Drago #3. Art Spinella
“Hi love... Wait, let me put you on speaker.”
Tatiana’s voice came through loud and clear. She was both excited and worried. “What are you into, Salinska? Is Nickolas with you?”
“Hi Tats,” I said.
“You are in quite a cucumber…”
“Pickle,” Sal corrected.
“Pickle. Da. Where did you find that rifle?”
“Hidden in a cupboard,” Sal explained. “Why?”
“Is experimental. Russian sniper model. Is called SVN 98. Rumor is can hit an apple at two miles. Very precise. Very deadly.” She paused, “How did you find it? Not supposed to be any except in Russian military and Secret Service.”
“I’ll let you know, Tatiana,” Sal said. “Let me call you back later today.”
“I miss you, Salinska.”
She clicked off.
“Russian sniper rifles along with four U.S. sniper rifles,” I said. “We expecting any dignitaries soon?”
“Just that putz of a congressman,” Forte snorted. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Sal had caught the shift in Forte’s demeanor and cut me a glance. “Breakfast anyone?”
“I’m in,” right on cue, my belly provided a rumble. “Eggs, hash browns and sausage. How ‘bout you two?”
Forte shook his head. “Going back to the cop shop. See you later.”
Clarence also declined the invite.
“Chief, you gonna call the Feds?” I asked.
“First I’ll put Billy and Mark over here to see who comes back to the boat. You want me to wait, don’t you?”
“Something’s bothering you, Chief. Should we talk this out before you call in the cavalry?”
He sighed. “Yeah, okay. When you’re done eating, come by the office.” He spun on his heels and strode away in a rush. Clarence right behind him.
“Eatin’ Station?”
“Sure.”
“Nick, you would have made a great German U-Boat commander.”
“Huh?”
“No matter where you go there are torpedoes buzzing here and there and everywhere. Sight unseen until they punch a hole in your hull. Ghost paddle wheelers, Russian sniper rifles, abandoned yachts, gold balls, missing cars, and on and on and on.” He shook his shaggy head. “Don’t you get tired of it?”
“Nein, mein Capitan. Ist vas I liven sie fer.”
“Great. A linguist now. And a poor one, at that. How do you say ‘hungry’ in German?”
“Das donut.”
“Ya. Ist gut.”
CHAPTER TWO
One thing led to another and we never got to Forte’s office. Three uneventful days passed. Cycles of light rain came and went. Overflowing gutters had to be cleared. A sump pump in the toy shed digested a bearing and needed to be replaced. The radiator in the MG had been leaking for a few months and this was as good a time as any to pull and repair it.
Saturday afternoon. The wood stove crackled, radiating waves of heat into the den which had once been a third bedroom vacated by my second oldest son when he decided to take a swing at working in Portland. Sal was nestled down deep in a lounge chair, me in another. Staring at the fire through the glass window in the stove door.
Our respective side tables were littered with Dos Equis bottles, candy bar wrappers and those lunch-box sized bags of Doritos. Even though it was barely 3 p.m., a sudden storm darkened the sky to pewter, pelting the house with ice pebbles and shoving the outside temperature down to 40 degrees.
Sal yawned, eyes half closed, “Housing market is gonna come back this year.”
“Doubt it. Lots of existing homes still in inventory.”
Sal nodded, “Yeah, but many are unsellable. Rodent and bug infestations. Stripped of anything that can be resold as scrap.”
“Scrap prices are coming back.”
“Southeast Asia and China are gobbling up natural resources…”
“Putting price pressure on scrap,” I finished.
“Yup.”
“Do you think we really saw a ghost ship?”
“Nick, I was there. You were there. We have photos. Of course we did.”
“Why two, though? I mean, the legend says there was only one. The Pismo Bay.”
“But we couldn’t see the names on either of ours.”
“And they looked different.”
Sal scratched his beard, scrunched down further in his lounge. “One was like we were looking at it through a piece of gauze. The other looked like it was made of water vapor or smoke. Why would they be different?”
My cell phone buzzed.
“Drago.”
“Hey Nick. Forte. What are you guys up to?”
“Not much.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Beer’s in the fridge. Bring a pizza.”
“Be there in half an hour.”
I flipped the cell phone closed. “Forte’s coming over.”
“Think he misses us.”
“That’s because we’re loveable.”
“Loveable.”
“Non-threatening.”
“Not a threatening bone in our bodies.”
“Just a pair of oversized teddy bears.”
“You calling me fat?” Sal growled.
“I would never entertain the thought.”
“I’m just big boned.”
“Biggest bones I’ve ever known.”
“Screw you, Drago.”
I chuckled. “Back to the ghost ships. What should we do about them?”
Sal moved his eyeballs in my direction. His head stayed straight ahead. “Call Ghostbusters?”
“Funny. Now really. What do we do? We’ve heard these rumors since we were in high school. Maybe before. Do we just say we’ve seen them, or it, and go happily on our way or do we try to capture one or both?”
“Capture a ghost ship.”
“Well, maybe not capture. Maybe get close enough to touch it. Or something. Not sure.”
“Nick, did you see the way that Captain looked at us?”
“The one on the second sternwheeler, sure. Scary dude.”
“No eyeballs, Nick. No freakin’ eyeballs. Why would you want to touch that guy?”
Good question. No answer.
I tipped my head back and let the first thought that came to me come out of my mouth. “How many fuel filters are there in a Corvette?”
“What?”
“You heard me. How many?”
Sal mulled it over. “Two.”
“One.”
“No,