Another quick glance. I could almost see it register in his mind: drug related. After a few more minutes he let me out of the back of the patrol car.
“Mr. Bob, I would recommend you stay off the premises.” This was accompanied by a stern cop look. I started to say something, but decided to let it ride.
♦
By the time I found a place to park I was a half hour late, and since I’m rarely late for anything, I expected to hear about it. But I didn’t expect what I saw in Pirate Jim’s.
At a table in the middle of the room a young woman with snake hair, a gray face, bloody teeth and vacant eyes sat next to a man in an expensive suit and slicked-back hair. My friends had turned into a zombie and a lawyer. I couldn’t decide which was worse.
“I just can’t leave you two on your own for a minute, can I?”
I had a seat and Consuelo grabbed my wrist and started gnawing and growling. Slip held a legal pad up to the light and was giving it his full concentration.
Thankfully, those two were the only things out of the ordinary in the place. There were a few tourists and locals, and an older man at the bar in a threadbare shirt wearing an old hat with a green parrot perched on top. He was talking to an attractive tourist woman and cleaning his toenails with a huge knife. I waved at Fish Daddy and he held up a finger to let me know he’d be over in a minute.
The zombie had gone from gentle gnawing to licking. I retrieved my arm.
“Mmmm…” Consuelo licked her lips.
“Looks like you found the found the voodoo lady. She do all this to you? Make you her voodoo slave?” This got me a wide-eyed stare.
“No way! This brain-eater is a slave to no one! Well, could be to one person.” A big wink before she lunged at me. She was growling away and trying to sink her plastic teeth into my arm when Fish Daddy came to the table with his constant companion perched on his hat.
“If y’all are busy I can come back later.” I had to admit, Consuelo was mighty attractive, even as a zombie. I removed her from my arm.
“Not at all. Little lady here is just a mite hungry. Maybe we should get her some chowder.” The mention of food brought Slip up from his notes as Fish Daddy took a seat at the table. I gave the dapper Slip a raised eyebrow about his apparel.
“Borrowed it from Jimmy. Thought it might make things go a bit easier.”
“Did it?”
He just smiled and wiggled the legal pad.
The waitress appeared. I looked at our guest and he shook his head.
“Three bowls of your best chowder, ma’am.”
Consuelo growled and cocked her head at the waitress.
“Do you have braaaaains?”
The waitress didn’t miss a beat.
“No brains. Chowder.” She pointed at the pitcher of beer already on the table and looked at me.
“Glass?”
“Yes, please. Fish?” He pointed at his beer bottle and the waitress was gone. I did the intros.
“You know Slip, don’t you?” They shook across the table and both grunted something to the effect of hearing about the other. “And under all the beads and makeup here is the fair lady Consuelo.”
“Always a pleasure, my lady.” He bowed slightly and Consuelo put down her beer and belched. They knew each other – Fish was a friend of her oldest sister.
“Taco, you remember the dreamer?” He pointed out the lean man with the short hair and uncertain eyes I’d seen before. The fella looked to be about mid-twenties, just sitting there by himself at a table close by, looking at his hands. He gave us a weak wave.
“Poor ol’ boy still hasn’t snapped out of it. Doesn’t remember his name or nothing. Told me everything looks iridescent to him, like it does sometimes just before a big rain.”
I gave my dressed-to-kill partners a quick rundown of the dreamer’s story. Fish gave us the latest.
“I’ve been taking care of him, letting him stay at my place.” Fish turned to me as the food arrived. “So, Taco, you said on the phone you thought maybe somebody whacked ol’ JB the Manatee?”
I launched into telling him about Julie speculating her brother’s untimely demise might not have been an accident. Told him the same people could be planning on doing her and even us some harm. I was about to the part where JB wanted to step up bar inspections when the bird crawled down the man who’d been known to enter the annual Hemingway Look-a-Like contest. The bright green parrot got on the table, then walked over in front of Consuelo and tilted his head to give her a good look. The bird did a loud wolf whistle before talking.
