Chapter 19
The pirate known as Zanzibar was happy to get some well-deserved rest and relaxation. The street harlot lying in the bed next to him wasn’t the prettiest streetwalker he had ever been with, but she was fun and filthy in the sack. It seemed a shame that he would be kicking her out soon. He briefly entertained the idea of having one more go at her, but the clock on the wall reminded him to not only check out but of his morning meeting with Zandar. It had been three days of nothing but gluttony and lust for the privateer. Such had been his way of life for the past ten years. His ship, the SS Chameleon, would be heading back out tomorrow, and the second in command of the Dreadnoks had requested his presence at the Soda Factory so they could go over the workings of their plan to deal with Declan Mann and the so-called Headhunters. Not much had been specified yet, and the pirate did not want to get himself into a dangerous situation that could put his life, or those of his crew at risk.
He glanced once more at the digital clock on the nightstand which read 9:35am. Then without much thought, he sharply poked the harlot in her ribs.
“Let’s go, deary, time to check out!”
The scantily dressed girl in the bed scoffed and attempted to wave him off with her hand, demanding that he give her a break already and let her sleep. He responded in turn by pulling the sheets clear off the bed and exposing her half-naked body. The force of the tug dragged her clear out of the bed and onto the floor.
“Hey! What gives ya sot!”
“I said get your arse up! It’s time to check out.”
He threw a wad of money in her lap which she quickly scooped up and placed in between her cleavage. She then stood up and looked around for her clothes.
“Don’t I even get a shower?”
The pirate could be merciless, but even he wasn’t that cruel.
“Go on then. You got ten minutes before they’re knocking on the bloody door looking for another night’s wage.”
He lied of course. This particular hotel was owned by the Dreadnoks and he could stay as long as he liked, but he had already been up for two hours and had grown tired of staring at her lifeless, half-dressed body. He could hear the shower turn on in the loo, and took the opportunity to open the drapes and to stare out over the marina. Several large ships had come to port since he docked three days prior, and two large freighters awaited access anchored further out in the open sea. The rules of the port were simple, ships could stay docked for no more than four days after which time they would need to be moved.
A short time later the door to the loo opened and his escort appeared dressed, but with wet hair. She walked over to the pirate one last time and caressed his face and the side of his leg.
“Don’t forget to look me up when you’re next in port.”
She smiled and giggled then turned, grabbed her bag of belongings, and slipped out the door.
Zanzibar was happy to see her go. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist beyond the bedroom and had more important affairs to tend to than his sexual desires and those of a simple street whore. His philosophy had always been the same: Pay for their “company,” then send them a packing. This latest one happened to be one of his favorites, as he would regularly allow her to stay the night, sometimes even taking her out for dinner or ordering in. However, as the end of his reprieve approached, it was always the same. The pirate would return to his one and only true love, the open sea.
As he prepared for his meeting with the second in command, the phone on the nightstand rang. He picked up the receiver and heard a familiar voice. It was one of his preferred shippers, Ethan Jones. Ethan was a miner specializing in iron ore and coal, mostly for export to China, Japan, India, and the United States.
“G’day mate, what’s the good word, Ethan?”
The exporter commonly contacted Zanzibar as his rates were more competitive than some of the other shipping vessels and much more discreet.
“I’m in need of a delivery of iron-ore to India. They are requesting 50,000 tons of the stuff. Do you have room in your cargo hull? And when are you putting out to sea? I noticed the old SS Chameleon at the port just yesterday.”
Zanzibar knew that the ship was half full in terms of the upper deck’s twenty and forty-foot canisters. He usually was not the one to deal with filling the vessel’s hull. That job fell to his second in command John-boy Smith.
“Have you spoken yet to John-boy? He would know better than me. I’m just the cap’n.”
“I am quite aware, but this is a special shipment that needs to get there as soon as possible.”
The pirate recognized the emphasis on the word special, to mean that he was also in need of shipping some type of contraband as well.
“What are we talking here? And be blunt.”
