17 degrees 44' 11" N / 64 degrees 44' 10" W

Chapter 1

What are you doing the dark skinned curly haired boy on the dock asked.

Henri turned, looking at where the voice had come from and, making sure not to fall off the rail of the boat, gawking, wide eyed and unsure if the question was real or a joke.

Well, he admitted a little chagrined," I'm varnishing. You know sanding and varnishing, I guess. I don't know, really.'

"You mean 'cuz you're not really doin' that.

"No, I am, but I mean, I can't figure out why except maybe the Captain has to find stuff for me to do 'cuz that's what my father said and he's afraid if he showed up and I was sitting on the dock having a lemonade or just fishing he'd get in trouble.

"Sounds kind of silly to me,

Yup Henri allowed, 'but you know, on board, at least the Captain says, it’s what you call... Admiralty law, I don't know for sure, but he says he is judge, jury and warden and anything I do wrong he can kick me off or keel haul me or put me in the brig and who knows, he's crazy enough to do that so when he says.'paint that and sand that,' I do 'cuz I admit getting thrown in jail is way worse than this," and as he spoke he held up the sand paper and trammel he had used to accommodate his captains command.

So do you live here, the boy on the dock asked, taking hold of Henri's eyes in a way to which he was unaccustomed.

No, Henri acknowledged quickly. I mean, I live on the boat, but I don't really live here, he added his hand opening broadly to indicate the spread of the docks, the boats and the marina where they were tied up.

Where do you live, Henri asked.

Morgan town, Duval answered, and there really isn't any other place, he concluded, smiling at Henri, obviously a foreigner, and not familiar with the island, its inhabitants, life or likely anything.

We've got only one town, Duval continued," and if you don't live there, or here on one of the boats, you know like the tourists and rich folks, then you live in Morgan town, or up on the highlands in a tent, or some of the Buenos, they live out on the streets or down on the other end of the harbor where the fishing boats dock and they sleep on the old ships or in cardboard and tin shacks or some, if they get drunk, enough just sleep in the street or behind the old warehouse.

Really Henri said, slack-jawed and open mouthed.

"People don't even have houses here.

It's a very poor island, Duval replied, turning away for a moment but then returning his gaze.

"There ain't much going on here but for the tourists and gambling in the resorts so, if you're not white or rich or have a boat or run drugs and smuggle stuff, there really isn't much of a way to make any money. My name's Duval, but my friends call me Du.

What’s yours?

My name is Henri, Henri replied, and I don't really have any friends.

"Well hey man, I can be your friend.

Well that would be cool, Henri said genuinely grateful and hastening to scamper around the rail, along the beam and down the gangplank to shake the hand of his new friend.

So do you do any of that stuff, Henri asked, looking over his shoulder, making certain the captain hadn't seen his brief dereliction of duty and comforted now for being back at the spar; sandpaper, trammel and varnish in hand.

"What are you saying Henri, am I a drug smuggler.

"I don't know, but I didn't mean anything bad. In fact I think it would be kind of cool. But I was just wondering.

Na Duval replied laughing lightly, 'but I have thought of it. I mean it would be wicked fun and I see the Coyotes and Columbia dealers and they get everything they want.

Henri let his eyes go from Duval now and turned to half halfheartedly clasp hold of the railing and run his hand and the loosely gripped sandpaper back and forth.

Abruptly Duval turned and headed back towards the end of the dock and back to the land.

Hey, I didn't mean anything mean, you know,' Henri said, fearful he had offended his new friend, I just thought it would be kind of cool.

At the head of the dock, where two large pilings stood, sentries between the boats and any marauders and also connecting the dock to the mainland, Duval stopped, turned and bent over something on the ground.

I know.

Henri watched carefully, hands paused midair, sanding stopped, watching intently trying to figure out what was happening next.

Doesn't look like you're getting much done, a loud and unpleasant voice bellowed on the loudspeaker on the bridge, aimed forward to speak with other ships in passing but which the captain used now, idly, chastising the boy for not working.