“Nice tits!”
Consuelo had taken her plastic teeth out for the chowder. She smiled big and stuck her chest out at the bird.
“Why, how nice of you to notice, Captain Tom!”
The bird walked over toward Slip, gave him a long sideways look, then flew at his face. Slip and chair went over backwards and the bird landed on the floor. Fish grabbed up the bird and held him to his chest. Consuelo started laughing her head off and Fish helped Slip get to his feet.
“I’m real sorry about that. That get-up you’re wearing, he probably thought you were a lawyer.” Consuelo was about to gag from laughing. The bird went back up top and growled some at Slip.
Things finally settled down and we got back to it.
“Fish, we’re leaning toward thinking it might have been one of JB’s campaign promises that got him in trouble.”
“By trouble, you mean dead and going out with the tide?”
“Pretty much, yeah. Among other things, he supposedly wanted to see the health department crack down on the bars.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Just your typical politician smoke. Get the voters convinced something like more bar inspections is going to cure everything wrong in the city. Then if they swallow that and you get elected, just hire an extra inspector for a few weeks, then transfer ‘em to another department where they can do you some good. They might not start out that way, but most all politicians end up worthless. Smart ones know good public relations people can cover for a world of screwing up. Smartest thing JB could have done as mayor would be hire a hot-shot PR student just out of school, let ‘em work for the health department for a while, then turn ‘em loose on damage control.” I was impressed.
“You certainly seem to have a handle on all this.”
“Well, I let JB buy me a few beers when he first started talking about this mayor thing.”
A shapely young lady in a bikini top and shorts came by our table headed for the bar. The parrot leaned toward her as she got close. “Nice tits!”
The girl blushed and the boyfriend in tow gave the bird and all of us a dirty look. Fish handed up a sunflower seed and continued. “With my public image somewhat lacking at times, JB’d have to hire some suit to be his campaign manager.” He looked at Slip. “No offense.” Slip nodded. “And I’d likely have just been his behind-the-scenes advisor.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, help the man like that.”
“Well, JB was a good fella, and that’s just the kind of generous person I am.” He smiled big just as some bird crap landed in his lap. Consuelo clanged her spoon in the empty chowder bowl and pointed at Fish.
“Don’t you have a niece taking public relations classes in Miami? Or did she already graduate?”
Fish smiled and shrugged. This was getting interesting.
“So, if you were advising JB, you probably know about the rest of his platform.”
“I knew about it. Can’t say I agreed with all his crazy ideas, though.”
“You knew about banning shark fishing?”
“For everyone except that crazy fucker Clarence Hunter and a couple other charter captains. Simple kickback scheme.” Slip and Consuelo looked at me. I shrugged and nodded. Consuelo took it.
“What about JB wanting to rid the island of voodoo?”
“Mostly a favor for a woman has a shop over on Fleming. It was the only way she could get out of the iron-clad lease she was stuc
k with.” Consuelo leaned back in her chair and blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.
“Yep, that’s what I just spent all afternoon and seventy five dollars for this crazy hairdo to find out.” We all mumbled something to the effect of how nice her hair looked. “She told me while doing my hair that she was so upset when her old friend JB died, she stuck pins in his picture for leaving her with ten more years on the lease.” Slip looked nervous.
“So I reckon you know about him wanting to go after developers.” Fish pulled out his big knife and went to work on his toenails. Being a gentleman, he’d waited until we all finished eating first.
“That’s the part I didn’t understand. Sure it’s easy to kick developers. Anybody ever read one of those popular novels about Florida knows developers these days are about as welcome as a wet fart. But developers got something most all politicians need: cash. I told JB it didn’t make any sense badmouthing those folks, even if they do tend to cause an ecological disaster here and there, deplete natural resources, and generally build tacky shit that if they aren’t eyesores right off, will be sooner or later. I told the man, you want to go after developers or anybody for that matter, kiss some butt, get the campaign contributions so you can buy a few thousand little signs and overpriced TV and newspaper ads, get yourself elected, then go back and stab the developers in the back. Man was hard-headed on that one issue, wouldn’t listen to me.” Fish Daddy held up a foot and leaned down and bit something, then spit before going back at it with the knife. We were finally getting somewhere.
