by Chris Niles
Gloria fumbled the small phone from her pocket, pressing the button on its side to silence the buzz. She met her father’s glare, then quickly averted her gaze and scurried toward the back of the church, pausing ever so briefly at the aisle to twitch her knee toward the floor and wave her hand in a careless cross, still clutching her phone.
“What?” she snarled just before the heavy wooden door slammed behind her with a crash. Gloria whirled around, scanning the wide plaza for eavesdroppers.
Morning sunlight bathed cobblestones still damp with dew. Waiters in crisp white shirts and black aprons arranged tables and chairs in several cafés and restaurants around the perimeter, preparing for tourists and businessmen visiting the busy city of Bogota. Abuelas pushed rickety wire shopping carts lined with brightly colored bags, and one old man with a deeply hunched back sat on a bench near the fountain, tossing grain across the stones for hundreds of flying rats. Two teenagers clad in black skinny jeans and torn tee-shirts hovered near the edge of the flock, charging the birds then falling back, laughing as the fat vermin clumsily flapped into the air en masse then swooped back down around their feeder, their greed overcoming their fear.
Gloria’s gaze swept across the windows and rooftops before she dropped into a shaded archway where she pressed her back against the smooth stucco.
“I was in Mass with my father, you idiot. What’s so important?”
“Package two missed the drop in Miami, Patrona. She’s gone.”
The flock of pigeons took to the air at Gloria’s shriek. “What? How?”
While the man’s voice streamed from fifteen hundred miles away through the tiny speaker, she forced her eyelids closed and slowly drew the cool shadows into her lungs. She separated the scents. Damp dust from crevices between the stones. Coffee grounds from the café three doors down. Pigeon droppings and chlorine from the fountain. And a metallic sweetness from the blood oozing into her palms where her fingernails dug through her skin.
“Who had the pickup?”
She sensed a longer pause than she would have liked. But honor among thieves was a myth told by the honest.
“Carlos, ma’am.”
“Take care of him.”
“But—”
“No. No debate. He failed.”
“Señorita, Carlos has—”
“The more you hesitate, the more difficult this will be for you. Take him into the Everglades. Make sure he doesn’t come back.”
“Ma’am, he won’t be easy to replace.”
“Fifteen million people in that state can drive cars. I’m sure you can find one who needs a job. Now go. Unless you’d like me to come take care of this myself?”
The man gulped. “No. That won’t be necessary.”
“Take care of Carlos. And call the Tracer. She will find the package. I do not want to have to tell my father about this.”
“We will find her, Patrona. Failure is not an option.”
“This isn’t failure, Jorge. This is betrayal. And no one betrays the Rojas Family.”
She punched the red icon on the screen, stuffed the phone into her pocket, then slipped back through the doors into the shadowy church.
Chapter Four
“C’mere, Whiskey!”
Kate hopped away as a long chunk of driftwood flew past her shoulder toward the channel. A split-second later, Whiskey sprinted toward the end of the dock then launched off the end, grasping the stick in his jaw just before he splashed through the light rippling surface.
“Careful, Eddie!” Above the dock, Shelby stretched over the deck railing and across the hedge, her shout echoing off the water in the still morning air.
The mother and son had been at Shark Key for three days, and Kate could barely remember the island without them. Every morning when Kate drifted up to the deck, she found Shelby already there, starting the coffee and then busying her hands by wrapping silverware and filling the condiment bottles and jars even before Babette was up.
“I can’t pay you,” Chuck had told her the first morning.
“Don’t need payment. Just need to keep busy.”
Kate smiled and patted Eddie on the shoulder as he ran toward the end of the dock to meet the returning dog.
“Good boy, Whiskey! Good catch, boy!”
Kate grinned, skipped across the parking lot to the deck, then stopped short and peered at her watch. “You’re here early.”
Kara perched on a barstool, cradling a coffee mug and staring through Shelby as the newcomer scooped up a knife, fork, and spoon, aligned them on a square of soft paper, then rolled them into a tight bundle.
