Secretly, though, he admitted to a small thrill of excitement that perhaps something was going to go down that he would be privy to, at which point he would have to decide if he wanted to engage or to keep on pretending to be a full-time writer, when in truth he only wrote when the mood struck him. Oftentimes he didn’t write for months; and then, when his editor reminded him that his manuscript was due, he’d work around the clock.
The bottom line was, he was a cop.
Thirty minutes later, Tick shoved all his reveries to the back of his mind, cut back the engine, and the Miss Sally sailed up to the dock, where he tossed the mooring lines to a young boy who was brown as a berry and whose black hair shone like coal in the bright sun. He smiled, his teeth glistening in the noonday sun. “How long, Mr. Kelly?”
“Two hours. Three at the most. No joyriding, Tobias.”
“I hear you, Mr. Kelly.” The boy winked at Tick. “The narcs are out today. They were cruising all night. Must be something going on somewhere. They’re going to smell this little treasure a mile away.”
“Just don’t let them dirty up my boat. Tell them I kick ass and take names later.”
“I hear you, Mr. Kelly.” The boy laughed uproariously at Tick’s words.
Tick was grinning as he strode down the pier and onto dry land. Tobias would deliver his instructions verbatim if the narcs came around. He stopped a minute to get his bearings as he decided which way he wanted to go and what he wanted to buy.
Tobias settled himself in the cigarette boat, the engine idling as he tried to figure out just who Patrick Kelly was. The man had been the topic of many discussions at the marina, but so far only speculation reigned. He was some hotshot rich guy from up North pretending to be a beach bum. He was a drug runner who was too smart to get caught. And the one he liked the best was Kelly was running away from his wife, who was trying to steal all his money, and Mango Key was where he was hiding out.
Tobias knew Kelly had to be someone special to be living on Mango Key because everyone in Key West, probably the whole state of Florida, knew that the elders on Mango Key never let anyone on the Key who didn’t belong. To live on Mango Key you had to be Indian and part of the family. Patrick Kelly was not Indian; therefore, he did not belong. For sure he wasn’t part of the family. Tobias knew for a fact Kelly was Irish and Italian because he’d asked him one day. He tipped good, and that was all Tobias cared about. That and taking the Miss Sally for a bit of a spin before he docked her. He craned his neck now to see if Kelly was within eyesight. He wasn’t. He backed the boat out, hit the throttle full force, and off he went, flying over the water, the wake behind him three feet high. He didn’t care one bit that he would have to dry down the boat. These few minutes were like ecstasy to the young man.
On dry land and meandering down the road, Tick strained to see Tobias playing with his boat. He laughed to himself. When he was seventeen or eighteen, the age he figured Tobias to be, he would have done the exact same thing just for the thrill of it. “Get with the program here, Tick. You came here for a reason, so get to it,” he muttered to himself as he stepped up to an ATM, punched in his code, then the amount of money he wanted. He looked around to see if anyone was watching before he jammed the cash into the pocket of his cargo shorts and smoothed down the Velcro closure.
Five doors down, Tick stopped at a hole-in-the-wall store with massive iron gates that were lowered at night. He walked in, looked around as though he were in a supermarket choosing melons for the day. He picked up a knife that looked like it could skin a bear, a switchblade, night-vision goggles, and assorted other heat-sensing apparatuses that spies used in their trade. He carried all his purchases to the counter, which was filled with so much junk the clerk had to ring up each item as Tick handed it to him. When all his merchandise was tallied, he asked for two hundred feet of nylon rope, then whipped out his police ID and got a box of clips for his gun.
“You going alligator hunting?” the old man joked.
“Something like that,” Tick said. “Box it up, seal it good, and take it down to the marina. Ask for Tobias and have him put it in my boat.” Money changed hands, and Tick was back outside in the bright sunshine.
Tick kept walking until he came to the bodega where he usually bought his groceries and walked into the dim interior that smelled of ripe cheese and sausage. He handed over his grocery list, paid for everything, and gave the same instructions to the little old lady in the sparkling white apron. “I will send Manuel to deliver the groceries, Senor Kelly.”
