Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “I’ll have Tony come down here tomorrow,” Deuce said. “He’ll install the bladders and put the underwater scooters aboard.”

  “We’ll be at the Anchor by noon,” I said. “Any time after that, until Sunday morning will work fine.”

  Smith and the Trent’s came out of the bunkhouse and walked over to where we were sitting. Deuce said, “The insertion’s a go, Director. With a few minor changes. I’m going along, with Deputy La Mons here, and Julie. We’ll drop our men on the way down to Cozumel and pick them up three days later on the way back.”

  “Very good,” Smith said. “The Trent’s provided a few insights and cleared up some details. I suspect if McDermitt makes the right negotiations with Santiago, they’ll be off the hook with him by tomorrow?”

  “That’ll be my stipulation,” I said. “I can be a greedy bastard sometimes. I’ll tell him I’ll run his drugs, but only if I get the whole contract. No more drug boats meeting with the shrimpers.”

  “And you think he’ll accept those terms?”

  “I do,” I said. “It’s just good business.”

  “Very well,” he said. “May I have a word with you in private?”

  I got up and followed Smith out to the pier. Once we were out of earshot, he turned and said, “I don’t appreciate your freelancing, nor divulging my identity.”

  “Tough shit,” I said. “I don’t appreciate your boarding my boat and coming here without an invitation.”

  He gave me a hard look and said, “You need to learn your place, McDermitt.”

  “I’m in my place, Smith,” I growled. “You came to me, remember? I’d be just as happy, belay that, I’d be a hell of a lot more happy, if I’d never met you.”

  He softened a little, knowing that it was because of him and Deuce trying to recruit me that Alex got killed. “You have a point,” he said. “But, in the future, please clear it with me before we bring any more outsiders in. Understood?”

  He started to walk away, but I put a hand on his shoulder. “Speaking of which,” I said. “I want you to do a more in depth look at someone. My First Mate has found another job and I’d like to hire someone that will fit both our needs.”

  “Who would that be?” he asked.

  “Robert Talbot, Trent’s First Mate on the shrimp boat. He’s a former FMF Navy Corpsman, served with 1/9 in Afghanistan and Iraq. You did a short run up on him already.”

  “Yes, I remember looking it over,” he said. “You were right. You are a good judge of talent. I was thinking the same thing, when I saw his full jacket.”

  “I don’t fish much. But, when I do, I need someone I can count on. That means he’d have to quit working for Trent and be available at any time. He’d need a monthly stipend to be on call. I was thinking $3000 a month.”

  “I was thinking $4000. You talk to him and if he agrees let Mister Livingston know and I’ll set it up.”

  We walked back to the table and Smith started past the group toward the chopper, spinning his hand in the air to tell the pilot to power up. Deuce stopped him and said, “I’d like to stay behind, sir. To make arrangements with Julie. I’ll ride back with Tony tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Take the weekend, Mister Livingston,” Smith said. “Jacobs and Newman, too. Have them both come down tomorrow and bring their gear.” Then turning to Chyrel, he said, “Perhaps you’d like to stay also, Ms. Koshinski? I’ll have Mister Jacobs bring the rest of your electronics to put aboard the boat.”

  “Yes sir,” she said. Smith bent over and trotted toward the chopper, its blades already spinning. Turning to me Chyrel asked, “Is there a motel nearby?”

  The chopper was already lifting off the ground, when I said, “Yeah, welcome to McDermitt Manor.” Turning to Deuce I said. “Keys to the skiff are hanging in the box at the bottom of the steps. Just try to keep it off the reef, squid.”

  Chyrel and Deuce walked over to the middle of the clearing, where Smith had dropped two small duffle bags. “Now I know why he insists we carry these,” she said. “Where will I be staying?”

  “The eastern bunkhouse is empty,” I said. “But you’d probably be a lot more comfortable aboard the Revenge. Your package is still aboard, I haven’t even opened it yet. After dinner, maybe you can show me in more detail how all that stuff works.”

