Suffer Not Evil: A Florida Action Adventure Novel Read online

  Suffer Not Evil

  Scott Jarvis Private Investigator #11

  Scott W. Cook

  Suffer Not Evil

  Scott Jarvis Private Investigator - Book 11

  Copyright © 2021 by Scott W. Cook

  All rights reserved.

  Book cover and formatting provided by Ardent Artist Books

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  “the world is a dangerous place to live. Not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”

  Albert Einstein

  “to ignore evil is to become an accomplice to it.”

  Martin Luther King

  “Suffer not evil to thrive that thou shouldst profit by it, nor turneth thine eye away, lest ye become it.”

  Unknown ancient scripture

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  A Word From the Author

  Prologue

  Apparently, somebody had made a mistake in the listing. The eighty-foot schooner that I intended to buy with my recently acquired gold proceeds was not, in fact, eighty feet long. In truth, she was ninety feet long and sixty-five feet on deck rather than fifty-five. Fortunately, this slightly more voluminous vessel’s price was not appropriately inflated. After having the vessel hauled out and inspected at the owner’s and my mutual expense, she’d been placed back in the water and berthed at the Cayman Islands Yacht Club in Governor’s Creek.

  My crew and I arrived at the Owen Roberts International Airport. We were then ceremoniously whisked over to the yacht club via a private van provided by the yacht club for its more… ceremonious guests. We needed a van, as my crew consisted of enough of us to handle the big boat for the nearly thousand-mile trip, which would, if the weather reports were accurate, take us something like five days.

  Although the entrance to the Cayman Islands Yacht Club was almost five hundred miles due south of Saint Petersburg, there was a rather large island between Grand Cayman and Florida. We’d have to sail west to get around Cuba before angling up into the Yucatan channel and straight to Tampa Bay or head easterly if we wished to visit Key West. Either way, the distance was at least double that which could be covered by a tireless crow.

  My crew consisted of Lisa, of course. I brought along Bob Burnett, who’s an experienced sailor, had recently acquired his 100 Ton Captain’s License and whom you may remember from such novels as A Fortune In blood. Also with us were Clay Delaney and Marcus Peters, both of whom simply wouldn’t let me live it down if they weren’t on the maiden voyage. Sharon, Wayne and their respective significant others Juan Fuente and Keisha Rains, wanted to come, but work schedules didn’t allow it. As a sixth and in sort of a pinch-hitter position was Commander Bryan Turner, a fellow member of the International Counter-criminal Enforcement agency along with myself. Turner and I had started out like two junkyard dogs but had moved past mutual dislike to respect and finally to a still burgeoning friendship. Turner and I had quite a few things in common, after all. We were both in the Navy and both part of ICE, both came from families with long and distinguished naval service. His great grandfather was Arthur Turner, captain of the USS Bull Shark. I’d recently learned that my own great grandfather, Patrick Jarvis, from whom I got my middle name, was an officer aboard the same boat with Art Turner.

  “So I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m gonna be rude… how much are you into this thing all told?” Bob asked as we pulled into the parking lot of the yacht club.

  “Really?” I asked. “Pretty rude, Bob.”

  Bob shrugged and laughed, “Did you expect anything else?”

  Everyone else was looking at me expectantly and I shook my head, “Between the boat, some custom work I’ve had done down here, taxes, provisions and flying us all out here… plus pay for some of you… I’m right at about nine-hundred and fifty G’s.”

  “Damn!” Clay exclaimed. “We need to talk, Machu-Picchu.”

  I snorted, “What, you want a loan? I might need to borrow from you guys now.”

  “So what’s the name of the boat?” Marcus asked.

  Marcus and I had met when I helped rescue him from his unsavory mother. Marcus was approaching his eleventh birthday and his father was the starting center for the Orlando Magic. Wayne and I had sort of unofficially adopted Marcus as our nephew back when it all went down, as chronicled in Shadows of Limelight.

  “It’s actually almost spooky,” I said. “Because I was thinking of renaming her.”

  “Bad luck,” Bob cut in. “Got to do the ceremony.”

  I nodded, “Yeah… but for whatever reason, her name is Surprise and I think I’ll keep it.”

  “Like HMS Surprise?” Lisa asked knowingly.

  “Yep,” I replied proudly. “Me and Jack Aubrey… and I guess Stephen Maturin, since he bought her about halfway through the series. Anyway, it’s a cool name and we’ll keep it.”

  The schooner Surprise was in no way difficult to pick out among the other yachts in the marina. Aside from the fact that she was the only two-masted, gaff-rigged vessel of her size and design in view, her unique paint scheme stood out among the brilliant white and occasional navy blue of the more modern boat hulls. Her bottom paint, what showed from the waterline down at least, was a deep red. Her sides were black except for a narrow strip of white just below her bulwarks. Her spars, including the main and foremast, main and fore gaffs and huge bowsprit, were the same stark white as the upper stripe and stood out amid the deep brown of the no doubt many coats of varnish on her wooden bulwarks, railings and trim. In addition, there were ratlines going up both masts all the way to her heavy spreaders, a modern adaptation.

