Sugar Sand

(This is a work of pure fiction. No one in this story is meant to depict any person living or dead. My work is not to be plagiarized, and no part of it may be reused without my express permission. This story is available to read, for free, with the author’s expressed consent on Inkitt ONLY. If you are reading this elsewhere, the content has been stolen, and you are risking your Internet security. Read safely and benefit the author, J.G. Bock, by reading from a legitimate source. Thank you.)

Many special thanks to Lauren S. Cowan for the magnificent cover art.

©2024, J.G. Bock, all rights reserved

Down and out Diving

The battered desk fan swung back and forth. It rattled slightly each time it made its full swing to the right. The air passing through its dusty blades was hot and thick. Montgomery “Monty” Montross sat close to the fan. He sat in his battered plastic desk chair behind the gray 1950s office desk with the rusting sides. The chair was covered by a dirty yellow beach towel. The towel had once been bright and cheerful, yellow with vivid blue flowers. Now it was grimy and sweat-stained.

The dive shop was filled with various air tanks and new and used regulators. The latest style buoyancy compensators hung from racks on the wall. A new high-end compressor stood quietly in the corner. Dozens of wetsuits, new and used, hung from racks scattered around the room. A glass display case held the high-end dive computers, lights, knives, and face masks. Behind the large glass case were fins, booties, and gloves. Everything you need to outfit a large group of amateur divers on a dive charter. The one thing Monty didn’t have was a large group of amateur divers with a desire to go diving and a large amount of money to pay for it all.

Monty was considering stopping the desk fan from swinging. His hangover was preventing him from even making this small effort. He had crawled and stumbled from his fetid room in the back of the shop an hour ago and had not been able to do much more than convert the heavy air into carbon dioxide ever since.

He had a problem with alcohol. He liked it. He liked it a lot. He was a practiced drinker. One of those people who drank every day. On days he didn’t have a dive charter, he would lock the doors to his dive shop at 5 pm and have a large tumbler of ice and Bourbon. And then another. After his third, he would eat and then sit in front of his computer and research until late into the evening. During his research, he generally would have at least one more good drink.

Last night he had 6 more good drinks. He regretted it now. His head hurt in the worst way. He smelled of sweat and cheap booze. He was still in his underwear as he sat staring at the traffic going by outside. There was a reason for his condition this Thursday morning. The reason was a news article he found right away after dinner. As he read, he became increasingly agitated and angry, and with almost every paragraph, his tumbler emptied and refilled.

The news item read as follows:

Houston Press Chronicle

Lighting Strikes Twice.

By Alice Conner

Elaine Hill and her brother Boston (Stony) Hill have found and recovered the long-lost treasure of the sailing vessel Cassandra. The Cassandra sank during a hurricane in 1863 while returning from Mexico. She had sold her large cargo of cotton to English traders in Vera Cruz. She was part of a three-ship convoy owned by Joshua McAllen. When she was lost, she was carrying a large cargo of Enfield Rifles and lead for the Confederate forces in Mobile. Although never actually confirmed by the records, she was also rumored to be carrying a large strong box full of gold coins. The rumor was true. Elaine and Stony report they have recovered almost 3 million dollars worth of gold coins, as well as silver bars.

If the name of Hill seems familiar, it is because Elaine and Stony are the children of Douglas and Julie Hill. Douglas and Julie were part of another treasure-hunting group. The group that found the hidden treasure of Kid Turner almost 25 years ago. The story was quite famous at the time. The elder Hills, their close friend Elaine Lasure, along with descendants of Captain McAllen, Ransom, and Suzy McAllen. Dug up a large treasure worth almost 20 million dollars.

The proceeds from the sale of the treasure were used to create the Elaine Lasure Trust. The Lasure Trust is famous for helping Texas Veterans and the families of deceased Veterans. The trust was created to honor Elaine Lasure, tragically murdered during the recovery of Kid Turner’s gold. The killer, whose identity has never been discovered, attempted to steal the treasure. In the violent struggle, the thief shot Elaine Lasure, killing her. The killer was also shot and killed in the attempted robbery.

