Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “No, not right now,” I replied. “I think I got enough coin to cover my tab, for a week or so longer.” Jimmy was stepping down off the gangplank into the cockpit on the Revenge and I yelled out to him, “Hey, Jimmy. Rusty’s got some chicken from Dion’s inside. You interested?”

  “Thanks for the invite, man. But, Angie’s cooking.”

  The three of us turned toward the bar and the dog trotted along beside me. Rusty said, “Jimmy turning down Dion’s chicken? Angie’s good for him. Keeps him away from the ganja. Hope they can work it out.”

  Julie had a table set for us inside and Rusty had picked up some food for the dog, too. Rusty still had the closed sign up outside, until the power came back on. We had a nice meal, no interruptions, good friends and good cold beer. Afterward, Alex and I retired to the Revenge, to watch the sunset from the bridge. “You don’t have a tuna tower like most of those big fishing boats,” she said while pouring two glasses of wine.

  “I don’t fish for tuna,” I replied. “Plus, I would’ve had to build the house another ten feet higher and I’m scared of heights.” The dog had found a spot in the corner of the cockpit and after making two turns, he settled down for a nap.

  “I saw you in action a little while ago, Captain Kung Fu. I don’t think you’re scared of anything.”

  “Not true,” I said. “You scare me.”

  “Moi? How could you be afraid of little old me?

  “I’m afraid you might try to domesticate me,” I said, grinning. She elbowed me in the ribs. Hard. “Hey, what was that French you and Deuce were talking yesterday?”

  “He just said he was pleased to meet me and I said the pleasure was all mine,” she replied. We watched the sunset, finished our wine and went below.

  15

  Six Days Earlier

  Wednesday evening, October 19, 2005

  Sonny sat in his car, idling in a parking lot in North Miami Beach, with the air conditioner turned up to full blast. Middle of October, he thought. Still hotter than middle of August back in Pennsylvania. Well, there were tradeoffs in everything. At least he didn’t have to worry about getting snowed in down here.

  Elijah Beech was born Amish. But at eighteen, kids are sent out into the world and they either come back, or they don’t. He didn’t. He found his way to south Florida, liked it and stayed. The hoods he ran with gave him the name Sonny, because he was a real son of a bitch. Over the years, he had less and less contact with his parents back on the dairy farm. Last time he’d contacted them was almost ten years ago.

  A Metro Dade Police cruiser pulled into the nearly empty lot and slowly drove straight toward Sonny’s Caddy. About damn time, he thought. The cruiser rolled up to his driver’s side and both the Officer and Sonny lowered their windows. The Officer extended a file folder and Sonny snatched it from his hand.

  “Okay, Mister Beech,” the Officer said. “We’re square now, right?

  “Yeah, Stimmel, we’re square. That is, if this is all good information.”

  “It’s good, Mister Beech. You can count on it.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, kid,” Sonny said. “Now beat it, before someone sees us.” The cruiser pulled out of the lot and drove away. Sonny opened the file and read the information on the first page. Then he put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot, heading north on US-1. When he got to the Palm Beach city limits, he picked up his cell phone and dialed a number. The connection was made and he said, “Meet me at my office in thirty minutes. We got a fishing trip to plan.” Then he closed the phone and smiled. Yeah, a fishing trip.

  Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into the junkyard in north Palm Beach. He pulled around to the back of the large garage, parked his car and went in the back door to his office. A few minutes after that, he heard a car pull up outside and four doors close. Lester walked in a few seconds later, with three other of Sonny’s employee’s, Walt, Benny and Tomas. “What’s up, boss?” Lester asked.

  “We finally got the scoop on that guy we were talking about, Les,” Sonny said. “You know, that Mick down in the Keys.”

  “And what Mick would that be?” asked Walt sarcastically. Walt O’Hara was Sonny’s senior most collector. He was a strange looking man. He was totally bald. Not just on his head, he didn’t have any hair, anywhere on his body.

  “Sorry, Walt,” Sonny said. “Didn’t mean anything by that. The guy’s name is Jesse McDermitt and he lives on a boat down in Marathon.” Truth is Walt bothered Sonny. He was hard to control and had been known to go to some extreme measures on his collections. “I want you four to go down there, hire him for a fishing charter, and then bring him back up here.”

