Dawson's Web (19 page)

Giovanni got off the phone with Hans and immediately went to his car. He was in front of the Hermosa Beach Yacht Club in five minutes. But it took another fifteen to find a parking spot three blocks away.

When he got to the door, he noticed the closed sign.

He peered into the window.

It was dark inside.

Had he arrived minutes earlier, he would’ve had them.

Now he was screwed.

He noticed two surfers hanging out on the corner arguing about weather and waves.

He approached them. “Hey guys, I’m new in town. I got information from a friend of mine that the Hermosa Beach Yacht Club is a happening place. I went there and it’s closed. What’s up with that?”

The larger of the two servers answered. “Yeah, they closed a few minutes ago. We didn’t even have a buzz on. Now we have to walk all the way down to Hennessey’s. And the drinks there cost a ton. I was really pissed they did that to us. We’re regulars.”

“So you were in the joint and they closed on you with no warning?” Giovanni couldn’t believe his bad luck. He grits his teeth. He didn’t want to explain this one to Hans, who was ready to fire him. He hoped his probing would pay off.

“Sure we were. We’re there every day. What’s it to you?”  The surfer detected Giovanni’s Jersey coast accent and was put on the defense.

“I’m looking for a couple of friends of mine from the East Coast.  You may know them. Their names are Randy and Charlene.”

The same surfer answered. “Oh yeah, you just missed them. They work there. They’ve only been working there a few weeks. But they’re ok, even if they are from the East Coast. They closed so they could all go to Catalina for the weekend. They did it with no notice, man. It was really a bummer.”

He reached over and high-fived his friend who was “California surfer all day long” and hadn’t been East of Sepulveda since he was born.

Both hated Easterners. It was in their blood and they made no bones about it to any Eastie they met. In fact, several times they got into scuffles with tourists over their hatred of non-Californians—especially those from New Jersey or New York. Each had several prior arrests, as a result, but they never learned their lesson and took pride in putting down those not like themselves. They had had too many days of sand and suds in their past, dulling their senses. They were the complete picture of Cheech and Chong in up in Smoke….Hey, Dude this…Hey, dude that.

They were morons, as far as Giovanni was concerned.

They were cockroaches who deserved nothing better than to be stepped on.

Giovanni didn’t like the dig, but he pressed for more information because he was desperate.

“Where in Catalina did they say they were going?”

“Whoa, dude. The only part that’s worth anything, that’s what. Avalon is fine if you have bucks, but if you want to get down and chill, the Isthmus is the place. They’re two different deals.

Avalon is great for tourists, but the locals prefer the Isthmus. It’s way more laid back. You don’t know that but, I’m telling you, Dude, they’re going to the Isthmus. It’s not much, but it’s an insane party every weekend.

“I remember once going over there on Buccaneer’s day I got so wasted I ended up in a garbage dumpster hugging a pumpkin.”

“Yo, dude!! I remember that. It was gnarly!”  His friend chimed in.

If it weren’t broad daylight, Giovanni would have put a bullet in both their heads and would have felt he was doing the world a favor, but he got the information he needed.

Giovanni said “thanks,” but the surfers ignored him, staring at him as if he weren’t even there.

They didn’t even acknowledge him.

He had had enough.

He turned on his Jersey accent to make a point.

“Thanks, youse guys!  Really, thanks.”

Still, there was no response.

“I’m from Joisey, and I don’t care what youse guys think about me. I got more brains in this little pinkie (holding up his little finger) than the boths of you combined. If we weren’t on a public street, I’d kill you right now.”  He brandished his weapon quickly and put it back into his shoulder holster.

Both surfers lost it and scattered like cockroaches that run when the kitchen light is flipped.

Giovanni laughed seeing them run away, got out his cell phone and made reservations on the Catalina Express.

He didn’t call Hans.

He didn’t need the grief.

He hadn’t gotten Charlene and Randy and that’s what his job was. Hans, although a friend and employer, was on the rampage and he didn’t want any part of that.