Tick walked out into the bright sunshine a second time and looked around for another ATM. He hit it again, pocketed the money, then headed to the nearest bait, tackle, and dive shop. He walked around the cluttered fish-smelling store, breathing through his mouth. Cash in hand, he walked up to a middle-aged guy who was so leathery-looking his face could be mistaken for a road map. A bad road map. He rattled off what he wanted, and added, “Two of everything. Pack it up, seal it good, no markings on the boxes, and take it to the marina and tell Tobias to load it on my boat.” Money changed hands. As he counted out his change, Tick knew he would have to hit up an ATM for a third time if he wanted to eat a decent lunch. He asked where the nearest ATM was, and the leathery-looking guy pointed to his left.
Tick pocketed his money for the third time, then crossed the busy street to his favorite restaurant, not that there were that many to choose from. He liked sitting outside under the orange and green umbrella sipping at the hot Cuban coffee. He opened the menu and pointed at the pictures. Basically it was the same food he could have gotten back in Atlanta at any Mexican restaurant but better. With the temperatures in the midnineties and climbing, it was too hot for coffee. He waited for his Corona and gulped half of it before he settled the bottle on the rickety iron table. He raised a finger to indicate the waiter should bring another bottle with his food.
Tick was people watching as he played a game with himself. Who, what, where, when, and why? So many people. All with secrets. He didn’t know how he knew this, he just did. When he felt a light touch on his shoulder, he whirled around, his hand automatically going to his side for his gun, which wasn’t there. He looked up to see who had dared touch him in such a public place.
“Pete! What the hell are you doing here?”
“You sure you want to know?”
“Well, when you put it like that, maybe I don’t. Can you give it to me in degrees?”
“Degrees? Yeah, yeah, I can do that. What’d you order?”
“I have no idea. I just point to the pictures. The menu is in Spanish, and the little bit I know doesn’t include Cuban menu items. You want the same thing?”
Pete nodded. Tick turned around, pointed to his brother, and yelled, “The same for him, and a Corona.
“Articulate, little brother.”
Chapter 6
“Nothing earth-shattering, Tick. Just needed some time off, away from the bar. It’s doing extremely well, by the way, but I’m married to the place. I was going to come down sooner, but I wanted to make sure my people were as good as I thought they were. The saloon business is the easiest in the world to rip off. Then Andy told me the trial he was working on was postponed when something in the basement of the courthouse blew up, and they had to shut down the entire building. You know nothing goes on in Atlanta in July, so he volunteered to work the bar while I came down here. Trish is doing the kitchen. Their kids are at camp until school starts in August. Win! Win! It was an offer I couldn’t pass up. So, here I am.”
Tick stared at his brother, his dark eyes full of questions he had no intention of verbalizing. He waited, hoping his brother would see fit to confide in him the way they had when they were younger. Pete looked away and stared at the people walking by in their bright-colored tourist outfits.
Pete turned back to face his brother. “I caught an early flight, came standby. Man, I hate the Atlanta Airport. It took me longer to get through security than it did to fly here. Do you believe that?” Tick s
hrugged since he hadn’t been near an airport in eight years, and it was all Greek to him.
“Yeah, it’s a mess at any airport. When I got here, I went straight to the marina and asked your buddy Tobias if he could run me out to Mango Key, and he said you had just pulled up and pointed to the Miss Sally. He said you probably came in for supplies and would have lunch before you headed back. He pointed me in the right direction, and here you are. But, something happened before I found you. I stopped at this outdoor place about a block and a half from here for a cup of coffee,” he said, pointing off to the left. “Someone left a copy of the Miami Herald on the table, so I was reading it and drinking my coffee when I heard these guys talking behind me. There were three of them. At first I didn’t pay any attention, but then I heard them mention Mango Key and the cop who lived on the beach. Since you’re the only cop living on Mango Key, my ears perked up.”
