by Carl Hiaasen
“No.”
“Damn right! Matter of fact, she thinks I ought to quit the boat because of what happened to you.”
Albury chuckled. He could imagine Jimmy at home with his sixteen-year-old bride and her puerile lectures.
“Did you tell her the charges were dropped?”
“Yeah, it don’t matter. I’m not quitting. You been good to me, and the Diamond Cutter is one fine boat. Besides, if it weren’t for that run, we wouldn’t be able to afford that doctor up in Miami.”
Albury said, “I almost forgot. You goin’ ahead, then?”
“I’m driving her up tomorrow,” Jimmy said. “I told her the money is from crawfish, so she ought to lay off you.”
Albury checked out the window for a sign of Laurie or Ricky. Outside the trailer park, on MacDonald Avenue, he noticed, was a lime-green Cadillac with the windows tinted dark blue. A typical Cuban Conchmobile; that would be one of Tom’s soldiers.
“Jimmy, can you wait a couple days before going to Miami?”
The kid sat forward. “No, Breeze. We’d like to get it over with.”
“Sure. I understand.”
Jimmy knew when Albury was trying to smooth something over. “It’s important, huh?”
Albury nodded. He told Jimmy about the Andros run and explained the deal he had cut with Winnebago Tom Cruz. Jimmy agreed that they left Albury no choices.
“I need a mate. Somebody I can trust.”
“Aren’t you scared? From what I hear about Colombians …”
“That stuff sells newspapers,” Albury mumbled. “Hell, I don’t think they’re any different from the Cubans.”
“The whole idea scares me,” Jimmy declared.
“Manolo’s paying fifty thousand. Ten of it’s yours if you want to come.” Albury heard a car pull into the gravel drive. “Think about it, Jimmy. I’ll call you tonight.”
“All right.”
The kid passed Laurie on her way up the driveway and gave a bright hello. Albury was staring at the ball game when she walked in with a bag of groceries. She wore the same pair of jeans shorts and diaphanous top in which she had fetched him from jail that morning.
“Bobby’s so mad he scares me,” she announced.
“What’s wrong?”
“Neal Beeker got beat up real bad yesterday. I didn’t mention it when I saw you last night. Bobby thinks Barnett had something to do with it.”
“Why?”
“Because of the fight they had at the last council meeting.”
Albury was admiring the Astros’ reliever, a lanky blond rookie who reminded him of Ricky, except that he came around from the side a little more with the slider.
“There was a cop who saw the mugging and didn’t do anything,” Laurie said as she arranged some Campbell soup cans in the pantry. A sideways glance told her Albury was not particularly appalled.
“Breeze, don’t you think it’s terrible?”
Albury grunted. Freed was probably right; the attack on Beeker simply was political fallout from Barnett. And if there was one thing that Albury made a point of ignoring year in and year out, it was the vagaries of Key West politics. His daddy had thought the city council of his day was worthless scum, and Albury saw no reason to be more charitable. Freed had gotten elected as the obligatory reform candidate, but all he ever fought for was new bike paths and rent controls for Duval Street. If he wanted to feud with Huge Barnett, the results surely would be both predictable and inconsequential.
Laurie asked, “Did you talk to Crystal?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t his fault. Barnett stayed off the radio all night. Crystal didn’t have a clue about him being up at Ramrod until it was too late.”
“I bet he felt awful, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Albury said. “He also told me the three other boats made it in with a total of eleven tons. That means Tom can buy his latest mama a new Seville.”
“Speaking of which, there’s a guy sitting in a Caddy out on MacDonald Street,” Laurie said.
“My baby-sitter.”
“What for? What’s he want?”
Albury had decided not to tell her the terms of his release. She would never understand the Andros trip.
“I don’t know what he wants,” Albury said, brushing a curtain aside and peering toward the road. “Maybe Tom’s afraid that I’m still pissed off, and that I might talk.”
“Tom doesn’t know you very well.” Laurie sat cross-legged on the sofa and pulled him toward her for a wet kiss. “I sure am glad you’re out of jail.”
