Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “What if Santiago has someone check the hospital?” Bob said as the three of us walked outside.

  “I'll call in a favor,” I said. “If anyone checks, there will be a patient there by the name of Carl Trent. In the chamber, with no access to a phone.”

  “That's some favor,” Trent said. Then, seeing Pescador still sitting in the same spot, although no longer in the shade, he said, “I'll be damned. Your dog hasn't even moved.”

  Pescador looked back at me, expectantly. I nodded at him and he stood, walked over to the bougainvillea and relieved himself, then came over and sat down at my feet.

  “You did a hell of a job, training that dog,” Trent said. “Must be a hundred cats roaming around here. I thought sure he woulda took off chasing one and got lost. What kinda dog is he?”

  “He's a Portuguese water dog, or so I'm told. I didn't train him, though. Found him on a deserted island near my house, the day after Hurricane Wilma blew through. Tried to find his owner for a month, with no luck. So, he's just sort of adopted me.”

  We shook hands all around and agreed that I'd pick Trent and his family up at noon tomorrow. On the return, I was going to bring the Revenge down, in case I needed a place to stay. Since it didn't make sense to go home and come back again, I asked Doc if he could give me a lift to the Double Tree, just across the bridge in Key West.

  “Pretty expensive place,” he said.

  “Yeah, but they allow pets,” I said.

  “Sure,” he said. “I'll give you a ride.”

  We left Trent and walked around the block to Doc's house. As we walked, I asked Doc more about the crewman that was in the drug smugglers pocket.

  “His name's John Lupori,” he said. “He's from New York. I think he was connected up there.”

  “Connected?”

  “He's dropped hints from time to time that he was a bag man and ran numbers for the Mob.”

  “Have you met Santiago?”

  “Once,” he replied. “Cold dude. Dead looking eyes, like a shark. Either him or one of his men shows up at the dock, just before we sail, to give the Skipper the GPS coordinates, and name of the boat, for the pickup.”

  “Don't let the crew know anything about me taking over for Trent. I'll show up at the boat an hour before we sail. You'll be pissed because Trent's late. Act surprised and concerned when I tell you about the accident. We'll make out like he was just sent up to Key Largo that morning and called me, while he was on the way. And remember, semper Gumby.”

  “Always flexible, got it,” he said. “Haven't heard that phrase in a while. This is my place. Let me tell my girlfriend I'm giving you a lift. Wanna come in? She's a Jarhead, too.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Wait here, Pescador.”

  “Is that Spanish?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it means fisherman. When I found him, he'd just caught a three pound snapper.”

  “No shit?” he said, as he opened the door to the trailer. “Hey babe, I'm back,” he called into the kitchen. A woman walked into the living room and he said, “This is Jesse, I'm gonna give him a lift over to Key West. He's a Marine, like you.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jesse,” she said. “I'm Nicole Godsey, my friends call me Nikki.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I said as I shook her hand. She was a pretty girl. Nearly as tall as Doc, with shoulder length black hair, tattoos, dark eyes and eyeglasses.

  “So, you're a Marine, huh?” she asked.

  “Retired in 1999,” I said. “Force Recon.”

  “Bob and I met in the Corps. I was in the Regimental S-4 office, Ninth Marines and he was the Corpsman for Weapons Company, 1/9.”

  “Was Matt Andrews still the Regimental Sergeant Major, when you were there?” I asked.

  “Yes! You knew him?”

  “We tipped a few beers together.”

  “He retired just a couple of months after I arrived there. Good Marine.”

  “We better get going, Jesse,” Doc said.

  “Can we swing by Oceanside Marina, first?” I asked. “I want to reserve dock space for the Rampage and move the Grady to it, until tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Nikki.”

  “Good to meet you too, Jesse,” she said. Then as we started out the door she added, “Don't be long, Bob. Remember you promised to take me shopping.”

  “You own a Rampage?” he asked, as we walked across the yard to his car. “How big?”

  “Forty-five foot convertible. When I take Trent and his family up to the Content Keys tomorrow, I'm going to bring it down here, so I don't have to stay in a hotel. Hoping we can solve this problem in a week, but you just never know. Besides, I might want to hang out in Key Weird for a while.”

