Half Moon Bay Part I – Drug Smuggling Catholic Saints
Surrounded by headstones in all directions, a small gathering of people has collected around a casket. At the road leading up to the headstones is a sign reading, “Chicago National Cemetery” nearby. Rick, 21-years-old, sits next to his mother, Celia. The dark shades covering Rick’s face conceals the emotion beating from his heart through his eyes. His mother sits next to him starts to lets out a gasp as she continues to cry, trying to conceal the same emotion with a wrinkled handkerchief that soaks with tears for her passing husband in the casket before them. A Minister walks behind the casket.
“Let us bow our heads…(He pauses) Lord please bless Frank Knight and his family as he was taken like many others before his time in a horrible accident. Amen…” The Minister says with a somber servitude, and the rest of the gathering follow with a soft “Amen” as they continue in silence.
A line begins to form as the people walk to the casket to show their respects. Some place flowers on the top, and others place their hands to the cold wood frame, and bow their heads in an apparent appreciation of Frank for touching each of their lives. Rick and his mother watch as others walk past the casket. Some people shake their hands in esteem with the gentle touch of one hand over the other hand to ensure an enduring gesture.
Suddenly, God, a tall, well-dressed religious icon with thin sunglasses walks from behind the funeral grounds next to Rick and Celia. He shakes their hands with a consoling compassionate smile. Rick stands giving God a firm handshake, and his mother breaks it up staring towards God.
“He trusted you.” Celia says as Gods attention turns to Rick.
“Your father was a great man. The Lord sends his blessing.” God says.
“Thank you Sir. I appreciate you for coming. He spoke highly of you. Please, Lord, tell me what exactly happened to my father.” Rick says.
Celia pulls out a flask, takes a sip, and walks awkwardly to the casket. God looks at Rick and then at his mother spreading herself across the casket with a flask in her right hand.
“It was an accident, my son. He fell off a high beam without wearing a harness. We warned him to get other people to do the job instead. But he was a brave man.”
The attention from the funeral procession shifts to Celia crying over her husband’s casket, and, in an unpleasant manner, publicly drinks from her flask. Everyone covers their mouths in gasps, pointing at her while she lets out the emotion that was bottled up inside of her.
“Why, you asshole!” Celia yells emphatically spilling some of the Scotch out of her flask, drawing God’s attention.
“Good to see your mother hasn’t changed. Are you working?” God asks Rick as he shakes his head “no”.
“The construction industry isn’t very good right now.” Rick says and he walks with God toward his father’s casket.
“Well, your father was a faithful employee so if you ever need work, we are growing.”
“I appreciate that. I have always wondered what my father was doing for you…”
Rick places his hand on his father’s casket. The cold wooden casket resonates goose bumps on Rick’s arm and he begins to sob. Rick wipes the tears from his face and walks to his mother, overcome with emotion. God places his hand on the casket.
“I’m sorry, but you should have listened.” God says as he turns to look at Rick, hugging his mother.
It is currently January, 14 1985 and the fog brings a haze to Half Moon Bay California. Inside a Catholic Church confessional during the middle of the day, the Sun’s rays shine through the beautiful stained glass window that lightens the church. Rick closes the door of the confessional with a large bag over his shoulder. He kneels before the Holy Bible and quietly whispers a prayer.
“Please provide direction father.”
A Priest walks in the confessional and sits. He opens a small confessional window. A thin light shines through the window, and onto the Priests face in the shape of a cross.
“Bless me father for I have sinned.” Rick says with a somber tone in his voice.
“God has been waiting on you, my son.” The Priest says.
The Priest exits the confessional and lightly knocks on Rick’s door. Rick opens the door and looks at the Priest.
“Come with me, Rick.”
Rick appears puzzles as to the nature of the Priest’s actions. He grabs his bags and follows the Priest through the church.
A large, antique wooden door opens and Rick is escorted into an office. God stands behind his desk, dressed in priestly attire. He turns and looks at Rick standing in the doorway as both men look at each other in silence. Rick awkwardly rubs his arms and looks around the office. Gazing around the room, there are old oil paintings of Catholic Saints, and the entire room has antique wood walls and ceilings to match. God motions for Rick to take a seat in front of him at his desk.
“Please sit, Rick.”
Rick approaches the desk and follows God’s command. Around the desk are photos of God in the military, including Vietnam. There are different honors and plaques that represent his services and time there.