Albury hugged her tightly and whispered, “You have a delightful neck. Did I ever tell you that?”
Laurie laughed huskily and leaned all the way back. “What time is Ricky’s game?”
“Seven sharp,” Albury said. “And he’s going right to the ball park after work.”
“Now, there’s wonderful news,” Laurie said, playfully shedding her blouse.
TAVERNIER BEAT Key West 4-2. Ricky Albury pitched the last three innings in relief, striking out four batters and giving up a meaningless double in the top of the seventh. Generally, he looked sharp, Albury thought. The new spikes helped on his follow-through, though the mound, as always, was too rocky.
Teal was in the bleachers, rooting for his wife’s little brother, an outfielder for Tavernier.
“I didn’t know you liked baseball,” Albury kidded him.
“I don’t. It’s boring as hell,” Teal said. He was a local flats guide, the best in Key West. He was the only one who ever got invited up to Islamorada for the bonefish tournaments. By and large, the Middle Keys guides thought the Key West guides were a wretched bunch. By and large, they were right.
“I’m only here because Susan’s brother is playing. Ricky looks damn good.”
“Thanks.”
Teal looked absolutely dapper in a yellow Izod golf shirt and tan boat pants. His skin was the color of polished mahogany.
“How’s fishing?” Albury asked.
“Fishing is great. Too bad there’s no tourists here to enjoy it. I’m only booked two or three times a week.”
“You charter guides are always bitching,” Albury said.
“Yeah, well, if I had a bigger boat, I could run them square grouper like you. Pay off my house.” Teal and Albury laughed together.
“Well, if you ever try it,” Albury said, “I hope you have better luck than me. I swear, Teal, when things go to hell they go in a hurry.”
Teal scratched at his arms. The mosquitoes were in fine form. “Breeze, there was something I meant to tell you … let me think…”
Albury was accustomed to waiting on Teal. All day in an open boat, Teal could be excused for his jumbled thoughts. The sun off the mud flats could putty your brain.
“I know what it was,” Teal erupted. “Your traps!”
“They got cut.”
“Right, right. But I found a bunch of markers.”
“Where?”
“On a flat off Boca Grande. I was out there on a permit charter two days ago.”
“How many?” Albury asked, his mind working. It was a good forty miles from the Cobia Hole to Boca Grande.
“Breeze, there must have been a couple hundred. The water was orange with them,” Teal said. “It was a helluva sight. I knew they were yours.”
“Whoever cut me must have dumped ’em there.”
“I saw a boat leaving, too,” Teal volunteered. “Now, I didn’t get a name, but it was a crawfish boat, a fast one.” Teal said he thought it was a Key West boat, possibly a Torres.
“Radar?” Albury pressed.
“I think. I think so.” Teal was straining now, brow furrowed, eyes framed by deep crow’s-feet. “I didn’t chase it or anything.”
“Probably one of Tom’s boys,” Albury muttered.
“The reason I tell you is that they are probably still out there. The wind hasn’t blown much, and if they float up against the islands you got a chance of getting ’em back. I know it’s not as good
as finding the whole trap, but it’ll save you a few dollars, getting those buoys back.”
“Sure will,” Albury said. “Thanks, Teal.” He patted his friend on the back, but he didn’t have the heart to tell him that the markers were ancient history. Albury had no use for them anymore.
Chapter 7
LAURIE SAT ON the bed in a thin lime-colored T-shirt. Albury stuffed random handfuls of underwear, shorts, and ratty boat pants into an old duffel bag. He crammed a wad of fifty-dollar bills into a pair of socks and tossed them in with the rest.
“So it’s a big secret. Again,” Laurie said sharply.
“It would be no good for you to know.”
“It has to do with the bust, doesn’t it?”
Albury stopped packing and sat down next to her on the bed. When he kissed her on the cheek, his eyes involuntarily dropped to her breasts and the reddish thatch of hair, dangerously visible through the shirt. Albury did his best to change the subject, but Laurie was in no mood.
“This will look bad, Breeze, you leaving like this.”
“Just for a few days.”
