Wood's Reach: Action & Sea Adventure in the Florida Keys (Mac Travis Adventures Book 6)

by Steven Becker

  “Mac Travis? In Key West? I should have figured you’d be around if your boy Trufante was here. And a silver coin too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin, flipping it carelessly in the air. Mac was about to snatch it from him, but was distracted by a tipsy couple turning the corner from Front Street, looking like they had enjoyed their evening in Key West. The couple turned at one of the finger piers, and he turned back to Jimmy.

  “Where’d you get it, Jimmy?” Mac said quietly. He knew the man, having hired him years ago for a salvage job. Another half-bent Northerner making their way to Key West, needing some temporary work to make it the final sixty miles to what they thought would be their paradise. It was a pilgrimage of the misfits. They often stopped in Marathon, looking for work on the way down, quitting as soon as they had enough money to move on, their minds filled with dreams of the paradise just down the road. Then, disillusioned and often broker than when they had come through before, they’d come back, but with a different attitude. Mac could always tell the ones that would make it and those he would see on their return trip. Jimmy was one of those he’d never expected to see again.

  He laughed, and with his face close enough that Mac was forced to step backwards, he whispered, “Payback’s a bitch.” He got in Mac’s face. “Now I have something you want.”

  “Here to sell it to Hawk? He’s here for a few hours and already the scavengers are coming in,” Mac said.

  “I ain’t no scavenger. Nope, Jimmy’s legit.”

  Mac was about to respond when he saw a movement in the shadows. Before the next words could leave his mouth, something smashed into his head and he fell to the deck.

  Chapter Sixteen

  TJ sat motionless, blood pounding in his ears but unable to do anything as Ironhead picked up a boat hook, wound up, and swung. Mac dropped to the deck. The thug kicked him and then turned to look at the strange man who Mac had been talking to.

  “What do you want?” Ironhead asked the man.

  The guy who called himself Jimmy pulled something from his pocket and held it out. “Just want a minute with your boss.”

  “You on a fishing trip or you selling?” Ironhead asked.

  “Maybe both. I think he’ll want to see this,” Jimmy said.

  Ironhead grabbed Mac’s legs and started pulling him to the boat.

  “Wait, what about me?” Jimmy asked, clearly afraid to move closer.

  “Just stay there. I’ll be back with an answer,” Ironhead said and crossed to the deck of the ship. He turned, pulled Mac across the void, and hauled him through a cabin door.

  TJ was alone and far outside of his comfort zone.

  ***

  Mac tried to lift his head, but it stuck to the deck. It took him several tries before the clotted blood broke free. He sat up slowly, waited for the room to stop spinning, and looked around. The cabin was windowless, leading him to believe it was under the waterline. It was empty—devoid of furnishings or supplies, just the steel floor and bulkheads. Placing his hand against the wound, he was thankful the bleeding had stopped. He sat still and listened for a few minutes, trying to get his bearings. The engines were off, and the gentle lapping of the waves against the steel hull told him they were still in the harbor.

  Sitting against the wall, he tried to piece together what had happened. Jimmy Bones’s face flashed in his memory, and he frowned. If there was anyone that attracted more flies than Trufante, it was Jimmy, but where the Cajun was just a magnet, Bones was actually shit. There was nothing accidental or unlucky about him; it was just bad juju.

  Without warning the door opened, and Ironhead entered. Mac instinctively moved to the corner in case he needed to protect himself, but the larger man just smiled.

  “Boss wants to see you,” he said and moved out of the doorway.

  There was no fight in him, and Mac slowly got to his feet. With a hand on the wall for support, he held up his other hand, signaling for Ironhead to hold on, and waited for his vision to clear. It was certainly a concussion, and he hoped nothing more, because he knew that a doctor’s visit was not in the plan. Feeling stable enough to walk on his own, he moved to the hatch and stepped into the companionway. He looked around, forming a picture of the ship in his head. He already knew the main deck, and now he saw the two steel doors behind him and a flight of stairs in front. Ironhead pointed up, and he climbed.

  “Well, Travis, we meet again.” Hawk stood in the center of the room. “And it looks like I hold all the cards—or coins this time.” He flipped something in the air.

  Mac looked around the cabin. The large room held the living area and galley. The wheelhouse just forward of it stood higher and was accessible by a door to the cabin and one to both sides of the ship. The rear cabin door led to the aft deck. Alicia was sitting in the corner, carefully avoiding his eye, whether from fear of reprimand from him or Hawk, he could only guess. She looked tired, but at least she had not been mistreated. He noticed something around her neck, but Hawk distracted him.

  “Catch.” Something flashed from his hands, and Mac reached out for it but missed. Ironhead laughed, retrieved the object, and placed it in his hand. The silver had been cleaned and shined, but he knew the coin.

  “You recognize that?” Hawk asked.

  “Seen a lot of treasure and old coins in my day,” Mac responded. The fresh air and daylight were helping clear his head and he felt better.

  “Come, now. You are my guest for the time being. Let’s not change that status,” Hawk said, opening his other hand and showing Mac the remote control. He looked back at Alicia and realized he was holding the controller for the shock collar around her neck.

