The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) by Pendelton Wallace

much we paid. You don’t have to report how much you sold
it for.”
    “Yah, sure, you
betcha. I not going to tell the tax man about this.”
    Ahmad knew that
Bjornsen wouldn’t report the transaction. As salmon were fished out and the
government declared certain runs endangered species, the value of salmon boats
declined to almost nothing. The old infidel probably feared that he’d never be
able to unload his white elephant.
    Bjornsen went on
and on. “In those days, we thought the salmon would last forever. . .”
    Ahmad hardly paid
attention. I have to get rid of this old fool.
    “Mr. Bjornsen,”
Ahmad broke in. “I don’t want to rush you, but we really must be going about
our business.”
    “Yah, sure. I just
clean out my tings.”
    Please don’t
get all sentimental on me.
    The old fisherman
began cleaning out lockers in the fo’c’sle.
    How can they
live like this? They are men, not swine. Ahmad began scrubbing the galley
while Hani descended into the engine room. Did Mohammed not teach us that
Allah demands cleanliness?
    Ahmad scrubbed
until he was exhausted. It would never be clean. Were they condemned to live in
this pig-sty?
    Finally, the
disgusting kaffir collected all of his belongings and bid his boat farewell. How
strange, that a man should be so attached to a boat. You would think he had
just sold his daughter.

Chapter 1 4
     
    The Straits of Juan de Fuca
     “Hey! Chris, turn
this thing around. We’ve gotta go back and get my hat.”
    “I’m sorry, bro.”
Chris laughed. “I forgot to tell you one of the rules of sailing: we don’t go
back for a hat unless there’s a head in it.”
    “Crazy bitch. I’d
like to put her head in it.” Ted sat down and resumed eating his sandwich. “Goddamn
it, I liked that hat.” He glared at Meagan from time to time.
    Meagan took a long
pull from her bottle of Henry’s, pulled up the strap on her tank top and
giggled. “I’ll buy Teddy a new hat when we get to Friday Harbor.”
     
    ****
     
    Far in the
distance, Ted could see the San Juan Islands ahead of them. He looked aft.
Twenty miles behind them he saw the faded outline of the Olympic Peninsula. The
ocean seemed so huge, the Defiant so small. Without another boat in
sight, he felt like an infinitesimal speck in the universe.
    Since lunch, they
watched the wind speed indicator steadily drop. The Defiant quit acting
like a scared race horse and more like an old plug. Ted gazed up, her sails
hung from the mast like old dish rags. She wallowed in the swell, barely
keeping steerage way.
    Smith Island, the half-way point across the Straits, loomed a mile off of the starboard rail
like some mythical castle rising out of the sea. Tall cliffs exploded from the
water, an old light house clung precariously to the rocks.
    “Damn, it looks
like we’ve lost the breeze,” Chris muttered. “I think we better fire up the
iron wind. Bring in the jib.”
    Meagan cast off
the jib sheets while Ted wrapped the in-haul around the cabin top winch. He
started hauling the line in, but the damned winch didn’t turn.
    “You’ve got the
line on the winch backwards, Dufus,” Meagan taunted.
    Goddamn it. Do
I have to look stupid in front of her? Without a word, his face burning,
Ted flipped the line off the winch and spun it on in the other direction. This
time, when he hauled in, the winch turned with the line, giving him greater
leverage. The billowing jib began to roll up like a giant window blind. In a
moment, it completely disappeared. Chris fired up the engine.
    The Defiant began moving faster. The knot meter leapt up to six knots.
    For the next hour,
they motored in the calm. Ted settled down in the cockpit with his thick
computer manual. He had to be ready for the Security + exam in September.
    The swells slowly
started to dissipate, leaving the Straits mill pond smooth. With the boat’s
rolling stopped, Oscar poked his head out of the companionway hatch.
    “Looks like our
little friend is going to make an