“Bobby Freed says he’s going to have the grand jury call you in for questioning. He wants you to talk about Barnett. He knows your case was fixed….”
“Hold on. What do you mean, he knows? Did you—”
Laurie tossed her head back and laughed sarcastically. “No, I didn’t say anything. Jesus, Breeze, give me a little credit. I’m trying to help is all. I’m trying to give you a little fair warning that this thing will not go away. I love you, sometimes, but the dumbest thing you could do right now is run another load for those goddamn hoods.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I promise.”
She stared at him and her eyes softened. “Then what?”
Albury aimed a kiss for a stellate freckle on her neck, but Laurie dodged him. “Why won’t you tell me?” she asked.
Albury rose, sighed out loud, and ambled to the living room where Ricky was watching television. The kid saw the duffel bag and looked up inquiringly.
“I’ll be gone for a few days,” Albury said softly. “Watch after Laurie.
Ricky picked himself off the floor. “Going south?” he said, grinning.
“Naw.” The kid’s smile made Albury’s heart dive like a wounded bird. Everything he cared about was on the line this time. “I’m gonna be up the Keys for a few days is all.”
“Need another hand?”
“No, thanks.”
“C’mon, I’m sick of flipping burgers. I could use the fresh air.”
“No way.”
“God, Dad, you must think I’m still a baby.”
Albury threw an arm around Ricky. “Son, you got baseball practice and your slider still needs work. Listen good, now. If anybody from the police or the grand jury comes around, you don’t know where I am or when I’ll be back. Same goes for that Manning lady from the Governor’s hit squad or whatever the hell she called it.”
“’Kay, Dad. Just be careful this time. More careful than before.”
ALBURY CALLED JIMMY and was relieved to hear that his mate had decided to go along. Whether it was the money or simple loyalty, Albury couldn’t be sure. Probably both.
He told Jimmy he might look for a third man, and Jimmy said fine, the more the better as far as he was concerned. Albury found Augie Quintana at a bolita house on Petronia Street. With Albury going light on the details and heavy on the salary, Augie took ten seconds to make up his mind.
“How long will we be gone?” was the young Cuban’s first question.
“Few days at most.”
“What do I tell my wife?”
“You’re going to the Tortugas.”
“And what do I tell my girlfriend?”
“You’re shopping for a new El Dorado in Miami.”
Albury slipped out of the trailer at four-thirty the next morning and sweet-talked the old Pontiac to life. Jimmy beat him to the fish house by fifteen minutes and was shoveling ice into the Diamond Cutter when Albury drove up. Together they hoisted a fifty-gallon fuel drum into the boat; Albury knew there would be no gassing up in the Bahamas. Then he saw Jimmy’s shotgun leaning in a corner on deck.
“You forget my rules?”
“No, Breeze. I ain’t goin’ unless we bring the Remington. Before you get all pissed, lemme tell you I’ve been talking to friends of mine about the Bahamas, and they said you gotta be crazy to go without the gun.”
“Christ, did you tell anyone why you were going?”
Jimmy shook his head. His face was moist from the shoveling. He swatted at the night bugs and told Albury not to worry. “But the gun is a good idea, Breeze. Really.”
“Get it under the deck,” Albury commanded. “If we get stopped by the Bahamians, the gun is the first thing to go over the side, understand? They got laws you wouldn’t believe, Jimmy. You could piss on the prime minister and do thirty days, but if they catch you with a gun …”
“Bring your knitting.”
“Right. Listen, Augie Quintana is coming with us.”
Jimmy nodded. That would make perfect sense. Augie was insurance, good muscle and a good hand; a lean, young Cuban built like a welterweight boxer. Jimmy was feeling better about the trip already. He went back to loading the ice and stacking some crawfish traps. Five minutes later a gold Cadillac pulled up to the dock. The passenger door opened, and the dome light revealed Augie Quintana kissing a beautiful, dark-haired latina.
“Did you get a farewell like that this morning?” Albury teased Jimmy. “I sure as hell didn’t.”