So did Tick’s. He looked around to see who was sitting at the occupied tables, then leaned forward. “What did you hear?”
Pete lowered his voice. “Not much. Even I knew they weren’t just guys out for a cup of coffee. They were law and order, what branch I don’t know, but you could just tell they weren’t local or tourists. They were dressed like tourists but wearing jackets. That made me think they were packing heat. No one wears a jacket in Key West. They said they had to keep an eye on you, and they weren’t sure about buying into the story that you were some kind of shitty writer trading on your life experiences.”
“They actually said that?” Tick blustered indignantly.
“Yeah. I thought about jumping to your defense, but I wanted to hear more, so I just kept pretending I was reading the paper. They really didn’t say much else. They talked about two chicks, Kate and Sandra. No last names. And they were really getting off on some asshole, that’s their word, not mine, named Tyler, whose daddy is the governor of Florida. Two of the guys were probably late thirties, early forties. The third guy was way older, maybe early sixties. He seemed to be the one the other two deferred to. That’s it, Tick. So, what do you think? Do you know those guys? Does any of it ring any bells for you?”
Though intrigued over Pete’s story, Tick shook his head just as their food arrived, and the small tables around them started to fill with chattering tourists. Off to the right, a group of locals were strumming on banjos, making conversation impossible. The brothers began to eat. They finished in record time and set out on their walk back to the marina.
Halfway to the marina, Pete veered to the left to a pushcart selling snow cones. He called over his shoulder, “You still like strawberry?”
“Yeah, a double-decker,” Tick called back as he meandered over to a bench under a tree that was so big it would take a dozen men to wrap their arms around it.
Pete held out the snow cone like it was a golden chalice. “Kind of like old times, huh? Remember how Mom would give us ten cents when we were little, and we’d run to the corner to get the cones. You always ate yours so fast and got a brain freeze.”
“And your cone always melted before you could really enjoy it because you tried to save it. What’s wrong, Pete?”
“Am I that transparent, big brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Sadie dumped me. I should have seen the handwriting on the wall when she didn’t make it back in six months like she promised. She said it was work-related, so I couldn’t make a big deal out of it. Then the calls and e-mails started to taper off. Damn good thing I did my financing without waiting for her. Even back then, I think I had a premonition. I’m not sure about this, but I think Andy knew it wasn’t going to happen because he told me to go ahead with the financing, and we could add her later if she still wanted in. Then she called me two weeks ago to tell me she was marrying some British diplomat. Just like that. It was all over in a minute. So, yeah, I’m kind of bummed. I swear, Tick, I thought she was the one. Do you have any idea how stupid I feel? How come I didn’t see it? Guess I wasn’t good enough. Ex-rodeo roustabout, saloon keeper, that kind of thing. Can’t compare to a British diplomat,” Pete said morosely.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Pete. I learned a long time ago never to sell yourself short. Like Mom always said, everything happens for a reason. Accept that Sadie wasn’t the right one. And, you did see it, you just chose to do nothing about it. You’re doing okay, right? If you don’t need her financing, get over it and move on. Life is too short for the would-haves, the could-haves, and the should-haves. Move on.”
Pete slurped the last of the blueberry juice out of his paper cone, his lips as blue as the coloring in the hot-day treat. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve the way he used to do when he was a kid. Tick did the same thing. “Yeah, like you did?”
“That was a low blow, and you know it. That’s like talking apples and oranges. Sally died,” Tick said flatly. “Sadie married some British diplomat. I rest my case.”
Suddenly contrite, Pete said, “I didn’t mean it like that, Tick.”
“I know you didn’t. Come on, let’s head back to the boat. Jesus, it must be one hundred and ten degrees. The humidity is unbearable. When we get home, I’ll make us a big pitcher of ice-cold lemonade, and we’ll sit on the porch. You can bring me up to date on Atlanta, and I’ll bring you up to date on Mango Key. How’s that sound?”
