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Chapter 23: Sitting On The Dock
While the Freidrich Nietzsche headed southwards, Jerry Crewson stood on the dock in Marseille beside the rusting hulk of a steamer. It had tied up alongside earlier that morning at one the outermost quays. Jerry was fanning himself with his hat to counter the effects of the worst of the muggy heat that presaged a repeat of the last evening's storms. A gangway was pushed from the side of the ship onto the dock.
The ship's captain was leaning over the rail, offering Jerry a gap toothed smile. He pulled his greasy cap from his head and waved Jerry up the gangway. If it wasn't for the stink of diesel oil, Jerry thought, he would be able smell the drink on his breath from the dockside. A cockatoo sat on the rail at the head of the gangway, Jerry guessed it had once been white. The bird ignored him as he boarded.
Five trips now and Jerry still hadn't worked out where the captain came from. Not that it mattered. Him and his crew were all the same; foul smelling and drunk most of the time. Jerry couldn't wait until Freddie's new transport arrangements came on stream and they could forget all about this way of doing things.
“Welcome aboard!” Jerry felt the captain's greeting lacked any form of sincerity. “You have more for me. You get many here. Eh?”
“I get what I'm asked for. I ship them, I get paid. You deliver them, you get paid, what do you care?”
“You want see?”
“Oh, yes. After last time. I'm putting nothing on this boat that I haven't seen aboard.”
“That wasn't my fault. The unloading – your trucks.”
“I don't think so. But anyway it doesn't matter. Like you say, I want see.”
The captain scowled, spat over the side of the ship, turned and led the way through a steel companionway into the deck house. Jerry followed him down three decks until they were below the ship's waterline. The steel walls of the corridor were dripping with moisture and the heat got more oppressive the further they got into the ship. A heavy steel door barred their way. The captain pulled back the bolts that held it closed.
As he did so, Jerry heard the voices of the women from the other side. “No, please, no more, please, no more,” they called as the door swung open. He looked at the Captain's leering grin and he knew why.
The door let them into the bottom of the ship's hold, a vast space stretching up above them still covered by the main hatch and dark except for small pools of light thrown by the lamps around its edge. Water dripped from pipes and ran down the walls of the hold leaving rusty streaks, whether it was from leaks or simply condensation, Crewson could not tell.
On the far side of the hold was what he had come to see. Stone walls may not a prison make, thought Jerry, but those iron bars certainly made a cage. Perhaps ten feet by fifteen it was hardly luxury accommodation and there were three women in there already. The crew had obviously been amusing themselves with them, all three were shackled with their hands behind them, their clothes were torn and hung about them in shreds. One, a striking, black haired, aristocratic looking woman, had a black eye and a bruised right cheek. One of the others a blonde, Scandinavian girl, had a pattern of cigarette burns across the upper part of her naked left breast. The other cowered as far from cage door as she could. Jerry was furious. What was the point in packing the consignments so carefully if this was how they were looked after on the voyage?
The hatch above him slid open and the whine of the winch on the ships derrick started up. He watched as a net holding three wooden crates was swung across from the quay and lowered to the floor of the hold. Two surly crew members emerged from the shadows and pulled the net's strop clear of the hook. They dragged each crate across to where Jerry and the Captain were standing. One of them picked up a crow bar. Jerry nodded. Wood splintered as the lid of the crate was prised open. Inside the crate, a bound and gagged woman was trying to shrink away from whatever she would have to face next but the crewman pulled her out and set her on the floor beside Jerry. Two others followed her, each seeing the others for the first time, squealing and grunting in a mixture of anger and terror.
The captain crouched down and peered at each of the women in turn. In spite of the gags that covered the lower half of each girls face it was clear that the three were identical blondes. He turned to Jerry. “Triplets?” he said. “I'm impressed.”
“Just be careful with them. I'm sure you appreciate the rarity value. And tell your crew to keep their paws off them too. I don't want these three turning up with a shop soiled label on them when they come up for auction.”
“You're asking a lot – they're only human.”
“You could have fooled me. You're being paid to deliver these in good condition. They're unmarked now – make sure they stay that way.”
The captain scowled and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his grease streaked uniform jacket. He didn't bother to offer Jerry one, but lit it and inhaled deeply. “Put them in the cage,” he snarled at the two crew men, “and make sure they're comfortable.”
The three girls were dragged across the hold towards the cage, each struggling as best they could with their wrists and ankles bound.
Jerry watched as the Captain took delivery of his charges. It would be four weeks at best before they got to Belize City and another week up into the hills. There was no doubt Clegg was right - cutting time off this part of the business was going to make a big difference. Sending them by sea just meant the stock deteriorated and it took longer until they could turn it into cash. He hoped that Clegg's project was going well. He was looking forward to telling the Captain that there would be no more consignments after this one.
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