Diamond Reef

by Douglas Pratt

  He shook his head. "Just this last time, Chase."

  I watched the man's face, and even though I was the one standing in public in my underwear, I felt that he was the one with shame covering him.

  "I'll do it," I stated. "At this rate, you might be funding a good year in the islands."

  "Thank you, Chase," he said. "I'll call when they set up a time."

  "Today?"

  "Maybe," he answered. He extended a hand and retracted it awkwardly as he took another look at me in just boxers.

  "Call me, Wilson. Either at the Manta or at the store."

  He nodded and walked off.

  I looked around to see very few people taking much notice of me. Turning back, I boarded Carina and stepped down below.

  "I'm so sorry," Missy stuttered. "I didn't think he'd come here."

  She was standing in the cabin, and I guessed that she had watched everything from the portholes.

  "What's going on, Missy?"

  "He's mad. The Disney princess broke it off, I think. He came back from Orlando in a mood. He says that he wants to work on our marriage. He demanded that we start acting like a married couple."

  Settling on the settee, I asked, "What does that mean?"

  "He means that if he can't get any from his girl, then it has to come from me."

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  She continued, "I took a little offense at that. How dare he think he can come and go from this marriage anytime he wants?"

  "That's why you didn't want to go home last night?"

  "Paige wasn't home. Normally we don't air the laundry while she's there."

  I nodded along.

  "This hasn't been a marriage in years, and I'll be damned if he thinks he can demand anything from me."

  "He's going to be back," I said. "Not here, but at the Tilly."

  She sank onto the settee next to me. "Can I just stay here?"

  "As long as you want," I said. "Course, I have to go open the Manta in a bit."

  "Your boss said you can take the day off," she had a demure smile cross her lips.

  "My boss still needs someone there," I pointed out. "But Hunter will be there by four, and I'll bring you some dinner."

  She pulled me closer and pressed her lips against mine. I pulled her over into my lap and continued to kiss her.

  "What time do you have to be there?" she whispered in my ear.

  "I think my schedule says ten."

  She slid off my lap and onto the floor. Her fingers tugged on the elastic band on my boxer shorts.

  "I think you can at least be a few minutes late," she said lasciviously.

  12

  Bobby carried a club sandwich and a fried grouper from the kitchen. He set the two plates on the bar.

  "Want me to drop these?" he asked eagerly.

  We only had one table for lunch. I was fine with that. After the long day yesterday and the late night, I was happy to have a slow day. I nodded that it was fine for him to deliver the food. He wanted to make the jump to bartender, or even server, and he was happy to fill in whenever the opportunity presented itself.

  A day like today was a good one for letting him have that opportunity. There weren't enough tips to go around.

  I leaned against the beer cooler and watched the 12 o'clock news as it started. The weather was going to be typical. There was only a 30% chance of rain this afternoon, but there was an easterly wind. I was already thinking about heading back across the stream. I could at least make it to Bimini for the weekend. Easily squeeze in some snorkeling.

  Fiddling with the paper that Missy gave me last night, I thought again about Tristan. I picked up the phone and dialed Jay's number.

  "Delp," he answered.

  "Hey, it's Chase."

  "Any word from Tristan?" he asked.

  "No, I'm hoping you have something for me," I said.

  "On Moreno? A little." I heard him take a drink of something. "He's definitely the subject of someone's investigation, but the details are sketchy."

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  "It usually means, the department investigating doesn't want whatever evidence they do find being fed to the subject from some cop on his payroll. Better to keep one hand from knowing what the other is doing."

  "What do you know?"

  "Julio Moreno was born in Miami, but probably raised in Havana. Maybe back and forth from Cuba to the States. Again, the info is incomplete. He has a couple of arrests in Miami. One is a juvenile arrest when he was 14, and the other was assault when he was 19. The assault charge was beat. He had witnesses that stated the victim struck first. Mind you, the victim ended up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life."

  "Sounds like he had a good start."

