“Well, it’s temperamental sometimes.”
“Yes, it is, and that’s why no one except you is cleared to bake cookies in it, especially while trolling offshore.”
“I just thought maybe she tried…”
“No, she didn’t. In fact, other than the float switch on one of the bilge pumps, everything worked just fine all week.”
Consuelo stood up.
“I don’t have to be back to the hotel until this afternoon. We could take a look at that float switch if you want to.”
Taco Bob shook his head slowly.
“Not necessary, I got it under control.”
She sat back down. “Oh. How about - ”
“Consuelo, I value your friendship greatly, but Trish and I are - ”
“Don’t even start with that plutonic crap again.” Consuelo’s eyes burned. “And anyway, I didn’t say anything about us.”
“Con, maybe you should find yourself a guy. I mean, it’s not like there aren’t plenty of fellas following you around looking like lost puppy dogs. Maybe somebody closer to your own age.”
Consuelo slapped the table hard and was on her feet and down the ladder. A few seconds later Slip came back up with three beers.
“I ain’t even going to ask what that was about.” Slip had seen it before.
“I screwed up. I shouldn’t have said anything about the difference in our ages.”
“Yeah, that was a bad move. She about stomped right over me leaving.” Slip handed Taco Bob one of the beers. “That’s not only a sturdy young lady, but a mite scary one when she’s truly mad.”
Taco Bob wanted to change the subject.
“How’d you know I’d want a beer? I usually don’t drink this early.” Slip popped a can.
“Yeah, I know. Which, by the way, is another reason I think you’re getting old.” The fishing guide took a long pull. “But it wasn’t for you, it was for Blondie. The other one is for our guest. I figured it only polite.”
“Guest?”
“Scroungy fella down at the dock. Says he knows you from Texas. Not too tall, skinny, wild eyes, and bad breath.” Slip took another pull on his beer. “Says I should ask you if it’s all right for him to come aboard.”
Taco Bob opened his beer. “This fella got a name?”
“Yep, easy to remember name, too – Skunk Johnson.”
∨ Key Lucky ∧
3
Just Another Day at the Office
Luckily the bartender didn’t show up the next morning. Not all that surprising for someone to miss work the day after Fantasy Fest, but a good thing in this case, since Ron would have easily picked up on how wired and nervous he was.
And he was definitely nervous. Pulling the biggest heist in the history of Key West less than twelve hours earlier was one reason. The town crawling with cops was another.
“Where’s Ron?” The local with a bad haircut leaned against the bar.
“Didn’t come in yet. Can I get you something?”
“Gimme a Bloody Nail.” The man slipped onto a barstool with practiced ease before looking around. “I seen you before. You’re the barback, right? Only been working here a few weeks.”
“Yes, sir. Here’s your drink.”
The man peeled a bill off a small roll and dropped it on the bar. He took a sip.
“Good Nail. Keep the change, kid.”
The man walked back to a table by the window and sat with another man with a bad haircut. The second man turned and looked towards the bar for a few seconds, then went back to whispered conversation with the man sipping the fresh drink.
Nerves were bad enough, didn’t need that shit.
Luckily, there was plenty to do behind the bar to keep his mind at least somewhat occupied. Definitely needed something to ease the incredible amount of nervous energy he had to deal with. A few hours sleep wouldn’t be a bad idea either. He might have gotten an hour or two of sleep, he wasn’t sure. Mostly he just lay there in bed running the heist over and over in his head. Once he got up and pulled the haul out from under the bed, just to make sure he’d actually done it after nearly five long years of planning.
Most of that time in prison.
“Miller bottle and a ‘Rita.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Stragglers coming in now. Hungover tourists. If Ron didn’t show it was going to be a long day.
“And put some booze in it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Make that bitchy, hungover tourists.
“Here you go, ma’am.” Suspicious looks from the woman as he counted out the change. Did that guy at the table look at him again just now?
Need to get a grip. Everything went right last night, no reason for anyone to suspect him of anything. Just a not-too-smart guy who moved to Key West following a dream and ended up working long hours in a bar to pay the rent on a moldy trailer in paradise.
There was one thing though, and the thought made him almost drop a glass. The diversion.
The device at the power sub-station worked, why didn’t the one at the bank go off? He’d ridden his bike by there on the way to work and didn’t see anything, not from across the street, at least. As much as he desperately wanted to, he wasn’t about to look down in the bushes by the low window in the back of the bank building. If the cops had found an unexploded device they might be watching the area. Not worth the risk.
“Meyers and Coke, no ice, and a Rolling Rock.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two fat guys dropped their keys and smokes on the bar, settling in for a productive morning. Talking about the same thing as everyone else – the night the lights went out at Fantasy Fest.
“You got the paper?”
“Yes, sir. Right here.”
Have to be sure to get a copy for himself. If he survived this, it might be something nice for his grandkids someday.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Ron. Thank god.
“No problem.”
Ron looked like shit, maybe too much of a hangover to notice how nervous his barback was. Probably just being over cautious. Shit, Ron didn’t even notice when he slipped in his act. Act sure worked though. Pretend to be a little slow, and always polite, and people figure you’re harmless, leave you alone. Comes in real handy when someone asks a question you don’t particularly want to answer.
