Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7)

by Wayne Stinnett

  Coral smiled. “A few times. I try to watch the sunset every evening, but in winter it’s already over before I get off work.”

  Michal was curious about why the setting sun seemed to be so important here. “What’s the big deal about the sun going down? It does it every day.”

  Looking out over the water outside, a deep peace came over Coral’s face. “It’s more than just something that happens every day, Michal. And there’s no guarantee that you will see another. It’s the symbolism that marks the end of the day, a time to reflect on what you’ve accomplished.” She turned back and looked deeply into Michal’s eyes. “Too often, I watch it and can’t mentally jot down anything I did that was worthy of the day I was given.”

  “What did you wish for, when you saw it?”

  “Always the same thing. To live one more day in paradise. And here I am, so one of those wishes must have worked.”

  “Maybe just wishing at sunset works for you.”

  Coral smiled. “Could be.”

  Michal looked out over the now-dark water of the bight. Several long docks extended out toward the breakwater and beyond that, the seemingly endless ocean. Halfway down the sky, a half-moon glowed, creating sparkles on the surface as far as his eyes could see. “I can sure see why you wished that.”

  “I do believe the bug has bitten you, Michal. I can tell when you looked out over the water at the dock and again just now.”

  “I do like it here. Is it always so hot?”

  “For a few months in summer. Most of the year it’s very comfortable, especially winter. There’s no better way to celebrate the beginning of a new year than taking a midnight swim in the ocean. Why are you here, Michal? I mean here in Key West.”

  Michal thought for a moment, wondering how much he could or should tell her. “Just tired of the cold winters up north, I guess. New place, new start. You?”

  “My aunt lives here. She’s a palmist and tarot card reader. Aside from that, pretty much the same reason.” She stared into his eyes as if trying to come to a decision. “Are you running from something or someone, Michal?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “A lot of people come here to escape their old life.” She sighed, just a tinge of melancholy in her voice.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, acknowledging both the question and the statement, but not really saying which. Changing the subject, he asked, “What’s your last name?”

  Coral sat up straight and smiled. “La Roc, capital L, a, capital R, o, c. Coral La Roc.” She extended her hand across the small table.

  “Michal Grabowski,” he said, taking her hand in his and feeling a rush of warmth from the contact. “Wait! That’s a palindrome.”

  Coral beamed. “You have a quick mind. I like that in a man.”

  “And it seems your folks must have had a really great sense of humor.”

  “They didn’t come up with it. I did.”

  “It’s not your real name?” Michal asked.

  “The first name, I was born with. I had my last name changed legally when I moved here.”

  Michal lifted his beer mug in a toast. “Well here’s to your sense of humor, then.”

  Coral raised her own mug to his. “And to your quick mind.”

  Over Coral’s shoulder, a passing figure caught Michal’s eye. It was the pickpocket from the bus station, walking through the parking lot just outside the far window. The guy he’d sold an eight ball to up in Belle Glade.

  Keep the credit cards and just keep walking, asshole, Michal thought. He didn’t need the ugly, stinky little man ruining things. Coral turned in her chair and followed his gaze out the open front window, but the pickpocket was out of sight and she turned back to Michal.

  “What was it?” she asked, hesitantly.

  “Oh, nothing,” he lied. “Just someone who looked like a guy I used to know.”

  Coral looked out over the water and took a deep breath of the salty air, listening to the gentle sound of the rigging, clanking on the masts of the few sailboats tied off to the docks. “Know what would be really great right now?”

  Michal was admiring the side of her face. Her small chin and tiny mouth lifted to the breeze, elongating her slender neck. “I sure do. Probably not the same thing you’re thinking, though.”

  Coral giggled and reached up to touch her hair again. Michal suddenly realized he hadn’t seen her do this with any of the other guys at the bar. “All things in their time,” she whispered. “What I was thinking is, I’d love to smoke some weed right now.”

  “You get high?” he asked incredulously.

  “Sometimes. When I really want to relax and unwind.”

  “Wish I had some.”