  There was no point in subterfuge. “It’s from your stash in the confiscated house,” Mac said.

  Hawk nodded and held out his hand for the coin. Mac rolled it between his fingers. Ironhead took a step toward him, and he handed it back. “There are plenty more where this came from.”

  Mac wondered what game he was playing. He had seen him place a load in the canal and had to assume there was more there than he had seen. “What do you want from me?”

  “Quite simple, Travis. Legitimacy. You may have had some run-ins with the law, but I’m totally blackballed after that Marine and you ran my idiots aground. ICE bastards held a kangaroo court, confiscated the house and everything before I could even lawyer up.” He paused and rubbed his bald spot. “They might have taken away your commercial fishing license, but I checked, and your salvage license is still in place. Mine, on the other hand, is suspended pending an investigation.”

  “You were dirty long before Jesse and I grounded your goons,” Mac said, biting his tongue. He knew he shouldn’t have gone that far. The only way out of this was to wait and find an opening, for both his sake and Alicia’s. He had dealt with Hawk before and seen firsthand how devious he was.

  Ironhead stepped closer again, but Hawk ignored him, holding up a hand to stop him. “With the help of your friend here, we are close to the location of a major haul, but I’ll need you to pull the permits.”

  “Why should I do that?” Mac asked.

  Hawk pressed a button on the controller. Alicia jerked suddenly and slumped over. Mac took a step toward her when Ironhead stepped in front of him.

  “She’ll be all right. And just so you know, that was the lowest setting,” Hawk said, pocketing the device.

  “So, if I do the paperwork, you let her walk?” Mac asked.

  “Something like that, but she’s running a little behind on her research.”

  This was not going the way Mac had planned it. After running into Jimmy and seeing the coin, he could only guess where Trufante was. His only backup was TJ, and for all he knew, he could be locked up below. He had to solve this with what he had in front of him.

  “Okay. Alicia figures out the riddle, and I run the paper. Then what?” Mac asked.

  “That would all depend on you, Travis. Cooperate and I could even cut you in for a share. As far as divers go,
you’re one of the most respected down here. Put away your pride, and you can have the hermit’s island, get your boat back, and maybe a pile of cash to do what you want. If the score is anywhere near what I suspect, you could be set for life.”

  Mac knew that plans seldom worked out as they were conceived, but he had no other choice than to play along—for the moment.

  ***

  “This is fun,” Pamela said, slurping the remainder of her drink through the straw.

  They had followed Jimmy to the marina and were sitting on a dock box by one of the finger piers several slips down from where Hawk’s boat was tied up. Jimmy had been aboard for ten minutes, and Trufante was getting anxious. It was not often that anyone, especially Hawk, would put up with him for that long. It had to be the coin, he thought.

  “Gonna need another round of brews, and then why don’t we—” Pamela started.

  Trufante put a hand on her knee, stopping her. Jimmy appeared in the doorway of the cabin, and he needed to decide what to do—follow him or stay with Hawk. Deciding that whatever worth Jimmy had, he had just traded or sold, he decided to stay with the boat.

  “Right on, babe. I’m in for that,” he said, gathering their empties and leading her away from the dock. He paused to see which direction Jimmy was going and took her hand, leading her in the opposite direction. They found a bar a few blocks away, refilled the drinks, and started back to the dock when she pulled her hand out of his.

  “This is getting boring,” she said, raising her hands over her head and shaking her hips. “Let’s go dancing.” She put her arms around his neck.

  His train of thought jumped the rails and headed for a deep ravine. It didn’t take him long to rationalize the change of plans. The boat was obviously in Key West for the night. Why watch it? Maybe after a few dances, and a couple more shots, they could head back to Garrison Bight and check out the cabin on the boat. If the sucker had four engines, he could only imagine what the berths looked like.

  “Right on,” he said.

  “Then show me the way to the next whiskey bar,” she said, following him towards Duval Street.

  ***

  TJ sat in the bushes feeling helpless. He knew Mac and probably Alicia were aboard the steel trawler, but he was at a loss as to what to do about it. To make matters worse, Trufante was missing, and now he was here alone.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to envision the scene in front of him as if it were a challenge in a video game. Something he was good at—very good. In a hostage situation, the best plan of attack would be a diversion. His brain was clicking now, and he thought through his options and available resources, trying to decide if it should come from land or sea. Running both scenarios through his head, he thought about the pros and cons of each, deciding on a water-based attack. Anything emanating from land would have the chance of a random person interfering with his plan, and the increased chance of police intervention. An attack from the water, although harder to execute, would have a better likelihood of success.

  Taking one last look at the trawler, he moved away from the cover of the bushes and headed back toward town. With his phone held in front of him, he followed the map. Staying on Front, he skirted Whitehead and Duval and then followed side streets. A half hour later, he reached the marina and paused for a minute before heading onto the dock. The boat looked like it was rocking. Studying it, he disregarded the action, possibly the result of an unseen wake, bouncing back off the seawall.