  We drove over to the dock and I made arrangements for a slip on the private dock and moved the Grady over there. The private dock had a gate that used one of those key cards to open it, like hotels used. After moving the Grady, Doc took me over to the hotel. The Double Tree is just off South Roosevelt, before the airport. Doc dropped me off and after checking in, Pescador and I went up to our room. I dropped my go bag on the table, then took a shower to get the days salt off of me.

  5

  Friday night

  Paradise Lost

  After showering, I called down to the desk and asked them to call me a cab, then got dressed. It'd been a while since I'd been in Key West and my mouth was watering for Frankie’s cooking. I pulled Pescador's poncho liner out of the bag and spread it in a corner.

  “I'll be back in a couple of hours. You want the TV on?” I asked him. He cocked his head at that and I said, “Yeah, didn't think so.” I switched on the bedside radio and tuned it to a jazz station and he walked over to the poncho liner and after turning around a couple of times, lay down on it.

  I took the stairs down to the lobby. The girl at the desk smiled and said, “Your taxi's waiting outside, Mister McDermitt. Will you be out all evening?”

  I smiled back and said, “Thanks, it's Jesse. No, just going to Blue Heaven for something to eat.” People that worked in hospitality in Key West were really good at remembering guest’s names, I was thinking. When I glanced back, as I went through the door, she was still smiling at me. I wondered for a minute why she wanted to know if I'd be out all night.

  I got in the taxi and told the driver where to go. He was a Jamaican man, judging from his accent, a few years older than me. He didn't have the stringy dreadlocks the younger Jamaicans sported.

  “Yuh guh be der long time?” he asked, handing me a card.

  “No, just for supper,” I replied, wondering again, what was it with everyone wanting to know my itinerary?

  “Yuh call mi at dat numbuh, sar. I bring yuh bahk, too.”

  “I don't have a cell phone,” I lied. I have one, but it's on the Grady and I rarely turned it on.

  “No problem, mon,” he said. “Yuh tell Miss Tina La Mons, behind di bar, when yuh ready ta go, she call me. Yuh won take di scenic way, or straight head?”

  I looked at the name on the card, Lawrence Lovett, and stuck it in the pocket of my guayabera. “You can take South Roosevelt, Lawrence. I’m not in any hurry.”

  He took South Roosevelt along the water, all the way to First Street, then north to Truman, and west all the way to Thomas and the Blue Heaven. I looked out at the water, noting it's turquoise and green color. The wind was out of the south, but there was hardly any wave activity. The sun was nearing the water to the west and I knew that Mallory Square would be winding up to a fever pitch, about now. That's where the daily sunset celebration took place. I'd been there a few times and marveled at how the tourists would crowd the square, ogling the street performers, while the pickpockets moved through the crowd. Most of them were very good and the tourists didn't notice their missing wallets and watches until the pickpockets were already gone.

  We pulled up to Blue Heaven and I got out of the cab. “Thanks for the ride, Lawrence,” I said, as I handed him a ten.

  “No problem, mon. Yuh enjoy yuh dinnuh.”
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  I walked through the palm and hibiscus covered arch into the side yard of the Blue Heaven. It‘s a funky little Key West place, with all the trappings of your typical Key West dive, but the food was awesome. Mostly because of the chef, Frankie. Tables were set right on the sand all around the yard, with umbrellas over them. A waitress was going around lighting the jar candles at each table, getting ready for the dinner crowd. Cats, chickens, and parrots lazed in the late evening sun. It was still early, but a couple of tables were already occupied, mostly by tourists, I noted. I took a seat at the far end of the open air bar, next to the wall and immediately had a napkin placed in front of me by a pretty woman about thirty, with long dark hair and dark eyes. He name tag said 'Christina', so I assumed she was the Tina La Mons, the cab driver had mentioned.

  “What can I get for you, Captain?” she asked.

