by Boyd Craven
“That’s where you live?” the detective asked, his eyebrows going up.
“I do odd jobs for Franklin, and that’s where my fishing boat is parked. I live in that,” I said, knowing that had only been a thing for a few days before this had happened.
“Oh. Gotcha. You’re a live aboard?” he asked me, a term I’d heard before.
“For now,” I told him. “I can give you Franklin’s number as a backup in case I don’t have my cell phone handy when you call me to tell me you’ve got Eduardo in custody, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, turning his notebook around to me and handing me a pen.
I scribbled out the number, adding my cell phone just in case he forgot which one I’d called him from, and tried to scan his notes as fast as I could. I didn’t read fast, and hardly got much. His bottom note said to pull the jacket on me. I could live with that. I turned the notebook back his way and pushed it over to him. He took it and tipped an imaginary hat and walked off.
“Now, finish your damn foods, so Irish John can drive you back to Franklin’s.”
“Irish John, what’d you drive?”
He pulled out a familiar set of keys that belonged to my cube van.
“Irish, dude … you don’t have your license!”
“Irish John has no shits to give, boy!” He threw back his head and laughed. It broke the tension, and soon I was laughing too.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The gate was open when I got back to the boatyard with Irish John. Franklin was nowhere in sight, though he could have been in his office in the big warehouse catching up with mail as far as I knew. Irish dropped me off near the dock and I half jogged down it to get my shower. I knew I looked rough. I hadn’t showered in a few days, only washing up in the bathroom sinks at the hospital. I didn’t turn on the water heater in the boat and wait for it to warm up, but I did take a nice long cold shower, then shaved. I brushed my teeth thoroughly, killing the lead battery acid stench from the hospital cafeteria coffee.
Clothes were easy, I had a pair of shorts and a polo a lot like Irish John’s, only about four times bigger. I got dressed quickly, cinching my belt. I was running a comb through my still wet hair when I heard footsteps on deck.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” Franklin’s voice.
“Absolutely,” I said, the emotions I’d kept bottled suddenly bubbling to the surface, without warning.
I walked out of the head area, as Franklin walked into the cabin and sat down at the table and bench across from the galley. I joined him a moment later.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a long time,” he said finally.
“I tried to, I’ve been up at the hospital with Carly,” I told him, smiling despite the subject matter. “It’s good to see you. How was your… trip?”
“It’s good. We built a small schoolhouse, a church, and drilled a few wells, built some water filtration systems.”
“I bet the villagers were sorry to see you go,” I said, not quite coming out and asking him what happened to make him come home early.
“Yeah, well, when the Church called and filled me in, I knew I needed to be home. For my friends and church family here,” he said looking at me, smiling gently. “It’s good to see you Tony.”
“It’s good to see you too. Oh, my boat, do you need me to—?”
“No, in fact, unless I need to work on my boat, I think it’s going to stay at the dock in the marina when her new captain isn’t using it for fishing.”
“Her new captain?” I asked him.
“I, uh…” Franklin looked away for a second, his face turning red, “met somebody down there. I’m retiring from the fishing business and selling my house. We’re going to pick out a home for the both of us. I was sorta thinking The Villages, more in the middle of the state.”
“You’re… getting hitched? Congratulations!” But Franklin retiring put a time limit on when I was going to have to move. If he decided to sell it all and retire… though he hadn’t mentioned the boatyard here, and I wasn’t about to ask.
“Thank you. I also want to thank you again for getting the place ready to weather that tropical storm. I couldn’t figure out why you’d put out all the sandbags until I ran into Irish John. If he was worried enough to come inland for a few days, that’s a rather good indicator that things are about to get serious.”
“He was spooked, and that kind of scared me. Where’d he run off to anyway?” I asked him, suddenly curious.
“He said he was going to find Miss Josephine’s cousins.”
“Hey, you want some coffee?” I was suddenly exhausted.
“That would be great,” Franklin told me.
I got the water started and pulled down two mugs.
“Her cousins? The FWC boys?” I asked him.
“Wait, how do you know they’re related?” he asked, an eyebrow cocked.
“They told me, plus it sounds like she’s related to half the town. She asked me to get Irish John on the land side of things before the big blow hit. Instead, we sorta went fishing northwest of here and ended up getting a big bluefin.” I pulled the French press down from the small galley cupboard.
“Ahhh, that makes sense. No, these two aren’t really her cousins. They were the sons of Josephine’s late husband’s friends. The kids all grew up together, but they’re a little bit older than the Page boy. Your age, maybe more. They all used to be thick as thieves, or so the stories go.”
“Ah that makes sense. I have to ask, though, he took the van, didn’t he?”
Franklin laughed and nodded.
“Good, I’m not really worried. He’s a good driver, and it seems that secretly everybody around here wants to help look out for him.”
“Not just him, Tony.”
I thought about it. “Me too?” I asked, all kinds of confused.
