by Tripp Ellis
I chowed down my burger and sipped a beer. Afterward, JD and I strolled down the dock to the Wild Tide. We were about halfway there when JD remembered something. "Oh, shit. I almost forgot."
He spun around and ran down the dock toward the parking lot. He returned a few moments later with a waterproof Pelican case that was a foot wide and four feet long. It looked like he was carrying a rocket launcher.
My face twisted with curiosity. "What the hell is that?"
"You'll see."
He strutted down the dock and scaled the transom of the Wild Tide. He set the case on the deck, unlatched it, and flipped open the lid. Inside was a device that looked like a miniature Tomahawk missile.
It was painted in a haze gray and had guidance fins. There was a propeller at the aft end and several smaller navigational propellers on the fins. Property of the Oceanographic Institute was stenciled across the device in yellow letters.
JD had a wide smile on his face. "It's an advanced side-scan sonar. It uses the same communication technology as the Explorer 2. Wireless and fully automated."
The Explorer 2 was a wireless ROV we had borrowed from Ian at the Oceanographic Institute. It had come in handy during our last adventure.
"That's great,” I said. “What are we looking for? Russian submarines?"
I was joking.
He frowned. "No. The shipwreck. The Black Rose. Remember?"
I had almost forgotten about one of our client’s quest to find the Spanish treasure that was supposedly hidden in the sunken pirate ship. The great pirate Jacques De La Fontaine had written about it in his memoir.
"You don't really buy into that shit, do you?" I asked.
"I've been doing some research. I think that woman was right. But I think she was looking in the wrong place. I borrowed this from Ian. I'm not sure how long we’ve got it for, so we better make use of it while we can. We can take this out, launch it into the water, let it scan the area, then analyze the data."
I gave him a skeptical glance.
"What have we got to lose?" JD said.
We’d gone on crazier adventures. Hell, why not look for sunken treasure?
"If that ship is down there somewhere, this thing will find it—if we let it cover enough territory."
"There's not going to be much left of a wooden ship that sunk in the 1700s."
"We’ll look for things like cannons. There should be enough remains to create a faint outline on the display. We just pre-program in a search grid, and this thing will do all the work. We can sit out there and drink beer and fish while this thing scans for $500 million worth of gold. Hell, even if we never find it, we’ll have good stories to tell."
I couldn't disagree. "Fine by me."
“If we find that Spanish gold, you'll be able to buy more than a few sport bikes."
JD closed the case and latched it tight. He pushed into the salon and put the device in the stowage compartment just forward of the galley.
I glanced around the marina and saw Mr. Miller sitting in the cockpit of his sailboat. I waved again, knowing he wouldn’t wave back.
In the salon, Buddy barked at JD and circled his feet. Then he ran to greet me in the cockpit. I knelt down and scooped him up and petted the little guy. I called into the salon, “I’m gonna take him for a walk."
JD began to prep the gear, and I scaled the transom and strolled down the dock. I held onto Buddy as I walked toward Diver Down.
I crossed paths with two stunning beauties—a blonde and a brunette. They were tall and slim and had striking features. Sculpted cheekbones, full lips, piercing eyes, and flowing hair that belonged in a shampoo commercial. Their shorts hung low on their hips, exposing their flat, toned abs. Tight bikini tops struggled against perky peaks.
The girls wore wide-brimmed hats to keep the sun off their faces. Oversized designer sunglasses protected their eyes. Now and then their baby blues would peer out over the top of the frame.
The guy behind them, carrying camera gear, tipped me off that they were models.
Not surprising.
The photographer was with an assistant, overloaded with gear. A heavy backpack hunched him over, and his arms strained with two Pelican cases. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he gasped for breath. He was in his early 20s, but he looked just short of a heart attack.
A makeup artist, a stylist, and an art director followed along.
The makeup artist had a rolling case with every imaginable shade of lipstick, foundation, blush, and eyeshadow. Canisters of hairspray rattled around inside. She was cute and petite and could probably have been a model if she was a little taller.
The stylist carried bags of clothing. The art director was equipped with a cell phone and a binder with a shot list. She had a perpetual scowl on her face.
This was a commercial shoot.
The models gravitated toward Buddy. "Oh, he's so cute!” they said, petting him.
Buddy was a chick magnet.
"What's his name?" the blonde asked.
I told her.
"Aw, he's just adorable!" the blonde said. She baby-talked the little Jack Russell, "Aren't you?"
Buddy ate it up.
So did I.
"You know where we could find the Wild Tide?” the brunette asked.
I raised a curious eyebrow, and a pleasant smile curled my lips. "Yes. I do, indeed. It's halfway down on the left.” I pointed. “See the guy with the long hair in the cockpit? Kinda looks like the singer for—”
“Yeah, he does!” the brunette said, her eyes sparkling with recognition.
“That's JD."
"Oh, great! Is that your boat?" the blonde asked.
"I live aboard."
Her eyes glimmered. ”It's my dream to have a sailboat and live aboard. I just want to forget everything and sail around the world."
"If that’s your dream, I'm sure you will achieve it."