  “Boss,” said Tomas, “you not been listening to da news? Dere’s a hurricane heading dat way.”

  “Hurricane?” asked Sonny. “No, I don’t watch no damn TV. That’s what I got you guys for, to tell me these things. Okay, when will this hurricane be past the Keys?”

  “Last I heard, jefe,” Tomas replied, “itta make it past dere by Monday.”

  “Good,” Sonny replied, “you guys get down there Tuesday. Here’s the scoop on where he lives on this boat of his.” Sonny handed Walt the file folder. “Schmooze the guy. Get him to take you out fishin’. I want this guy up here no later than Thursday. Got it?”

  “No problem, boss,” said Walt. “What if he don’t wanna come along?”

  “Do whatever you need,” Sonny said. “Just get him here.” Then considering who he was talking to, he added, “But he’s gotta be able to talk when he gets here, okay?”

  16

  Wednesday morning, October 26, 2005

  I woke up about an hour before dawn, with Alex lying next to me, curled up and softly snoring. I’d set the coffee maker in the salon to start at 0600. I could hear it gurgling and the aroma of coffee was coming through the hatch. I quietly got up from the bed, pulled on my skivvies and a tee shirt and walked up the steps to the galley, poured a cup of joe in my big, black, Force Recon mug and continued through the salon and out to the cockpit. The dog looked up at me and kind of whined. “Go ahead,” I said and he trotted across the deck and leapt up onto the gangplank, crossed the barge and hiked his leg on a gumbo-limbo tree. Kicking back in the fighting chair, I put my feet up on the fish box and enjoyed my coffee. I always liked the time just before dawn. It was the best time for me to think. Still dark enough to see the stars, if it was clear and it was. The temperature was down in the low 60’s and the air was dry, with a slight wind blowing out of the east southeast. Yeah, a really beautiful morning coming. If you closed your eyes, you could almost smell the scents of Africa, carried all the way across the Atlantic.

  My thoughts turned to Russell and a new muscle bound diving partner named Lester. Deuce had been right; Russell always dove with at least one knife, usually two. One strapped to the inside of his calf and another on the strap of his BC. And how the hell does an anchor line get wrapped around a tank valve? Either wind or current would have the boat pulling tight on the line. Things just didn’t add up. Maybe something would turn up, when I went up to Fort Pierce. After about a half-hour, the sky to the east was starting to turn purple when I heard Alex’s bare feet on the salon floor and the clinking of the coffee pot on a porcelain mug. Then she stepped through the hatch and down into the cockpit. She leaned on the back of the chair and said, “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. Been up long?”

  “A little while. Yeah, it’s gonna be one of those great south Florida fall days, crisp and clear.” I leaned my head back and she leaned forward and kissed me. She was wearing another one of my work shirts and apparently nothing more.

  “When do you want to drive up to Fort Pierce?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

  “Couple hours. I want to go by Dockside, when Aaron gets there and settle my account. I’ve been thinking. Most of my charters are walk-ups and referrals. Without the exposure Dockside offers, I might have to advertise or something.”

  “All you need is a website and s
ome brochures maybe. Oh, and answer your cell phone occasionally.”

  “Very funny. But, yeah, I think a website and brochures might do the trick. I’ll get Jimmy to start on it.”

  “That guy on your boat yesterday? The charter? How’d he find you?” she asked, turning to go back into the salon. “More coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” I replied. “He was a referral. Told him my price, but I doubt I’ll hear from him again.” Sometimes, lies are necessary.

  “Let’s go for a run,” she said.

  “Great idea,” I said. “If Aaron’s at Dockside, we can stop in for a minute and kill two birds.”

  We got dressed and put on our running shoes, then spent ten minutes on the barge, stretching. The dog sat watching us and I asked him, “Want to join us?” He got to his feet, with his tail wagging.