“I’m glad you came. How are you doing since your fathers funeral?”
“I need work to be honest with you.” Rick states as God turns and looks out the window thinking of how to place Rick in his new surroundings.
“Your father saved my ass in Vietnam. Did he ever say that?” God asks as Rick wipes his face from the emotion that he has yet to get over.
“He said you were built like a brick shit house, and were a great wing wan.” God laughs at the thought of hanging out with Rick’s father was reminiscent of a better time. “Your father loved women. I owe him one.”
“Is it possible that you still have a labor position open?” Rick asks as God turns from the window and his attention is focused toward Rick, sitting in the chair in front of him.
“Did your father talk about my business?” God asks and Rick shrugs his shoulders giving way to the evidence that he is unsure of anything more than that of a construction worker.
“He used to work commercial construction, right?”
“Well, we would first need to setup an interview with my head foreman. Can you meet him later today?”
“Yes, of course…” Rick says with an enlarged smile. God writes him directions, and his phone number on a piece of paper and hands them to Rick. “Be at this dock in an hour. They will know that I sent you.”
Rick looks at the angelic writing on the paper. It has dock number “2311” and his phone number written on it. “Now that is my personal number. If you have any problems; call me.” God adds as Rick lets out a large smile, grabs his belongings, and heads to the door.
“Thank you so much, Sir. I’m going to be an asset to your team.”
“Consider this your interview.”
“Great! I will bring the tools that I have as well.”
God turns to look out the window as the soft wind blows the trees in front of the church. “I will expect your decision in 24 hours. If you don’t call I will assume that you’re headed back to the Midwest.” Rick leaves the office with a confused look on his face.
A breast in the vast ocean of the pacific off the coast of Half Moon Bay, St. Peter, a man in his mid-40’s, dressed in priestly attire drops the anchor of an Old Endeavor yacht entitled the “Meassis Dragon.” Around him in all directions is open water, and you can see the faint glow of the coast of California as it looks like a mirage. In the distance behind him is a Coast Guard boat approaching. St. Peter grabs the cross around his neck, and his wrist reveals a barcode tattoo on it. With a smile he kisses the cross. The radio blares.
“This is the United States Coast Guard. Please remain in your location so our inspectors can come aboard. Over…” The radio blares and feeds static through its speakers.
“Roger that. I’m waiting for your arrival.” St. Peter says.
St. Peter immediately throws the radio microphone, “Shit,” he stares at the Coast Guard boat approaching, and quickly runs to the living quarters.
Inside the boat living quarters, St. Peter grabs his Glock 9 and a stack of money wrapped in an envelope from the counter. He places the gun in the small of his back and pockets the envelope. He pulls up a secular floorboard and finds marijuana encased in a thick, clear, airtight wrapping underneath the boat.
The wrapped marijuana is stashed outside of the boat between the rudder and the keel. It is partitioned by a thick piece of Plexiglas. He places the floorboard over the Plexiglas, and closes the panel to conceal it, placing a carpet over the floorboard.
“I hate waiting for Disciples.” St. Peter says.
The sound of the Coast Guard boat approaches the yacht. St. Peter does a quick prayer, encircling the Holy Trinity on his body, and grabs a fishing pole. He walks to the cockpit of the boat.
St. Peter casts his fishing rod, and rests the butt of the rod in the yachts push-pit. The Coast Guard boat aligns itself with the yacht, and the Captain throws St. Peter a rope. The two exchange a smile as the Captain boards the boat.
“Afternoon, Father. I’m doing routine inspections. Can I have your registration, please?” Captain Jacobs says.
“I appreciate you keeping the waters clean, Sir. I am just passing a little time fishing.” St. Peter says as he grabs the boat’s registration, and hands it to the Captain.
The Captain looks at the registration. He examines the boat, walking underneath to the living quarters. St. Peter’s facial expression changes drastically as his hand moves to the small of his back where his index finger wraps around the trigger of his gun.
Captain Jacobs looks around the living quarters of the boat and sees a cross along with religious emblems. The Captain pushes the carpet on the floorboard with his right foot, as the carpet moves to reveal a moveable floorboard. He smiles and shakes his head, and looks into the bathroom and sees two stacks of Bibles on the counter next to the sink. The Captain opens one of the Bibles and it’s hollow. He places the carpet back over the floorboard and walks to the cockpit.
