Arrow's Rest by Joel Scott (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

“According to your lights,” Clarke said.

“Yes. According to my lights. If I was harming anyone it was only me, and given the circumstances at the time I believed I had the absolute right to do that. Whether it’s alcohol, smoking a giant doobie, or popping a pill, whose business is it but mine? Screw the tax collectors.” Ivery leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I think I’ll have that drink now. Scotch, please.”

Clarke poured three Glenlivets, took one up to Thomas at the wheel, and resumed his position on the couch beside Ivery. He handed him his drink. “And then what happened?”

“I was photographed making a fairly large buy, and the silly buggers tried to blackmail me. Thomas had to go and sort that out.”

Clarke said, “The brawl in the East End bar.”

“Yes. That was part of it. As a result of all of that, I decided to bypass the small-time street sellers and move up the chain. Less risk involved, fewer buys from smarter people for the most part. And I can’t deny that I got a little kick out of breaking the norms. That was when I first met Albright.”

“Albright is involved in drugs?” Clarke asked.

“No. Not to my knowledge, anyway. I was at a motorcycle club with Thomas picking up some pills when he showed up with some of his guys. You’ve probably seen those PR pictures of him on his bike surrounded by his security team in their outfits. Almost like a uniform. In fact, a reporter wrote a story about the group around Albright and broadly hinted at the similarities to the ss brownshirts. The family name was Albrecht, they changed it after the First World War. Can’t say I really blame them. I’m sure you’ve seen his team doing security at his rallies and leading the chants. ‘James Albright, he’s all right.’”

“Not very subtle,” Clarke said.

“But his base loves it. Of course his critics say it should be ‘He’s alt-right.’ He showed up with some of his men at a ‘Bikers for Trump’ rally in Seattle and it caused a stir back home. There were even some questions in the House. He said his presence there was unplanned, they were just passing through and happened to stop.”

Ivery shrugged. “Anyway, he knew who I was — the wheelchair is usually the giveaway — and we had a drink together. He can be quite charming. We kept in contact, one thing led to another, and we did an occasional small business deal together over the years. Pretty routine stuff, he’d hear of an individual or group looking for an investor and put me in touch with them, I’d sometimes bring him in with me on something for a small percentage.”

“So you were occasional partners in business?”

“Yes, but we never became friends. I ran across him on occasion at private parties or charity events, and there’s a hard, unpleasant edge under the veneer that sometimes comes out when he’s around women and drinking. Thomas told me recently he’d heard from an old friend of his in the game that Albright was involved at one time with some of the underground fight clubs. Vicious stuff by all accounts. Last man standing kind of thing.” Ivery paused and took a drink.

“Then, a while back, Albright contacted me about going in with him on a real estate development. It was a very good deal, and I didn’t learn until much later that he’d pressured the sellers with visits from some of his men. Perhaps even threatened them, and they ended up selling the property below market value. I didn’t know about any of it at the time, but in retrospect I should have. I was going through a bad patch and didn’t do my due diligence. The pills had hold of me then, and there was a woman . . .” He shook his head and set his empty glass on the table.

“Shabby excuses, I know. Two years ago, before I knew or suspected any of this, he inquired about renting my boat, and I thought, Why not? I don’t use it all that much anyway. The party leases a slip at the yacht club, and he parks it in there now and again. He always calls in every couple of days but he’s been out of touch for going on a week now. I think something bad is happening.”

Clarke had no more questions and sat with Ivery for a while before he went forward and took the wheel back from Thomas. The weather remained unsettled, low grey clouds followed by short periods of blue sky, the wind up and down, the big boat rocking in the short, steep following seas. Clarke pulled out a cigar and settled back in the big upholstered seat, making himself comfortable, and took a long look around. A couple of boats on the water, nothing within a two-mile radius, and no traffic heading towards them. He sat there, half listening as the radio scanned the stations, picking up intermittent conversations, and then he heard the static-filled words Blue Harp and keyed in the channel. A tugboat towing a log boom bitching about assholes in pleasure boats steaming down mid-channel. Clarke held his breath and waited. And then he heard it. Toba Inlet. He looked at the chart plotter. Another thirty-eight miles to the entrance. He yelled for Thomas then reached forward and shoved the throttles ahead.

Legalese puffed out blue smoke, settled her stern deeper as the bow wave rose up, and forged ahead.

“Five hours, give or take,” Clarke said.

Chapter 50

Albright sat in the chair in front of his dressing table in the owner’s suite and stared into the mirror and reflected upon how he had ended up here. It wasn’t how he’d planned it, although, if he was being perfectly honest, he would have to admit there hadn’t been a great deal of planning in his life overall. It was