After dinner she drove me up US-1 to Marathon. We stopped at a little parking lot on the east side of the Seven Mile Bridge to watch the sun go down. It’s a spectacle I try to enjoy every day I can. The sky was cloudy as the sun sank toward Mother Ocean and it disappeared behind a cloud bank. A moment later, the lower part began to emerge below the clouds and soon turned the far away cloud bank a pale orange, before it slipped below the horizon.
We got back in Jackie’s Jaguar and drove to the Anchor, where my boat was still docked and a full blown ‘wetdown’ celebration was taking place. It’s an old Naval tradition, usually for newly promoted officers, where he or she throws a party and spends the difference in pay from their old rank to pay the bar tab. Since Rusty and Julie owned the bar, this could turn out to be a wild one.
Jackie and I walked into the crowded bar amid a chorus of shouts and whistles, as everyone tossed down a shot of rum. “Welcome aboard, mates!” shouted Rusty over the din. “You’ve missed the first toast, but belly up, there’s sure to be more.”
“Have you ever been to a wetdown?” I asked Jackie as we stepped up to the bar. Rufus was behind it with Rusty and placed two shot glasses in front of us and poured a finger of Pusser’s in each.
“Actually, no,” she replied. “I always thought they were a bit too formal.”
“Marines don’t stand much on formality,” Rusty said. Then he turned to the crowd and lifted his glass. “Mister Vice, a toast.”
Julie and Deuce were seated at the head of the bar and Julie stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen. To the Commandant of the United States Coast Guard, Admiral Thad Allen!”
Jackie started to stand up, but I touched her arm and shook my head. A roar went up from the seated crowd, “United States Coast Guard.” Everyone, Jackie and I included, tossed down the rum.
“It’s tradition to remain seated during the toasts,” I explained. “This is kind of a mix between a wetdown and dining in.”
Rufus and Rusty quickly poured another finger in the dozens of glasses placed on the bar. When everyone was again seated, Rusty called on Julie for another toast.
“Why does he call Julie ‘Mister Vice’?” Jackie asked.
“You really need to get out among your Naval friends more,” I said. “Preferably the enlisted. Nobody parties like we do. Mister Vice is the traditional name given to the lowest ranking member, who is the one that makes the toasts.”
Julie stood up, lifted her glass and said, “Ladies and gentlemen. To the Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Michael Hagee!”
Jackie caught on quickly and lifted her glass with the others and shouted, “United States Marine Corps!”
The toasts continued to the other branches until finally Rusty poured a full two fingers in every glass and Deuce stood up, turned to Julie and solemnly said, “Mister Vice, one last toast.”
Julie stood and turned to the crowd and in a hushed voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand.”
With the scratching of chairs on the hardwood floor, everyone stood up. Julie turned to the corner of the bar to the left of the door and I noticed for the first time, the Missing Man table. Everyone turned toward it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, raising her glass. “A toast to all the warriors who preceded us but never came home. We knew them, we'll remember them, and they will not be forgotten. To our fallen comrades!”
“Our fallen comrades!” everyone shouted and tossed down the 15 year old rum.
Rusty rang the ship’s bell behind the bar and immediately the back door opened and four men carried huge trays to the main table set up in the center. Each tray was loaded with the bounty of the sea, lobster, stone crab claws, clams, oysters, and fish of all kinds.
“Everyone dig in!” Rusty shouted as he tried to hide wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. For his size, thick red beard, and general gruff attitude, the guy was actually pretty emotional at times. I couldn’t help but be moved by Julie’s toast myself.
Jackie stepped away from the bar and started toward the Missing Man table. I followed her and came up beside her in front of the arrangement. “I’ve heard of this, but have never seen one. I assume everything has some significance?”
My First Mate, Doc, his wife Nikki and a few others stood around the table with us and they all looked to me for an explanation. I’d explained the meaning at many Marine Corps functions in the past and remembered it all. I slowly raised my glass in salute and tossed down another shot.
