boats. Two yachts, one large, the other a small open two crew weekend craft were making their way slowly out of the complex to open water. I pointed to one of the gated entrances.

“That’s the gate. We have to walk all the way around the perimeter until we reach the outer barrier. The ‘Sea Chaser’ is the one moored at the end, nearest the opening into the Sound. She’s a forty footer; white with blue piping around the upper hull. The cabin will be left open for me.”

I couldn't see her but assumed that the following night she would be there. My biggest worry did not concern setting the fire. After lighting the fire, my instructions were to steer the boat out of the marina and aim for open water where the ‘Sea Chaser’ would blow up.

“Come on, Smitty, let’s go get a burger and then find the motel. I want to come back tonight and check if our disguise works.”

“What disguise?”

“You’ll see. Part of my instructions so you’ll have to be dressed the same if you’re coming.”

Smitty nodded. “I take it you’re not supposed to go anywhere near the place until tomorrow. She’ll get mad with you if she finds out. That grand is coming in useful if it’s regular. I don’t think you should do anything to annoy her.”

Smitty was worried about the money. I was worried about details someone else had arranged that I had to blindly follow. I needed to trust Firefly completely if I was to continue working for her and making some little checks of my own would'nt hurt as long as I was careful. The gate lock needed checking and the walk to the outer wall might have obstructions blocking me. It would be handy to know an alternative route, if there was one.

“Don’t worry about the money,” I said. “We need to make sure we are around to enjoy it.” I pointed to some stairs leading back to the bus terminal and street. “I saw a great burger place up there. Come on…let’s eat.”

We walked up the steps and I felt a moment of excitement as my fingers dove into my jean pocket and pulled out a fifty.

To be continued…