Читать книгу Perfect Bait - Michael Douglas Fowlkes - Страница 15

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Chapter 7

We had the day off, so first thing the next morning we returned to the harbor. Jen had been right—all the impounded vessels were in jail due to their involvement in some form of illegal activity. Some had been confiscated for drugs; others had been abandoned. By the time they made it down there, most were considered beyond repair. The unofficial consensus was to just ‘tow the whole lot out to sea and sink ’em.’

“Yeah, they’d make great target practice. Don’t see why the Navy doesn’t just pull ’em out there and blow ’em to smithereens,” suggested one of the old-timers we asked about the boat. He was one of three old men who were sitting in a row, their chairs leaning up against the cargo carrier that served as the locked sheriff’s substation. They looked as though they hadn’t budged for years, but they hadn’t been there last night.

“You don’t know squat,” one of the old-timers scolded the first. “There’s not a boat in the bunch that would stay afloat long enough to get a shell in her. Once they hit the swells, they’d sink all by themselves. Some targets they’d make!”

“Hell, as soon as you untied them, they’d sink,” chimed in the third. “The damned docks are the only things keeping most of them afloat.”

And so the banter continued. They sounded worse than a gaggle of old women. We headed back to the truck, but not before we wrote down the number to call which was posted on the outside of the container’s door.

On our way home, Jennifer asked, “What exactly are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure,” I told her honestly. “So far, it’s just a feeling.” She nodded that she understood. “There’s just something about that boat. There’s something there … like she’s calling to me … asking for help. I don’t know.” I glanced over at Jen to see if she was laughing at me. She wasn’t.

“I could tell something came over you pretty strong last night.”

“What do you think?” I asked her.

“I don’t know squat about boats. But I trust you, and if there’s something inside that’s whispering to you, then I say trust your instincts.” Oh, the brave and crazy wings of youth.

Hearing her words, a wave of appreciation washed over me. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s supported me the way you do.”

“It’s my job,” she said with a big smile, “I love you.” She slid a little closer across the bench seat of the truck and put her arm around my shoulder while Sierra hung her front paws out the passenger side window.

“Let’s see if we can find out a little of her history, why she’s chained up.”

“She looked better last night, all covered in the fog.”

“That’s for sure.”

It had been hard to tell just how bad she was in the dark, but in the harsh morning light, there was no missing the piles of shit she’d accumulated serving as a temporary home for an entire flock of local sea birds. The stench alone was almost unbearable.

With a little research we discovered that a local yacht broker handled all the SDSD’s repossessions and sales. We located the broker and paid a visit.

“I’ll be right back. Just let me go pull the file, the broker said.” After a couple of minutes he sat back down in front of us. “I’m having a little trouble locating the paperwork. Would you mind coming back in a few minutes?”

Jennifer and I hadn’t eaten, so we walked across Shelter Island Drive to the Red Sails Inn. An hour later, the enthusiastic salesman met us as we walked back into the brokerage office. “I’m sorry for the delay. I don’t know how the file on such a fine vessel could have been misplaced, but we have all the paperwork here and would love to show her to you. When are you available to see the boat?”

“How much?” I asked.

“Well, let me tell you a little bit about her first—”

“How much?”

“Ah, sir, the bank’s holding papers on her for just over two hundred thousand dollars—”

“Are we talking about the same boat?”

“Yes, sir.” The salesman had obviously never seen the boat. He described her as ‘a beautiful, custom built, sixty-foot twin diesel Drake sport fisher. Designed right here in San Diego by Larry Drake.’ “She has the same bullet-proof hull as the Navy’s ASR vessels.”

“She’s Air Sea Rescue?” I asked.

“You know your boats, sir.” He was stroking me. “Same design, but originally built as a yacht. Her hull was laid up in Oxnard, let’s see, in yep, here it is, in 1956. She’s fiberglass over six layers of half-inch laminated marine ply.”

I interrupted him again. “You’re talking about the boat chained to the Sheriff’s dock?”

“Yes, that’s correct. She’s currently moored at the San Diego Sheriff’s substation, south of the Coronado Bay Bridge.”

I turned to leave. “Forget it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said forget it.”

“But, sir, you said you were interested in the boat.”

“I am, but not for anything close to two hundred grand. You’re out of your mind.” I prodded Jennifer out the door.

“Well, you see, that’s the amount the bank’s looking to recover. The amount left on the loan is much greater, but the bank is willing to take a loss—”

I cut him off again. “I don’t care what’s on the books. The boat’s been beat to shit, and not worth anything close to a couple hundred grand. Have you even seen her?”

“Well, no sir, not recently, but I’m sure with a little—”

Sierra was already out the door. “Forget it. You don’t know what you’re talking about. That boat’s about to go down, and you’re wasting our time talking that kind of money.”

“Obviously, sir, you have another figure in mind?”

“Yeah, but nothing even close to six figures.”

“We only represent the bank. If you’ll let me explain—we serve as the bank’s agent. We’ve handled a lot of interesting vessels over the years and would be more than happy to submit any offer. In fact, we’re legally obligated to present every offer we receive. So whatever you have in mind, I’m sure—”

“Twenty grand.”