Captain Jacobs smiles at St. Peter taping the registration in his hand in the palm of the other. “It’s a shame what happened last month with that boat sinking. They say what happened?” The Captain says as he hands the registration back to St. Peter. “They said it was a fuel leak and a spark in the ignition made the boat explode. We lost a good man. I mean it could have been any one of us.”
“Funny thing is that they didn’t say anything about cargo left on the boat. The news report just talked about some guy named ‘Frank’ that died.”
St. Peter takes the registration for the boat and puts it away, he hands the Captain a stack of hundred dollar bills discreetly wrapped in an envelope. The Captain takes a brief look at it and smiles.
“God sends his blessings.” St. Peter says.
“I suppose I am having the Super Bowl party at my place.” Captain Jacobs says, with a sense of delight in his face. The Captain walks back to his boat and looks back at St. Peter.
“How do you expect to catch a fish without bait?”
They both look at the rod that is embedded on the boat and the hook that is currently floating in the water. St. Peter smiles.
“Clever little guys… I will see you Sunday then?”
“Yes, I always enjoy the Sermon. Do me a favor and make sure to radio ahead when you’re in open waters like this.”
Rick slowly walks along the docks and sees apparent miles of yachts in front of him. Each dock is secured by a gate that is controlled by what looks like an electronic RFID chip that has the passcode to unlock the gate to come in. He approaches dock #2311 and looks at the paper that God gave him as he thrusts his tool belt and bags with all of his possessions over his shoulder. The gate is eight feet high and has only a handle next to the RFID scanner to allow people entrance. Rick pulls on the handle and the gate is locked.
Sister Maria, a tall, toned, blonde, olive skinned woman, walks up from behind him, and nudges him out of the way with her elbow. She scans a barcode on her right wrist to the scanner and the gate opens.
“You here for the interview?” Sister Maria asks, in a jovial almost seductive tone, with her eyes looking deeply into Rick’s heart.
Rick stares at Sister Maria in awe. She leaves the gate open, and arrogantly looks at Rick for an answer. “Were you just going to stand there?”
Rick clears his throat and takes a step inside the gate. Sister Maria looks at the tool belt that surrounds his shoulder.
“Ummm. I… Aaah. Oh, I’m good with my hands…” Rick says, in a passive tone. “I am sure that you’re very handy.” Sister Maria says, with a smile covering her mouth.
Rick follows her through the gate and down the dock. He takes a quick look at her firm buttocks. She looks back at him with a smile and he hits himself on his forehead.
“Smooth.” Rick says, under his breath. Sister Maria boards the yacht and Rick tries to come aboard, but she stops him.
“Hold up here handyman. You stay here.” Sister Maria says, as she opens the hatch and walks to the living quarters.
St. Peter is in the living quarters of the Old Endeavor yacht. He unpacks sealed bags that are filled with cocaine and marijuana from the hull of the boat. Next to him are empty hollowed out Bibles that he’s placed some of the product into as he breaks it down to put into other Bibles. Sister Maria walks into the living quarters. “Your interview is here, and be nice for once. He’s kinda cute.”
St. Peter opens the hatch to the old yacht, closes it and looks at Rick standing in silence. “Hey ya bud come on aboard.” St. Peter says as he helps Rick climb aboard the yacht.
“Thank you, Sir.” Rick says.
Rick looks at St. Peter with his tools in one hand and his bag in the other. St. Peter smiles at the sight of Rick. “What are you going to fix the boat or something, pal? Put those damn tools down.” St. Peter laughs and Rick continues to hold his tool belt around his shoulder unaware what is going on.
“So God sent you and you’re looking for some work?
Rick nods his head in adherence. St. Peter is silent, as he looks Rick up and down trying to figure him out.
“You have your dad’s eyes… I was sorry as shit to hear about how he passed.”
“You worked with my father..?”
“Well you could say back in the day I got interviewed by him. I had the pleasure of working with him a couple of times.”
Both St. Peter and Rick look out to the harbor at the boats that are coming and going.
“So how can I help, Sir?” Rick asks as St. Peter clears his throat.
“Well son, this is you job interview, and you can look at it as a pass or fail test.
St. Peter reaches to the small of his back and pulls out his Glock 9. Rick drops his tool belt and he quickly puts his hands in the air.
You can finish this tale later or buy the ebook in the link provided. I would always love feedback.
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