“The table is round,” I began, “to show our never ending concern for our fallen comrades. The tablecloth is white, symbolizing the purity of their motives when answering the call to duty. The single red rose in the vase reminds us of the life of each of them, and the loved ones and friends who keep the faith. The vase is tied with a red ribbon, a symbol of our continued determination to remember them. A slice of lemon, or in this case a Key lime, on the bread plate is to remind us of the bitter fate of those who will never return. A pinch of salt symbolizes the tears endured by the families of those who have given the last full measure of devotion. The Bible represents the strength, gained through faith, to sustain those lost. The glass is upside down, they can’t toast with us. The chair is empty because they are no longer with us.”
She turned toward me, reached up and wiped a single tear from the corner of my eye. “Damned eyeball sweat,” I said. “Come on, let’s get some of those stone crab claws.”
We partied well into the night. I caught up to Doc about midnight and explained our charter on Sunday. A guy I didn’t recognize seemed to be trying to listen in so I didn’t give any details other than we had a VIP charter. “Do you have a serviceable uniform?” I asked.
“What the hell for?” he asked, choking on his beer.
“The client’s a Navy man, likes to see uniforms.”
“You don’t think that’s kinda weird?”
“I prefer eccentric,” I said. “Hey, it’s a good paying charter and you know me, anything to please the client.”
Doc quickly picked up that I was being evasive for a reason. He’s been out with me enough to know I really didn’t like clients and left that completely up to him.
“Got a Charlie, wrapped in plastic. Should still fit.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I won’t be the only one in green. I’ll be at the marina on the west side of NAS Boca Chica tomorrow night. The clients arrive at 0600, so I’ll need you aboard no later than 0530.”
Deuce joined us at the bar and said, “When are you heading out tomorrow?”
The guy that was eavesdropping seemed to listen just a bit more intently, but he was trying hard not to show it. He was sitting on the stool behind me, but I could see him in the mirror over the bar. With my left hand I reached up and tugged on my ear. Being a former SEAL and current spook, Deuce was instantly aware and glanced over my shoulder at the guy.
“I’m gonna leave early,” I said. “About 0700. Want to stop by the house and check on some things.”
“We’ll be ready at 0645,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and walked over to the end of the bar where Jackie, Julie and Rusty sat. Minutes later the eavesdropper left the bar, without finishing even half his beer.
Doc said he and Nikki had to get back down to Key West, she had to work in the morning. We said goodbye and I walked over to where Deuce and Julie were sitting. “Rusty and Julie said they never saw the guy before. You?”
“Me neither. He seemed a little too interested in our itinerary on Sunday”
“You didn’t say anything to tip anyone off?” I looked at him with an arched brow. “No, I didn’t think so. This charter is so hush hush, even the client’s wives don’t know anything about it. What do you make of the guy?”
“Might just be someone interested in fishing, I really don’t know. Let’s just keep our eyes and ears open.”
He thought that over for a moment and said, “Yeah, that’s probably all it is.”
“So Jules,” I said, �
��you like your new place?”
“It’s just freaking awesome! Deuce told me you helped crew it back here from Bimini.”
“Yeah, for a Sailor, he’s not much of a sailor. Somebody had to go along to show him the difference between standing rigging and running rigging.”
“He’s taking me to the Antilles, for our honeymoon.”
Jackie walked up then and caught what Julie said. “You’ll love it there. Some of the most beautiful islands in the Caribbean.”
Later, since we’d had so much to drink, I invited Jackie to stay aboard the Revenge. “Are you asking me to spend the night with you? Because it sure sounds like you’re asking me to spend the night with you.”
“I’m just saying it would be a bad idea to drive back to Key West after four shots of rum and three beers. Useless-1 has been known to put people to sleep late at night. You’ll find the guest cabin in my boat to be very comfortable.”
“Guest cabin?” she pouted.
“Guest cabin.”