She smiled at me.
"I've got to take him for a little break,” I said, scratching Buddy’s ear. “I guess I'll be seeing you back on the Wild Tide. I'm Tyson."
10
"I'm Hope," the blonde said, enthusiastically.
She introduced the team. The brunette's name was Eliza. The makeup artist was Kim. The stylist’s name was Winter. Lauren was the art director. The photographer was Sydney, and the overloaded assistant was Hector.
We all shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. I sent them down the dock and continued about my business, letting Buddy take care of his.
I met them back on the boat and put a small life preserver on the Jack Russell. Buddy was a good swimmer, but no match for the swells of the open water. He looked adorable in his orange vest as he pranced around, soaking up the attention from the girls.
JD had a wry smile on his face. He leaned in and whispered, "I told you it was going to be a good afternoon."
I had to admit, it was shaping up rather well.
"So, what's the plan?" I asked the photographer.
“We’re shooting bikinis for the website. I’d like to start off with some shots of the girls around the marina and on the boat. Then I figured we'd take it out to sea and get some more shots of the girls in action. Sunbathing, fishing, etc. Then I'd like to go over to Sandcastle Key Island. It's usually empty and has a stunning beach. I found it during a location scout last time I was in the Keys."
"No problem," I said. "Make yourself at home. There is a day head just inside the salon to port, and there are guest cabins below where the girls can change. Just take the starboard stairs."
"Where can I set up my makeup kit?" Kim asked. "I'd like to take advantage of the natural light."
"In the salon. There are plenty of windows, and there's a settee with a hi-low table that you can adjust."
Kim smiled. "Perfect."
I gave them a quick tour of the boat, pointing out the galley and showing them the guest quarters. "I can put Buddy in his room so he won't disturb you."
"Oh, no!” Hope said. "We love buddy. He w
on't bother us."
"Just keep him in the salon while we're underway."
Buddy wagged his tail and scurried around the guests, excited by his new friends. The girls couldn't stop petting him.
Winter set her garment bags in the dining area and started picking out bikinis for the models to wear.
Sydney pulled a lens from his camera bag and swapped it out with the one that was currently on his camera. Hector unfolded a reflector that was silver on one side and white on the other.
Winter handed Hope a gold, shimmering bikini.
“This is cute,” Hope said, surveying the garment. “I’d actually buy this.”
Hope took off her hat and put it on the settee. She pulled the string on her bikini top, and the fabric went slack. Her elegant hands tossed the skimpy thing onto the settee, and her beautiful breasts bounced free.
I pretended not to notice, but JD's eyes bulged out of their sockets.
We exchanged a glance, and his look once again said I told you we were in for a good afternoon.
Models weren’t shy.
They were used to changing anywhere and everywhere at a moment’s notice.
Hope unbuttoned her shorts and shimmied them over her sublime hips. They dropped to the deck, pooling around her ankles. She stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
The girl wore nothing at all.
Her golden skin had no tan lines.
When you modeled bikinis for a living, your skin had to be evenly toned and flawless.
It certainly was that.
Her skin had a smooth sheen to it, like satin. She was well moisturized.
My pulse quickened.
I decided I should busy myself with something so I didn’t look like such a goon.
Hope slipped on the gold bikini, and she made the suit look exquisite. The skimpy thing barely covered anything at all.
Winter handed Eliza a black bikini, and within moments, she had stripped down to her birthday suit.
Buddy stared at the girls, wagging his tail, his tongue hanging from his mouth. I was afraid he would start humping their legs any minute now. Lord knows he wasn’t the only one that wanted to do that.
I stepped into the cockpit to give them some privacy. Though no one seemed to mind my presence. I didn’t bother waving to Mr. Miller. He gawked at us, trying to figure out what was going on. I don’t think he had a clear view into the salon, and the slight tint on the windows gave the girls some privacy.
After the art director approved the outfits, the models took a seat at the settee and had their makeup done. Kim made the glamorous girls look even more so, applying flawless makeup, accentuating their eyes, cheekbones, lashes, and full lips. She styled their hair to perfection.
It took about 45 minutes for each girl.
Hope was done first, and Sydney began shooting her on the dock. She moved through a series of poses in a fluid motion as the photographer snapped pictures. He was about 20 feet away from her with a long lens.
He squatted down on the dock, blurring out the background, making the boats just barely visible. He showed me images on the display of his camera as he shot.
The guy knew what he was doing with a camera. He could take a damn good picture. But with a subject like Hope, I don't think anybody could take a bad picture.
Mr. Miller sat in the cockpit of this boat watching the whole affair with a scowl on his face. He looked like he disapproved of the scantily clad women.
I couldn't fathom how anyone would be upset about that.
Especially from his point of view. He had a nice vantage on Hope’s pert assets. The skimpy fabric left little to the imagination.
She twisted and turned and ran her hands through her hair, looking like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. I was quite sure she graced a few covers in her time.
She could definitely sell a bikini or two.
The camera clicked rapidly, like an assault rifle on full auto.
Sydney shouted words of encouragement. "Beautiful!"
Click.
"Epic!"