“I’ve got half a container of fur seal hides that I need to be gone. I have a buyer on a small island in Indonesia. If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
So there it was. He needed him to fence a large amount of semi-illegal furs. The Australian fur seal, Arctocephalus pusillus doriferus, was a controversial species among conservationists, and a large shipment of the animal pelts might raise some eyebrows on a more legitimate shipping vessel.
“How much is my cut?”
The receiver when silent for a moment and he could hear the keys of an adding machine clacking in the background.
“I can give you thirty percent and still make a marginal profit.”
The pirate figured the man could afford to pay him more but opted to address the iron-ore shipment instead.
“And what’s my cut on the iron-ore? Make it good.”
The man on the other end of the line was quiet for a moment and once more the sounds of an adding machine could be heard.
“I’m already paying you the cost of shipping the iron ore. The most I can tip you and the crew is ten percent.”
The pirate held his tongue, sighed audibly into the receiver and waited.
“O.K., O.K., I’ll give you fifteen percent on the iron ore, and thirty on the furs. Do we have a deal?”
“Pleasure doing business with you, Ethan. I’ll let John-boy know to handle the matter discreetly, and to expect your cargo this afternoon.”
Captain Teach hung up the receiver. After securing his cutlass to his belt and putting on his trench coat and sunglasses, he exited his room and headed to his meeting at the Soda Shoppe. The weather was 65 degrees and sunny out. It was before midday, and the pirate thought to remove his long coat, but it was a light enough material to not seem completely out of place. Zandar had requested that he meet up with him by eleven for brunch. He had heard that the second in command had exquisite tastes, and the pirate would not miss the meeting, or the opportunity to fill his gullet with some free food before shipping out to sea once more. The restaurant was a mere fifteen-minute walk from the hotel, and the weather being what it was, made for a pleasant stroll. The streets were a bustle of activity with tourists and townies alike. He kept his eyes ahead of him but was more than aware of his surroundings. He made it to the Soda Factory without any incidence and entered the front door. Oddly enough, the same hostess he had been greeted by a few days prior in the afternoon was working the morning shift.
“G-day mate! Back again are you?”
The pirate eyed the woman curiously and thought it a bit strange that she actually remembered him, or cared to acknowledge him.
“The boss is in the back room Captain, and sure to be awaiting your arrival. I highly recommend the Aussie Breakfast. Just got in a fresh order of eggs this morning we did. Straight from the farm. Bacon is perfectly crisp today. Stay away from the vegemite sandwich, unless you like that sort of thing.”
The pirate after further processing felt he had figured out his dilemma.
“Thanks for the tip.”
He leaned in a bit closer and whispered close to her ear.
“Zarana.”
It was now the hostess’ turn to eye him. It was the only explanation that the pirate could come up with for the uncanny way in which the woman not only remembered him but knew where he was going.
“Alright, ye bloke! Good call. Gotta say I’m a bit surprised as I haven’t seen you that often, and yet you knew it was me, mate!”
The pirate was content that his intuition had been correct and he smiled at her.
“Sorry, Luv, was the only option in me mind that made any bit of sense.”
“Fair enough. My brother will see you now.”
Zanzibar walked to the back of the room and opened the door leading to the private back room. Upon entry, he was surprised by the number of his Dreadnok brothers who were in attendance. The six foot six hulk of a man, Road Pig, stood at the doorway acting as the bouncer. Ripper, Buzzer and Torch, the veteran members of the gang, sat to the right of Zandar. Some of the more senior recruits were also in attendance. The green-haired driver of the Thunder Machine, Thrasher, sat to the left of Zandar. While the explosives expert Monkeywrench sat next to him. The only senior patch member absent from the room was the poacher, Gnawgahyde, but most knew that he was currently on assignment somewhere in or around Kenya. The pirate had expected this to be a more private meeting, but as relieved as he was, the presence of so many senior members assembled in the same room raised other serious questions.