He gasped, and his glasses slid down his nose. “Excuse me?”

“I said twenty grand.”

“Are you serious? I couldn’t possibly take such a ridiculous offer.”

“Present it.”

“But sir—” he protested in astonishment.

“Listen. You just told us you’re legally obligated to present every offer you receive. So write it up, and I’ll sign it.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Listen, I don’t want to hear any more of your babbling. The boat’s a disaster, and she’s probably not even worth twenty grand. She’s been ignored for so long even the birds don’t have a clean place to shit on anymore. The decks are rotted and buckling, and I can’t even imagine what her machinery looks like. I’m surprised she’s still floating. I’m half out of my mind for even offering that much, but that’s the number. Present it.”

He stared at me with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. “Very well,” he replied curtly. “You’ll have to sign the offer and leave a deposit.”

Jennifer chimed in. “I’ve got a checkbook and a pen.”

I gave her a grateful look.

“I feel obliged to explain to you, sir, that an offer of this nature is not only an embarrassment to us, as the representing brokers, but I can tell you from my years of personal experience in dealing with things like this that the bank will be very offended. Not only will they throw out the offer, but they won’t even counter.”

The more this guy talked, the less I liked him, but I knew if we got the boat, we’d never have to deal with him again. “Do yourself a favor. Go have a look at the boat. You’re going to be a rock star for bringing in any offer. This is a gift.”

“This isn’t an offer; it’s an insult,” he said under his breath after we’d signed the offer and were on our way out the door.

Jennifer looked hard into my eyes. “Never heard you talk like that to anyone before.”

“Arrogance and ignorance are two traits, when combined, don’t sit too well with me, but I should have talked to you before making a crazy offer like that.”

She could see the concern in my eyes, and with one smile melted it away. “Don’t be sorry. I loved listening to you deal with that guy. You were so cool. Plus, it’s kind of exciting.”

As expected, a couple days later we got word the bank had refused our offer. I demanded to know why, and we returned to the broker’s office.

“We’re dealing with a fine, classic yacht here, sir. One that originally cost close to a million dollars to build.” The agent was doing his best to convince me.

“I don’t care what it cost fifteen years ago. In fact, I don’t care what it might have been worth last year. As it sits today, she’s worth shit.”

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that kind of language here in the office.”

I nodded at the same time Jennifer subtly gave me an elbow in the ribs. They were right. This wasn’t the time or place. “Sorry. Have you seen the boat?”

“As I told you before. No, I have not personally seen her.”

“Then I want to talk to your boss. Those idiots at the bank don’t have a clue what we’re dealing with here.”

“Very well. I’ll see if he’s available.”

The salesman left and returned with his broker. I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. I was wound up.

“The boat’s a disaster, and we’re willing to take her off your hands. Someone here is going to have to physically look at the boat and then inform the bank exactly what they’re stuck with.”

The broker countered, “Our listing shows that she was built by one of the most reputable builders in the business, and she has a long history of outstanding service.”

“That’s all in the past. What you’ve got now is a neglected, dilapidated old boat that’s covered with shit and listing so badly she looks like she’s about to go under. God only knows what’s keeping her afloat.”

“She couldn’t be in that bad a shape,” the broker rebutted, adding, “we have a cleaning service that takes care of all our listings.”

“Then you’re getting ripped off, because this boat hasn’t seen a hose or deck brush in years. She’s a wreck, and unless you guys are working some insurance scam and waiting for her to sink so you can collect, I suggest we all take a ride over there right now.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible. I’ve got a meeting scheduled this afternoon, and—”

“If you don’t, my next phone call is going to be to the bank’s insurance underwriter.” My voice was hard and direct. “They just might be interested in investigating your little relationship here.” I met the broker’s hard stare head on. “From the looks of things, gross negligence and fraud wouldn’t be too hard to prove.”

He didn’t blink, and neither did I as I continued. “I don’t know if they could nail you. I don’t even know if you’re doing anything wrong, but I’ll guarantee you one thing: the investigators, all those attorneys, the police, franchise tax board …” I let the words trail off as I took a deep breath. “Guilty or not, they’ll make your life miserable,” I said, smiling.

He looked away. “Where’s the boat?” he demanded, looking at his salesman.

“Sheriff’s impound dock, South Substation.”

The broker looked genuinely shocked. “What?”

“The Sheriff’s dock. Down past the Bay Bridge.”

“I know where the damn dock is. What are we doing with a boat that’s impounded?”

The salesman shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Never mind,” snapped the broker as he gave his young protégé a dirty look. “You can fill me in on the way over there. Grab the camera,” he ordered. “We’ll follow you over in our car if you don’t mind.”

We were already halfway out the door.

What had been a doable project in my mind suddenly looked hopeless as we all climbed on board. The broker and salesman agreed they couldn’t believe something this fucked up could still float—the weight of the barnacles alone should have been enough to pull her under. I didn’t say, “I told you so,” because they realized it immediately. The boat was a disaster. A dozen 35mm frames later, they were ready to go.