“Can’t resist that little dude.” Kara pointed as Eddie came sprinting across the parking lot grasping the dripping driftwood with Whiskey on his heels.
“Who, the boy or the dog?” Chuck pushed through the swinging door, butt first, carrying a bus tub full of clean coffee mugs.
Kara laughed, her voice still low and gravelly with sleep. “Both.” She hopped off the stool then pulled Eddie into a hug. Whiskey took the opportunity to grab the driftwood that dangled beneath Kara’s backside and tear across the crushed coral lot. Halfway across, the dog stopped, dropped the wood, and barked. When Eddie broke free from Kara, the dog snatched the stick back in his jaws and continued toward the shaded lane, nearly bowling Tony over as he passed.
Kate grabbed a mug from Chuck’s tub and filled it from an insulated carafe. Then she picked up a salt shaker from Shelby’s freshly filled rows and shook a single dash into the cup.
Tony bounded across the deck, wrapped his arm around Kate’s shoulders, then kissed the top of her head as he relieved her of the freshly poured cup and sipped.
“Woman, you are the answer to my prayers.”
“Because I can make Navy coffee? You pray for the strangest things, my friend.”
“Well, that, and you can also pop rivets with the best of them. I was thinking maybe I’d get to work on that new section of her shell before it heats up this morning.”
Kate glanced up at the thermometer on the wall of the bar. Eighty-four degrees and ninety-two percent humidity. At seven thirty. Summer in the Keys was nothing to be trifled with.
“We might be able to get a little done before it hits ninety, but I don’t know how much.”
“Every bit helps.”
“Yeah, but all work and no play makes Tony a dull boy. Let’s take a day off. Maybe we can take Eddie and Shelby out to the sandbar on Serenity? Hey, Chuck, throw me that tide chart.”
“I’ll throw it to you, but tide’s rolling out now. You’ve pretty well missed it for the morning, kiddo.”
“I thought this is why you dredged the cove.”
“I dredged the cove so your rickety ol’ boat wouldn’t bottom out every low tide. But I couldn’t cut through the hard bottom all the way out to the channel and you know it. Move to the sunrise side if you want to get out anytime you feel like it.”
Kate shook her head. “And give up that sunset view? No way. I’ll keep my little paradise at the end of the planks, thank you very much.”
Chuck’s shoulders shook. “Figured so.” He set the last mug on the shelf behind the bar, then leveled his gaze at Shelby. “If you and the little guy want to go out this afternoon, we can take the skiff. But Hemingway Days is this week. Thought maybe you all might like to go into town and get a feel for some of the local tradition?”
The woman dropped another bundle onto her growing pile. “Hemingway Days?”
Chuck leaned over the bar. “Oh yeah. Papa Hemingway is a legend around here. His estate is one of the largest on the island…takes up almost a whole city block across the street from the lighthouse. He spent most of the thirties here, fishing and drinking and writing. Until his third wife caught his eye and he moved across the strait to Cuba, anyway.” Chuck winked. “But Papa’s legacy lives on, and every summer we get together to celebrate. And to compete.” He stroked the thick salt and pepper beard he’d been cultivating for the past three months.
>
Kate eyed her friend and landlord. With his clear blue eyes, and a hat covering his wild blonde hair, Chuck might be able to make the first cut, but despite being a third-generation Conch complete with the leathery, tanned skin and salt-crusted beard, and being as jolly as they come, he wasn’t quite Hemingway. He’d need to drink a lot more rum on a daily basis to capture the ruddy cheeks and nose he’d need to win. And with Steve coming up on seven months sober, they were all drinking a lot less than they used to.
Speak of the devil…
As if she’d summoned him, Captain Steve Welch dropped onto a barstool, his two cockapoos curling up in the shade at his feet. Chuck filled a cup and set it on the bar in front of him, followed by a jar of sugar. Then he pulled a silverware bundle from Shelby’s pile and pushed it over to his friend.
“No divers today, Steve?”