“Welcome Zanzibar. So good that you could join us. Please have a seat. Our waitress will be around shortly to take your order. In the meantime, have a mimosa.”
Zandar addressed him from his seat at the head of the table and was dressed in civilian blue jeans and a leather jacket. He wore his signature blue bandana and orange war-paint face makeup. The pirate often times wondered if these were actually tattoos since they always appeared so perfectly applied to adorn the sides of his face and under his eyes.
“Thank you Zandar for the invite and for the brunch. I’ll be heading back out to sea tomorrow, and this will be a welcomed treat that my stomach will not soon forget.”
The acting leader of the organization nodded, then motioned for him to take a seat to his left. As he made his way to the chair, a blonde-haired waitress handed him a champagne flute filled with a fruity, bubbly concoction. The pirate accepted the glass, then held it up as a toast to his host before downing the carbonated drink.
“My compliments to the bartender! Excellent drink! May I have another?” The waitress smiled and handed him a second while removing the empty from his other hand. Zanzibar made himself comfortable at the table just as a second waitress with purple hair came by to take his order.
“What can I get for you?”
The pirate remembered the recommendation his hostess had suggested as he entered the establishment.
“I’ll have the Aussie Breakfast with extra crispy bacon please, and if you could send over a couple more mimosas.”
He winked at the young lady whose arms were almost completely covered with elaborate colorful tribal tattoos. She was most definitely a patch pledge at the least, although he did not recognize her from his previous time home.
“An excellent choice sir. My name’s Heartwrencher. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The pirate looked her over once and licked his lips.
“Why yes, yes you are.” The spirited waitress responded by slapping him hard across the face. The sound silenced the room and everyone paused for a second to see the spectacle, and to have a good laugh.
“Yes, I am, but not for you. Unless you’d like me to wrench your heart clean out of your chest while it’s still beating!”
Zanzibar could do little more than rub his cheek as he noticed the switchblade that had appeared in her left hand. The room remained quiet as everyone waited to see what would happen next.
“And I don’t doubt that you could sheila. Was only paying you a compliment. Please accept my humblest apologies.”
Heartwrencher slowly placed the blade back into a sheath on her leg and leaned in close so the rest of the room could only wonder about to her response.
“Next time I’ll cleave your balls off, mate!”
She smirked, looked down towards his groin, and then laughed. Zanzibar swallowed hard, and the color drained from his cheeks. She then slapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Oh relax mate! I’m simply messing with you. You really need to learn how to take a joke.”
The scowl on the girl’s face vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. Zandar lifted his glass and toasted it at the pirate as if to say, We’ve had this discussion before. As the color began to return to the Zanzibar’s face, he too laughed although not as heartily as everyone else in the room.
“You got me good. I’ve learned my lesson. I have”
As the spectacle came to an end, the Dreadnoks in the room returned to their normal conversations. Heartwrencher winked at Zanzibar before returning to taking the rest of the tables food orders. A few moments later the door opened and two addition club members entered. The pirate recognized them as Crusher and Demolisher, two newer, but trusted members of the gang. With the arrival of these two, he almost expected to see all six Dreadheads walk in next. The room was bustling with conversation when the second in command finally stood up to address them. Everyone respectfully fell silent in anticipation of what was to be revealed.
“Good morning and welcome my fellow patch brothers and sisters. It has truly been too long since so many of us have been in the same room together. Business has been most prosperous, and I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your contributions and commitment to the Dreadnoks. Without your loyalty and hard work, none of this could have been accomplished. Here’s to you!”
Zandar lifted his glass in a toast to those in attendance and the room erupted in hoots and hollers.
“There now, I do appreciate your enthusiasm, but please, please do settle down. There are others matters that require your attention.”
The room of bikers once more quieted down.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve asked you here today, and as much as I’d like to say that this is an early Christmas party, that is not the case.”
The members of the notorious motorcycle gang looked puzzlingly around the room at each other not knowing what was coming next.