Not now, or ever!

When he got them, he’d call him and things would be back to normal…at least as normal as they could be with Hans.

He could be such a bastard, and Giovanni knew it.

He’d be at the docks waiting when they arrived with a big surprise for Randy and Charlene.

Thirty minutes after they left the Hermosa Beach Yacht Club, Todd, Stephanie, Jeff, Randy and Charlene met in King Harbor at Arachne. It was 1 o’clock in the afternoon and the Santa Ana winds had started blowing offshore at fifteen knots an hour earlier. The halyards were slamming against the masts of several sailboats next to Arachne sounding like out of tune wind chimes. There was a slight chop on the main channel. Other sailors were already out taking advantage of the beautiful day and good wind.

When they left the harbor, they could see Catalina in the distance but a brown pall of smoke from a brush fire that started earlier that day in Chino Hills lay on the horizon partially obscuring all but the top half of the Island, which lay twenty-six miles due south. With the haze covering the lower part of the Island, the top part of the mountains appeared to be hovering over the water like the fabled Island Brigadoon, which only appeared every one hundred years.

The swells were 4 feet high, running from West to East at 10-second intervals.

Forty-five minutes later, as they rounded the R10 buoy off San Pedro, Todd set the auto pilot course for 180 degrees. In three hours, they would be at the Isthmus barring any mishap.

Arachne was gently riding diagonally to the swells. Its bow would dip into the trough of the waves, roll slightly, and ride up on the face undulating on the path towards their destination as the autopilot corrected the course with each wave that passed.

The boat’s rhythmic motion and the warm breeze, combined with the morning of drinking were having their effects on everyone.

Randy and Charlene were the first ones to go below, where they took the guest cabin, after making another cocktail and took a nap. John and Stephanie followed shortly behind them, and entered the aft master suite, leaving Jeff and Todd to stand watch in the cockpit.

Todd continued to drink straight vodka and felt the effects of his binge drinking. It was all he could do to stand up straight.

He slurred his words when he spoke to Jeff.

“Hey, buddy. I’m a little drunk and need to catch a catnap.  But before I do, I’ll show you how to take the boat off autopilot if we are on a collision course with any other boat, which I doubt that will happen.

Still its better safe than sorry, right?”

Jeff nodded in agreement and watched as Todd flipped the autopilot on from Active to Standby a couple of times. When the boat went on Standby, the bow pulled to port momentarily being pushed by the swells and started rocking violently, finally righting itself when put back in the Active/Auto mode, resuming the course to the Island.

“Here, you do it, dude,” he told Jeff, who followed his lead switching the autopilot on and off.  Each time, the boat responded much the same. It would hold its course as the momentum bled off, then it would start moving to port as the waves pushed it.

“You see, if you ever have to put it on standby, grab the wheel and keep the bow pointed toward the Island or if you need to steer it anyway to avoid any other boat, do what is necessary. Don’t worry about trimming the sails. Just don’t hit anything. Then wake me up and I’ll take care of it.  I only plan to sleep for about a half an hour. That OK with you?”

“Go ahead. I can handle it. I used to sail sabots when I was a kid.” Jeff said.

“Hell, you didn’t tell me that. Think of this boat as a big sabot. If you could sail one of those, this will be a piece of cake.  The only difference is this boat won’t be nearly as responsive. You have to anticipate that even though you turn the wheel, the boat will still stay on course momentarily. There’s a two to three-second lag because of its weight.”

Todd pulled his ball cap down over his forehead and settled back on the settee. As he did, his eyes started drooping and he passed out on the seat cushion with his mouth wide open. He started snoring and drooling immediately.

Jeff, who hadn’t drunk that much at the club, kept watch scanning the horizon for other boats from time to time. The wind was still blowing offshore and the knot meter read 7.5 knots. In the distance, perhaps eight miles east, he saw two freighters in the shipping lanes headed east to Los Angeles Harbor to deliver their freight.