“Sounds like he was about to step on some toes then. JB’s sister said he was most upset at that developer who wants to build onto the island, like they did in Hong Kong for the new airport.”
Fish acted like he couldn’t be bothered to look up from his pedicure for such an absurd idea. “No way in God’s Gray Earth they could ever get around the environmentalists to pull permits for something like that.” Slip cleared his throat and held his pad up.
“Not only could, but did. The permits went through yesterday and they can start anytime.”
∨ Key Manatee ∧
Fourteen
The Wilbur is not a particularly sleek, fast, or fancy boat, but it’s sturdy and seaworthy. Built for cruising, it just takes a few wild ideas, way too much time and effort, and eventually you’ve got yourself a custom fishing boat with a gas oven so you can troll for dolphin and bake cookies at the same time. Consuelo brought some highly aromatic chocolate chips out on deck after letting them cool.
“Captain, care for a cookie?”
I put my laptop away and concentrated on the cookies. Not that I’d been getting much work done on my book anyway. Between keeping an eye on the trolling lines and the smell of cookies baking, my attention had been about maxed out. Even though I’d gotten to bed at a reasonable hour the night before, it must have been all the talk of murdered manatees and carrot peelers that gave me nightmares again.
I took my time selecting a tasty morsel from the tray trying to ignore the pathetic whimpering noises coming from the flying bridge and the two tanned distractions partially wrapped in bikini cloth looming over the cookies.
“These taste half as good as they smell.” I couldn’t make up my mind, so I took four. Our lovely cook flipped one over her shoulder in the direction of the helm.
“Incoming!”
I glanced up to see Slip with the cookie sticking out of his mouth and his full attention back on the cookie tray.
“Eyes on the road, helmsman! We don’t want any accidents this morning.”
Consuelo flipped up another cookie. Her hair back to its usual page-boy, sans bead snakes.
“Aye, aye, captain!”
It was hot with hardly a breath of breeze, so I didn’t say anything about the lady’s skimpy attire. Slip and I were down to just shorts and I didn’t want to get into another debate about her wanting to do the same. She set the tray in the galley and leaned against the fighting chair were I was sitting.
“These are good Consuelo, very tasty.” I was rat-nibbling, trying to make them last they were so damn good.
“Yeah, I’m getting used to that oven finally. I’m thinking pie next trip. You like lemon meringue or pumpkin?” One of the reels started clicking, but slowly. Consuelo went for it and started reeling in to clear the line.
“Grass!”
Which was all that seemed to be biting. I was about to say it anyway when Slip called down.
“TB, you said if we weren’t doing anything by the time the cookies were done.”
“Yep. Let’s get the lines in and head for the hill.”
♦
We were still several miles out from the marina when Slip yelled and pointed. Consuelo came out of the galley and I stowed the laptop. The seas were calm enough I could get a good look with the glasses while the old Wilbur lumbered along at her cruising speed of seventeen knots.
“Looks like barges. Several big ones with a full load of something.” There wasn’t much doubt in my mind as I handed the big military binoculars to Consuelo. She confirmed it.
“Sand. Barges loaded with sand. Eight, no, nine of them coming from the east.”
We changed course for the southern side of Key West. The shallow flats, where on a normal day you might see the occasional fishing boat, jet ski, or wind surfer, were filled with boats of all sizes and shapes. There were more barges, all pushed by giant tugboats, some already empty and heading back for another load. Two barges filled with heavy equipment and cranes were close to the sand barges being unloaded by more machines that looked like big yellow bugs from a distance. Several dozen boats were in the area, some of them workboats, some gawkers. Slip cut back on the engines and we prepared to do some gawking ourselves. Up top, Slip had the best view.
“Busy little beavers, aren’t they?”
