When The Water Burns
Page 1
When The Water Burns
A. L. Awtrey
Copyright 2017 Anthony Awtrey
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Chapter One: Tomas
Tomas felt a shiver up his spine the instant the guy walked in the bar. He was dressed like the other tourists in a guayabera shirt, khaki shorts, and brown leather sandals, but there was an awareness in his unblinking expression that tugged at Tomas’ memory.
As he paused the doorway, the guy scanned the bar, glancing behind the door before walking in. Spotting a free table in the corner, he glided through the crowded bar like a shark splitting the surf and sat with his back against the old red brick wall.
Tomas turned away before his scrutiny drew unwanted attention. He’d had to do some sketchy work in the past to pay for the freedom his fifty foot charter boat gave him. Back when he still felt young and invulnerable, the only people who ever scared him were the dead-eyed enforcers for the drug cartels he smuggled for. That guy in the corner looked like an enforcer and Tomas hoped he wasn’t working because if he was someone was going to die.
He considered going back to the boat where he lived to avoid getting involved, but just then Kyla came into the bar carrying her guitar. She had gorgeous auburn hair framing her face, deep blue eyes, and always exuded a kind of crackling, elemental energy. She smiled when she saw him sitting at his usual table and he smiled back despite his anxiety.
The first night Tomas came to the Parrot Dice Bar and Grill was to meet a potential charter. Kyla had been playing quietly next to the main bar for most of the night, but when she started singing the raucous atmosphere stilled. Her voice had a rich, sensual quality that reached deep inside and hooked him through his heart like a fish on a line. Instead of moving on after a few jobs like he’d done for years, he’d stayed in Key West, always promising himself he’d leave soon.
Tomas signalled the old bartender by raising his empty bottle and tipping it at Kyla who was just sitting down across from him.
“Thanks, Tomas.” After sitting her deep blue Ovation guitar to lean against her chair, she put her elbows on the table to study his face. “How was the fishing today?” she asked in her soft, lyrical brogue.
“Good. Caught a marlin. The guy just took a picture with it and then released it.” Tomas knew Kyla was a little hippy-dippy and didn’t like when people mounted trophy fish for display.
“Evenin’, y’all.” The old bartender slid a couple of bottles of Honey Bottomed Blonde on their table.
“Thanks, Mitch,” Tomas said, then sipped the cold, sweet beer.
“We got fresh grouper tonight. If y’all want some, lemme know.” Old Mitch gave Kyla a pat on the shoulder, then headed back to the bar with a smile on his face.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Tomas leaned towards Kyla. “Don’t be obvious, but do you see that tough looking guy with the buzz cut in the corner?”
Kyla’s eyes flickered that way. “Yeah. So?”
“He’s trouble. Stay away from him.”
Kyla grinned and said, “Don’t be jealous. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m serious.” Tomas tried to hide it, but he was always jealous when Kyla picked up some tourist for a fling.
She claimed to have a rule about not dating locals, but he had just arrived in Key West when she told him that. It turned out she knew him better than he did himself because he was still hanging around her five years later. “I think he’s a heavy hitter. Real bad news.”
“I’m a big girl,” Kyla said with an amused smirk. When she sipped her beer, her eyes flickered the guy’s direction again.
Tomas mentally kicked himself for pointing the guy out. There was no telling Kyla anything she didn’t want to hear. “Just be careful.”
“I always am.” She pulled her pile of wild curls through her hands and put a scrunchy around it to make a loose ponytail. “I gotta go play.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Tomas sighed as she laughed and grabbed the neck of her guitar.
She swayed over to the stool near the end of the main bar. Mitch flipped on the spotlight as she sat down. The bright light brought out the colors in her sparkly blue spaghetti strap top. The cream colored peasant skirt swirled around her calves as she sat the guitar on her lap. After checking the tuning, she picked an upbeat arpeggio and smiled out at the crowd.
Kyla played what she wanted and rarely took requests. The songs spanned a wide range of years and styles, anything from folk to classical to modern. Judging from her youthful appearance, he had initially assumed she would play more modern pop, but she seemed to favor the kinds of jigs and reels her Irish ancestors probably danced to.
The song she started singing was unfamiliar to him, but the effect it had on the crowd was immediate. Even without amplification, her voice cut through the noise and left smiling silence in its wake. The lilting gaelic lyrics were incomprehensible, but still seemed to paint pictures of love and home. People nodded and tapped along with the rhythm and a few brave souls got up to dance in front of her. She smiled broadly, turning her attention to the room and seemed to glow in the warm spotlight.
Tomas risked a glance at the dangerous guy in the corner. He was rapt, but his expression was closer to a predatory hunger than the open smiles she created in others. This was exactly what Tomas had been worried about when he pointed the guy out to Kyla. There was blood in the water now and he was circling for the kill.
Rubbing his face with his palms, Tomas tried to still his racing heart. Kyla was in more danger than she would admit. In the past, when he knew she was going to take someone upstairs to her apartment or back to a resort, he’d leave so he wouldn’t have to watch it happen. He could admit he loved her to himself, but was never brave enough to risk their friendship over his desire for more.
Sometimes he would find an auburn haired tourist looking for a vacation fling and closed his eyes to pretend it was Kyla. It rarely helped, but it was all he could do to keep from going crazy sometimes. That wouldn’t work tonight. She was going to go with that guy, he could feel it, and he was going to hurt her somehow. A premonition washed over him and rang his heart like a ship’s claxon.
“Damn it, Kyla,” he muttered and settled in for a long night.