Dead in the Water (Stone Barrington 3)
“Picking up a charterer.”
“Anybody I know?”
“Beats me; name of Mr. and Mrs. Chapman; they haven’t shown up yet. We’re supposed to be out of here by midnight. She’s being refueled now.”
“Where you bound for?”
“Way up the chain of islands; St. Thomas is our first call after we leave here.”
“The first U.S. port, huh? That’s a long passage. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Thanks, yes.”
“Thomas, bring another round to…”
“Sam’s my name,” the young man said, sticking out a hand.
“I’m Stone.”
“First name, or last?”
“First.” Stone clinked glasses with the skipper, and they both drank. “Where’s this charterer coming from?”
“Beats me. They’re supposed to fly in this evening, and we leave as soon as they get here.”
“A night passage, huh? They must be in a hurry.”
“That’s why we’re refueling; the boat eats up gas at any kind of speed.”
“Can you make it to St. Thomas at speed without refueling?”
“It’s at the outer limits of our range, but we can do it with no headwind, and down here the trades will be on our beam. We’ll be in the lee of the island chain, so it will only be rough once in a while.”
“Where is the boat based?”
“Fort Lauderdale.”
“I’ve got a client wants to sell a yacht up there pretty soon; can you recommend a good broker?”
“Sure,” Sam said, taking a card from his shirt pocket. “Crockett and Smith; they handle all our charter work. They’re good people.”
“So if I wanted to charter Race, I’d get in touch with them, not you?”
“That’s right; we’re in constant touch. You really in the market?”
“Maybe next winter,” Stone said. “How much red tape is there in that sort of charter?”
“Not much. You’d put down a fifty percent deposit, and pay the rest thirty days in advance.”
“That what this guy Chapman did?”
Sam shook his head. “This one was on short notice, so he’d have to wire-transfer the money right away. The deal only got made a couple of days ago. We had just dropped off a party in Guadeloupe, so we were nearby. This charter works out really well for us, too, since it will take us back to U.S. waters. My next charter is out of San Juan, so it’s perfect; we don’t have to deadhead all the way and burn up a lot of the owner’s fuel.”
“What does she cost, by the week?”
“Fifty-five grand, dry, sixty-five all in, booze and everything.”
Stone laughed. “Forget my interest in chartering; that’s out of my range.”