Jeff watched them for a while and estimate how far they were from Arachne. At his current speed, he’d pass between them in about an hour.  After fifteen minutes, however, Jeff started feeling the effects of the sun and rum. He fought hard to stay awake, even going so far as to reach into the water and taking a handful and splashing it on his face. This worked momentarily to shock him into alertness, but in the end, after thirty minutes, he fell asleep too.

Arachne was on autopilot and was on a course that would take her right in between the two freighters.

Another fifteen minutes passed and Jeff was out, deep in REM sleep.

Jeff was having a dream and could have sworn Todd’s snoring was sounding more and more like a foghorn. He integrated the sound into his dream until it became too loud and started to wake him.

The lead freighter was carrying over four hundred tons of containers, stacked eight high.  It was towing a similar ship with an equally heavy payload. The five-inch steel cable between the two boats was only eight feet above the waves. Every so often, it would dip into the sea and then rise as the tension was increased.  With the combined weight of the ships, it would take over a half mile to bleed off the momentum and stop them.

The captain of the freighter saw Arachne on the radar when she was seven miles out. He calculated her course and, indeed, she would pass right in between them, which, if both freighters were under power would not be an issue. But he knew the steel cable would demast the sailboat if she didn’t change course.

When Arachne was four hundred yards from passing in between the two ships, the captain sounded his horn and flashed lights from his stern. He had already passed in front of Arachne, which was certainly going to turn around.

Arachne continued on her deadly journey.

All parties on her were still fast asleep.

When Arachne was only one hundred yards from cutting across the cable, the constant blasting of the freighter’s horn startled Jeff out of his dream.

He awoke to see the freighter, passing to his port.  Arachne was already feeling the effects of its six-foot wake and was bobbing and dipping, waves crashing over the bow. He looked to starboard and saw the other freighter bearing down, even though it was several hundred yards away.

Then he caught a flash.  It was the sun reflecting off the cable.

It was only fifty yards in front and about six feet off the water.

Jeff recognized the danger immediately and switched off the autopilot. Simultaneously, he tried to wake Todd, who was non-responsive.

With the autopilot off, he grabbed the wheel and turned it sharply to port to avoid the cable. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to loosen the jib and Arachne stalled halfway through the turn.  He reached over and loosened the jib sheet, now steering only with the main sail.  The quick maneuver caused the jib sheet to tangle on the lifelines at the bow, and the roller-furling jib spun out of control snarling the outhaul. Had the jib sheet not hung up, turning sharply wouldn’t have been a problem, but by catching on the life lines, it created a backwind situation and kept Jeff from correctly completing his turn.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his knife and cut the jib sheet free. With the tension released, the jib flapped in the breeze enabling Jeff to have more control. He let out the traveler on the main sail to pick up speed and, as soon as the sail filled with the wind, Arachne began to accelerate away from the deadly cable, which was now only twenty yards in front of them.

The freighter captain was helpless to do anything.  Even if he put it in full reverse, he doubted he could reduce the tension in the line and lower the cable enough to allow it to sink below the sailboat’s keel.

He watched as the tiny sailboat attempted to reverse direction and kept blowing the horn.

He knew disaster was imminent, but Arachne finally gained speed and the cable narrowly missed cutting her in two by only thirty feet.

Jeff struggled sailing Arachne, which was now crossways to the swells and lurching violently from side to side.

He kept trying to wake Todd, who finally fell off the settee, when a rogue wave heeled Arachne over almost twenty degrees.

Todd hit his head on the deck and got a deep cut over his right eye. Blood covered his face.

Jeff was yelling and pointing. “Look at the cable! We’re going to hit the cable.”

The cable was so close individual stands dripping seawater were now visible. Arachne was paralleling the course of the freighter, but the wind was pushing her closer to disaster. The cable was visibly rusted and covered with a green patina, having been pulled through thousands of miles of seawater. Kelp hung from it adding to the macabre scene.