Henri turned immediately back to his chores, sanding furiously, and head down and for all the world, absorbed in his task.

From the corner of his eye he watched Duval and saw now the occasion of his returning to the head of the dock.

In one hand he carried a small pail, in the other, a rod and small box of what must have been fishing tackle, or maybe fish he'd already caught.

Are you going to get in trouble if I fish here for a while, Duval asked,

"Un uh' Henri replied trying to keep from looking sideways and attracting the attention of his cranky and maybe already drunk captain.

Duval settled himself on the edge of the dock twenty feet from Henri, his legs hanging off the edge, his fishing pole set now, baited and dangling over the clear emerald blue water.

So have you ever done anything off your father’s boat, Duval asked.

Henri smiled.

What do you mean, he answered, thinking he knew but wanting to make sure he didn't say something stupid.

"I mean do they ever let you off. Are you a prisoner?

Pretty much, Henri replied, smiling and still trying to appear to be working, 'but I can always sneak off and do at night.

How is it you don't get caught, Duval asked.

Well my Captain, Henri explained, he's kind of a …. and Henri stammered struggling to find the right word.

You mean he's kind of a drunk, Duval finished the sentence for him.

"Yes I suppose that is one way to say it.

Well how else you,..Duval queried his new friend, Would I mean I heard him speak to you through the bull horn.

But how does that tell you he is a drunk, Henri whispered, smiling at the fanciful nature of having such a conversation with a boy he'd never met before and speaking to someone not much older than himself who seemed to know a lot from very little.

Well, Henri, Duval continued looking intently all the while at the top of his rod," If we weren't friends and you came out on the deck of your fancy boat and said, 'hey kid, doesn't look like you're getting much done' that would tell me a lot about what kind of person you were, you know.

Henri stood motionlessly and realized he was in full view of the captain.

He resumed a slow and nearly useless rubbing motion back and forth, but was taken by the acuity and insightfulness of this funny Bahamian boy on the dock, much less the very easy manner in which he had characterized Henri as a friend.

Well he's not always mean, Henri finally replied, a halfhearted defense, not so much of the captain but as he reflected poorly on Duval's vision of Henri's life.

Look, Duval whispered his head nodding to the end of his fishing pole and the manner in which it was twitching and bending and vibrating, magically.

All the same, I bet he's always a drunk, Duval whispered conclusively and with an authority which struck Henri forcibly.

Henri, a loudspeaker blared, unpleasant, unseemly and with not a little hint of anger. Are you working or just goofing around. And are you with someone from the Marina..... and though the words stopped, there was the electric and unpleasant background noise of feedback, the grinding hint of a screech and the unspoken but clear words of the end of the sentence left unsaid.

Henri looked back at Duval who steadfastly watched the end of the rod which now bent wildly, twisted to and fro and but for the strength of his grip, would easily have been pulled of the dock and out to sea.

"You know there are only supposed to be boat owners, guests and authorized personnel from the marina here on the docks.

Without any formality and in a manner which told Henri, Duval had been chased by the white man more than once, he saw him stand quietly, put his one or two belongings back in the small fish box, take a pocket knife from his belt, deftly cut the line on which clearly a fish had taken bait, and ready himself to leave.

Henri looked helplessly at Duval, back up to the bridge from where his obnoxious captain had been so interfering, and back to Duval who now, packed up and heading out was passing by the exact point above which Henri, on deck and eight feet above, stood.

What time does the old bastard pass out, Duval whispered.

Henri stared at him for a moment trying to piece together the disparate bits of information, trying to understand both what Duval said, and what was also unspoken.

Maybe dark. Sometime around then, he answered a question in his voice, a wonder n his heart.

"But definitely by 10:00.

"Do you want to hang out later?

Sure, Henri replied.

'I'll meet you by the gate on the road up by the guard shack at the entrance.

Henri smiled, watched Duval amble off and turned his head back down to the railing and the sanding a chore he knew he would never finish in three lifetimes given.