“Hey, watch the bar for me for a few more minutes, okay? I gotta go to the can.”
“Sure, Ron.”
As soon as Ron left, here comes a small herd of unsure cruise shippers milling around just inside the front door trying to decide if Schooners is up to their standards for funky waterfront bar.
“Hey, turn on the TV!”
Fat guy with the Meyers and Coke pointing at the television over the bar. Punch the remote. Looks like Animal Planet, some show with big cats. Lions and tigers. Expected the guy to want another channel, but he gave the thumbs up and sipped at his drink. Some kind of tiger stalking unsuspecting prey.
The group of middle-aged cruise ship gawkers was still talking it over by the front door when a young woman with white-blonde hair in a pixie cut slipped through them.
She stood perfectly still and scanned the bar, then slowly walked his way, never taking her eyes off him. He was pretty sure he’d seen her in the bar once before, showing some sailors the proper way to shotgun a can of beer.
“Bud, bottle.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Damnedest blue eyes he’d ever seen. He glanced at the television as he got the beer. Lioness on now, closing in on something that looked like a small antelope.
“My name’s Consuelo, but you can call me Con.”
“My name’s Kahn, too. My last name, that is.”
That got a raised eyebrow.
“Cool. What’s your first name?”
“Lucky.”
∨ Key Lucky ∧
4
Skunk
“Taco, I’m really getting worried about you. One little drink of beer and you about c
hoke to death. Maybe you should join one of those health clubs, or something.”
Taco Bob had a hand on his chest, trying to get his breath back. Slip shook his head.
“You going to be all right?”
“It wasn’t the beer, it was that name.”
“Skunk Johnson? So I guess you do know him. Want me to tell him to come aboard?”
Taco Bob help up a finger. “Just give me another minute. Maybe being able to breathe will help me recover from the shock.”
“I don’t have a charter today, but I do want to take the yak out later, check out a couple of new spots.” Slip looked at his watch. “But I still got a few minutes to catch the tide. Who is this guy? He one of the ones who worked for you out in Texas?”
Taco Bob still had a hand flat on his chest, but was breathing more normally. “No, he’s an ant farmer.”
“Ant farmer? What the hell is that?”
“Go get the scoundrel and he can tell you himself.”
A few minutes later Slip was back with a grinning Skunk Johnson.
“Damn, Taco! Nice boat!” The wiry little man looked like a skinny pirate, a pirate who’d been dragged through a few gutters. He shook his old friend’s hand like he was trying to get water out of a stubborn well pump. Taco Bob managed to get his hand back.
“Hello, Skunk.”
“Man, Taco! This is great! You can see all around from up here! Hop back in Possum Row said you had a nice place, but damn if this don’t beat all!”
Slip had taken his seat and was closely watching Skunk jumping around, pointing, and gesturing as he talked.
“I’m happy as a pig in slop to see you, Taco. I’d say you’re looking good except you look like shit.”
“I just choked on some beer.”
“You must be getting old.” Skunk winked at Slip, then pointed to the unopened beer on the table. “This for me?” And before anyone could say anything, Skunk popped the beer and drank the whole thing. “Damn! Just what I needed!”
Taco Bob gave Slip a tired look, then focused on their guest. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what brings you to our island paradise?”
Skunk belched, then lit up an extra big smile. “Why, I wanted to get me some pirate treasure, so I got this cool pirate costume and broke into the treasure museum last night!”
Taco Bob looked over at a jaw-dropped Slip. “Don’t believe a word he says. Man’s always been full of shit as a Christmas goose.” Taco gave Skunk a hard look. “And don’t be saying stuff like that. This whole town is liable to be going nuts until they catch those guys.” He pointed to the newspaper lying on the table.
“Well, maybe I didn’t steal no treasure, but I sure had me a fine time last night! Speaking of which, who was that fine, and I do mean FINE looking young lady came out of here all crying?”
“She was crying?”
“Well, lemme think. Big frown, eyes all puffy and red with tears coming down her face. Yeah, I’d say crying. You going to drink that?”
Skunk grabbed the nearly full beer sitting on the small table while Taco Bob worked over the news.
“I sure hope she doesn’t do anything rash.”
Skunk killed the beer and looked over at Slip, who still hadn’t said a word. “I reckon he’s gone all contemplative on us now. Do you know who that blonde gal is?”
“That’s Consuelo. She runs a hotel in town with her sisters. The three of us do some fishing together.”
“Purty gal like that is into fishing? Damn, but I like Key West!”
Skunk smiled big, Taco Bob continued to mull, and Slip continued to stare at Skunk like he was an alien life form.
“You know, Slip, me and Taco done some fishing together in Texas a few times. Even fished a tournament once. I got third place.”
Taco Bob came back from his thoughts for just a minute. “Fifth place, and he traded his prize for moonshine.”
Slip was impressed. “That so? I’m a fishing guide, myself. Kayaks mostly. I’m heading out in a little while to check on some spots if you want to come along. While we’re fishing maybe you can tell me what Taco here was like before he started getting old.”