The bar was nearly empty at as we said good night to everyone an hour later. When I glanced back from the door, Rusty and Deuce both gave me a sly wink. I just rolled my eyes at them.
Chapter 7: Red Sky In Morn, Sailor Be Warned
I woke up early Saturday morning to rain beating down on the cabin roof. I grabbed a quick shower, put on a pair of fisherman’s shorts and a tee-shirt and went up to the galley, where the smell of fresh coffee was coming from. I’d set the timer for 0600. A quick glance out the starboard porthole told me all I needed to know. The rain was coming down in sheets and the palm trees on the west side of the canal were whipping their fronds in what looked to be a 20 knot southwest wind.
Before heading down to Boca Chica we needed to go up to my island to pick up our other boat, a 30 foot Winter center console called El Cazador. It had been confiscated last winter in a drug bust and as is Deuce’s team’s custom, they added it to our growing fleet to use against the bad guys. The former ADD didn’t want to pay to dock it up in Homestead where the team’s based, so we brought it down to my island.
I opened my laptop to check the weather radar, when I heard the guest cabin door open and close. Jackie came up into the salon wearing one of my tee-shirts, her lion’s mane of hair disheveled from sleep. On her it looked good.
“I need to keep an emergency bag in my car,” she said. “My teeth feel nasty.”
“Guest head, across from your cabin, top drawer to the left of the sink. Should be four or five new toothbrushes and several kinds of toothpaste.”
“Is that coffee I smell and rain I hear?”
“Go brush, I’ll have a mug ready when you get back.”
“Mmpf.”
Either she wasn’t a morning person or didn’t drink much, I thought. Or maybe both. A minute later, I heard the shower come on, so held off on pouring her coffee and checked the weather on the laptop.
The radar image showed a slow moving band of heavy rain, stretching from north to south and moving east. I switched on the NOAA weather radio, which confirmed that and said that seas on the ocean side were six to ten feet, with three to five in the Gulf. Checking the laptop for tomorrow, it predicted sunny skies and calm seas, again confirmed by the monotone mechanical voice on NOAA. Getting from the Anchor to Moser Channel and under the Seven Mile Bridge was going to be a wet ride, with quartering seas at first and full abeam before the turn under the bridge. Nothing the Revenge couldn’t handle and as far as getting wet went, as Russ always used to say, “If it ain’t rainin’, you ain’t trainin’.” I learned early on that unless you stood on your head, the human body was water proof. I wasn’t too sure about my guest, though.
Just then, she came up into the salon, with a huge towel wrapped around her head and another around her body. Oh shit, I thought. You’re in trouble now, McDermitt. I handed her a mug of steaming coffee, which she gratefully took in both hands and didn’t bother with the sugar and cream I had set out on the settee.
“I don’t suppose you have a blow dryer aboard, do you?”
“Equipped for anything and everything,” I replied. “Middle drawer of the dresser in the guest cabin. You’ll find some clothes in the hanging closet that should fit you. I need to head up to my island today and check on things, before going down to Boca Chica. Thought maybe you’d like to tag along. We’ll be back here before sunset on Sunday.”
“You’re taking the boat out in this storm?”
“It’s not that bad. We’ve been through a lot worse.”
“Okay,” she said without hesitation. “What time will we get to the base?”
“Midafternoon, easy. Plenty of time to starch your uniform before meeting the President in the morning.”
“Oh my! I’d almost forgotten that.” She finished her coffee, set the mug in the sink and headed down to the cabin. I heard the blow dryer and started making breakfast.
“Omelet’s okay with you?” I shouted.
“White’s only, if you can,” she shouted back.
How do you separate the yolk from the white, I wondered. I put two small pans on the stove and cracked two eggs in each. Using the shell, I managed to keep the yolks out of the pan and rather than toss away good food, I added them to the other pan. I chopped some onion and green pepper, sliced some tomato, added some chives and cheddar cheese then turned on the two burners.