Chapter 2

Crossing millennia of crackling crushed coral underfoot, making his way to the outer edge of the Marina, Henri saw the guard shack illuminated by a single small incandescent light, probably, he thought, for the watchman to read a newspaper or magazine.

He tried to narrow his gaze into the dark gloaming past the small hut to see where Duval may be waiting but saw no sight of anyone.

He slowed at the gate trying to think what he might say to a query of the watchman or guard who cared for anyone passing, from within or without, but on approaching within twenty feet, heard the hushed and whispering voices of what sounded like two or three people inside.

He walked slowly, trying to make a little noise so not to spook the guard or get shot at as an intruder, but in scarcely a second, Duval and an enormous giant of a man came out, smiling and laughing quietly, from within.

Henri, Duval spoke, 'hey, I wasn't sure you could make it.

Henri, this is Marcel. Marcel, my friend Henri.

Marcel, Duval continued," is one of my uncles and he works for the marina and he is a good uncle.

Henri smiled, a half bow of recognition and looked back to Duval.

"Marcel knows your captain and agrees he is quite disagreeable, but it doesn't matter, now.

We are out, Duval continued so until you have to go back or be back, we are free to roam the Morgan town and if we get into too much trouble, he concluded looking affectionately up at his uncle's smiling face, we will call Marcel. He will save us.

Uncle Marcel scuffed the hair of his nephew, smiled at Henri, and bid them on their way.

He's pretty nice, Henri allowed as they made their way through the small stand of palm and date nut which bordered the mainland of the island and formed the littoral boundary of the shore.

"Yup and he's taken care of my mother since I can remember.

"You have no dad,' Henri asked.

Henri, Duval replied," Everyone has a dad. You know, that's biology.

"I know, I just meant, the way you spoke about Marcel, it was as if there was no dad in your house.

"Well that's true. Very true, but I have one and I see him once in a while, but mostly he lives on another island and has a job there and maybe another family so I don't get to see him all that much.

Henri listened, Duval's words and truths so forthcoming and unvarnished.

So what's a Coyote, Henri asked. I mean do you have wolves here too,

Duval laughed.

He turned, stopped still in the street and stared at Henri, a gentle but fully inquiring gaze.

You really don't get off the boat much Henri, huh.

Why do you say that?

'Well a coyote, anywhere here, I mean in these islands is a runner, you know, a drug runner, a person who either caries the drugs from the cartels or a person looking for people to carry more.

And that's what you do, Henri asked, his voice soft and clearly confused.

"You crazy man. No that's not something I would ever do....unless of course it was something of my own.

Oh, I guess I was confused.

Uh huh, Duval repeated. But that's not to say I don't know where they go.

How do you mean

"Well it's pretty hard if you're a kid here not to see what goes on.

"So tell me, what is that? What does go on?

Again, as was a custom, Duval turned still and studying the face and eye of his new friend.

Henri, coyotes and drugs and runners and all of that stuff, man, it’s all serious stuff. I mean people get killed all of the time. There is no law here, really. I mean there are policemen and customs agents and even some army men but they all work for the big drug runners and the gambling houses and I don't know. I am just a kid like you Henri, but I do know if you say the wrong stuff to the wrong person, people disappear.

'Well Duval, I would never say anything you tell me to anyone. I was just wondering. And you know you're the only friend I have. You think I would tell my Captain something beside that I did my sanding and varnishing for the day."

Duval smiled and they walked along.

In less than a mile now they were within ear shot of other houses, the edge of what must have been Morgan town. And there were cries of laughter from some house or hut in the woods, someone screaming to another to get in or get out....clearly the place they had arrived at was a town of some sort and Henri, knowing nothing assumed it to be the only town he knew.

Chapter 3

So where are we going? Henri asked following Duval at a fairly brisk pace.

Well, since you're new in town, I thought I would show you how it all worked.

What do you mean?

You know, coyotes, drug runners, the all of it.

But I don't want to disappear, Du.

Don't be silly Henri, we're just going to watch. Nobody ever bothers kids and all we're going to do is see the show.