“As many of you are aware, Zartan is on a special mission which requires him to remain under deep cover. In his absence, I have been granted the mantle of leadership. The position requires that I handle and oversee all matters of trade negotiations, membership and...” He paused briefly before completing his sentence. “Partnerships.”
The room began to buzz with questions at the mention of the word. He held up his right hand up in order to silence his constituents.
“I understand that some of you may have heard rumors and others may have questions. In order to sure up our trust and to set the record straight, I decided to share this information with you in person. I recently returned from a meeting with the leader of Cobra. After careful consideration and several private meetings, I am happy to announce that the Dreadnoks have been given an employment opportunity to serve as private mercenaries within the organization for a substantial amount of pay.”
The senior members in the room erupted in grumbling.
The Dreadnok known as Ripper addressed Zandar rather sternly.
“Why were we not been made aware of this earlier? The Dreadnoks have always been a private organization. We have always been self-sufficient and independent. What makes you think that any of us want to work for this upstart, Cobra?”
Ripper spit in disgust after his proclamation.
“Yeah! What he said!”
The members of the room became a bit rowdy and to this, the second in command once again held up his hand.
“My dear Dreadnoks, I understand your concerns, but the arrangement has not been finalized, and the reason for you being here today is so each and every one of you has an opportunity to look over the proposed contract and to vote. This is not a dictatorship! We are as democratic as the next biker organization. I, and I speak for Zartan, would never enter into such an important partnership without consulting each and every one of you. The proposed wording of our agreement is being passed around the room. No formal accord has been struck and will not take place if the majority of you feel it be in poor judgment.”
As he said this, Buzzer, passed a pile of stapled contracts around the tables to all in attendance.
The contract was roughly twenty pages and detailed a partnership in which the Dreadnoks and their agents could willingly enter into the employ of Cobra in order to complete specific missions. No patch brother would ever be forced to accept a mission or be assigned to one. All willing parties would have their pay deposited into a private, untraceable, offshore account. However, if a member accepted an assignment, they would be expected to report to the subsequent commanding officer in the Cobra organization, and treat him or her with the same respect paid to the leader of the Dreadnok nation.
The wording seemed more than fair, and most of the room seemed willing to sign off on it, but clearly, this wasn't the only reason for the assembly of members. After the contracts circulated and everyone had time to review them, the second in command stood once more.
“Now that we have that situation addressed, there is one more development that requires our attention.”
The pirate put down his contract and gave his undivided attention to the speaker, as did everyone in the room.
“It seems that we may be on the verge of a turf war in the good old US Of A, with one Declan H. Mann. The Headman, as he likes to be called, has been building up a substantial drug empire over the past five years and one of his stooges, a chump by the name of Gristle, has made an open threat against our organization.”
The members of the room began to grumble at the alleged proclamation.
“You want I should remove his head from his shoulders boss?”
The huge, muscular man known as Road Pig cracked his knuckles loudly before punching his clenched fist into his other open hand several times.
“As tempting as that may sound, no Road Pig, not at this juncture. But thank you for offering your services. I propose something a little less physical and more covert. I need someone to infiltrate this “Headman’s” empire and gather some much needed Intel. At the moment, I cannot do this because of Zartan’s absence, but many of you in this room are more than qualified for the assignment. Once inside, we can determine the best way to undermine his organization, or simply take it over for ourselves. I have done some initial investigating and some of my sources have informed me that the once lowly drug dealer has established extensive connections in both North and South America. He has also amassed a bit of a following in Europe and Asia, where the bulk of his raw materials are currently being mass produced.”
“Blimey! How did this bloke get so established?”
The blond pony-tailed member known as Buzzer posed the question.
“He got there by not raising eyebrows and making many allies. If his second in command had kept his ego in check, we probably wouldn't even be having this conversation until he was even more entrenched. We can't afford a direct assault on the man, his unraveling will require tact and patience, and you can almost guarantee that he is expecting retaliation from the Dreadnoks already.”