Jackie came up to the salon wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and a short sleeved denim shirt a girlfriend had left aboard last winter. She had the tail of the shirt pulled up and tied in front.
“I like the Daisy Duke look on you, Doctor Burdick.”
“These aren’t new, are they?”
“No, but they’re clean. Washer and dryer in the forward stateroom.”
“Belong to your girlfriend?”
“You know I don’t have a girlfriend. A charter passenger left them,” I lied. I’ve learned over time that women can be particular about wearing an old girlfriend’s clothes.
“Your boat is really beautiful, Jesse. I thought you said it was a work boat?”
“Out that hatch,” I said pointing astern, “and up on the bridge, it’s all business. In here, well, even the most diehard fisherman wants to relax in style.”
“Hello, the boat!” came a shout from the dock, which gave Jackie a start.
I got up and opened the hatch. Deuce and Julie came rushing in, wearing yellow slickers. “We’re just finishing breakfast,” I said. “You want me to whip you up an omelet?”
“We’ve had breakfast, thanks,” Julie said. “I brought your uniform. Dad said he checked it over and everything’s there and all squared away.”
“Thanks, Jules.” It was inside a weather proof suit hanger, still wrapped in plastic from a dry cleaner in Jacksonville, North Carolina. I took it and hung it up in the hanging locker by the hatch. Jackie and I ate quickly and I cleaned up, while Julie and Jackie talked excitedly about meeting the President. I went back over to the hanging closet by the hatch and pulled out my rain slicker. “When y’all are ready, there’s a thermos in the top right cabinet. How about filling that and bring a couple mugs up to the bridge. We’re going out to start the engines and cast off.”
Deuce and I stepped quickly through the hatch. While I climbed up to the bridge, he went up on the dock and untied the lines. Both engines sprang to life instantly and settled into a low rumble. The wind held us stationary against the fenders until I was ready to pull away, so Deuce climbed up to join me.
“I told Stockwell about the guy listening in last night.”
“What’d he have to say?” I asked.
“Pretty much the same as you. As long as nobody here has said anything, and I assured him nobody had, he figures it was either someone just interested in fishing, or maybe a charter competitor, looking to pick up some local intel.”
Jackie and Julie came through the hatch and handed up the mugs and thermos. Jackie was wearing a slicker, with the hood pulled up over her head, but Julie was just wearing a s
licker top with no hood. She’d weathered her share of rainy weather on the water and was used to it. The bridge isn’t fully enclosed, it was open astern. I always unroll the clear side curtains when I leave the boat, because rain comes up quick here. With the wind blowing off the starboard bow, it was dry. For now.
Jackie started to take her slicker off and I said, “We probably won’t stay dry. In about ten minutes, we’ll be turning north and the wind will come from behind us.”
“I’ll keep it on, then. Is it supposed to rain all day?” she said as she sat in the second seat next to me and Deuce and Julie sat on the bench seat to port, Deuce to the rear.
I switched on the radar, sonar, UHF, and NOAA radio and said, “Forecast says it’ll move through in an hour or two and should be sunny and calming by 1500.”
Another boat had taken up residence in front of me in the last day or two and he’d docked a little too close. I nudged the starboard engine into reverse and gunned it for a second, swinging the bow away from the dock. Then I shifted the port engine into forward as the bow cleared the other boat. I shifted the starboard engine to forward and idled down the long canal to the open ocean.
The Rusty Anchor is on the ocean side of US-1, sitting between two residential areas. Rusty’s family had owned the land for over a century. His dad had built the bar and dredged a shallow canal in the ‘60’s. In the last two years, Rusty had improved the bar, dredged the canal deeper, built docks and dredged a wide turning basin at the end of the canal. He was well on his way to running a full-fledged marina, complete with a fueling dock.
“Better find something to hang on to,” I said as we neared the end of the canal. I could already see white caps in the shallows and big rollers further out.
Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 8