  "When I reached out to some of our contacts with the DEA, the response I got was to send any pertinent evidence to them. They would loop me in later."

  "Guessing that's not the most productive route," I remarked.

  "Like dealing with the State Department if you know what I mean. They assume their turds are smarter than I am, so no need to share their shit with me."

  "Thanks. Maybe we can go a different way. I have something," I said into the phone. "Can you run a plate number for me?"

  "Yeah," he answered.

  I rattled off the numbers. "One of the guys that I met on Tristan's boat came to visit me yesterday. This tag was on the car he ran off in."

  Jay chuckled, "I'm guessing you gave him something to think about if he fled."

  "Well..."

  I heard him do something on the other end. Then he said, "Easy. Here it is. The car is registered to a Ponce Alvarez. His address is in Miami. 3462 Flowering Trail."

  "Thank you, Jay."

  "What's your plan, then?"

  "I'm pretty sure that this guy, whoever he is, is working for Julio Moreno. Those same guys visited Tristan's wife, so I need to make sure that Moreno doesn't think that's acceptable."

  "Sounds like they are looking for him too," Delp replied. "That means they didn't kill him, yet."

  "I know. Any good news is nice, but I want to know where that little son of a bitch is. I want to confirm my suspicion that Tristan's boat was searched too."

  "I might be able to help you with that. I know a guy in the Coasties down there," Delp said "I'll give him a call. What's the name of his boat?"

  "The Kristol. Give him my number here if you want."

  "You sure I can't come down with you? Maybe a badge would help smooth the way with the locals."

  "No," I said into the receiver. "It's not the locals that are the problem right now. These goons haven't tossed anything at me that I can't handle."

  "Chase, you know they might be figuring that out."

  "Good," I stated.

  "Not necessarily," he pointed out. "They might try to find something to toss at you that you can't handle."

  "I guess I'll burn that bridge when I get there," I said.

  "Keep me apprised," he stated.

  "You got it." I added, "Thanks."

  Hanging up the phone, I leaned against the bar and stared absent-mindedly at the wall. Tristan had me focusing on two fronts. Ponce Alvarez and his friend with the spiked hair were looking hard for Tristan. That means they wouldn't lead me to him, so there wasn't a lot of point in focusing on them. Except they now involved Tristan's family. Right now, it seems Tristan had left no clues to his whereabouts. That was equally disturbing. For all his faults, Tristan didn't seem the type to not at least check in with Kayla.

  All those thoughts raced through my head at one time. He might be dead, but at least Alvarez and friends didn't kill him. Or he might just be hiding, and Alvarez and friends had every intention of killing him if he didn't have their money. Maybe even if he did have their money, just to prove a point to others.

  The sound of a stool scooting echoed around the bar. I walked around to see Agent Kohl sitting at the bar.

  "Damn," I said.

  "That's some terrible customer
service," Kohl replied. "I'd complain to the management, but since you spent the night with her last night, I don't think there would be a lot of consequences."

  "Oh no," I feigned disbelief, "the mighty federal agent has been keeping tabs on me. What a shock? I can't believe it."

  Kohl stared at me with an annoyed look.

  "Agent Kohl," I said, "I've spent several years dealing with people like you in the service. Some guy whose head is so far up his ass he has no way to see what was actually happening."

  "Gordon," he hissed, "you have no idea what I know."

  I leaned over the bar and drew closer to his face. "I know that if you bring Missy up again in any type of threatening manner, you will be eating everything through a straw. I don't care how much time I might get for that."

  He blinked at me. He understood me, but he wasn't about to give in.

  "Want to tell me where you were two nights ago?" he asked.

  "Not really," I said. "Besides, I figure you are about to tell me anyway."

  "You aren't making this easy on yourself, Gordon."

  I leaned against the bar, still holding eye contact with the agent. He wanted to fluster me. Very few people could do that; Marines don't get flustered.

  "I don't need to make it easy."