  “Speaking of dinner,” Tina said. “I doubt there’s ever been this many people on this island since the dawn of time. What’s on the menu?”

  At the same time, Deuce and I said, “Fish.”

  Trent said, “Or lobster and stone crab claws. I’ve been busy the last few days. The refrigerator in the house is full.”

  “I’m going to head on out,” Deuce said. “Nice meeting you Mr. and Mrs. Trent. See you tomorrow, Jesse.”

  “Hang on a minute, Deuce. Tina, would you mind getting Chyrel settled aboard and show her how to work the head?” I said. “I need to talk to Carl and Charlie.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Follow me, Chyrel.”

  “And put on your bathing suit,” I said. “We’re going for a swim.” She looked back over her shoulder at me and smiled as they walked away.

  I turned to Trent and said, “The deal I’m going to make with Santiago will be for the whole importation. No more shrimpers hauling drugs, or being threatened. Just to be on the safe side you and your family should stay here until Sunday.” Then I reached into my pocket and took out the money I got from Santiago, the Captains cut of the shrimp landing and the extra money I skimmed and handed it to him. Altogether, it was a little over $12,000. “Just in case this takes longer than that, you can pay your crew to stay in port.”

  “I can’t take your money, Jesse,” he said.

  “It’s not my money,” I said. “I upped the take with Santiago. The rest is your cut from the landing. But, I have some bad news.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “I want to hire Bob away from you,” I said. “You and I both know he’s not cut out for shrimping. He misses the jazz, I could sense it.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, “You’re right. I have no idea what jazz means, but if it means he misses the action when he was in the Navy, I got that sense, too.”

  “So, where do I find a good First Mate?” Trent asked. “Bob’s the most reliable man in the whole Key West fleet.”

  “My old First Mate is looking for steady work,” I said. “He’s never done any trawling, but he knows boats, knows the water and has never let me down.”

  “Jimmy?” he asked. “I don’t know, man.”

  “Your daughter is straightening him up,” I said. “Besides, he doesn’t touch the stuff when he’s working. You got my word.”

  “Okay,” Charlie said, “We’ll talk to him.”

  “Walk with me Deuce,” I said and headed over to the little cove on the western side of the island. When we got through the trees and were standing on the little sand bar, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a Spanish gold doubloon, mounted on a gold chain and handed it to him. He looked down at it in his palm, then back up to me.

  Pointing across the water I said, “You see that little island just to the north of the larger one?”

  He looked out across the shallows and said, “Yeah, the one with the coconut palms on it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” I said. “That’s where I found Lester. He was nearly dead from dehydration. I left him there.” Deuce stared at the little island about two miles distant. Lester was the man that had murdered his father and stolen the doubloon, along with a few other pieces of treasure. He was also part of the group of men that had raped and murdered my wife.

  “No loose ends,” he said. I noticed a single tear at the corner of his eye. “Thanks, brother.” He turned and walked back through the trees and across the clearing. I returned to the table as Tina was coming back across the clearing, wearing a red one piece and carrying two towels. It covered a whole lot more than the bikini she wore last weekend, but was very flattering.

  “We’ll be back in a
bout an hour,” I said to Carl and Charlie as I pulled off my shirt and emptied my pockets on the table. Then Tina and I walked out to the end of the dock together.

  Pointing to the northeast I said, “See that little island out there? That’s Upper Harbor Key. The water here is five feet deep. Harbor Channel, which we came through in the boat, has an eddy channel running north around that island and back to Harbor Channel. Staying in the channel the water’s ten to twenty feet deep. It’s a mile and a half there and back. Think you can handle that?”

  “Just a mile and a half? No problem,” she said with a confident grin.

  “Open ocean swimming isn’t like a pool,” I said. The tide’s falling, we’ll be swimming against the current going out. So a three quarter mile swim is like a mile and a half. The water’s only a couple feet deep just outside the channel. If you get tired, just swim out of the channel.”