  She stood quickly and came around beside him, tugging on his arm. “Let’s go to my place. I have some.”

  With no further urging needed, Michal rose from his seat and dropped two twenties on the table. They left the restaurant and walked south on Margaret Street, arm in arm. A block later, they were swallowed by the tall, stately trees of Key West’s charming and historical Old Town.

  Half a block further, Coral steered him into an alley between two white picket fences, and they emerged in a tiny but well-kept yard by a small cottage. It was no more than twenty feet wide and not much more than that deep. The little house sat on brick pilings and was painted pale blue with bright yellow trim. Two windows, one on either side of the front door, had long louvered shades that would block the sun, but you could still see through.

  Stepping up onto the little porch, Coral took a single key from her small purse and opened the screen door. She inserted the key in what looked like a centuries-old lock and turned it, with a heavy click. Turning the doorknob, the heavy-looking wood door opened on silent hinges. “I’m guessing Michal Grabowski is your real name, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, a little confused and holding the screen door open for her.

  “If someone’s looking for you, you should change it. Wait here, while I light a lantern.”

  Coral disappeared into the dark house, leaving Michal wondering who it was that might be looking for her. A moment later he heard the scratch of a wooden match and stepped inside slightly, still holding the screen door open. Coral was standing on the far side of the small room, next to a wood-burning fireplace. She held the glass globe from an antique oil lamp in one hand and a lit match in the other, lighting a lamp on the mantel.

  “You don’t have electricity?”

  The flickering light from the match strengthened as it touched the wick. The dim yellow light dancing across Coral’s face created a very stunning and erotic image in Michal’s mind.

  “No, they never ran wires to this cottage. It used to be an icehouse. At least the main room was. The rest was added on. I bought it as is, at a ridiculously low price, and have come to love not having power. No phone or cable either. But, I do have plumbing.”

  “But no hot water?”

  “There’s a gas water heater, but I turned it off since it’s rarely needed. Out back is a huge rain barrel up on stilts where the sun heats the water. In winter, it’s barely lukewarm and I have to heat a couple of gallons on the gas stove to take a hot bath. Cheaper than heating thirty gallons.”

  She replaced the globe, and the light spread across the tiny room, revealing the furnishings. The exterior walls were all covered with a dense, heavy-looking wood, having light and dark swirls of grain. It appeared the same as on the outside, Michal noted, but the inside was unpainted. Not paneling, but rough-sawn planks, probably original. On the walls hung a few brightly colored tropical paintings. There was a recliner next to the front window, turned at a slight angle so a person sitting in it could see the front porch. Another oil lamp sat on a small table next to it for reading.

  Opposite the door, the whole wall surrounding the fireplace was filled with bookshelves. They ran floor to ceiling, and there was even one of those ladders on wheels like in some old libraries. All of the shelves were nearly full.
>
  A small love seat was against the interior wall to the right, with a tiny wooden coffee table in front of it. Next to the love seat was the opening to what looked like a small alcove-type kitchen. Beyond that, a short hallway extended to the rear of the little house, a door on each side and another at the end, presumably the bedroom, bathroom, and linen closet.

  To his left, the other exterior wall was empty, just a window with the shade pulled completely down. Coral walked slowly toward Michal and closed the screen door behind him, leaving the heavy wooden door open to let the heat out of the room.

  “Welcome to my home.”

  “But you got in a cab after you got off work last night,” Michal said, somewhat confused. “We can’t be more than a few blocks from there.”

  Coral laughed. “A friend of my aunt. He’s an old Bahamian man, sort of a mother hen to a lot of us that he sees as vulnerable. He insists that he pick me up when my shift ends. Then we stop and pick up a few other girls at different places where they work and he circles the island before dropping us off. He’s really nice. You’ll probably meet him sooner or later.”

  “Smart idea in a party town like this.”

  She crossed over to the coffee table and, bending over it, she opened a small drawer, hidden from sight on the other side. Michal stood, staring. The back of her little dress rode up her thighs and he gasped slightly when he saw that she had nothing on under it.