Taco Bob had looked like he was going to interrupt until Slip got to that last part.
“Yeah, maybe you two ought to go do some fishing. First though, Skunk never did tell me why he’s in Key West.”
“Well, you remember Mumbles, the cantankerous little shit who worked for you on the possum ranch.”
“Your cousin.”
“Unfortunately.”
“The one you got in a fistfight with whenever you came out to the ranch.”
“Yep, that one. Anyway, he’s got a brother also named Mumbles.”
“I think I remember something about that. They were in a band together at one time?”
“Exactly. Those two got to fighting so bad they had to break up the band. That’s when Mumbles got into possum ranching and his brother went to Key West.” Skunk absently scratched his bony ass and belched.
“Anyway, after he quit possum ranching Mum started up a new band playing the same old shit they’d been playing before, except now it was in fashion and some record company signed ‘em up and gave ‘em a big pile of money.
“First tour for their new record Mum got his ass arrested for some kinda silly misunderstanding about the hotel they were staying at burning to the ground not long after several witnesses saw him chasing the hotel manager with a blow torch.
“Mumbles ended up with one of those hard-ass Texas judges who gave him six months probation, thirty days community service, and mandatory psychological counseling.
“Knowing the man as good as you do, you might think professional counseling would do him some good, well, it didn’t. But he did remember a lot of cool stuff under hypnosis. Like the time when he was a kid and sick with the fever for three days and his brother took advantage of his weakened condition and kicked his ass good every one of those three days.
“So, since he’s on probation and can’t leave the state, Mumbles hired me to go to Key West to find his brother and hand deliver a good ass-kicking.”
Taco Bob rolled his eyes. “I figured it was something like that.”
“Besides the monetary incentives, I’m thinking it might be interesting to tie into it with someone who grew up fighting with my cousin. I might pick up a few moves I could use when I go back to Texas.”
Slip was shaking his head now. “If both Mumbles are brothers, aren’t they both your cousins?”
Skunk’s brow furrowed up. “Might be, I never thought about it.”
Taco Bob stretched back in his seat. “You boys going to catch that tide you might want to get a move on.”
Slip jumped up and Skunk followed him down the ladder. Taco Bob watched them go and tried to get his mind back to the pleasant place it had been lingering earlier. It wasn’t happening though, so he went looking for a fishing pole with the daring plan of an afternoon of relaxing and meditative grunt fishing.
∨ Key Lucky ∧
5
Fame
Lucky sure felt different at work the next day. His night with the incredible blonde had left him sore and slightly dazed, but smiling. He’d never known anything like it.
Not that he didn’t have plenty of experience. He was a decent-looking guy who kept himself in shape and had seen a fair share of girlfriends in his twenty-eight years. At least before he got busted. He still had nightmares about some prison stuff involving sex that time had a ways to go to ease.
“Lucky, I’m going to need another case of Bud bottles, better make it two.”
“Sure, Ron.”
There was still an undercurrent of anxiety, but manageable now. Riding his bike from the trailer park on Stock Island he felt the first wave of a new confidence.
Having the best sex afterglow of his life, coupled with a few hours of sound sleep, not to mention he was the owner by possession of some of the top, if not the top, souvenirs, possible, ever,
from Key West, didn’t hurt his confidence a bit.
“Lucky, I said two cases. What’s up with you man?”
Oh, shit.
“Nothing, Ron. I’ll get another case.”
“You okay? You’ve been acting a little weird the last couple of days.” Ron lowered his voice. “You didn’t bang that little blonde, did you? The one you were talking to yesterday? I bet she would be fun in the sack.”
Oh, if you only knew.
“She’s nice. I think she likes me.” Lucky smiled shyly and blushed a little.
“Hey.” Ron slapped him on the back. “You get the chance, take my advice and get some of that. Might be just what you need. You been kind of jumpy lately.”
Lucky grinned and blushed, heading for the stockroom. When he came back Ron was in a deep discussion with two of the local barflies.
“I still can’t believe two or three guys could just waltz off with a few mil worth of treasure like that.”
“The paper said the feds are following all leads, and there’s a big reward. I bet they bust these guys quick.”
“Well, I’d still like to know what was going on with the helicopter that showed up so soon after the lights went out. My sister said it was shining a big spotlight right around where that guy got shot. Better gimme another beer, Ron.”
“Coming up. Guy in here yesterday said it was terrorists did it.”
“I heard it was a mob thing. Something to do with the Secret Service and the JFK hit.”
“Arnie, you are so full of shit. That doesn’t even make any sense. Ron, I think you better cut him off.”
Taking the trash cans outside to the dumpster, Lucky looked over the array of boats at the dock, then allowed himself a minute to daydream.
He really had done it. All those years in the pen researching and planning, memorizing and rehearsing. After he got out he’d spent six months in Jersey on probation working for minimum wage at a recycling plant owned by his probation officer’s brother-in-law. But every evening, more research, planning, and rehearsals.
Key Lucky Page 2