  She turned and looked at the island, then tossed her dark hair over her shoulder as she turned her head and said, “Just try to keep up.” Then she dove in the water. She surfaced immediately and let out a shriek.

  “Oh,” I said, “I forgot to tell you. The water coming in from the Gulf is about seventy-three degrees.”

  She splashed water at me, then turned and started swimming toward the island. I dove in, went to the bottom and made four long strokes before surfacing, thinking I’d come up right beside her.

  I was wrong. She was ten yards ahead. I struck out, swimming hard to catch up. Too hard. By the time I was alongside her, I was having to breathe with every other stroke. I was on her right, breathing with every stroke of my left arm so I could watch her. She was swimming effortlessly, taking a breath with every third stroke, alternating left and right.

  I had to admit, for a woman her size she was fast. She had flawless form as she cut through the water. Soon, I had my breathing back under control, taking a breath with every fourth stroke. By the time we were half way to Upper Harbor Key, I could feel the burn in my shoulders and legs. Every other breath I could catch a quick glimpse of her and could hear her when she took a breath.

  She maintained the same third stroke breathing all the way to the eddy channel, where I started to crowd her, to make her turn. She took the hint and followed the drop off staying close to the inside edge of the channel. We rounded the island and started south to the main channel in what I figured was close to my best time.

  The swim back was much faster and easier, with the following current. By the clock in my head, I figured we made it back to the pier in about thirty minutes, which I confirmed by checking my dive watch when I stood up a few feet from the end of the pier.

  Treading water she said, “That was exhilarating! Did you see that turtle?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “It was a green turtle. They feed on the turtle grass.”

  “It didn’t look green to me,” she said.

  I laughed as she swam over and came into my arms, wrapping her strong legs around my waist. “The meat’s green,” I said. “From eating the grass.”

  She leaned her head back, arching herself until her face went under water. Then levering herself upward using me as a fulcrum, she lifted her face from the water so her hair was pulled straight back. Then she climbed higher and kissed me deeply. “I could get used to this,” she said. “I kept seeing bright colored fish darting around the rocks. Even the rocks were colorful.”

  “Coral,” I said. “Not rocks. Coral is a bunch of tiny animals grouped together. Tomorrow, when we go shopping, we’ll get you a wetsuit and do some snorkeling on my favorite reef.”

  I helped her up onto the pier, then sunk down into the water to push myself up onto it with her. We toweled off and wrapped the big towels around our shoulders for warmth and walked back to the house. Pescador came running to greet us halfway across the clearing.

  “Where’s the Trent’s, boy,” I said. He looked over to the west side of the island and I could see the four of them wading through the shallows, carrying buckets. “Looks like we’ll have some clams, along with the fish, lobster, and crab claws.”

  “Sounds delicious,” she said. “Everything you need is right here, isn’t it?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “I cleared this patch to grow a garden, but the soils not good enough.”

  “Ever hear of aquaculture?” she said.

  “Aquaculture? No.”

  “You grow plants, floating in trays, in a large container,” she said. “And you raise fish in another large container. The plants get their nutrients from the fish waste.”

  “That could work,” I said smiling. “Plenty of fish around here.”

  We went up the steps to the house and I told her to go ahead and shower inside, I’d use the outdoor shower around back. I have a cistern that collects rain water since there’s no fresh water source in the Keys, except a small spring in Key West. All the water in the Keys comes from a pipeline down from Miami. My cistern has a gauge that shows the water level. It’s nothing more than a clear tube connected to the top and bottom of the 2000 gallon tank. I checked it and was pleasantly surprised to see that the water level was still above 1500 gallons. With four people on the island, I was worried it’d be lower. The Trent’s must have been conservative. I have a desalinization unit aboard the Revenge that I can use to add water to the cistern if need be.

  I showered quickly in my shorts, dried off and went inside to change. Tina was still in the head, so I quickly changed in the bedroom, then went down to the Revenge and started bringing up the supplies I’d bought before leaving Key West. It took three trips, with a box under each arm, but it was more than enough to last for a couple of weeks.