  “Whoa…” Marcus breathed as he gazed at the lovely vessel. “It’s like a real ship!”

  I grinned and reached back to squeeze his knee, “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  The driver helped us to carry our duffel bags down the dock to where Surprise waited at her moorings. Her gunwales were at least eight feet above the waterline, and a set of stairs had been placed alongside to give direct access to her entry port. We went aboard, everyone trailing me, and stood amidships gazing around in wonder… or at least I did.

  The schooner was flush-decked. The only break in what appeared to be acres of lightly tanned teak were inset skylights, storage boxes and the cockpit aft of the mainmast. The cockpit had a low retaining wall, or fairing, and a fiberglass hardtop on heavy stainless-steel piping. Isinglass transparent curtains surrounded the large cockpit, now rolled up to allow fresh air unde
r the hardtop.

  “Goddamn!” Bob remarked. “I’d hate to be the one who has to sand and oil all this teak.”

  I chuckled, “You mean you’re not gonna do it for me?”

  “Hell no. I don’t like you that much.”

  I smiled and gazed around, “It’s actually not teak. Its composite wood made to resemble teak. The railings and bulwarks are mahogany, but that’s about it. Some of this trim is, too. But the owner tells me the wood’s all very recently been redone, and it’s got like twenty coats of varnish on it.”

  “Should keep for a good two years,” a booming Australian voice called out from the companionway at the forward end of the cockpit. “And when it needs doin’, it’ll keep you off the streets, yank.”

  A burly man with graying blonde hair who looked to be in his mid-fifties appeared above the fairing of the cockpit as he climbed the companion. He beamed at me and stepped through the entryway that led from either side of the cockpit to the side deck. He approached and stuck out his hand.

  “Glad to see you, Scott,” Paul Sterling said in his ebullient Aussie way. “Now that you’ve seen her up close and personal, what’dya think?”

  “Blown away, Paul,” I said, pumping his hand vigorously. “Fine job you’ve done of getting her ready for me.”

  The Australian millionaire grinned, “Well, I’ll give you and your friends here the nickel tour as you lot say. Then you give me your final word.”

  “I’ve already wired the money, Paul.”

  He chuffed, “Yeah… but I want you to be a hundred percent sure, Mate. If not, I’ll give you back your money. You did buy her sight unseen, after all.”

  I laughed, “I appreciate that, mate… but something tells me this is a done deal.”

  Lisa giggled, “I haven’t seen him this excited since… ever.”

  Paul arched an eyebrow at her and grinned again, “And you must be the lovely Lisa. A pleasure. And I don’t believe that, with you around, young Jarvis here hasn’t shown some excitement.”

  Below decks was even more impressive than above. The companion descended into the saloon, which was appointed in white leather and brass. Everywhere there was teak trim, beautiful teak and holly soles and a lot of room. The boat was twenty feet at her broadest point, which made the saloon over five hundred square feet. There was a U-shaped sofa on the starboard side with a large circular port over the center of the back. Large bookshelves adorned the bulkheads to either side of this and several hanging lockers filled in the corners where the sofa curved away from the wall. On the other side, a nearly identical sofa wrapped around a dining table with plenty of room for eight. This could all be collapsed into a large queen-sized berth. On the bulkhead forward and to the left of the entry to the galley, a sixty-five-inch flat panel television had been mounted over an entertainment center cabinet containing the ship’s stereo system, complete with multiple speakers in all compartments that could be individually controlled.

  Forward was a short passage. To the starboard side was a day head complete with vanity, toilet and shower stall. To the left was a large storage area, mostly used as a pantry. It contained dry storage and a floor-to-ceiling freezer and refrigeration unit.

  The galley was large, with Corian countertops, a double sink with both fresh and seawater options, dishwasher, microwave, lots of storage, a smaller fridge and freezer that could be accessed through the countertop or from the front. A four-burner induction stove and convection oven dominated one side. Forward of this was another small passage with a Pullman berth on the port side and on the starboard, another head like the first one and a washer and dryer unit. Forward of this was the large and comfortable v-berth.

  To the starboard of the companion was another hanging locker and a door to a plush queen berth complete with vanity, lots of storage and a private port. On the port side was the navigation station, and down the corridor a tiny Pullman berth for two crew-members. The door to the engine room was located here as well.

  “She’s got a Perkins three-hundred and fifty horsepower diesel,” Paul explained. “Plus a fifty kilowatt diesel genset. That’ll run everything, even the three AC units when you’re on the hook. Holds eleven hundred gallons of fuel oil, and she’ll do twelve knots in a pinch under power, but if you keep her around seven or eight, you’ll get about three-hundred hours on the engine. Gives you a motor range of something like twenty-four hundred miles. More if you slow down a bit.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Bob muttered.

