[h3]Thomas Rookwood[/h3]
[hr]

"Reminds me of 'Nam." Blackthorne commented dryly, the first thing either man had said for the better part of four hours. Rookwood didn't need to reply beyond a grunt. He knew what his friend meant. The heavy stench of the mainland was reaching out to them over the waves even as the evening breeze, a weak Southwesterly, attempted to battle back. The sun, casting a dancing kaleidoscope of colour across the waves, was setting now behind them and the heat was finally began to drop off.  

Rookwood picked up a battered pair of binoculars and scanned the coastline until he located the old Sutton place, a crumbling and abandoned monolith that served to remind all who saw it of better times. The stone jetty was the only useful piece left, though popular with romantic types or teenagers out having a couple brews in the back of their parents car. On more than one occasion the jetty had been overrun with sun goers and swimmers; today it was just a single chevy pickup truck. 

"The daft girl has a machine gun on the hood of the truck..." Rookwood muttered, passing the binoculars across the Blackthorne who already had a had waiting to take them. 

"That'll be Harold. The boy thinks with his dick more than his head. Wonderful way to draw some attention." He put the binoculars down and vanished below for a moment before returning and handing Rookwood a semi-automatic Heckler & Koch handgun. He checked it was loaded, pushed it into a holster at his lower back and covered with an untucked shirt. 

Rookwood checked his own pistol and did the same. Two rifles were mounted nearby, loaded and ready, but he let them alone. Hawkins was a customer, nothing more, but there was something about Harold that neither man liked. 

The big engine rumbled beneath his feet as he put the propellors into reverse, slowing the heavy vessel so that it wouldn't rebound off the stone wall as they came along side. Blackthorne had taken a position in the bow, a rope held loosely in one hand, pausing for only a moment before jumping lightly on the jetty. He secured the bow as Rookwood threw the stern line to Harold who tied it off with considerable less skills. Rookwood glanced around once, noting the empty horizon, and then shut down the engines, allowing the stink of the mainland to replace the smell of diesel.

Both men nodded their appreciation to Hawkins as she motioned to the refreshments, craggy faces breaking into smiles to match hers. Rookwood took a coke, Blackthorne a mountain dew, and both men accepted the proffered food. They stood as they ate, glancing around the landscape without speaking. Hawkins was, as ever, polite enough to appreciate their silence while Harold fidgeted. The pair were indeed famished and it did not take them long to polish off the refreshments. The burgers were lukewarm, the lettuce and tomato suspect, but the drinks were cooling, and that was all that mattered. Better than the tuna sandwiches they had eaten for lunch. 

“Now, some business. Harold and I find we're in a position to expand our business. So, I wanted to know-” Hawkins stopped as if she'd been hit and Rookwood glanced quickly at her, and then toward the sea, half expecting to see a Coast Guard cutter charging over the horizon. He almost drew his pistol as she abruptly went for her back pocket but managed to resist the impulse. If she'd wanted to do them harm, that submachine gun would have made fine work of them as they approached the jetty.

Instead she pulled a magazine from her back pocket and quickly flipped through the pages before handing it to Rookwood who felt his eyes widen. “Do you think you can get us anything like that?”

There was a long pause as Rookwood looked at the magazine before handing it to Blackthorne who had clambered back into the Chloe already and was passing crates of rum up to Harold on the jetty. There was a lull in the action as Rookwood absorbed the question.

"Anything is possible." Rookwood said at length. "I have some friends who can get their hands on pretty much anything you need, lots of surplus floating around between us and the Soviets in Cuba." 

He let Hawkins maul that over for a moment, taking the magazine back from Blackthorne and flipping over another page to look at the firearms in question. "Never moved guns before."

"Try anything once." Blackthrone said as he passed another crate up to Harold who added it to the stack. Half the cargo was ashore now and Blackthorne stopped, holding out his hand to Harold who passed over a manilla envelope. A quick count confirmed the cash was there, a $100 per bottle, and the unloading continued. 

"You planning to go to war, Mrs Hawkins?" Rookwood finally asked, glancing back up the woman. She was as pretty as a fellow could ask for, and she knew it. He was to old for her looks to have much of an effect on him anymore but that didn't stop him from admiring her; didn't hurt that she was one hell of a businesswoman and you had to respect that. 

"We've done three of em already." Blackthorne again, still slinging heavy crates up to a sweating Harold. "Not much interested in another."