Aubrielle's Call Read Free

against John’s hand.
    “Easy, shipmate,” John said to the thick-necked man.
    Taylor’s face flushed. “She’s not a whore,” he yelled at Sweeney. Spittle flew from his mouth, and he wiped the back of his fist across his lips.
    “I bet she’s wondering where you’ve gone,” John said in a calm voice. “You should take your friends back inside and buy your lady friend a drink.”
    Taylor’s bloodshot eyes focused on John. “This doesn’t concern you, mate.”
    “Not yet. I only offer you a bit of good advice.” John eyed Taylor’s friends as they moved to flank him and Sweeney. “You don’t want this fight.”
    “Screw you, Goliath.” Taylor barked and swung wildly at John. He missed by four inches. He swung again, but John’s arm held him further than the burly man’s reach.
    “Tell your friends to step back,” John demanded.
    Sweeney shuffled up beside John—fists raised. “Leave off, Taylor. You’ll get us thrown in the brig over a whore.”
    “Get ’em,” Taylor yelled, and two of his friends stepped to either side of John.
    John lifted Taylor and tossed him into his nearest man. Both went down with a grunt and rolled in the dirt.
    At John’s side, Sweeney dealt Taylor’s other comrade a hard right to the nose and a left uppercut to his gut. The man sat down and gasped for breath.
    The last of Taylor’s friends took a step back, spun on their heels, and raced into the bar.
    Taylor struggled to his feet and glared at John. “I’ll remember you.” He shook his finger at John as he hastened back into the bar, his friends close behind.
    “We’d best move on.” Sweeney brushed his clothing and walked toward the pier. “Shore Patrol will be around.” He stopped at the end of the street. “Come along,” he called to John. “There’s a quiet bar round the corner. I owe you a drink.”
    John cast a last glance at the doorway where Taylor and his friends had entered. “John Larson, able seaman on The Yankee Dream .” He held out his hand and fell into step beside Sweeney.
    “Bosun Sweeney on the Giselle-Marie but my friends call me Pete.” They walked south along the pier. “ Yankee Dream ? Is she docked on the south end?”
    “No.” John shook his head. “We docked north. We’re just in from a Panama run. I expect Master Riley will make a return run as soon as The Dream is loaded.”
    “What’re you doing on the south pier?” Sweeney pointed down the next street, and they changed direction.
    “Looking for work on a ship bound for Europe.”
    Sweeney opened the door of a quiet tavern and ushered John inside. They ordered a draft from the bartender and found a seat at an open booth.
    When their drinks arrived, Sweeney took a long draw on his mug and gave John an appraising look. “No ships are bound for Britain or France, mate. Their tariffs make it unprofitable, and now, their declaration of war makes it illegal.”
    “Illegal?” John ran his hand through his thick dark hair. “I thought they would want to buy American arms.”
    “I’m sure they do.” Sweeney set his mug on the table and cocked one eyebrow at John. “But the U.S. doesn’t trade with belligerent nations, at least not according to Roosevelt and Congress.” He wiped at a wet spot on the dark wood tabletop. “A little thing called the Neutrality Act makes transporting goods, passengers, and arms to a country at war a federal crime.”
    “You’re saying there’s no way to sail to Europe?” John rubbed at the stinging spot on his forehead. “I can’t accept that.”
    “No, mate. I’m not saying you can’t sail to Britain or France. I’m saying it’s illegal.” Sweeney rested his arm along the back of the bench and eyed John. “Able seaman, you said, and good in a fight, by my own eyes. Tell me—” Sweeney leaned forward, elbows on the table. “If I knew a master, who wanted to help the Brits and Frogs, and make a bit of cash for his crew on the side, would you be