Luck by Jason Buchholz

It took several minutes for him to process the awesome sight of the massive Great Lakes freighter that was moored at the long, concrete wall of the pier. His dream was to sail on a behemoth vessel just like this one, although he had never been this close. Sure, his father used to take him to certain spots along Georgian Bay when he was a kid to see large ships steaming across the water, but it took him this long to finally be able to stand a mere couple of metres away from a steel giant like this.

          'Even watching them go past me on the Welland Canal that one time couldn't compare to this!' he thought to himself.

          Paul Bronson - known as 'Paulie' to his friends - had heard about crew openings on several of these big ships, and had wandered the docks most of the day, finding that the other vessels had already left with a full complement, save one, the ship he couldn't stop staring at that was named the Northern Century. Two hundred and ninety metres long, she was one of the biggest freighters plying the Great Lakes at present.

          "My ship!" said Bronson to himself, before securing his duffel bag over a shoulder with one hand, and pushing some of his dark blond hair aside with the other. Night was beginning to fall over the pier, but he still felt like wandering a little bit and maybe talking with other sailors that usually lingered in the area. Making his way past the stern of the mighty ship, he saw an older, slightly unkempt man leaning up against a post and having some dregs from a cigarette, and looked as if he had no care in the world at the moment.

          "Hi," said Bronson, flashing a little grin,

          "Evening," replied the man, blowing some smoke. He wore a navy coloured sailor's cap, dirty from use over time with grey hair poking out from under it, and a basic dark grey ship's uniform that hugged his slightly chunky frame.

          "I see you like th' Northern. She's a mighty fine ship, and always brings us home."

          Bronson nodded. "She's beautiful! You're part of the crew, I take it?"

          The sailor gave a thumbs up. "You got it. Name's Quincy. I'm the cook, and a damn good one at that!"

          Bronson chuckled. "I'm Paul, Paul Bronson. Nice to meet you."

          Quincy raised an eyebrow as he took another puff of the cigarette.

          "What brings you here, Mister Bronson?" he queried.

          The younger man pointed at the Northern Century. "Ships like that. It's been my dream to become a crew member on a Great Lakes freighter and be out on the open water as much as possible."

          Quincy's eyes narrowed a little. "Dreaming is one thing son, but bein' out there is another thing entirely. It's not for the faint at heart, y'know."

          "I understand, Mister Quincy, but it's all I want to do. The Great Lakes, they call me, need me to steam on them."

          The older sailor could see the conviction present in Paul's hazel eyes, and leaned in closer to the lad after flicking his cigarette butt.

          "All righty, if you really want to get on the Northern and set sail, I know a way. Just don't tell anyone how you found out, y'hear?"

          Bronson's smile suddenly grew large, knowing he was getting closer to realizing his dream of becoming a sailor himself, and how he would do it.

          Opening the door of the small, single-storey office building, Bronson didn't see anyone in the main area, containing a small seating space with several comfortable chairs, and a row of offices on the back wall the size of cubicles. A reception desk was between both parts, but unoccupied.

          'Empty? Maybe Quincy was wrong...'

          He was about to turn and leave, when a door to the left of the offices opened, admitting a heavy set man with sharp features and close cropped black hair to the main area. The man glared at him for a moment, stopping near the reception deck.

         "You lost, son?"

         Bronson pondered the man briefly before responding.

         "I'm here for the game. Heard about it out on the docks."

         The man raised an eyebrow. "Name's Madsen. You have some cash?"

         Bronson only nodded.

         "Very well, follow me."

         Madsen ushered him through to door into a musty room that contained a couple of couches on the walls, and a circular green card table in the middle. Two other men set at the table, with one closer to his age, with long brown hair in a ponytail. The other was in his thirties, wearing a faded sports coat, and had a cap pulled over his red hair,

        "The one with the hair is Petrov, this guy here with the cap is Willie. The winner of this game gets to join me on the Northern Century, as I'm her first officer."