“Pretty damn good. Can you make the lemonade the way Mom made it, real sweet and tart, with the lemon peels in the pitcher?”
“You know it, bro,” Tick said, slapping his brother on the back. It was the signal from childhood for both to sprint forward and race the other to the marina. Tick won by a hair. Both men were laughing as they climbed aboard the Miss Sally. Tobias waited until Tick checked his purchases to make sure everything was intact before he released the mooring line. He waved happily, the hefty tip Tick had slipped him deep in his pocket.
The short ride to Mango Key was exhilarating, the ocean spray bathing both brothers as they roared through the water at close to ninety miles an hour. “Don’t go getting the idea that I speed like this all the time, I don’t. I don’t need the Coast Guard hauling me in and breathing down my neck. I just wanted to cool us off,” Tick said, easing up on the throttle. Off in the distance, he could see one of the Coast Guard boats on its daily patrol. He eased up even more on the throttle, making it easier to be heard.
“What’s that?” Pete asked, pointing to the structure down the beach from Tick’s house on stilts.
“That, Pete, is my new neighbor. Short-term, I’m told. I think they’re feds, probably DEA. I checked it out earlier this morning with the town elder. It’s a prefab building. I wouldn’t want to swear to it, but I think the men you heard talking this morning might have something to do with what’s going on. What that is, I have no idea.”
“What about that thing?”
“I guess it’s still there. I haven’t been down that way in a few weeks. The last two weeks, I was working around the clock. I woke up this morning and saw that damn prefab, and it pissed me off. If it stays up longer than a month or so, I’ll be looking for other accommodations.”
“Damn, Tick, are you ever going to come out of this self-imposed exile? Eight years is a hell of a long time to be so alone. It’s not healthy, and you damn well know it. You have to get back among the living. I’m not saying you have to go back to being a cop or even come back to Atlanta, but you need to . . . to socialize. Talk to people other than that damn parrot. How about coming back and helping me run the bar? We could expand, do all kinds of things. You could still write. Will you think about it?”
“No. I’m quite happy here. Look, Pete, I can’t go back to Atlanta. Not now, not ever. Don’t try throwing that cemetery business in my face either. My family is in my heart, so they’re with me every hour, every minute, every second of every day. I don’t need a place to go to. I just have to put my hand over my heart and Sally, Ricky, and Emma are with me.
“See that flash, Pete?” Tick said, changing the subject.
“Yeah,
what is it?” Pete asked as he shaded his eyes to see better in the bright sun.
“It’s someone in the prefab building looking at us with binoculars. Look away, don’t let them see that we noticed.”
“Do you think they’re interested in you in particular, or are they watching the other boats or maybe just the water? They have a boat that’s half on the sand and half in the water. What the hell does that mean? Dumb as I am on all things maritime, even I know you don’t beach a power boat.”
“It means they aren’t seasoned boaters. There’s no dock. Off the top of my head, with just a quick look, it appears to be an old Boston Whaler. Good boat. Maybe there’s something wrong with it, or it’s just there for show. It’s probably outfitted to outrun this boat. Appearances can be deceiving, Pete.”
Pete snorted. “That’s the cop in you talking. See! That’s what I’m talking about. You can no more hang it up than you can stop breathing.”
“Shut up, Pete, I don’t want to hear it.”
Tick cut the throttle and allowed the Miss Sally to slide up next to his dock. Pete hopped out and secured the boat. Tick handed up the packages, then both men stood for a few minutes, looking down the beach. The sun was still glaring off the binoculars, which meant Tick’s neighbors were still watching them. He shrugged. “They must be novices or just plain stupid. I don’t like people spying on me. Do you like people spying on you, Pete?”
“Hell no!”
“Then maybe when the sun goes down, we’ll go for a walk on the beach and tell those fine people we don’t like being spied on.”
Pete sucked in his breath. Now that sounded like the old Tick. “Sounds like a plan. You said something about making lemonade.”
Southern Comfort Page 7