Augie hopped aboard the Diamond Cutter, slapped Jimmy on the shoulder, and pumped Albury’s hand. “You’re looking good, old man,” Augie said, “but not as good as this boat. Jesus, what a piece of work.”
“How’s your Spanish, chico?” Albury asked.
“My Cubish is just fine, thank you, but we’ll have to see about my Colombian.”
Albury had known the Quintana family for twenty-odd years. Augie’s father, Cristobal, was a fine Key West lobsterman—tough, knowledgeable, honest, and, occasionally, enterprising. His eldest son, Mike, worked the boat with him. Augie worked an uncle’s boat for years, went away to the University of Miami, got a degree in business, came back to the island, and went right back to work on a crawfish boat. In his spare time, he kept the books for two of the island’s more successful bolita houses.
Augie was bright and cocky and strong, and he owned a valuable intuition about trouble. One night he and Albury had been drinking beer at a Key West bar when Augie told him they had better leave. Albury had a quarter on the pool table, waiting his turn to beat some wiseass shrimper, so he wasn’t eager to walk out. Augie looked down the bar at a small black fellow and told Albury that the guy was about to explode. The black guy had been sitting there for three hours, sipping Myer’s rum, minding his own business, and largely ignoring everybody, including a topless dancer with wonderful melon-sized breasts—another reason Albury hadn’t wanted to go. But no sooner had Augie whispered his warning than the little man got up from the bar, slipped a .357 out of his coat, and put a bullet in the tallow of the dancer’s thigh. Then he spun around and drew down on the shrimper, who had frozen in awe while lining up the sixteen-ball for a corner.
Augie was on him swiftly. The pistol hit the floor like a hammer, followed by the snap of the man’s wrist breaking. It was the loudest sound in the bar that night. Augie never said a word.
Albury had always admired instinct in a young man. The island was loaded with strong, dumb Conch kids; smart ones like Augie were a precious resource.
They cast off an hour before dawn. Albury set the Diamond Cutter on an east-northeasterly course up the straits. It was a healthy two hundred miles to Andros, a couple days, at least. The coordinates for the pickup had arrived in a brown envelope from Tom. The morning turned up gray, and the sky hung over them like a damp membrane. The sea was smooth and the colors dull. A stubborn pelican followed the crawfish boat, wai
ting vainly for the crew to start pulling traps.
Augie stretched out on the bow while Jimmy snored on deck. Albury flipped on the radio and said good morning to Crystal on the mainland.
A school of bottle-nosed dolphins came alongside after noon. Albury counted ten adults and three juveniles. They raced in front of the bow for more than five miles. Occasionally, one would peel off from the pack to perform a great, happy somersault, smacking back into the water like an eight-hundred-pound cannonball. Albury would laugh and take his hands off the wheel to clap appreciatively. Augie awakened to share Albury’s delight.
“Dolphins are good luck, man. I hope they stay with us the whole trip,” Augie called.
Albury smiled and shook his head knowingly. An hour later the dolphins were gone.
Chapter 8
(From the deposition of Augustin Quintana, taken on the fourth day of October 1982, before Christine Manning, counsel to the office of the Governor. Also present was court reporter Mary Perdue.)
MISS MANNING: Tell me your relation to William Clifford Albury.
MR. QUINTANA: I have known him most of my life. My father, too. They fished together sometimes.
Q: Have you ever been on his boat, the Diamond Cutter?
A: Many times. I helped him repaint the—
Q: Did you have occasion to be on the Diamond Cutter in August during a trip to the Bahamas?
A: You know the answer to that, lady. Breeze needed somebody to speak the Spanish. Jimmy, that’s his mate, speaks a little, but a little ain’t good enough when you got a couple dozen loco Colombians talkin’ eighty miles an hour. Which is exactly what we had.
Q: What happened aboard the boat, Augie?
A: A whole lot more than should have.
Q: Tell me what kind of weapons Captain Albury brought with him.
A: Some terrific weapons. Besides Jimmy’s Remington, we had a couple fishing knives, a spear gun, and the bang stick.
Q: The bang stick is essentially a firearm, correct?