According to Stony Hill, his sister Elaine has been researching the wreck and its possible location for the last 7 years. She used written archives, the testimony of the lone survivor, and a detailed study of weather and currents. She has spent the last three summers surveying the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico using side-scan sonar.

Last week, Elaine and Stony found the final resting place of the sailing ship Cassandra and began recovery operations. The wreck rests in 130 feet of water. Stony Hill has made it clear that after expenses are paid, the treasure will be turned over to the Elaine Lasure trust and the wreck site revealed to the Archeology Department of Texas A&M University. I asked Elaine Hill what was next for the treasure-hunting siblings. She replied that she was interested in looking for her Great, Great, Great, Grandfather’s last known command, the steamship Donna Maire. Lost somewhere off the coast of eastern Florida in 1886. The Steamship Donna Marie was bound for New Orleans. She was carrying a large cache of diamonds and freshly minted gold Krugerrands from South Africa when she went down in a hurricane. There were no known survivors.

He reread the article three times. His drunken focus stopped each time on how she spent three summers surveying the bottom of the Gulf.

Monty spoke slowly out loud to the empty shop. “10 years of research and work, and I lost to a damn twenty-four-year-old amateur and her shit-for-brains teenage brother.”

Monty finally gathered the will to stand. Aspirin chased with a beer and a shot of tequila made him feel somewhat normal. He shuffled to the shower and let the cool water work to clear his head. He dressed in his cleanest dirty pants and shirt. He then unlocked the shop and began tidying up from his solitary pity party last night.

While cleaning, he continued to bitterly think about the lost treasure. He was close to finding it, he reasoned. He had made several trips to the spot where he suspected the Cassandra was resting.

If the Stardiver had not had engine failure two weeks ago, that would have been his name in the news article. He would have a hangover for a different reason. Thinking of the Stardiver made him angry. The repair to the main starboard engine was going to cost close to 5000 dollars. Which was money he did not have.

Monty stooped down to brush some dirt into the dustpan and instantly regretted it. The dull throbbing pain in his head returned, and he had to sit down.

“OH God! I swear I will never do that again, just make it go away!” God was busy, and the throbbing continued.

Monty sat down again and tried to ignore the hangover. He sat wearily on the chair used to try on swim fins and again stared out of the window. The cell phone on the desk began to play a soft song. ‘What do you do with a drunken sailor’ picked out on a banjo in a rather quick tempo was getting louder and louder the longer he took to answer it.

He quickly retrieved the cell phone and swiped to answer the call as the song was entirely too loud for his throbbing head.

“Corpus Dive Adventures. Corpus Christy’s best diving on a budget.”

“You there?”

“Yes, how can I help?” Monty recognized the voice, and he stopped breathing.

“It's me, Huckenbury, we need to talk.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I got nothing to say to you, asshole. Haven’t you done enough to me? How’s Lisa?”

“She left me.”

“She finally figured you out. What did you do, cheat on her again?”

“No, she just left. She went back to Cali.”

Monty paused as he processed the news that his ex-wife had left the state and had broken up with his once-best friend and business partner. Two years had passed since Lisa and Paul had broken the news to Monty that they were in love and left. They left him despondent, in deep debt, and alone. It had taken all of those two years to recover. If you could call his present circumstance a recovery. At the moment, it felt like a dismal failure. After the night he had, this was not a welcome call. Monty did take a bit of pleasure in thinking Huckenbury was now getting some karma laid on his skinny back.

“What makes you think I want anything to do with you and your cheating, lying face?”

“Look, Monty, I know you don’t like me. I don’t blame you. But I need to talk to you. Right away. I have something to tell you and something to give you. It will not redeem me to you, but I need to try to make amends.”

“I don’t trust you. You have played the good friend ploy before, only to betray me and steal my wife.”

“Just 10 fucking minutes, Monty, that’s all I ask. I am not asking for forgiveness; that ship is out of the harbor. Please, for old times' sake. Remember Laguna Vista?”

“I knew you would bring that up. Dammit, fine, come by this afternoon. Around five o’clock. Bring a bottle of bourbon.”

“I’ll be there. You won’t regret this, Monty. Truly, you will not regret this.”

“I already do. Later.”