"I can't decide if you're from Maine or Massachusetts," Remo said.
His new acquaintance blinked, taken off guard, then cracked a smile. "Oh, yes, I see. The accent, yes? It's Massachusetts, actually, although I thought I'd lost it during fifteen years of teaching at the University of Florida, in Gainesville."
"Teaching what?" asked Remo.
"History, of course-whence springs my interest in the buccaneers of the Caribbean. You're interested in treasure, I believe you said?"
"Well, not commercially," said Remo, "but I'm down here on vacation, checking out the islands, mostly killing time. I thought it might be interesting to spice the trip up with a look around the seamy side of history, you know?"
"Indeed I do," said Humphrey, with a smile that put expensive dentures on display. "And you've come to the right place, I assure you. Not Puerta Plata specifically, but Hispaniola and environs. Do you know much about pirates, Mr. Rubble?"
Remo flashed a sheepish smile and shook his head. "A little Treasure Island and some Errol Flynn wraps it up," he said, feigning embarrassment.
"In that case," Humphrey told him, "you're in for a treat. The West Indies were notorious as a haven for pirates in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, you know. John Avery had the protection of the British governor in the Bahamas, raiding French and Spanish shipping from Martinique all the way to Madagascar and the Red Sea, circa 1695, before he disappeared out east. His crew was ultimately hanged in England, when they tried to do without official blessings, but the captain simply vanished. Howell Davis was another buccaneer who sailed from Martinique, but came to grief when he abandoned piracy to join the slave trade. There were even female pirates, though you seldom read about them in the common histories. Anne Bonney and Mary Read both sailed with Calico Jack Rackham, fighting tooth and nail beside male members of the crew when there were galleons to be looted, but women's lib only went so far. When they were tried for piracy in 1720, both women claimed that they were pregnant, which officially precluded them from being hanged."
"Fascinating," Remo said, although it was only interesting. Barely.
"Of course, no buccaneer who ever plied these waters could compare with Morgan," Humphrey said, continuing his impromptu lecture. "In 1670, Sir Henry led an outlaw fleet consisting of thirty-six ships and some two thousand men, raiding from Jamaica all the way to Central America, where he sacked the Spanish garrison at Panama and installed himself as the warlord in residence. That bit of banditry got him knighted in England and earned him a posting as lieutenant governor of Jamaica."
"So crime does pay," said Remo.
"Oh, indeed it does, my friend, in certain circumstances." Humphrey flashed the dentures again, then flagged down Pedro to order a refill on his vodka Collins.
"What about today?" Remo asked. "Are there any pirates still around the neighborhood?"
"Today?" The ex-professor seemed amused. "I shouldn't think so, Mr. Rubble. We're discussing history, you understand, and none too recent history, at that. There are such activities in the present day, of course... ."
"That's what I mean," said Remo, stopping short of slurring words that would have made him incoherent. "Anythin' can happen, and it usually does."
"That's from Walt Disney, I believe," said Ethan Humphrey.
"What's the difference?" Remo challenged. "Just as long as you know what I'm talkin' 'bout."
"I seem to follow you so far," said Humphrey, leaning closer, hanging on his every word.
"An' all I'm sayin' is, that if the pirates used to make a killing in the old days, wha's to stop 'em doing the same thing right now?"
"Well." Humphrey frowned and cleared his throat, as if preparing to impart a lecture. "There are more laws, of course, where few or none existed in the past. Technology has changed, allowing naval units and the Coast Guard to pursue potential miscreants from distances that would have made a roundup hopeless in the old days. As for the killing side of modern-day technology, you have a range of craft and weapons that would slaughter any old-style pirates in the area today."
"That's just supposing that they hung on to the old ways, am I right?" asked Remo.
"It would be scandalous!" Humphrey proclaimed, as if Remo had dared suggest his favorite daughter might turn out to be a mindless slut. In fact, he didn't seem embarrassed by the notion of surviving pirate bands, but rather by the notion that they might adopt newfangled methods for themselves, in place of raiding as their great-great-great-grandfathers had conducted their attacks two centuries before.
"So say these free spirits did exist," said Remo. "How would, say, a freelance journalist with cash to spend get hold of them and make arrangements for an article, perhaps a full-length book?"
"You're taking much for granted," Ethan Humphrey answered, showing off the store-bought pearly whites. "Naturally, I'll see what I can do, but don't expect too much in way of miracles."
"I never do," said Remo, sounding far more sober than when he had spoken just a moment earlier. "I also need a travel agency, trustworthy and reliable, to recommend a native crewman for the next leg of our journey."
"Native crewman?" Humphrey struck a pose right on the stool, pretending that he had to scan his brain for an idea.
In fact, if Remo's instinct was on target, Humphrey was about to set him up with a potential nest of con men, maybe worse.
"There is a certain travel agency," the transplanted New Englander went on. "Trade Winds, the owner calls it. Nothing terribly original, but they arrange for guided tours, pilots, crewmen, anything you need to make your island getaway a memorable experience."
"Sounds perfect," Remo said. "Where do I find them?"
"Bay Street," Ethan Humphrey said. "Are you familiar with the town at all?"
"Just what I've seen since we got in, about an hour ago."
"When you say we...?"
"I have a traveling companion," Remo said. "He's been with my family for years."
"Faithful retainer, eh?"
"Yes," Remo smiled. "Faithful retainer. Exactly."
"I understand, of course." The pearly dentures flashed again. "It does you credit, bringing the old boy along to see the sights on your vacation. There's no Mrs. Rubble, then, if I may be so bold?"
"Not currently," said Remo.
"Ah. Two men out on their own, then, challenging the sea."
"Well..."
"It's the finest way there is to travel." Humphrey leaned in on his elbows, dropping his voice to an almost conspiratorial tone. "Women simply muck up these adventures, don't you find?"
Remo was waiting for the older man's hand to find his thigh and was relieved when Humphrey kept his paws to himself. Apparently, his rapt enthusiasm was restricted to the bounding main.
"I really couldn't tell you," Remo replied. "This is my first time out at sea, I guess you'd say. I mean, I used to take the family sailboat out from Montauk sometimes, in the summers, but it's been a long, long time."
"You never lose the feel, though, do you?" Humphrey didn't wait for a response to his own question. "Being on the water is like dreaming, flying, giving yourself up to magic that's been drawing men away from land since time began."
"You're some enthusiast," said Remo.
Humphrey may have blushed behind the tan, but it was difficult to tell. "Forgive me, please, if I sound maudlin. I'm afraid the sea has always been my one great love. It's difficult for landlubbers to understand, I know. As for myself, I heard the calling early on, but it has only been the past few years, since my retirement from the halls of academia, that I've been able to indulge myself."