  Kohl adjusted his ass on the stool. "What were you doing at Dehrer Park?"

  I cocked an eyebrow. "I was enjoying an evening stroll."

  "When the park was closed?"

  "I don't like crowds."

  "That's illegal," he said.

  "Then issue me a citation."

  His eyes narrowed. "I'm going to tell you what I think."

  I waved my hand toward him as if to tell him to go on.

  "I think you were carrying a package of drugs and dropping them off with someone."

  I nodded along with him. "I don't suppose you saw the person I was delivering these alleged drugs to."

  He didn't answer. Which was an answer itself.

  "I have no affiliation with Julio Moreno."

  "Other than the knife fight you had with one of his guys last night?"

  "We didn't exchange names."

  Kohl folded his hands. "Let me lay my cards on the table."

  "Good," I stated, "because your bluffing game is shit."

  He rolled his eyes. "How about we cut out the tough guy crap. I get it. You aren't intimidated. That probably makes you stupid or something."

  "I've been called worse."

  "I don't know how you are involved. Are you looking for Locke? Maybe his wife asked you to."

  "I was just checking the man's boat for her."

  He nodded. "Right," he said sarcastically. "Just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Story of my life."

  "Look, Locke is in some deep shit. That is if Moreno hasn't already killed him."

  "Listen, Kohl, I haven't any idea if Julio Moreno is involved with Tristan. If he is, I would want to work to get him away from that life. That's my only concern in this whole thing. I want Tristan and his family to be safe."

  "He needs to come to me," Kohl said. "I can get him a deal. Put his family someplace safe."

  "If he even knows anything about Moreno," I said.

  "No, if he's in the organization, we can use whatever information he has."

  I nodded as if I believed everything Kohl said. The truth was more likely to be far from that. If Tristan had any actionable information about Moreno, then he could write whatever deal he wanted. What was more likely was that all he ever did was deal with a middleman, and Moreno never entered the scene. In that case, Tristan might end up with a lighter sentence in a prison where someone working for Moreno could put a knife in him. Or worse, the feds would convince him to stay in the organization and try to work his way closer to Moreno. That was a death sentence for Tristan and maybe his family.

  No, the only way to save Tristan, if he was even still alive, was to help him extricate himself and his family without the federal government's assistance. There were a lot of "buts" floating around that idea. But I had to find him first. But I had to get him away from Moreno. But I had to keep the DEA away from Tristan.

  "I don't know where he is," I explained.

  "But you're looking for him?"

  "I don't have any idea where to look for him." That wasn't a lie.

  Kohl unfolded his hands. "Who were you meeting at Dehrer Park then?"

  I laughed. "I'm an idiot. You thought I was meeting Tristan, didn't you?"

  Kohl didn't share in my amusement.

  "That was another matter completely," I assured him.

  His face indicated that he didn't find me truthful.

  "Before you ask, that's a private matter altogether."

  Kohl said, "We need to work together on this."

  I smiled. "If you will forgive my skepticism, I don't trust you to have my best interest in mind, much less Tristan's or his family's. Moreno is a big fish. I bet if you lead the takedown of him, you get to write your ticket anywhere in the DEA. Maybe even bigger than that. Am I right?"

  "Moreno is a killer. He's responsible for the murder of hundreds of people. I want to stop him."

  "I am sure," I conceded. "But the boon to your career wouldn't be bad either."

  He lifted his hands with some exasperation. "Fine, we won't work together. That means if you get in my way, then I'll be arresting you for obstruction of justice."

  "That must mean you have some concrete evidence against Tristan," I said. "Otherwise, it's just speculation. Maybe circumstantial. In which case, I'm not really obstructing justice.

  "Unless you have some evidence you want to show me," I added.

  He pushed away from the bar, scraping the stool's legs across the hardwood floor. "Gordon, you are stepping in shit that you can't get off your boot."