  “Let’s relax,” she said as she took out a small plastic bag, a lighter and some rolling papers. “Can you roll?”

  “Sure,” Michal replied.

  Coral shoved him down onto the small couch and said, “Good. Get to work and roll us up a nice fatty and I’ll be right back.”

  When Coral disappeared down the hall, Michal opened the bag and held it to his nose, breathing deeply of the pungent aroma. Working quickly, he rolled two nice-sized joints, judging from the smell that her stash wasn’t the greatest weed in the world. He liked weed better than coke. It seemed to work directly with his natural tendency to take things as they came, where coke did the opposite.

  He heard a toilet flush and water running into a basin. A moment later Coral came back into the room. He noticed that she’d removed her sandals. She smiled when she saw he’d rolled two instead of one.

  Without a word, Coral picked up one of the joints. Straightening, she lit it and inhaled deeply, arching her back, her small breasts straining at the light fabric as she tossed the lighter in Michal’s lap.

  Picking it up, Michal lit the other joint and took a long drag. As he leaned back on the love seat, closing his eyes, he could feel the effects of the herb spread quickly through his body and decided he had been premature in his assumption. The heat began in his face, spreading around to the back of his head, the way really good weed does. The sensation passed throughout his body to his fingers and toes, then settled in his groin.

  When he opened his eyes again, Coral stood before him. She bent over and placed her joint in a big porcelain ashtray resembling a sea turtle. When she stood back up, the lamp over her shoulder highlighted the short locks of hair from behind, causing them to look like flickering yellow flames. It also made her body completely visible under the thin, lightweight dress.

  He’d felt how narrow her waist was when he had an arm around her earlier. Backlit as she was now, he could see the swell and curve of her hips, tapering upwards to the tiniest waist he’d ever seen on a grown woman.

  With both hands, Coral reached up and hooked the straps of the little yellow dress with her thumbs, pulling them slowly down and over her tanned shoulders. When she released them, the dress fell gently, exposing her breasts before stopping at her waist, the straps hanging on her elbows.

  Michal exhaled, his mouth hanging open. Her firm little breasts were as tan as the rest of her body. The warming effect in his groin turned up a notch as Michal blinked in disbelief.

  Coral smiled at him and lowered her arms slowly until finally the dress flowed across her hips, falling into a pile around her feet. She slowly stepped out of it and came around the table. She took his smoldering joint and placed it with hers in the ashtray.

  Michal’s brain seemed to quit functioning at that point. When Coral took his hand, he felt the same electric rush in her touch as he’d felt earlier, and the heat in his groin grew instantly to an inferno. Rising, he stared in amazement at her perfect little body. Her dark, luxurious tan was all over and she had a tiny triangle of light blond pubic hair.

  Coral lowered her head slightly to the left and did the thing with her hair again. Lifting her head a little, she looked at Michal from the corners of her hooded eyes.

  “Now we can unwind. Get your clothes off.”

  The old bus slowly pulled to the curb in the sweltering heat, kicking up dust and belching smoke, as Will Byers stood on the side of the road with his thumb out. He’d chosen this spot wisely. There was a small spot on the shoulder that the bus pulled into. He was far enough from the start of what looked like a really long bridge for someone to pull over and give him a ride. He hadn’t figured on a city bus.

  As Byers approached it, he smelled the distinct odor of weed, the aroma mixed with the fumes from the bus’s exhaust. Along the side of the bus were the words Lower Keys Bus Service.

  The smell of the weed got stronger as he approached the bus’s door, which suddenly opened. The sound of rock music blared from inside and a hazy cloud of blue-gray smoke drifted up from the open door, stark against the cerulean sky.

  Byers looked up at the bus driver. “How much to Key West?”

  “Four bucks, man,” the driver responded. “From anywhere, to anywhere, between Marathon and Key West.”

  Byers climbed onto the bus and was hit fully by the overpowering tang of the heavy smoke as the driver started the bus moving forward. Byers pulled a ten from his wallet and offered it to the driver, who pointed to a cash box and a sign on it. No change made. Ever.