  “We need to stop at a vet and see if he’s been microchipped,” Alex said. “Before you and he get to close.” We started at a good seven minute per mile pace and the dog ran along effortlessly right beside me. I always liked running with Alex, her form and stride were flawless and she was one of the few people that could keep pace with me. We ran along the western dock, then cut through the woods on a trail to Sombrero Beach Road and turned north, up to Sombrero Boulevard, then west past Dockside, which was still dark. Aaron’s pickup wasn’t there yet. We continued all the way around the loop and saw Aaron getting out of his pickup, when we got back to Dockside.

  “Alex! When’d you get back?” he asked.

  “Couple days ago. How’ve you been?” she asked.

  “Been better days. Nice looking dog y’all got there. We had quite a bit of damage here. More than a dozen boats went down and another ten or so broke loose. You’re lucky you took the Revenge out, Jesse. You see that catamaran crashed into your dock?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s what we came by for. I’m moving the Revenge up to the house. Wanted to settle up.”

  “Sure, come on in.”

  “I’m going to head back and get a shower, Jesse,” Alex said. “Good to see you again, Aaron.”

  “Pescador, go with her,” I said to the dog.

  She took off at a good pace, with the dog trotting along beside her. Watching her run, I couldn’t help thinking that I was actually slowing her down.

  As I was walking into the back office door with Aaron, a rental car came around the corner and pulled up on the far side of Aaron’s pickup. Aaron rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Them again. Wish you’d take those wharf rats out and drown 'em, man.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Those guys keep coming around asking where you are,” he replied. “They said you’re taking 'em fishing. You don’t know 'em?”

  “Nope,” I replied. “And when they come in, I’m not me, okay. I got a lot of other things to do, besides taking out a charter.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Aaron said, going through a file cabinet. “Here we are. Your lease is up the end of this month and you’re current. Nothing to settle.”

  Just then, the office door opened and the strangest looking guy I’d ever seen walked in, followed by another guy that looked like a poster boy for Steroid Monthly. The first guy was short and had no hair. Not just bald, the dude didn’t even have eyebrows. As I was standing by the door when they walked in, they didn’t see me.

  “Hey, man,” Baldy said. “We’re still looking for our buddy, Jesse McDermitt. Has he checked in yet? We’re really anxious to go fishing.”

  “McDermitt?” asked Aaron. “No, he’s still not back in port.”

  Stepping out from behind the door, I said, “I got a fishing boat. When you wanna go out?”

  Roid Boy was startled, but said, “Nobody’s talkin’ to you, mister.”

  “Shut up, Lester,” said Baldy and turned to face me. The guy had very pale blue eyes and almost translucent skin. Very disconcerting. “Thanks, mister. But, we’re going out with our friend, Jesse McDermitt. That is, if he ever gets back.”

  Lester? Russ’s muscle bound dive partner? I don’t believe in coincidence. What the hell was Russell’s dive partner doing down here? Why was he looking for me? And he apparently didn’t even know what I looked like?

  “No worries,” I said. “I overheard Jesse on the phone, the day before the storm. Sounded like he was talking to a client. Something about an offshore charter this week and because of the storm, told the guy he’d take Gaspar’s Revenge up north and meet him at the Rickenbacker Pier, up in Miami. After the call, he told me he’d be back by the weekend, though. It’s not like Jesse to double book. Sure I can’t take ya out? I can guarantee a dozen dolphin.”

  “Well, we um, didn’t exactly set a date with him,” Baldy said. “Just kind of a ‘when you’re in town’ sorta thing. Thanks, but we’ll just wait till our friend gets back. Or maybe meet him up in Miami.” He and Roid Boy smiled when he said that. The guy had a creepy looking smile. They left the office then and I waited until I heard their car start and drive away.

  “Okay,” said Aaron. “What just happened?”

  “You got me, man,” I said. “But thanks for playing along. If you see those guys again, I had a charter in Bimini for the next two weeks, okay?”

  “You got it. Hey, how the hell you gonna get the Revenge up to your house?”

  “Rusty’s got a barge with a backhoe on it,” I said. “We’re going up there Friday to enlarge my channel.”

  “Good luck, man.”

  “Thanks, Aaron. I’ll stop by and get my gear and signage off the dock early next week.”