  "My boots. My problem. Perhaps at this point, you should realize these little conversations aren't fruitful. If you want to arrest me, lay a charge on me. If you don't have anything, get the hell out. You are taking up space at my bar."

  The DEA agent attempted to stare me down. He snarled at me when I didn't blink, and he turned around and stormed out of the Manta Club.

  13

  Flowering Trail Road wasn't as alluring as its name might make it seem. Instead of trails of flowers, the sidewalks were lined with four-foot chain-link fences surrounding typical lower-middle-class single-family homes. I say typical, but I mean for Florida. Houses, where I'm from in rural Arkansas, didn't look like these cinder block structures with flat roofs.

  I can't say I care one way or the other. From the moment I turned 18, I hadn't lived in a house. For years it was barracks, and when I was finally discharged, I bought Carina and moved onboard her while I cleaned her up.

  Ponce Alvarez's home was nearly identical to every other house. The wood trim on his house was rotted while most of the other homes had some fresher paint and some evidence of recent maintenance. The yard was void of toys, while the rest showed some signs of children in the homes.

  An audacious blue Honda Del Sol with yellow stripes swooping up the doors and an aftermarket spoiler that rose at least eight inches off the trunk sat in the driveway. It was the only car there.

  The tree in the front yard was laden with Spanish moss that hung almost to the grassless, dirt yard.

  I sat in Missy's BMW. She was still hanging low on Carina, and I didn't want to monopolize the marina's Toyota. Plus, if the DEA was following me, then they would have a hard time in a new car. I hadn't been looking for anyone following me before my interaction with Kohl, but now I was double checking my mirror and doing some extra evasive maneuvers. I was reasonably confident that no one had tailed me.

  The window was down, but the sun was already turning the car into a little oven. There was no breeze to offer any relief. However, I didn't know how long I would be sitting, and running the air seemed like a waste of gas. My body doesn't mind the heat, and when I get back to the marina, I could shower before he
ading to bed. If Missy was going to be staying another night, then she might appreciate me washing the sticky Florida sweat and grime off me.

  Following Alvarez wasn't going to produce a lot of results. At least as far as helping me find Tristan. Unless Moreno's guys found him first. Those chances seemed thin if they hadn't turned anything up yet. I was more interested in how the operation worked and who was involved. Alvarez and his friend had turned to threatening Kayla and Abbie in order to find Tristan. That needed to be stopped now. Protecting the girls in Tristan's life was a slightly higher priority. I knew that he'd expect me to protect them before finding him. At least, I hoped the kid I served with still thought that way, despite whatever mistakes he had made lately.

  Two toddlers, wearing only diapers, were jumping through a sprinkler while their mother hung laundry on a makeshift clothesline. Their giggles were audible across the street. My eyes caught the young mother who had a half-smile on her face as she listened to her kids playing gleefully.

  A few doors down, another woman shouted something to the young mother. They spoke in Spanish across the yards. The second woman said something, and both looked in my direction. I offered a small wave. A gesture meant to convey that I was harmless. The women appeared to think otherwise. The young mother hurriedly hung the last of her laundry before ushering the wet tots into the house.

  The sprinkler slowed to a smaller and smaller arc of water. Until the metal contraption seemed to only spit a tiny spurt every second or so. Then the water was gone.

  Way to go, Chase, I told myself. You ruined those kids' afternoon.

  The smell of asphalt baking in the sun floated up from the street. It reminded me of the aroma that hit me every time I stepped off a plane in the desert. The sun seemed to warm the tar mixture until it released that smell. I was strangely comforted by the memory it triggered.

  Missy had a few CDs in the car, but her taste in music tended toward the shitty. In fact, on a scale of crap to pure utter shite, her music collection was, in my opinion, on the far end. I groaned as I flipped through Bruno Mars, Justin Bieber, and Destiny's Child. Giving up on the CDs, I started tuning the radio instead until I found a classic rock station that was playing Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic." With a half-grin, I leaned back as I watched Alvarez's house.