Page 42 of The Marine's Homecoming

"Once a sergeant, always a sergeant," he muses, then clears his throat before saying, "Rico told me you stepped in some shit down there."

I sit back lean over the railing, watching the water lap at the new pylons. Three months ago, I'd never have imagined this entire place would get a facelift. Now, just a few weeks to Father's Day, the whole marina feels new. The buildings are the same, thougha few of them opted for paint jobs last month in preparation for the festival, and the atmosphere feels the same, but with the upgrade to pier two, this place will be around a lot longer than anyone thought.

"Yeah, you could call it that," I say, lifting my eyes to look out over the horizon into international waters. Dorsey's mule ships are out there somewhere, probably waiting with more crates to bring aboard tonight when things are quiet. "I think I need your advice, and maybe your help…"

The plan has come together in my mind over the past few weeks while realizing how broad this problem is. We're not just dealing with Dorsey's mess in Bandon. I'm looking at taking down a large smuggling operation that touches at least three continents.

"Hmm," Harlan grunts, but I hear his chair squeak as he settles in. "Tell me what you've got and I'll tell you what I think."

I start with my suspicions in the beginning, how I feared Dorsey was just being crooked trying to force folks off their land to set up tourist traps, and how quickly I learned that I was wrong. When I tell the colonel about Dorsey's ties to overseas shell corporations and the foreign shipping labels on something that should be one hundred percent American, he sighs hard.

"So he's shore hopping up the coast with shadow runs?" Harlan uses such easy terminology, it shows me he's not the least bit surprised by all of this. "And that name… Dorsey…"

"Yeah," I grumble, already knowing what he's thinking. It's what I thought when I first heard it too.

"Wasn't that the guy who?—"

"It was… Twelve counts against him and he got off, Colonel. And we have him red handed here, I think." I've already sent the emails to him with all the information I showed Hannah. The copies I have, I’ve held on to so we can hand them over to the local authorities to help in this when the time is right, but without that ship, there's no point in nabbing Dorsey. The men behind him will put someone new in his place immediately and write him off as a loss. "Did you get the emails?"

I hear rustling, then typing as he says, "I believe I did, but I haven't opened them." There's a pause as I wait, hoping that's what he's doing right now, and then he lets out a long whistle and huffs out a sigh again. "This is intense shit, Son."

I straighten as the sea breeze gusts, cooling my sweat-slicked skin. "You're not kidding. And it's my hometown, my marina, Colonel. I can't let this guy or the people who put him up to this get away. We have to stop him."

Turning, I lean on the railing and cross my arm over my chest and tuck it under my elbow as I hold the phone up to my ear. The thoughts noodling around the back of my mind help me envision some grand takedown where the whole organization falls flat, but I can't do that without help. The cops can take Dorsey, but it'd take something significant to stop that ship and find the man behind him. Rico's research goes a long way, but it's just facts unless there are people to back it up.

Harlan sucks in a breath and says, "Tell me what you need, Maddox, and I'll make it happen."

My mind drifts, staring off over the parking lot where Tom Whitaker's truck pulls in, and I let my eyes unfocus as I think of what this will really take.

"Well, can you give this intel to someone who has decision making power and get me a ship?" This only works if it's a large-scale operation where we read a bunch of folks in, and they all have to understand classified material. We can't scare Dorsey off before we stop them.

"You've got it. Let me put together a few things, make a few calls. I'll work on making sure we can secure that ship off the coast. You just make sure your guys on land can detain Dorsey." I can practically hear Harlan's wheels turning now. He's got the same idea as me, which means I'm not being altogether illogical.

"Perfect. Look, Colonel, I have to run but I'll be in touch. Let me know the minute you think you can have a plan together." I know first-hand how long it takes to get ships into place. With less than a month, we might be pushing it for Dorsey to be taken out before the festival, but we have to try.

"Be safe, and keep your head down. You don’t want these bastards coming at you." The colonel's warning mirrors Rico's and I feel doubly thought of.

"You got it, Colonel. We'll talk soon." I hang up just as Tom mounts the final step onto the pier and turns in my direction. With his hard hat and yellow vest, he looks official. I'm so ready to get this final inspection out of the way and move on to other things. As long as the guys have done their job, this should go smoothly.

Tom claps me on the shoulder with a big, easy grin on his face. “Luke, you ready to knock this last one out and get back to business?" He more than anyone knows how desperately I need this inspection to go well. Pier two is the safe harbor for all my fishing charters and they'll thank me when things can get back to normal.

I laugh under my breath and slide the phone into my pocket. “I’m more than ready. You think she’ll give us any grief?”

“Nah. Not with how this turned out.” He hooks his thumbs in his vest sleeves and looks down the long stretch of new decking. “Pylons are rock solid, decking’s tight, moorings are heavier than what we had before. The crew did it right. This place feels like a pier again instead of a death trap."

We both stare out over the new pier, still caution-taped off, and I grin at how good it all turned out. Way too expensive, and I'll be paying off loans for the next several years, but it's all safe.

Tom doesn't say much, but I hear the faint sound of footsteps behind us and turn to see Mrs. Reyes approaching anyway. There’s no time for small talk this afternoon when everyone is on time.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” she says, shaking my hand first, then Tom’s. “Ready to show me what you’ve done with the pier?”

"Of course," I say, still grinning like an idiot. For months I've listened to the echo of hammers and saws and the sound of heavy machinery as the new pylons were installed. Today isn't just an inspection. It's like a fresh start. After Dad's death and then everything with Dorsey, and now Hannah, getting this pier approved for use means removing a heavy weight I've been holding up while treading water.

We walk along the pier in step, letting Mrs. Reyes inspect every aspect of it. Every so often, she stops and crouches, running her hand over a cleat or a bolt. Tom points out a couple of things quietly—where we doubled up the bracing, how the new electrical runs are sealed tight—but mostly, he lets her do her job.

At one spot she bounces on the balls of her feet, testing the deck. It doesn’t give an inch. She straightens with a satisfied little nod.

“Feels good,” she mutters, almost to herself.