  I walked slowly back to the Anchor, thinking.

  17

  Wednesday morning, October 26, 2005

  Lester drove away toward US-1 as Walt dialed his cell phone. When it connected, he said, “No good, Boss. We just found out the guy is out on a charter. Picked his clients up in Miami after the storm and won’t be back until the weekend.” He listened for a second then said, “At the docks on the Rickenbacker.” He listened for a few more seconds, and then said, “Okay, Boss, we can be there by noon. How we gonna find him, though?” Walt listened for a few more minutes, and then said, “Okay, Boss. When you think he’ll be back?” The connection ended. Walt looked over at Lester and said, “Sometimes, I could kill that dweeb. Head to the motel, we gotta be in Miami by noon.”

  Lester drove the rental to the motel they’d been holed up in for two days to pick up Tomas and Benny. Benny was cooking jerked chicken and frying a bunch of plantains in the kitchenette, with the smoke alarms going off. Tomas had created a Santeria shrine between two parked eighteen-wheelers and was calling on Chango, to better endow him for the ladies.

  “Let’s go, you idiots,” Walt shouted. “Get packed up. Boss says we gotta be in Miami by noon. He’s gonna meet us at the docks in a boat.” These two clowns are worthless, he thought. Why the Boss keeps 'em on is anybodt’s guess. At least the new guy had half a brain.

  Ten minutes later, they were on A-1-A headed north out of Marathon. The whole way up to Key Largo, they were slowed by power crews working on the lines and construction crews cutting up downed trees. By the time they reached the Rickenbacker Causeway, it was almost noon.

  Sonny was waiting at the entrance to the marina when the car pulled in with his four employees. “About damn time you guys got here,” he said.

  “Sorry Boss,” Walt replied as he got out of the front passenger seat. “There was all kinds of road blocks down there, from the storm.”

  “Whatever,” Sonny said. “I got my boat docked down at the end. It’s the One-Eyed Jack. You guys get out there. I want one of you at the helm at all times. If that guy picked his client up here, he’ll have to drop him here, too. That’s when we’ll try to nab him. Remember, the name of the boat we’re looking for is Gaspar’s Revenge. It’s a big boat. Try to take him down, get him on my boat and haul ass. If not, take my boat and follow him. It’s plenty fast enough to keep up with any fishing boat. Tomas, you can drive a boat, right?”

  �
��Si, Jefe,” Tomas replied. “I worked on boats in Cuba. Is outboard or inboard?”

  “It’s a thirty two foot Carver with twin inboards,” Walt replied.

  “Is no problemo, Jefe,” Tomas said.

  “Get to it, then,” Sonny said. “Work in six hour shifts. The Jack has two bedrooms. I want one guy on the bridge at all times. When that guy comes off, I want him alert in the cabin during the next shift as backup. Call me at every shift change. Got it?”

  “Whatever you say, Boss,” Lester said. “Does your boat have a stove or should one of us go out for some food?”

  “Yeah, it’s got a stove,” Sonny replied. “But don’t use it, you’ll just fuck it up. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner from now until he gets here, one of you make a run. Got it?”

  “Will do, Boss,” said Walt. “Tomas, take the car and go get some lunch. None of that beaner shit, either. Make it simple, Mickey D’s burgers and fries. Come on you two. I’ll take evening watch, this sun kills me. Benny, you’re up first. I’ll come up and take over at six o’clock. Tomas will take watch from midnight to six in the morning, then Lester from six to noon. We’ll keep that schedule until the guy shows up. Whoever’s ending the stand-by watch in the cabin will make a food run.”

  Sonny nodded to Walt and walked to his car. At least one of 'em has half a brain, he thought.

  18

  Wednesday morning, October 26, 2005

  I got back to the Revenge a few minutes later. The dog was dozing under the same gumbo-limbo tree he’d pissed on earlier. I crossed the gangplank and could hear the shower running in the forward head. Walking through the salon, I stripped down and joined Alex as she was rinsing off. The shower stall wasn’t exactly built for two people, so it was very cozy.

  “This your idea of ‘taking it slow’?” she asked.