“Nope. Pretty quiet this week. Their loss, really. Viz has been fantastic with no winds for the past week. Anybody wanna go out? It’s sure to be cooler under water than above it.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his hairline.
Tony dropped his arm from Kate’s shoulders. “Been wanting to get some more time with those full face masks.” He turned to Kate. “Maybe we should.”
She grinned. “I never pass up a chance to get underwater.”
Steve balled up his napkin and threw it at her. “Liar.”
She clasped her hands to her cheek in mock offense. “Slanderer!”
“Truth hurts, kiddo. You turn down three-quarters of the charters I offer you.”
“Only the pain in the butt ones. I always take the chance when my dive buddies aren’t likely to drown or put themselves in the chamber.”
“When was the last time one of your divers ended up with the bends?”
“Never, but only because I keep them from doing anything stupid. Usually by force. But yes, I think today looks like the perfect day to take a run out to the reef. Shelby, do you dive?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m more comfortable up in the air than under the water.”
“You’re missing the most beautiful part of Florida, then.”
“And the best secrets.” Kara added. “You heard about that Chinese wreck they found out in the Dry Tortugas last spring?”
Shelby squinted and looked to the sky, as if her memory was stored in the literal clouds. “Sounds sort of familiar, but I can’t recall the details.”
“Well, these fools found a ship out west of here that dated back to 1422. Before Columbus. Nearly got themselves killed finding it, too.”
“Might have if it hadn’t been for my buddies at Fleming Key.”
“Isn’t that where the SEALs train?”
“They do some underwater instruction there, but it’s actually an Army training facility.”
“Do you know any SEALs?”
Kate glanced at Tony, and all around him her friends did the same, waiting for Tony’s lead. He shrugged. “Yeah. I know a few.”
Kate slid over to Shelby as Steve pulled Tony into a discussion about the new gear they’d recently trained with in St. Croix.
“Tony is a retired SEAL. He lost more than a couple friends during operations, and he doesn’t like to talk about it too much. So, we try to respect that.”
Shelby’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I never… Oh, crap.”
“It’s okay. We just give him his space. Sometimes he’ll talk about it. Sometimes he won’t. He does better when he has a project to focus on. That’s why he’s restoring that Airstream in the site beside yours.”
Shelby nodded, the light finally clicking behind her eyes. “So that’s why Chuck put me next to him.”
Kate smiled. “Yeah. Chuck’s purpose in life is to take care of people who need to be taken care of, whether they know it or not. I came here desperate for a sanctuary. My husband was killed in a break-in, and I kinda shut down for a while. His partner found Whiskey for me. Thought we’d be good for each other. And we are. But I couldn’t stay there. I needed a little corner of the world where I could be safe and figure things out. And that’s what Chuck gave me.”
Shelby looked over the hedge toward the boats bobbing on the gentle ripples as Kate continued.
“The trailer across from you? You’ve met Jodi and Colton, right? Colton’s a couple years older than Eddie…? Her ex is hooked up, and Chuck’s been hiding her from him for almost a year. Even got his foster license so he could take care of Colton, just in case. Installed security cameras across the lower half of the island, and a couple buddies in the sheriff’s department make sure they’re never more than a couple minutes away.
“Kara over there? We met her when a shady developer was trying to steal this place from Chuck.”
Shelby touched Kate’s arm, then shook her head and dropped her hand back on the bar.
“What is it?”
“Well… it feels kinda rude to ask.” Her voice was barely over a whisper.
“You wanna know if Kara…”
“Well, I guess, yeah.”
Kara grinned, hopped off her barstool, and started rolling a bundle of silverware. “It’s okay, girl. I am who I am, and I’m not ashamed. I’ve always been a woman inside. But my outside just didn’t match when I was born, is all.” She rolled another bundle.
Shelby’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve just never met anyone… like you before.”