  He approached the boat and heard an unmistakable sound coming from the partially open hatch in the forward berth. Hoping they wouldn’t last long, he walked back to the main pier and started to work on his plan of attack. Taking a docked boat in the middle of a busy harbor was not the easiest of problems, but after a few minutes several options came to mind. He looked back over at the boat, now settled and swaying in rhythm with the other craft, and approached, making enough noise to rouse the occupants.

  Trufante popped his head out of the cabin. “Yo, TJ, what’s shakin’?”

  “Just you, my friend,” he said, hopping over the gunwale and going to the helm. “Get your act together. We’re going on a sortie.”

  “What’s that, Tru?” Pamela asked from below. “Another adventure?” She appeared behind the Cajun, buttoning her blouse. “Can we get another drink first?”

  “Excellent idea.” Trufante dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. “Why don’t you procure us some cocktails?” He looked at TJ. “You in?”

  “I’d go for a bottle or two,” TJ said. Alcohol was part of his plan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mac was already awake when the door opened. He had been for hours, trying to figure some way out of this mess. There was always a chance to make a break for it when they went ashore to file the paperwork, but Alicia would pay for any actions he took—Hawk had made that clear. One thing he had decided, after thinking about it, was that having his license on the paperwork was not a bad idea.

  Ironhead led him back up the short flight of stairs leading to the main cabin. Hawk was already sitting at the table eating breakfast. Another place was set, and he motioned for Mac to sit.

  “Go ahead and eat,” he said.

  Mac sat, but pushed away the food. He wanted no part of this attempt to ally with him. “There’s no Department of Historical Resources office here,” Mac said. He had always had to deal with the bureaucracy in Tallahassee whenever he had obtained exploration or salvage permits before.

  “Been a while, I’m guessing,” Hawk said. “The code is so comprehensive and ridiculous now, you need a lawyer to file. You’ll be visiting an associate of mine. He’s got connections there. Once you sign, we should be up and running in a few days—provided your friend here closes in on the location.”

  “How can you file for the permit without the coordinates?” Mac asked.

  “It’s an exploration permit. The exploration area is quite a bit broader than an actual salvage permit.”

  “And you won’t be getting one of those, I expect,” Mac said. The exploration permit would allow them to search, unrestricted and unregulated, as long as they didn’t disturb anything; a salvage permit would require inspectors and archaeologists.

  For now, he would cooperate. After breakfast, Wallace escorted him off the boat, leaving Ironhead to watch Alicia. She was already working; two computers now sat in front of her, doubling her resources overnight. They had exchanged a look of mutual reassurance before he had left. He knew her well enough that she would hide whatever she discovered until he returned.

  Everything in Key West was more colorful than you would expect in the rest of the world, and Hawk’s lawyer was no different. Located on the first floor of a brightly painted, meticulously restored Victorian home were the law offices of Wallace and Wagner, LLC. Mac looked at the sign and back at his escort, wondering what the relationship was. He soon found out when they entered the foyer of the house and were greeted by a flamboyant man who bore a strong resemblance to the man standing next to him, the one he called the weasel. They were so close, in fact, that he suspected the only difference might be their sexual preference.

  Their reunion was curt, merely a nod to each other.

  “I have the papers drawn up in the office,” Wagner said.

  Mac followed the men across the freshly oiled Southern yellow pine floor into a tastefully decorated, paneled study.

  “Please,” Wagner said, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk.

  The men sat, and the attorney pushed a sheaf of bound papers across the large desk to Mac. He started reading.

  “Standard filing,” the lawyer said. “The yellow tabs are where to sign, and I’ll need a current address.”

  Mac took the papers and started signing. He paused when he came to the address, then entered Trufante’s. Finished, he slid them across the desk to the lawyer, who scanned them to make sure the fifteen signatures required were completed, and smiled.

  “Very good, then,” he said
, rising from his chair to dismiss them.

  Before they left, he handed a copy to Wallace.

  ***

  Alicia didn’t turn when they entered the cabin, but Mac saw one of the screens change.

  “Here’s your copy.” Wallace handed the manila envelope to Hawk.

  Without looking at it, he opened a drawer in the cabinet behind him and dropped it in. “Let’s go. Nothing else to be gained hanging around here.”

  The two men nodded and went to work, both knowing their duties. Wallace went into the wheelhouse and Mac felt the deck vibrate when the engines started. Ironhead had already released the stern lines and was standing on the bow, waiting for Wallace to pull up next to the piling that the fore and spring lines were hooked over. Alicia shot Mac a panicked look, but there was nothing he could do.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “Not your concern, Travis. It’s up to your friend there, and I’m giving her four hours to figure it out.”

  Mac got the threat. He looked at Alicia, but she was staring at the data scrolling down the screen.

  “At least let me help her, then. No harm in that, is there? I’ve been staring at those pictures for years,” Mac said.

  “Suit yourself,” Hawk said and went to the wheelhouse.

  Mac moved a captain’s chair next to Alicia and looked at the display. He was about to say something when she tapped his hand and pointed at the screen closest to her.

  “Type it, if you don’t want them to hear,” she whispered.

  She had opened a small window in the corner of the display. “Any luck?” he said, wanting at least some conversation to appear normal.

  “I’ve got some of the patterns translated into a chart of sorts,” she said, then typed, But there’s something missing.