The pink haired Zarana, Zartan and Zandar’s younger sister, walked alluringly to the front of the room amongst the hoots and howls of the other gang members. One threatening look from the woman silenced the room.
“I can do it, brother, every man has got a weakness for a pretty face, and a hot ass.”
The acting leader shook his head.
“No my dear sister. Although I don't deny your powers of carnal seduction, Declan Mann is not one who has been known to promote gender equality in his ranks. He treats women as if they are merely disposable playthings. Your lustful allures might work if we were trying to assassinate the man, but not at infiltrating the Headhunters organization.”
“Do you want to bet some money on it brother?”
The room broke out into a taunting of “Oos and Aas.”
“There'll be no wager sister. You're not going.”
His stern demeanor spoke volumes, and she wisely backed down.
“Besides, I have something more worthy of your talents that we can discuss later. It’s sure to entertain you. ”
Zandar didn't often deny his sister any outside opportunity, but this time he had to insist.
“Well? Who else is interested?”
The room was silent for a few tense seconds before a voice emerged from the back wall.
“I'll do it. I've been meaning to take a trip back to the states for about a year now.”
A tall African-American with dreadlocks and a New York accent stood up began to approach Zandar.
“Besides, I remember this punk Mann from a few years back. He used to roll in my old neighborhood, real pretty boy with a proclivity for exotic cars and fast women.”
“So he knows you?”
Zandar’s face showed a hint of uncertainty, but the speed demon was quick to set his mind at ease.
“I never said that. I said I knew of him. A friend of mine back in the day may have sold him a car or three. Might still be around is all I'm saying. Couldn't hurt to check in with him and the old gang.”
The second in command took on a pensive posture and considered the presented information. After a couple moments of silence, Zandar addressed the room again.
“Looks like we may have a winner, boys. Enjoy the luncheon everyone, Zarana will collect your signed Cobra contracts. He then motioned for Burnout to follow him into the back room. Zanzibar handed the unsigned contract back to Zarana.
“I am quite happy in your employ and my time at sea leaves me little time for side work, in fact, I'm heading back out tomorrow, but thanks for the offer”
“Fair enough love. Don't forget to pick up the shipment for Declan Mann, and do remember that the next time you make contact with his organization it needs to appear as if everything is perfectly fine.”
“Will do. It will be business as usual.”
The pirate grabbed his coat, finished his mimosa and headed out the door of the private room, through the bar, out the front door and made a right onto the street. He stopped at the corner and hailed a taxi to take him back to Darling Harbor. John-boy Smith had been instructed to bring the SS Chameleon back to port in order to collect the iron ore as well as the seal pelts. In a few short hours, he would be back out in the salty ocean air doing what he loved once more.
Zanzibar greatly enjoyed the time he spent at his home in Sydney, but the open seas would always be his mistress and only true love. The cab ride back was uneventful, the cabby didn't even initiate any small talk. Before exiting, he generously tipped the driver and thanked him for the silence.
The docks at Darling harbor were a bustle of activity and it was good to place his tall leather boots back on the gangplank of the old Chameleon.
“G’day Captain. You're just in time. There's a gentleman asking to see you.”
Zanzibar reached in his pocket and pulled out his trusty eye patch. He positioned it over his left eye before climbing the ladder to the upper deck and his private office. As he reached the top of his ascent, he noticed the middle-aged gentlemen pacing outside his office. He recognized the man to be Ethan Jones and had totally expected the nervous exporter to be awaiting him, as he had indicated in their earlier phone exchange.
“G’day Ethan. Everything ok mate?”
The man stopped abruptly and started anxiously waving his hands motioning for the privateer to take him inside his office.
“Alright, give me a minute. These old bones ain't what they used to be.”
The pirate spanned the distance to his office and used a key from around his neck to unlock the door. Ethan Jones followed him inside and continued to pace back and forth.
“Ethan, sit down will ya? Your crazed pacing is making me seasick!”
The older gentleman took a seat and crossed his left leg up and over his right. His left foot rocked back and forth frantically while his the index and middle finger of his right hand tapped on the desk.