As we headed back up the ramp, Jennifer politely asked the broker, “What are you going to tell the bank?”

“That they should seriously reconsider your offer.” The salesman could see his commission slipping away. “We’ll get these pictures developed and over to them right away, see what they say, and then we can talk. Would you be willing to go to a somewhat more realistic price?”

“Would you?” Jennifer asked.

“Yeah, well,” the broker mumbled, looking away, “I’m assuming we have your number.”

We didn’t expect to hear back from them.

Some folks say the two happiest days in a person’s life are when they buy a boat and when they sell it. I’d pretty much resolved myself to the fact that the brokerage and bank were in bed together and had already figured out a way to collect on the insurance, rather than accepting some ridiculously lowball offer like the one we’d tossed at them. But I just couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“What are you guys going to do with a boat anyway?” one of the waitresses asked me at Hodad’s the next day. Word had gotten around quickly.

“We’re planning on turning it into a floating brothel,” I said, teasing her. She was a little hottie, and guys were always hitting on her. “Know anyone cute enough who might be looking for some honest work?” It was lunchtime, the place was packed, and the grill was going full speed. I pushed a couple of guacamole burgers towards one of the new girls who wasn’t sure what to think about our rapid-fire conversation.

“You’re a perv,” the hottie retorted. I smiled, nodding in agreement. “Dream on,” she said, both of us enjoying the light-hearted banter. “Where’s my double-double, Dickwad?”

“Coming right up. Sure you don’t want to think about getting a real job?”

“And give up all this?” she said. “Get rid of Jennifer, and I might just give you one.”

“Promises, promises,” I told her as she grabbed her burgers and headed out of the kitchen.

Passing Jennifer coming in, she added, “Your boyfriend is a sicko.”

“That’s only one of the reasons I love him so much.”

Approaching the grill with a new order, Jennifer knew I’d been teasing the waitress. “You’re going to make her crazy if you don’t knock it off.”

“She can take it. Here’s your Cobb, dressing on the side and a chicken Caesar.”

As I turned my attention back to the grill, I wondered, what the hell are we going to do with a boat, anyway? The whole thing was an impulse. One of the things that had me thinking was how quickly I slipped back into hardcore negotiating with those brokers. I’d left that life in Seattle and was determined never to go back. But I didn’t plan on flipping burgers the rest of my life, either.

“Adam and Eve on a raft, and wreck ’em,” barked another waitress. And so it went. Life at Hodad’s.

A few days later when we got home from work, the light on the answering machine was blinking. The agent had left a message for us to call him as soon as possible. “The bank got back to us about the boat. They want us to call them,” I yelled out to Jennifer.

After the third ring the receptionist picked up the line. “Douglas and Douglas Yacht Brokers. May I help you?”

“This is Corey Phillips. I’m returning Bob’s call about the old Drake.”

“One moment, please. I’ll connect you with Robert’s office.”

After a short pause, Bob came on the line. “Mr. Phillips, thanks for getting back to us. We’ve received an interesting counter-proposal from the bank.”

My pulse quickened. “How much?” I asked.

“As I was saying, the bank came back with a very reasonable counter offer, one that we feel is more than fair.”

“How much?” I repeated, louder than before.

Shakily, he continued. “Well, after reviewing the photographs we sent over for review—”

My hope was turning to anger. “I asked you a simple question. How much?”

“One hundred and ten thousand.”

I hung up.

Ten seconds later the phone rang. “Mr. Phillips?”

Recognizing the broker’s voice, I said, “We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“Please, just hear me out. I think they’d be willing to listen to any reasonable counter you may have.”

“I already made a reasonable offer.”

“Come on,” he said pleadingly. “Twenty thousand dollars for a sixty-footer?”

I knew he was right. No executive board would want to have to try and answer to their stockholders, or explain to the IRS for that matter, why they let an asset once valued at close to a million dollars go for twenty thousand bucks. “Okay, you’re right. You’re right, Bob.” I loved over-pronouncing his name. “I’ll go twenty-five.”

There was silence on the other end, so I added, “If they accept it, fine. Call me, and we’ll close. If not, don’t call me again.” A long pause followed. I waited patiently.

Finally the broker said, “I understand. I’ll present your new offer and get back to you within seventy-two hours.”

“Only if they accept. Otherwise, leave us alone.”

The bank didn’t take long to make a decision. The next night when we got home from work, there was another message. “Offer accepted. One condition … you accept the boat as is, how is. Please call at your convenience.”

I nearly bounced off the floor, my whoop of triumph reverberating through the house.

Jennifer came around the corner. She took one look at me dancing around like an idiot, and threw her arms around me. “Well, now what are we going to do?” she asked, with a big grin on her face.

We’d gone back to the boat after making the counteroffer, and had spent a couple of hours going through her. Well, actually I did. Jennifer and Sierra waited in the truck after the stench had driven them both off the boat. I’d had a pretty good idea of what it was going to take to bring her back—at least I thought I did. Not in a thousand years would anyone sane ever agree to those terms. The words still haunt me. As is … how is. Buying a boat without complete structural and mechanical surveys is pure insanity.