  “Red Stripe, please,” I responded, wondering if it was that easy for her to tell I wasn't one of the cruise ship tourists. But, in her line of work, dealing with people day in and day out, she'd probably become good at it. She reached into an ice box under the bar and placed a dripping, cold bottle on a coaster in front of me, no glass. Yep, I thought, she’s good at reading people.

  “Would you like to see a menu, or do you already know what you'd like?” she asked, smiling brightly.

  I smiled back and said, “Does Frankie have any hogfish?”

  She nodded and said, “A local spear fisherman just brought some in. They were swimming only an hour ago. Blackened?”

  She was very good, I’ll give her that much.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Frankie’s in back,” Tina said. “Want me to tell her you're here.”

  “Yeah, haven't seen her in a long time, name's Jesse.”

  She went on to tell me what came with my order and I told her that'd be just fine. “But, double the fish order and put it in a go box, would you?”

  “Think you'll get hungry later?” she asked.

  “Probably,” I said, “but it's for my dog.”

  She turned and slid the order across a counter at a little window and leaned in to say something I couldn’t hear. A second later, Frankie Poe came running out of the kitchen.

  “Jesse McDermitt!” she yelled loud enough for the revelers on Mallory Square to hear. She hugged me tight and got flour all over my guayabera.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, brushing it off. “How've you been? I heard about what happened up there, I'm real sorry.”

  “Doing okay, Frankie, thanks. How've you been?”

  “Just great, thanks. Why didn't you call to say you were coming down? Bob talks about that fishing trip you took him and his friends on, all the time.”

  “Yeah, that was a lot of fun,” I said, laughing at the memory. “Bimini will never be the same, after those guys.”

  “You in town long?” she asked.

  “Don't really know. In and out, probably for the next few days, helping out a friend,” I replied.

  “Well, I gotta get back to the kitchen. So good to see you again, I'll tell Bob you're in town.”

  “I'll probably see y'all around,” I said.

  “You better,” she said and headed back into the kitchen. I turned around on my stool and surveyed the clientele, a little closer. It was an old habit. Move quickly into a room and to a far corner, then check out the people and exits. It was a yard, so I pretty much had a lot of options for a hasty exit, if need be. Only three tables were occupied. The nearest one was a young tourist couple, slightly sunburned. In the far right corner of the yard, another table had three obvious tourist couples, fresh off a cruise ship. The third table was occupied by two men, who were probably locals, or tourists very adept at island camouflage. They sat across the table from one another, leaning in close, talking low.

  Just as I took the last pull from my beer, Tina set another one on the bar and said, “Stay away from those two, Captain.”

  I turned back to the bar and said, “Why's that?”

  “I can tell you're not a tourist,” she said. “Dive boat captain? The guy in the jacket, he's a drug dealer.”

  “Fishing boat, actually. Up in Marathon. And you're right, not interested in buying drugs. How do you know he’s a drug dealer?”

  “Didn't think you were,” she said, smiling warmly at me. “Besides being the best bartender in Key West, I’m also a Monroe County Reserve Deputy. What's a Marathon charter Captain doing in Key West on a Friday night? Known Frankie long?”

  “Boat's getting some work done,” I lied. “Yeah, I've known her and her husband for a few years. Slow night?”

  “For now,” she said. “Should get a little friskier later on.”

  A bell rang behind her and she went to the window, coming back with a plate loaded with two huge fillets, a big mound of Spanish rice, broccoli and a baked potato. She placed it in front of me and I suddenly realized how hungry I was and dug right in. Since there wasn't anyone else at the bar, she lingered while chatting about the weather and the water. I nodded at the right times, added a comment between bites and polished off the meal in short time. Another habit, formed from many years of eating when you can, not knowing when the next meal might be.

  Tina took my plate when I was finished, put it on the counter at the window and put another cold beer in front of me. “So, you're in town for a while?” she asked. “Couldn’t help over hearing.”

  I looked at her closer. She was about a foot shorter than my six-three, with a head full of thick, dark brown hair, framing a pretty face with no makeup that I could tell. She had a natural radiant beauty. She wore a cut off tee-shirt, with 'Blue Heaven' written across the front. It showed her tan, flat belly. Everywhere else I looked, was all curves.