  Tina was just coming out of the head when I brought in the last of the groceries and helped me put them away. She was wearing a lime green tank top and khaki cargo shorts. “This is the last of my clean clothes,” she said. “What do you do when you need to do laundry? I didn’t see a machine anywhere.”

  “There’s a small washer and dryer on the boat,” I said. “But living alone on an island, I really don’t have a lot of laundry.”

  We put together a large salad and wrapped a dozen ears of corn and a dozen small potatoes in foil. I loaded an empty box with them, adding several snapper fillets, lobster tails, and a big bowl full of stone crab claws from the fridge. We carried everything down to the table in the clearing. I noticed that Trent, probably with Pescador’s help, had a large pile of driftwood behind the eastern bunkhouse. I gathered an armload and with some dried palm fronds soon had a good fire going in the large grill.

  Tina was looking into the fire and said, “I’ve never seen such colorful flames. What causes it?”

  “It’s the driftwood,” I said. “Salt and minerals from the water soak into the wood and remain after the wood dries. You should see a bonfire.”

  The Trent’s came through the trees, all of them carrying buckets. “We got some clams,” Trent said. “We’ll go up and get cleaned up. Be back in a few minutes.”

  Tina and I started preparing the lobster tails for the grill by splitting them with my heavy dive knife. The kids squealing caught my attention and when I glanced up to the house, I realized why there was still so much water left. Trent, Charlie and both kids were showering together under the cistern, washing their clothes at the same time. They soon returned and went into the western bunkhouse to change. When they came out, they were wearing dry clothes and Charlie had their wet things in a plastic tub. She carried them over to a line I hadn’t noticed and hung them to dry.

  “You guys don’t have to use the cold shower,” I said. “The propane tank is full and will last for months.”

  Trent grinned and said, “The kids love it and to tell the truth, it’s a lot of fun. Especially after the kids go to bed.”

  That evening, we had a great seafood feast. I kept thinking about Tina’s idea of growing vegetables using aquaculture and my mind was already devising how big the tanks would have to be. Fresh water from the Revenge wouldn’t be a proble
m. It can produce 200 gallons a day. The fresh water fish would be the hard part. I’d have to buy them. There’s a tilapia and catfish farm up in Homestead I could probably get them from.

  “This is delicious,” Chyrel said. “I’ve never eaten stone crab or clams and the only lobster I’ve ever had were Maine lobster.”

  “You don’t live in south Florida?” Charlie asked.

  “No,” she replied. “I live in Georgetown, just outside of DC.”

  “Tina,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. How much do you know about that aquaculture you mentioned?”

  “Not a lot, just something I read,” she replied.

  “I know a guy in Central America doing it,” Trent said. “Raises fresh water shrimp in one tank and grows pineapple in another. You thinking of doing something like that here?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I cleared this area to try to grow food, but the soil’s all wrong and the groundwater is salty. Tina mentioned aquaculture.”

  “I saw his operation,” Trent said. “Seems simple enough. Kinda like cleaner shrimp and big groupers. They help one another. What ya call a symbiotic relationship. Your biggest problem here would be electricity to run the pumps. You can only go so far with the setup you have. You could do a stand-alone battery powered system, with a voltage regulated generator. Kicks on automatically when the voltage in the batteries gets too low and shuts off when they’re fully charged.”

  “I’ll have to look into that more,” I said. “It’d be great to be more self-sufficient out here.”

  When we were finished eating, Trent and Charlie took the kids into the bunkhouse to get ready for bed. Our plates were banana leaves from one of the dozens of trees on the island and everything was finger food. Since there were no dishes to clean up, we just tossed the leaves in the fire and the lobster and clam shells in the water.

  “If you like, Jesse,” Chyrel said, “I can go over the electronics with you. I had a late night and would like to go to sleep soon, myself.”

  “Then let’s do it in the morning,” I said, “while we’re heading down to Marathon.”