The streets, originally deserted and void of humanity increasingly grew full, narrowing by the step and filling with a throng of what Henri assumed must be natives, islanders, Boers, Creoles, white men and women with all accents of every language imaginable and a rush of humankind as Henri would never have expected to be on what he had thought was a tiny Caribbean island he had, before now only seen from the ocean, and at that, from some miles out.

I didn't think there was so many people anywhere near here, Du, I mean, I had no idea this is like the mainland.

'Well, it may be like it some, Henri cuz' you aren't used to so many people living aboard your big luxury yacht, but here, we have millions of people, I think."

Millions, Du, Henri questioned him, wanting to say there weren't a million people on the whole of the archipelago, but his voice faded off as he had to hustle to stay close to his friend and Duval took them off to the side of the street, up what had been closed to automobile traffic and was apparently somewhere in the middle of the city and part of a bazaar or festival."

Henri have you ever seen a Junkanoo?

I don't even know what that means, Henri allowed, standing now, finished with his sneaker.

"It’s a huge party, a festival for the end of winter, celebrating the return of the good weather, the smiling faces of the gods, I guess.....but I suppose I don't really know, except everyone dances and hooks themselves together and makes a long snake of an animal of hundreds of people dancing and being drunk and crazy and it's pretty cool.

So why did you ask me that? Henri queried his friend.

Well there is one tonight. I mean this is the night of the celebration, the end of winter, the return of warm nights, good weather for growing crops, laying about, not too much rain....it's a big deal here, Henri, but we're not going to see it.

Henri listened but had no complaint or question.

I mean, it is what the natives and the tourists do, but it is not where the Coyotes go.

Henri smiled,

Oh good, I would way rather see the coyotes.

Duval took hold of Henri's elbow, turned him away from the street where they had traveled and pointed him to a corner from which, even in the middle of this city it was clear there was something bright and shiny flooding the darkness with unnatural color and light.

They turned, walked, quickly, Henri realized, and as suddenly, before them was a crystal palace, something from a dream or a movie, something Henri had not ever seen but on television or on the screens of movies on the few occasions he had seen one.

What is this, Henri asked, slack-jawed again and entirely out of his depth.

Man you have been on that boat a long time. Do you know what a casino is? Duval asked, staring at Henri much as Henri did at the glittering lighted palace.

Well sort of, he allowed, but maybe not really.

Duval smiled happy for such a friend from another strata of life and another inaccessible place in the world, to have been so forthright.

Henri, you know what gambling is right?

Sort of, Henri replied, an image now of people playing cards around a round table with chips, a ceiling fan and smoke filled air rose before him.

But you've never been inside a casino, Duval repeated awed a boy of such apparent wealth could live such an unexpectedly sheltered life.

No I can't say I have, sorry, he demurred, But I am not allowed much time off the boat. He turned to Duval trying at once to step toward the main entrance and by virtue of the strength of his gaze oblige his friend to come along.

If you try that, Duval answered the unspoken question," we will certainly get arrested, or the least snatched by the security guards and catch a beating out back.

Henri froze in his tracks, looked to Duval askance and waiting for instruction on what next to do.

Follow me, was all he said and in seconds, had left the main road, cut through an alleyway which Henri realized too followed the soccer field size length of a single large building, one he guessed was the back side of the palace they had minutes before seen in all its lighted glory, from the front.

Duval, Henri whispered, are we going to get into trouble?

Not too much, he answered teasing and jocular in his voice, but if you want to see coyotes you have to see where the pack is running and what they are going to feed on tonight.

Henri didn't fully understand the metaphor but was sufficiently afraid he preferred not to speak and simply follow than to chance being overheard and arrested.

In moments, they were on the backside of an enormous dumpster.

Over here, Duval said and Henri noticed immediately his voice too was now scarcely a whisper.

He turned abruptly and followed him behind the steel container.

Without another word, Duval was climbing a ladder now affixed to the building and, Henri thought then to the