“Ethan, you need to relax. What is it that has got you all worked up? I told you earlier that your shipment is safe with me.”
“It's not that.”
Zanzibar was starting to lose patience with his guest the longer he remained cryptic.
“Well? What then?”
“I received a phone call shortly after speaking with you. The caller warned against me shipping those seal hides. He said that someone would sink your freight liner as soon as you're out of port if they were on board. Oh please Zanzibar, I need to get rid of those blasted things! And I can't risk our friendship and your safety. Please don't be mad at me, I've got a truck standing by to remove them.”
The pirate was not about to lose his commission to a little phone threat. He sat for a moment silently considering his options.
“Now, just hold on a second, I may still be able to help you out. Let me make a call. The pirate got up from his desk and opened an old wooden cabinet on the side of the room to reveal an ancient-looking ham radio. He flipped on the switch and dialed in an upper channel.
“Gnawgahyde, do you have your ears on?”
There was little more than static before he tried again.
“I repeat mate. Gnawgahyde, do you have your ears on?”
There was more static and some humming, but then the radio crackled to life.
“Yeah, who wants to know?”
The voice sounded groggy and annoyed, but he did respond.
“It's Zanzibar. I have a question about some pelts. Australian ones.”
“How many you got? And when can I get them?”
“Well, that's the problem. They're here in Sydney and I've had me ship threatened to be scuttled if I leave port with them aboard.”
The radio went eerily silent for a few moments.
“Well that's a bit of a problem ain't it? Can you get the furs off your ship and contact a guy named, Rasputin? I'll send you his contact info. He's not afraid of nothing. Guy has had his ship torpedoed twice, and actually installed anti-torpedo sonar to sink them before they sink him. He’ll be able to help you for a nominal fee. Mention my name. He still owes me a favor. I'm sending you his digits now.”
The pirate’s phone pinged a moment later.
“Alright, I got it. Thanks mate!”
The channel remained silent for a few until the poacher transmitted a final message.
“You owe me and Bacon an Aussie dinner next time I'm in Sydney. Don't contact me at this frequency again, you know the drill.”
The final word indicated the future contact channel. The captain jotted down the word then pressed the dial button on his phone. The line trilled twice before a raspy and slightly garbled voice answered.
“Who’s calling?”
Zanzibar didn't hesitate to respond.
“The name’s William Teach. I'm a close associate of Gnawgahyde. I've got a haul for you. Are you interested?”
“Depends what you got?” The man cleared the phlegm in his throat and then continued much more clearly now. “And how many you got.”
“Arctocephalus pusillus doriferus, at least 20,000.”
“Now you're speaking my language Teach. Where and when can I get them?”
Zanzibar looked to Ethan Jones, who grabbed a pen and paper to scribble down an address and time.
“48-7 Dorchester Heights. 1600 hours.”
“I'll send an emissary in a red hat. His name’s Butch. Bring the furs and 25000 pounds.”
The phone clicked and Zanzibar looked over at his guest.
“You owe me once again mate, and I'm going to have to ask for fifty percent of our original agreed to price.”
“But you're not taking them to Indonesia anymore!” Ethan Jones seemed as irate now as he had been anxious before.
“A deal is a deal. You wanted then gone, I found you a buyer and let's not forget the threat to sink my boat.” The pirate stared at the man who was now standing. “Or, I can seal you in the container with those ratty furs and sink you both to the bottom of the bay! Any questions?”
“No, sir!”
Ethan pulled out a blank check and frantically began writing.
“No checks, electronic transfer only! You know I'm pushing off in two hours.”
The man put down the pen and retrieved his cell phone instead to make the appropriate transaction. Zanzibar’s phone pinged. He read the notification then turned to Mr. Jones.
“A pleasure doing business with you mate.
“You're a crook!”
“Easy now Ethan, it's only business, and I'm not a crook, I'm a pirate.” Zanzibar broke out into a laugh as the man exited his private office clearly not amused.
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