        'Excellent!' thought Bronson. Not only was he going to be on the water soon, but he'd achieve it by winning at something he loved - namely poker.

        "Five card draw, nothing wild, ye hear," said Willie who was cutting the cards and getting ready to deal. He and Petrov pushed some cash into the centre of the table, as Bronson fished some money out of his pocket and did the same. Madsen sat a bit aways from the table on the couch, happy to observe and see who would be boarding the massive freighter with him.

         Bronson won the first hand, and started to bluff his way into winning the second. Much to his surprise, his luck started to turn south in each successive hand, losing more and more of the pot he had built up. He'd played better opponents back home, and even won a local tournament with a final hand that was a pair of fours, but it was all starting to go bad on him, taking his dream of boarding the Northern Century with it.

         'This can't be happening!'

         When it came time for the cards to hit the table in the final hand, Bronson wagered all the cash he had on his person, save a few bills for emergencies, and called, laying out his straight with ace high. Willie was next, laying out a straight from two to six. It was all down to Petrov, but Bronson was feeling lucky. The man with the ponytail laid his cards on the table for all to see, which also broke Bronson's heart - Petrov had four of a kind in Queens of every suit.

         Madsen got up off the couch and clapped Petrov on the back. "Guess you're coming with me. Better luck next time, you two..."

***          

          Sitting on the pier with his legs hanging over the edge at the spot where the Northern Century sat in the water only two and a half days earlier, he now had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Going back home was no use, as aside from having to admit failure to himself along the way, there also was a nasty November gale passing through the area, and he was in no hurry to meet it.

          Dejected, he thought about the poker game over and over, and how he had practically begged Madsen after the fact to let him come aboard and do something - anything - on the ship just so he could be part of the crew. The first officer saw how passionate the young man was about the Great Lakes, but he didn't have use for any more crew members.

          'It's just not fair!'

          Looking out towards the open lake, he wondered what the cook, Quincy, might be fixing for the crew as the lunch hour quickly approached.

          'Lunch on Lake Superior. How I wish I could be part of that!'

          Turning and looking to his right, he could just see the office building in which his luck turned sour over poker, wishing the results would have been different, letting him be on the Northern Century instead of Petrov. Even Willie seemed distraught after the game, but seemed more interested in getting drunk at that point than anything else.

          Just as he was about to turn back and continue staring out at the lake, Bronson noticed two police officers and a man in a suit walking up to the office and entering the building. He wasn't about to go snoop, but wondered if it had to do with the poker game or not. Bronson couldn't imagine a simple game of chance coming to the attention of the local police, but he decided to get up and head the other way all the same.

          Walking down the long pier, he saw two sailors from a smaller ship that he passed earlier over by a supply building talking amongst themselves. One looked very sad and listless, and the other was shaking his head and frowning.

          "Terrible, terrible news," said the first man, his grey hair and beard weathered from being out on the Great Lakes.

          "Never thought it possible," said the second man, clean shaven, but with a small scar on his chin and a cigar in his mouth.

          Bronson walked up, curious as to what they were talking about.

          "Never thought what was possible, sailor?" he asked.

          The two men looked to each other with despair before the one with the beard finally answered thw question.

          "That big gale on Superior late last night," he began. "...took the Northern Century with it, just like that. The ship and all her crew have been lost."

          Bronson was stunned, and felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach.

          "Terrible," said the second man. "Superior never gives up her dead. Never."

          At a loss for words, Bronson slowly meandered off, thinking about how close he came to being on that ship. He could have gone down with her, along with the rest of the crew, never to be seen again. His thoughts turned to seeing the vessel for the first time, as well as meeting Quincy on the pier. Then, the poker game popped back into his mind, and his eyes went wide with disbelief.

          "Maybe I really was lucky, but not in the way I thought..." he whispered.

                                                                     -

          Dedicated to all the ships and crews on Lake Superior that fell victim to gale force storms and were never seen or heard from again. You will always be remembered when a ship's bell tolls...