  “Not sure,” I said. “At least a few days, maybe longer. A friend's sick and I'm skippering his boat until he's better.” Enough of a truth, I thought.

  “So,” she said, dragging out the word, “I'll probably see more of you?”

  “You might,” I said, smiling. I handed her the card the taxi driver had given me and asked if she'd call him for me. She glanced at the card and picked her cell phone up from the shelf behind the bar.

  She only punched one number and after a second she said into the phone, “Lawrence, it's Tina. I have a fare for you.” Then she looked at me and smiled, before continuing. “Yeah, a tall, handsome guy at the bar, disappointing me.”

  A few minutes later, the taxi driver walked through the gate and came over to the bar, where I still sat talking to Tina. He noticed my half-full beer and took a seat next to me and ordered a bottle of Coke. “Be no hurry, mon,” he said. “Is still a slow night.”

  Tina brought his Coke, as I drained the last of my beer and laid two twenties on the bar, saying, “I'm all set, Lawrence.”

  We walked through the yard, chickens scattering out of our way. As we went through the gate, I looked back and Tina smiled and winked at me. I smiled and waved back to her, then got in the front seat of the cab.

  When Lawrence got behind the wheel, he said, “Dat gull be sweet on yuh, mon. Yuh sure yuh wanna leave?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Got an early day tomorrow.”

  He took the same route back to the hotel. I've learned over the years that some of the best sources of local intel was from bartenders and taxi drivers. Once we passed Smathers Beach, I looked at Lawrence and asked, “You ever hear of a man by the name of Carlos Santiago?”

  “Dot be a bod mon,” he said. “Why yuh wanna know bout him, mon?”

  “Might need to know more about him is all,” I said. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “Ah grew up on Andros,” he said. “Yuh know Andros?”

  “Sure,” I replied, letting him tell me at his own pace. “I've been there many times. Great fishing.”

  “Ah come heah bout two yeah go,” he said. “Buy dis taxi cab, den. Santiago, he try ta get mi to bring druggies to him, when I did. Say he pay fuh bringin um. Tole da mon to go fock hisself, I
did. I not be needin money dat bod, mon. Yuh stay way from dot mon, if yuh smart.”

  “He make any threats against you, when you told him no?” I asked.

  “Ya, mon,” he said. “Say he gwon hurt mi famly. I jes laugh, I got no famly.”

  I thought on that for a minute, as Lawrence drove. Santiago seems to be the kind that makes a lot of threats to get people to do his bidding.

  “Anything come of his threats?” I asked.

  “No, mon. Like I say, got no famly and I don live pon dis island. He be a big time smugglah, mon. I and I jes small fry.”

  “Good for you, Lawrence,” I said. “Keep it that way.”

  He pulled up to the front of the hotel and I got out, handing him a twenty. “You up and about early?” I asked. “Need a ride over to Stock Island, about eight.”

  “No problem, mon. I be sittin right heah, at eight shop.”

  I walked into the lobby and the girl that was at the desk earlier was still there. She smiled warmly and motioned me over.

  “A letter came for you while you were out, Mister McDermitt. Nikki Godsey dropped it off an hour ago.” She handed me a sealed envelope. I opened it and saw that it was from Trent, telling me that he'd be ready at nine.

  I glanced at the girls name tag which said 'Susan Marrs' and said, “Thanks, Susan.”

  I started to turn and she said, “You know Nikki well?”

  “Only met her today,” I said. “Her and Doc, er Bob, I mean. We were stationed together a few years back.”

  “I noticed your dog, when you checked in,” she said, seeming to want to make small talk. She was a tiny blonde girl, no more than five feet tall and probably a hundred and ten, soaking wet. I guessed her to be late twenties at best. “I get off in a few minutes. If you'd like I can bring some dog food up.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling. “I brought him some left over fish.”

  “He likes fish?” she asked. “Never heard of a dog that likes fish, before.”

  “Well, he usually prefers his fish raw,” I said.

  “You mean like sushi?”

  “No, more like swimming in the ocean.”