We joined him for a better look.
“I reckon. They sure aren’t wasting any time.” Consuelo had the big glasses on the situation. I was surprised at the scene, to say the least. “This is a big deal. How did they coordinate all this without anyone knowing? The logistics of this are incredible.”
Slip cleared his throat and went into what we now referred to as his lawyer mode. “I told y’all yesterday at Pirate Jim’s I thought there was more going on than what the media said. Some of those people I talked to at the courthouse and newspaper were acting a mite cagy.”
We were moving slow, getting closer to the action. Something of this magnitude, there were going to be a few problems. Near one of the barges unloading we could see the top half of a bulldozer sticking up out of the shallow water with a slick of diesel fuel spreading around it. Several workers stood on the barge with hands on their hips looking down. A man in the water next to the dozer was trying to hook up a cable from one of the big cranes.
There was a sign on a post in the water ahead of us and more signs forming a line in each direction.
“What’s it say, Consuelo?”
“‘Keep Out – Marine Research Area’. At the bottom, ‘Have A Nice Day – Blue Manatee, Inc’.”
A good-size mullet skiff was deploying what looked like a net along the row of signs that seemed to go as far as you could see around the area. I realized what the net had to be.
“Silt screen. Though I can’t see how that’s going to do much good for the mess they’re making.” Consuelo snapped her fingers twice to signal danger. “Bogey, three o’clock.”
A speedboat inside the construction area slowed just before it got to us. We went to full stop about fifty feet from the nearest sign. The speedboat came up next to the sign and a big burly sort pointed at the sign and smiled a menacing smile. We gave the smile back and he glared at us a few seconds. He finally pulled away, going back to his patrol. Held his arm up so we could see the gun under his tropical shirt. I noticed Consuelo was airing her middle finger and didn’t look too happy.
“Did that jerk’s shirt have blue manatees on it?” Slip took the glasses for a look
.
“Probably. That’s the name on most of the permits I saw yesterday. Had a Miami address.” He put the glasses down. “Gives you a nice feeling doesn’t it? Like any company with a name like Blue Manatee wouldn’t do anything bad.”
We answered the man with disbelieving grunts as we continued to look over the area. Slip turned the boat and we moved along slowly just outside the signs. Two powerboats were setting orange posts. I pointed.
“Surveyors?”
Slip had the glasses again.
“Looks like it. Probably local. I think I’ve seen one of those guys around.” I was still wondering where everyone else came from, not to mention the equipment.
“They must have had a staging area for all this. The upper Keys or Miami. Or maybe even some from the Bahamas. We know from the newspaper they were talking about getting fill from a sandspit island in the Bahamas. Someone had to be putting this together for months. They got lucky with the weather right when the permits went through.” Then there was still the big question. “I’d like to know who’s behind Blue Manatee. Has to be someone with incredible amounts of money, power, and influence.”
Slip gave my arm a nudge. “You mean someone like Jimmy Buffett, or maybe Carl Hiaasen?”
Consuelo slapped him on the shoulder. “No, smart ass. It’s probably some huge company like MegaDrug. I could see those bastards doing something like this.”
♦
When we got back to the Sandy Bottomed Girl I’d been feeling a case of the carefuls coming on, so I took a quick look around.
“The door was still locked and I don’t think anyone has been in here.” I had a seat on the couch and Slip dropped in a chair where he could see anyone coming down the dock. Consuelo still hadn’t said much. She went in the galley and started banging pots and pans.
“Conuselo! Could you lay off the cookware?”
There were a couple more clangs, then quiet. She came in and sat frowning on the other end of the couch. “Sorry. I shouldn’t let people like that Blue Manatee redneck upset me. What are we going to do?”
“I want to go by Julie’s again, then check Smathers Beach. Looked like something going on there. We start with that?” Nods. “And we better stick together, watch each other’s back for a while. Might be a good idea if we could figure a way to blend in a little more, just in case someone is looking for us.”
Key Weird 04; Key Manatee Page 8