“Well, you’re in Key West now, kid. You’re bound to run into a few of us, but you might not even realize it. I’m just a little more obvious than most trans girls.” Kara waved her hands up and down, acknowledging her less-than-ladylike frame. “I grew up in the Dominican Republic. Went to Florida State on a baseball scholarship, then stayed on the mainland after I came out. Found my way here, and the rest, as they say, is history. Or herstory if you wanna be all woke about it. Not everybody’s gonna understand, and that’s okay. Long as nobody’s messing with my friends, I’m okay with whatever.”
“Well, you guys seem to have quite the little community here. I wish we could stay.”
Chuck turned to the group of women. “Right now, I got you through the weekend, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to. I mean it. No one really shows up here ’til Thanksgiving, and you want to stay longer than that, I’ll figure it out.”
“Oh, Chuck, I didn’t mean it that way. I’ll have to get back—” She stopped herself, her eyes flitting around, finally landing on Eddie coming back up the parking lot with another slightly bigger boy. “Eddie will have to get back for school in a few weeks.”
Kate eyed Chuck with a barely perceptible nod, and hoped her friend caught the hint.
Leave it for now. She’ll talk when she’s ready.
“I was thinkin’ I’d thaw out more of that lion fish from the roundup a couple weeks ago for the specials this weekend. Might bring some of the Hemingway folks out here for dinner and sunset. Kara, you think I could put some flyers up outside the club this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir, I think we can put them up all over town.”
“Well, let’s get to it, then.”
Chapter Five
“I don’t wanna walk anymore. It’s too hot.”
As they passed a small jewelry shop along Duval Street, Kate felt Tony’s hand graze hers. She shifted a half step away, shaking her head. “Kid’s right. Too hot.”
Ahead of them, Chuck led the group. Eddie made a show of dragging his feet a half step behind, but keeping up just fine. Shelby followed, her head pivoting from one side of the street to the other under a light pink baseball cap.
“If she didn’t seem so skittish, I’d say that girl’d been on patrol. Head on a swivel, we call it,” Tony whispered.
“Except she’s not the least bit subtle about it. She looks more like prey than predator.”
“You’re right about that.” Tony agreed, then pulled Kate into a shaded doorway. “For someone so terrible at hiding that she’s hiding something, she’s still
pretty good at keeping her secrets.”
“Yeah, I was hoping she’d let something slip as she got more comfortable with us. But she’s got a right to her secrets, I guess. I just wish she’d let us help.”
“Maybe we’re helping enough by giving her a place to figure out her next step?”
“Maybe. Shark Key is a good place for that.”
Tony had arrived a few months earlier, retirement life not suiting him until he landed at Shark Key right in the middle of Kate’s search for the Chinese shipwreck that had taken the life of her college boyfriend and mentor.
“It is. We’ve all found what we needed, haven’t we?”
Tony leaned down and kissed Kate on the forehead. “Yes, we have.”
Kate’s cheek ticked up as she pushed him away. “Still too hot, buddy.” She grinned and pulled him back into the street. “We’d better catch up.”
The two jogged a half-block then slid up on either side of Shelby while Chuck continued pointing out landmarks.
“So, this is the famous Duval Street. In the winter and on cruise ship days, you can barely walk for all the people.”
Across the street, a row of storefronts bathed in the afternoon sun, rainbow flags flying beside the deep blue standard of the Conch Republic.
“What’s that one?” Shelby asked, pointing at one of the blue flags.
Chuck stopped and heaved a slowing Eddie up onto his shoulders, then continued up Duval. “Back in the early eighties — before most of you were born, so that makes me feel old — the Border Patrol was ramping up the War on Drugs, and they set up a roadblock just this side of Florida City. And of course, like most of that war, it was all optics. The smugglers didn’t need the road. They took to the water. But since that’s the only road in and out of here, it was a pain in the patootie for both the locals and tourists. Someone mentioned seceding from Florida in protest, and it sort of became a thing. It was never meant to be serious. We know where our bread is buttered, and we’re nothing if not pragmatic down here. But we also like to speak our minds. So, the Conch Republic became a way to get our voices heard, even if we were speaking the language of snark.”