Click.
"Stunning!”
Click.
They moved up and down the dock, getting different angles, then moved onto the boat. Sydney took pictures of Hope sitting on the gunwale and lounging on the bow.
The whole thing made me think seriously about getting a nice camera.
Hector, the assistant, held reflectors bouncing light in Hope’s face, putting a sparkle in her eyes.
The girl was seductive and enticing. She looked into the camera like it was her lover—and that's exactly what was needed.
JD whispered in my ear, “We are in the wrong business."
"I know."
"Lots of pretty girls,” JD said. “Nobody shoots at us. It probably pays better.”
"I'm in."
JD was half joking, half serious.
The girls drew quite a bit of attention from the other boat owners in the marina. Guys did anything and everything to keep within view. I had never seen so many people suddenly finding chores to do in their cockpits. More than a few men were going to get an ear full from their significant others when this was all said and done with.
Mr. Miller apparently had enough. He climbed onto the dock and stormed my way with a scowl on his face.
11
"This is a family-oriented marina!" Mr. Miller chided. "We don't need this filth around here."
My face twisted with confusion. "Filth?"
"These girls are barely dressed, flaunting their bodies, inspiring sinful thoughts," Mr. Miller said.
"So, you're getting a stiffy watching?"
He looked like he was going to froth at the mouth.
"I am registering a formal complaint."
"With whom?"
He was frazzled. "Anybody who will listen."
"Lighten up, Miller," Mr. Spencer said from the cockpit of his boat. "You're the only one complaining."
Miller clenched his fists and tightened his jaw. He grumbled to himself, then spun around and stomped down the dock to his boat. He climbed into the cockpit and descended into the cabin, slamming the hatch behind him.
"What the hell is wrong with that guy?" Spencer said.
I shrugged.
Spencer gave me a thumbs up. “Keep up the good work."
I chuckled and strolled back to the Wild Tide.
Sydney finished photographing the girls around the dock and in the boat, then we decided it was time to head out to sea. We disconnected power and water, cast off the lines, and idled out of the marina. The engines burbled and gulls squawked overhead, trailing the boat.
The girls came inside the salon to cool off and get out of the sun, and Kim applied touchups to their makeup.
It was a beautiful afternoon, and we cruised across the water, heading toward Sandcastle Key Island.
When we were far enough from shore, JD cut the engine then we drifted on the current. The boat rocked back and forth gently, and Sydney took a few more photos of the girls with the teal blue ocean in the background.
I don't think he particularly liked being at sea. Trying to frame up a shot through a long lens while the boat swayed from side to side seemed like it was taking a toll on him. His skin went pale, and he misted with sweat.
He took a break and stepped into the salon. I offered him a bottle of water, and he guzzled it down.
"You can lie down in one of the guest rooms if you'd like," I offered.
"I think I might."
It was going to be a short day if the photographer became incapacitated from seasickness.
JD cranked up the engines, and we continued on our short journey.
The Wild Tide carved through the water as JD brought the boat on plane. The engines roared, leaving a white foamy trail in our wake.
Sandcastle Key Island was a small, picturesque place about an hour from Coconut Key. It was usually pretty empty. There were no permanent structures. Just pristine beaches and mangrove trees. There were a few pa
lms, and it had the look of a tropical island. It had a slight crescent shape, creating a shallow bay of ultra blue water. It was too shallow for the Wild Tide. I launched the tender to transport models and crew to the beach.
I kept my 9mm holstered inside my waistband for an appendix carry. Hope must have seen it when I stretched my arms overhead, lifting up my shirt.
"Is that a gun?" she asked, fear in her eyes.
"Yes. It is."
She looked confused, almost angry. "Why do you have a gun?"
"Because there are bad people out here that do bad things."
Sydney had made his way up to the salon from the guest room and caught the tail end of the conversation.
"We're on a private boat on the water. What could you possibly need a gun for?"
I had to bite my tongue for a moment. "Not to scare you, but there are some pretty unsavory characters floating around out here."
Sydney looked at me like I was crazy.
"You realize this is one of the largest drug trafficking areas in the country, right? There are shipments coming up every day from Columbia and Latin America."
They were silent, clearly never having thought about it before.
Sydney gave me a skeptical look. "Have you ever run into drug dealers out here?"
"I've had a few run-ins. But, like I said. You have nothing to worry about. I just like to be prepared." I reached in my pocket and pulled out my shiny gold badge. "If it makes you feel any better."
They all seemed to breathe a little easier.
"Well, I think we should just ban all guns. Problem solved," Sidney said.
I had no desire to get into an argument with the client.
I had no idea if it was because I had a gun, or if it was the knowledge that I was a deputy sheriff, but they were all suddenly less friendly with me. Hope had been borderline flirting with me, and that stopped.
I was the big bad guy with a gun. Part of the problem.
JD idled the boat as we neared the island. We dropped anchor before we reached the shallows, and I launched the tender. I scaled the transom and stood on the swim platform and helped Sidney load the waterproof cases of gear onto the tender. I took Sydney and Hector to the beach first, and we unloaded the gear.