Todd looked around, stunned, and when he finally focused and saw it, he started the engine and gave it full throttle. Had he not done that, the mast would have been torn down, Arachne would have been dead in the water, and the following freighter would have shattered it to pieces.

Todd steered the boat out of harm’s way.

“God damn it. What happened? How did we get so close anyway?” He was momentarily sober and wanted an explanation.

“I fell asleep,” Jeff said sheepishly. “I only woke up when the freighter sounded his horn. Damn it, I’m shaking. Snake Brain and Sane Brain were one. “We could have been killed. Damn it. I’m sorry.”  (He was, of course referring to his two personalities, not his new acquaintances.)  When faced with a life or death situation, the survival instinct kicks in leaving friends and family to fend for themselves.

Once they were a couple of hundred yards from the deadly cable, Todd turned on the VHF and hailed the captain of the Miraki Maru, the name of the leading freighter.

“Miraki Maru, this is Arachne calling. Come in. Miraki Maru, this is Arachne calling. Come in.”

The sound coming from the VHF was full of static. After only a few seconds, the captain of the Miraki Maru answered.

“Miraki Maru, come back. What you think you were doing? You could be killed. I could not stop boat in time. Anyone on board hurt? Why you drive your boat there in the first place. Stupid Americans! You always think you own road!” The captain had an Oriental accent. The boat was registered in China. Obviously, English was his second language.

Todd was furious by the attack but knew he was in the wrong. He decided truth was the best tactic. “We fell asleep on watch. We apologize. All aboard are OK. Thank you for your concern. We’ll steer clear until your tow is well out of the way. Arachne, out!”

He kept his response brief, in spite of the fact he wanted to give the captain a piece of his mind. He didn’t wish to get into an argument he would never win. It was best to apologize and move on. He knew the captain would have to file an incident report, and in the incident report, it might ultimately get back that he was captaining Arachne. He might lose his license to teach if it did.

He was convinced he had done the right thing.

The second freighter in tow finally passed and Todd secured the jib line, set the sails and put Arachne back on autopilot on a course to the Isthmus.

“Fast thinking back there to cut the jib sheet,” Todd said to Jeff.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

After a few moments, Todd noticed the boat was acting erratically. The autopilot was having trouble keeping on course.  Todd adjusted the traveler on the main sail bringing it more to the centerline to see if that would help.  It did momentarily but didn’t solve the problem.

Todd tried hauling in the jib, to trim it with the main.

That did nothing either.

He looked up at the mast to see if he could tell what was amiss, and then he spotted it. The roller-furling jib was not letting the jib sail out all the way. Somehow, during the maneuver to get away from the cable, the outhaul on the roller furling had snarled, and the jib halyard had come loose allowing the jib to lower increasing making it harder to set the sail correctly.

Todd knew immediately what had happened.

“Damn it. The roller furling is snagged at the top.”

“What?” Jeff asked.

“The roller furling is snagged. I’ll have to go up and fix it. Go down below and get John. Ask him where the bosun’s chair is. I’ll use it to go to the top of the mast and unsnag it. It won’t take long.”  (A Bosun's chair (or boatswain's chair) is a device used to suspend a person from a rope to perform work aloft. Originally, it was a short plank or swath of heavy canvas seat.  Today, modern bosun's chairs incorporate safety devices similar to those found in rock climbing harnesses.)

Jeff looked to see what the problem was. The mast was over fifty feet high and swaying back and forth each time Arachne crossed a swell. He didn’t see it, but the roller-furling jib had lowered almost four feet. It put tension on the roller and kept the jib from unfurling.

Both Snake Brain and Sane Brain wanted no part of climbing up there and were glad Todd was going instead of them. It not only looked dangerous, but it also was. They both knew it.

Jeff went below and brought the bosun’s chair out to Todd, who was at the base of the mast lowering the halyard he would hook to the chair and have Jeff winch him up the mast.