Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
drained. Gavin was flushed with success; now we could motor around to the club instead
of that enduring that back-breaking row in the dinghy.
And then along came Bad Jack. He climbed stiffly into his box-like skiff, sat down heavily,
and rowed awkwardly over with home hewn paddles. He puffed up to the boat and stood up
to take a closer look at the engine. Ignoring our polite “Good morning,” he said, knowing
full well, “And where the hell did you get my engine?”
“Your engine?” sputtered Gavin, “I found that lying in the water on the bank just over
there!” He pointed dramatically.
“Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but that's my engine. It was stolen off my dinghy about a
week ago.”
“Yeah right, why didn't you come across earlier when my brother was stripping and clean-
ing it?” I inquired with a flash of anger.
“I wasn't sure at the time,” he lied. “I will fetch the original papers, and if the serial number
is the same you are going to have to return it to me, or I will have to refer this to the au-
thorities.”
He returned a while later, puffing red in his villainous face from exertion.
Standing up unsteadily he pulled out a plastic bag with some manufacturer's papers in his
hand. He peered at the engine number on the side and looked back at the papers.
“See here, the numbers correspond; I'll have to take back my engine.”
There was never any mention of thanks for finding it, or stripping and cleaning it, or any at-
tempt of gratitude whatsoever. Gavin and I were shocked at his rude attitude. I stole a look
at Gavin's shocked face. He was understandably very disappointed at this turn of events; he
had spent two long, hard days working on his find, and I was very angered by this unsavory
individual's meanness.
We reluctantly unclamped the engine and were going to hand it to him when he said, “Oh
no, I can't manage that on my fucking own, God dammit! You will have to bring it across
to my boat. I am an old man; I can't possibly manage that alone for Chrissakes.”
We reluctantly rowed the unfortunate engine across to Bad Jack's decrepit old tramp of a
boat, muttering oaths and what-we-should-be-doings and, theatrically, struggled to push it
up on deck. “Here! Be careful of that engine now damn it; fucking thing cost me a God
damn fortune! Mind my deck too for God's sake, easy there!” yelled the cantankerous, old
villain.