“You too.” The nod was deliberate. “See, as big as this area is and all the tourism that comes through, we’re family here. We look out for each other. Sure, there’s a lot of folk who aren’t family and who don’t care to be, but I think you’ve met the core of us, and for the betterment of our family and community we try to help out. I know Irish John could in theory do it all alone, but you can only go so long like that.”
“Loneliness can drive a guy crazy,” I admitted as the kettle started whistling.
I poured the boiling water, used the French press, then poured the mugs of coffee.
“I just want to point out that you’re going native,” Franklin told me with a grin.
“How?” I asked, still confused by the words and previous topic.
“It’s after noon, over 95 degrees outside, and you’re drinking hot coffee in a fishing boat you somehow acquired. Most northerners would be dying of the heat by now. By the way, how did you get the boat?”
“Irish found it. Somebody tried to open the sea cocks and scuttle it. Turns out it was the owner’s son, and he botched things. I think they both owed money on the boat, probably more than they could get for selling it, so they went the other route.”
“They probably had it insured for a lot more,” Franklin said, nodding.
“Bingo. The sheriff and the FWC sort of leaned on the lady and kid. Said the guy who kept the boat from sinking was owed emergency repair, towing, and dock fees. They freaked out and offered to give me the boat, so I took it.”
“What was wrong with it?” Franklin asked.
“I figure the water in the lines made the motor stall out, and the kid killed the batteries trying to get it going again. When that didn’t work, he dropped anchor and tried to scuttle it. Too bad he was right near Irish John and the shipping lanes, plus we found it too quickly.” My grin was hard to contain.
“So they don’t get prosecuted for a number of things, and you got the boat.”
“Yup,” I said, taking a sip.
“Does it bother you that they probably still have to pay whatever it is that led them to try to sink it?”
“Almost
as badly as them not getting prosecuted. They already owed the money. If they had tried to sell it, they’d still have to pay the money.”
Franklin grunted, nodding. “So, back to my retirement.”
I clenched.
“I was hoping unofficially you’d take over the running of the boatyard for now,” he said, “doing what you were before. If you’d like. Work on boats in your spare time, fish full time, get some of the auction hulls fitted up with running motors or just fix them up. I’ll do the auction and delivery legwork, you do the fixing and being around here while I’m gone. Split the proceeds down the middle?”
“I… wow,” I said, taking a gulp of coffee.
He had done that before, but I hadn’t been around to argue. I genuinely appreciated what he’d done, and it had literally changed my life. He owned the property, the long pier of a dock, the warehouse, all the parts and tools. I wouldn’t feel good taking half.
“That sounds like too much. How about a 25/75?” I asked.
“You only want 25%?” Franklin asked, surprised.
“I appreciate the offer, but you’re the one here who has made this possible for me to crawl out of the hole I dug for myself. I think that’s fair.”
“How about 60/40?” Franklin countered. “You’re the one who will be putting in the sweat equity, time and energy to get things fixed up. It’ll be a good spot of cash for both of us. It keeps the bills and taxes on this property paid while the real estate appreciates over time.”
I thought about that. 40%? Could I feel good taking almost half still?
“Tell you what—”
“And you get full use of the pier. You’re free to take jobs from other boat captains if you want to fix things or fish with them. Also, other than being the one doing the hard work here, you’d be here. There’d be somebody on site on a regular basis, so this joint won’t get broken into. A 60/40 split… I dunno, I hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage of you with this offer.”
“No, that’s generous and I think… Yes,” I decided.
We shook on it and finished our coffee.
“Good, I’ll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork and get my accountant to run the business side of things while I’m away.”
I hadn’t even thought of that, but appreciated it. He got up and headed to the three steps that went out on deck, “Thank you Tony. This is a relief. Carmella and I will stop in later on tonight if you’re here, so she can meet you and Irish John.”
“You brought her here?” I asked, surprised.
He smiled and nodded, climbing the steps. When he was on the top deck he said, “Glad you are staying. 40% is more than enough for me.”
It was about a good three heart beats before his words sank in.
“Franklin, wait!” I called, almost spilling my coffee, getting to my feet so quickly.
“We shook on it, I’ll have my lawyers draw up the paperwork and make it official!” He called, waving over his shoulder.
I thought about chasing after him, but decided further argument wouldn’t work. Instead, I dumped the rest of my coffee down the drain and grabbed my phone. I wanted to head back to the hospital, but Irish John had my truck. I thought about grabbing a rod and seeing if I could catch something off the end of the dock to pass the time, but remembered seeing many fillets of tuna in the icebox and a couple in the fridge. I could always catch and release, or I could just let my mind slip gears.
I walked to the end of the dock and sat down, my feet dangling a good twenty inches above the water of the river. It was brackish here, being so close to the ocean. I could still smell the salt, though. The sun beat behind me, and before long, I stripped off my shirt and just watched the water, the boats coming in and out. I thought both dark thoughts and happy ones. I dreamed of finding Eduardo, but had to break that train of thought hard because it also made me think about Ramon. What that kid had gone through, and potentially losing a dad to prison or worse? I didn’t want to be that reason, but putting the hurt on his dad for shooting Carly twice after running her off the road. He had some pain coming.
