Alistair knew what he was in for when he signed on as engineer on a North Sea fishing boat.
They were rodliners, so there was no way they could afford to pay his wages by fish alone. So they had to have a side gig, and one that was not entirely above board. As long as it wasn't drugs or guns, he was going to be OK with it. Ever since Brexit, everything had become more expensive. So some black market luxuries were not something he was going to begrudge.
It did not hurt that this had to be the cleanest and neatest boat he'd ever worked on. Including when he'd been in the Navy.
So when they pulled alongside a Belgian trawler, he was happy to help transfer cases of wine, wheels of cheese, and a couple of crates of car parts.
Later, though when he went through the hold he saw some additional boxes - ones he'd not seen in the transfer. Being the fool that he was (in his mind at least) he went to the captain.
Marge was a heavily weathered woman in her sixties, and listened to him seriously. Then got him to take her below to see.
On seeing the boxes she grunted, and opened one, and inspected the contents. Dozens of single use pre-loaded syringes. All labelled alike, all looking like they came from a professional lab.
Putting on her glasses, she read the label. Grunted again, and closed the boxes.
When she took him up to the forecastle with a grip on his elbow that brooked no argument he got worried. Then she let go, and lit up a clove cigarette. She offered him one, which he declined.
"I can't stand by if you're smuggling drugs Captain."
"Wouldn't want you to. Two things. One, not my cargo. Two, they ain't the sort of drugs you think they are" came the gravelly reply.
Alistair gave a very intelligent "Huh?" and then "What do you mean not your cargo?"
"Lemme take the other question first. Those were medical supplies. Not recreational. Not on the NHS."
"I guess that's better..."
"Now for the first one. I'm pretty proud of havin' the cleanest, neatest boat in the harbour. Don't come free. We got some live-aboard passengers. Don't never talk about 'em. Pay their way by cleaning up. Lately been doing a bit of shipping on the side too. That's their stuff. I'll put out a bit of extra honey tonight as an apology."
Alistair looked to see if the Captain was having him on. She looked dead serious. "So we've..."
"Never say nothing. OK?"
"Right. And those drugs?"
"Reckon there's a bunch of kids around who'll be glad of 'em ever since the busybodies in Whitehall figured they knew better than doctors. They'll save a bunch of lives, I'm thinking. Wish I'd had 'em as a kid. Would've been easier."
Alistair looked down at Marge's arms, and noticed, amongst the tattoos, a very discrete blue and pink flag.
"OK, Captain. I think I need a bit of sleep if I'm seeing things."
"Good lad. Carry on."
#SF #SFF #Urbanfantasy #microfiction #microfic #tootfic #IAmWriting
Inspired by @Steveg58 and @buddhawilliams