  Cramming the ten in the box, Byers figured it was still a good price, ten bucks for a forty-mile ride. He moved back along the rows of seats as the bus bounced back onto the highway, an air horn from a big motorhome blasting behind them. At least three people were openly smoking joints on the bus. One was a long-haired guy in a black T-shirt sitting on the wide seat in the very back. Byers plopped down in the seat next to the lavatory, leaving an empty spot between him and the dude smoking the joint. His T-shirt had a Hog’s Breath Saloon logo stenciled on the shirt pocket.

  Not an iron-on, Byers thought and made him to be a bar worker, and the T-shirt was his uniform. The guy took a long hit from his joint and held it for a few seconds before blowing it out slowly and offering the joint to Byers.

  “Welcome aboard the Magic Bus, man.”

  Taking the joint, Byers nodded to the stranger beside him. “Thanks, man. It’s really okay to smoke weed on the bus down here?”

  “This is the afternoon run and everyone’s headed to work. It’s cool. So long as we do it while crossing the Seven Mile, Brad don’t give a shit, man. Brad’s the driver. I’m Keith.”

  Taking a toke on the guy’s joint, Byers inhaled deeply. It was good, but weed didn’t do much for him anymore. He handed the joint back and exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling, where it mingled with that of several other smokers. Byers noted that quite a few more people had lit up, now that they were on the long bridge.

  “Byers,” he said by way of introduction.

  “Like the rum, man. Cool.”

  Sharing the joint back and forth until there was just a tiny roach left, Keith put it out on his tongue, placed it in a small tin with several others and lit a second joint.

  When it was gone, they still had a couple of miles of bridge left. Byers offered the guy a hit from the little coke vial. The dude nodded enthusiastically, tapping his knees with his hands in time to the music blasting on the bus’s stereo.

  Using the little spoon attached to the cap, Byers offered it to his new friend. Keith took it, holding it just b
elow one nostril with a practiced hand. Pressing the other nostril with his index finger, Keith snorted the fine white powder and handed the spoon back.

  Byers did the same, finishing it just as they came off the bridge onto Big Pine Key and he screwed the little cap back on.

  The driver turned the radio off and shouted over his shoulder, “Put ’em out, gang.” Without waiting for a response, he turned the stereo back on, but at a much lower level. Half the people on the bus lowered their windows and the haze quickly disappeared.

  The bus slowed, the driver very familiar with the laws on Big Pine Key, and though his passengers might be stoned to the gills, he wasn’t. The little window beside him, directed right at his face, let just enough air in, so even a contact buzz was unlikely.

  An hour later, the bus came across the bridge from Bahia Honda onto Stock Island. Keith had told Byers about the only motel in the Lower Keys that charged less than a hundred a night, and this was the stop for Byers to get off.

  “Stop by Hog’s Breath for a drink once you get settled in, man. Plenty more weed where that came from, but not much else on the island lately.” That information piqued Byers interest. “That motel’s right down that road.” Keith pointed across the highway from where the bus had stopped as Byers got up from his seat.

  The road was hot and dusty as Byers shuffled along the crushed-shell shoulder, the only sound coming from an occasional passing car on the highway and the near-constant buzzing of cicadas. Finally Byers walked into the lobby of the cut-rate motel to check in. The clerk didn’t even ask for his ID. Byers held his breath as the old dude swiped the stolen credit card.

  A moment later, the clerk shoved a pen and a little slip of paper under the glass. Byers made a scribble that looked like the name on the card and slid it back under the glass.

  Pointing out the lobby to the left, the old guy said, “Room eight.” Then he slid a key under the glass and turned back to his TV.

  Entering the room, Byers looked around and turned the A/C on high. It sputtered and coughed to life, belching out slightly cooler air. Pulling a small baggie from his pocket, he stashed his crack under the mattress, noting he was down to less than a quarter ounce. Reaching down into the front of his pants, he removed a tightly sealed plastic bag and stashed it with the crack.