My phone rang.
“Hello?” I said, not recognizing the number.
“Hey dummy asshole,” Irish John said with a laugh, “you be ready to come with me. We are needed in another part of town.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, getting up and grabbing my shirt.
“No time now. Talk when driving. You need to take wheel when I get there. Meet Irish John at the gate.”
“When?” I asked him.
“’Terty seconds,” he told me before ending the call.
I pulled my polo on, then slid into my shoes and took off at a jog. Franklin and a dark-haired woman were just getting into a car. He shot me a questioning look, and I shrugged. “Irish called. He needs me to go with him. Sounds like he’s in a rush!”
“I’ll lock up then!” Franklin called back.
I kept going, taking probably fifteen seconds to cross the property. Irish John was already parked at the end of the drive. He saw me coming and got out, running to the passenger seat.
“What’s going on?” I asked him as I jumped in behind the wheel.
“Ran into detective man,” he said.
That was when I realized the small door separating the cab from the back of the truck was open, and somebody was coming through. He was big, my size, with a goatee and mirrored shooting glasses on, and a Glock on his hip.
“’Dis is Donnie. Donnie, ’dis is dummy asshole Tony,” Irish said by way of introductions.
“Hey, Tony,” he said, “what’s up?”
“I… hi. You Miss Josephine’s cousin?”
“Cousins,” another voice said from the back.
“That’s Serf,” Donnie said, pointing to the cargo area with a thumb. “We’re going north,” he said.
“Wait, what’s going on?” I asked them.
“We need to get you to the crime scene.” Donnie said seriously. “I’ll tell you where to go. I know that area.”
Irish John got out so the two guys in the back could get out behind us. There was a string of police cars up and down the street, with yellow caution tape across the road. We had parked a couple of blocks away, but nobody gave us much of a look as we approached the tape. Right away, I saw Detective Terrey, who waved me to come in. He only frowned a little bit as Irish John, Serf, and Donnie joined me. I was walking to him as Serf came up beside me.
“Heard this over the radio,” he said, patting a handheld on his left side. “It’s bad.”
“Whose house is this?” I asked.
Serf was slightly older than me, his hair thinning on top, and colored salt and pepper, just like his goatee. He seemed to be the more serious of the two men Irish had picked up.
“That kid’s,” he said as the detective held up a hand to stop when we were about six feet from him.
“I just need Tony,” he said.
“I know the kid too, dammit,” Donnie spat.
“Okay, then Tony and Donnie. I need a quick identification. We think it’s Ramon and his mom.”
My heart sank, but I nodded and followed him. The house looked cheery from the outside, and I realized that the flowerbeds were planted with things like garlic, onion, and other herbs. The shutters were both decorative and functional. The only indication that this side of town might be rough were the bars on the inside and outside of the windows.
Wordlessly we followed Detective Terrey to the backyard. It was small, with a small patch of grass. A stone patio had been laid out with care, and an open fire BBQ pit was dug in on one side, with a propane grill at the other. Two crime scene techs were kneeling at the end of the patio where a body was laying, under a cover.
“These guys know the deceased?” the techs asked.
“If it’s Ramon, yeah,” I told them.
“Just the face, please,” Detective Terrey asked.
The tech nodded and pulled the sheet back with a gloved hand. There was dried blood on his
right cheek. His eyes stared, his mouth open in surprise.
“That’s Ramon,” I choked.
“It is,” Donnie said. “Damn shame. The dad do this?”
“We think so. Do either of you know the mother?”
We both shook our heads. “He killed her too?” I asked.
“She was shot; the kid here was stabbed and sliced,” the second tech said. “We’ve got defensive wounds here, and it looks like skin and blood under his fingernails.”
“Who could do this to their family?” I asked, horror stricken.
“Cartels,” Donnie said by way of explanation.
“That’s enough,” Terrey said. “Okay, boys, thanks.”
I wanted to get out of there. When I had heard it was Ramon’s house, I had suspected to find what I’d seen, but it had still hit me hard. We all walked to the front of the house, and I would have kept on going, but I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned back, and Detective Charles Terrey was motioning me toward him. Donnie hesitated, then walked back to where Serf and Irish John were waiting.
“You with those two?” he asked, nodding toward our group.
“Serf and Donnie?” I asked him.
“Yeah, them.”
“Irish John picked them up; I just met them,” I told him, watching as he gave me a long look that conveyed many things, none of them good.
“Why? Who are they?” I asked him.
“They’re… contractors. Kind of a cross between PIs and Private Military. They have an office down in Tampa, but they have family up this way and are here quite a bit. What do you know about them?”
“Nothing,” I answered immediately. “Should I be worried?”
“I don’t want you guys hot dogging, looking for Eduardo. I need you to stay out of things. You hear me?”
“I don’t plan on doing any head hunting,” I said, annoyed, some of it coming out in my voice. “I already told you that I don’t want to end up back in the joint.”
“Yeah, but see, like those guys, you have a reputation. I’d like to close this case with the least amount of complications, and all I see are roadblocks with you and those guys involved.”