  We moved into the aft owner’s cabin and I felt like I’d gone back in time. The stateroom stretched across the entire width of the ship, giving enough room for a king-sized berth, a desk, a large vanity, a walk-in locker, two more smaller hanging lockers, a six-drawer dresser and enough remaining floor space to tango in. The suite featured a huge private head with double sink, toilet, roomy shower stall and even a garden tub big enough for two.

  “Sweet Jesus…” Turner breathed.

  “I know, right?” I said, winking at him. “Bet you wanna try out that tub.”

  He chuckled, “Not with you… no offense.”

  “My favorite part are these stern windows,” Clay remarked. “Like an old-timey sailing ship.

  Paul grinned, “Yeah, sort of makes you feel like you’re on the real Surprise, eh?”

  “Fan of O’Bryan, Paul?” I asked knowingly.

  He nodded, “Course, mate… where she got the name.”

  “I like the tub, too,” Lisa said in awe.

  “Now a bit more,” Paul continued as we headed back on deck. “There isn’t a dink now, but you can see the stern davits here. They can hold up to an eighteen-foot tender and easily handle up to two thousand pounds. So you can put a real runabout on them and keep it secure even in heavy weather. We used to keep a fifteen-foot Boston Whaler for ours.”

  “Awesome,” I noted. “I happen to have an eighteen-foot Maverick.”

  “Also,” Paul continued proudly, “there are solar panels atop the cockpit and more stored up here. When you’re anchored, you can rig them out and get two thousand watts of solar. You get a thousand just from what’s up permanently. She can make nine hundred gallons of potable fresh each day, and she holds three thousand gallons altogether, so take as many baths as you want. The battery banks are lithium-ion and total fifteen hundred amps. Between the solar, the genny and the batteries, you should never run out of juice. The engine alternator can charge at two hundred amps, and that’s in addition to the genny, which I usually run when I’m under power to both provide electricity and charge the banks. The genny is quite quiet, and you’ll hardly hear it even on a quiet night.”

  This is so freakin’ awesome!” Marcus emoted.

  “Overwhelming,” I admitted. “I can’t quite believe she’s really mine.”

  Paul laughed, “I know the feeling, Cobber. Now let me show you the controls here… you’ve got bow and stern thrusters, and all the running rigging is electric. You can literally handle all four sails from the helm or do it manually. All the halyards, sheets and furls run along the centerline under covers. Keeps the decks nice and neat. The two heads’ll are self-tacking and their sheets run to the foremast about six feet high, so you hardly have to duck under them when walking up there.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” I said, shaking his hand again. “Thank you for giving her up for me.”

  Paul smiled wistfully, “Not easy, mate… but I think she’s going to a good home. You can tell a real sailor when you meet one. Remember, she’s two-hundred tons of solid girl. I’ve had her in twenty-foot whitecaps, and she handled them like she was born to it.”

  After finalizing with Paul, checking all systems and making sure the provisions I’d ordered were on board, we cast off and took Surprise out of the harbor and out to sea. Once past the reef, we set the main and foresails and both the inner and outer jibs, and I put us on a two-eighty to skirt the territorial waters of Cuba. The wind was blowing steadily at fifteen knots, and with all plain sail set, Surprise ran
westerly at ten knots. She barely even felt the two-to-three-foot seas.

  Lisa and I sat behind the big old-fashioned spoked ship’s wheel. The boat… hell, I couldn’t help but think of her as a ship, which wasn’t inaccurate… had an autopilot, but so far, we were content to steer by hand, feeling the way she moved and how responsive she was. Although she had hydraulic steering, the system had a pressure feedback feature that still let you feel the sea pressure on the rudder. That was always a complaint of mine regarding hydraulics… they made steering easy but took away the feel.

  “This is amazing, baby,” Lisa said. “It’s like a dream. And this huge boat only draws six feet of water!”

  I laughed, “I know, huh? Paul had her specially built with extra ballast so he could enjoy a slightly shallower draft. Right now, she draws nine. I’ve got the extendable centerboard down. The biggest challenge is the mast height. Even with a two-masted setup, which is generally shorter than a sloop rig of the same size, our main mast is eighty feet high. Pretty much means draw bridges or no bridges. Thank goodness for the Skyway.”

  “The only bad thing about her is the swimming situation,” Bob said as he came up from below. “The stern doesn’t even have a ladder, and the dinghy… tender… would be in the way.”

  I grinned, “You’d think so… but there’s a secret bonus that Paul told me about. I’ll show you guys maybe tomorrow if the weather is good for swimming. Meanwhile, why don’t you make us a couple of Mexican Jackasses, there, boat bitch?”