Tuna Tango

by Steven Becker

  They would lose their advantage in the close quarters of the pass, and George knew those waters better. If he took Bunces Pass into Boga Ciega Bay, he could easily lose him. With his hand shielding his eyes, he scanned the beach, settling on a large pink building. The Don Cesar hotel was the most expensive and exclusive place on the beach, having housed everyone from rock stars to presidents. It was also the best landmark.

  With a few adjustments, he soon had George moving toward the building. Now it was time to get the police involved. He picked up the phone, hoping he had service now, and dialed 911. The reception was crystal clear when the operator answered. After explaining his situation, he had the operator confirm his number. She said that someone would call him right back. He put the phone on the dashboard so he could see it if a call came through, and continued his course.

  They were in green water, now, no more than a quarter-mile from the beach, when something jarred the boat. Will had been so intent on George’s boat that he had not even seen the speed boat pulling a para-sailer off the beach. The wake threw him off balance, and he was unable to catch the phone as it slid off the polished dashboard and landed on the deck. Once past the wake, he leaned over to pick it up, but the screen was shattered and it would not respond. With no way for the police to contact him, he threw the phone down and focused on George.

  His best chance was to drive him onto the beach and force a confrontation. If George had a gun, he figured he would have used it already. Will had the boys, so they outnumbered George and his deckhand, but he lacked fighting skills and feared a confrontation. What he hoped was that George would hit the beach and run, leaving Sheryl on the boat. As they approached the beach, the para-sail boat cut between them, allowing George a large buffer.

  The fishing boat hit the beach and he watched as George pulled Sheryl out and headed toward the Don Cesar. Swimmers scattered as Will plowed the hull of the larger boat onto the beach, but by the time he was off the boat, George and Sheryl had disappeared. He looked back, saw Dick and Kyle following behind him, and took off toward the building.

  Angry tourists huddled under blue umbrellas screamed at them as they kicked sand at them, but they didn’t slow down. They scaled the wide limestone stairs three at a time, and were quickly on the pool deck. Will saw George push past a cocktail waitress and enter the building. He skirted the pool and went for the door. The cool air and slick marble greeted him as he entered the building, and he slid several feet before gaining his balance, then ran straight through the lobby to the entrance.

  Chapter 22

  Lance leaned forward at his desk, staring intently at the computer screen. The red dot on the nautical chart was his boat, and it was moving quickly toward the beach. His key fob was clenched in his hand. The device automatically triggered an alarm that went to his phone whenever the fob was not in close proximity and the boat was moving. He had immediately called the marina when the app alerted him, and they described the three men that had taken it.

  It had to be Will and those two troublemakers he had working for him. George had called earlier, saying that he was going out fishing, and that he could expect him back the next day, hopefully with a couple of bluefins, and minus one problem. That would take care of the girl, at least.

  Surprised that Will had actually taken action, he wondered what his next move should be. Self preservation was always his priority, and he thought about sacrificing George to cover his involvement. The guy was a loose cannon, but he was also his biggest producer. Cut him out of the chain and it could cost him forty to fifty grand a week in season.

  And finding a replacement that he could trust would not be easy.

  Most fisherman, especially those open to working the black market, were not the sharpest hooks in the tackle box. George was both shrewd and a talented fisherman, but his behavior, governed by his greed, was out of control. And it would lead right back to him if he was caught.

  The dot on the screen was motionless now, hovering in front of the Don Cesar hotel. He watched it for another minute before picking up the phone.

  “Brice here,” the Fish and Game officer answered.

  “Hey, it’s Lance, from the fish house over in Pinellas.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Baitman?”

  Lance called in several leads each year, mostly to sabotage his competition. His company also donated to several charities that benefited the Fish and Game officers, to stay in their favor.

  “Got a lead on a poacher for you. Big bluefin tuna guy. He tried to sell to me last week. I bought one just to keep him on the hook. I expect to see him this afternoon.” He admitted to the buy to cover his tracks if the officer started asking questions about activity in the fish house.

  “Well done. I can get you reimbursed for the fish if this pans out. Let me know when he calls.”

  Lance disconnected and planned his next move. George's cell phone went right to voicemail. He assumed he was either out of range or unable to hear the ring over the engine noise. There was nothing further to be gained by sitting here watching a dot on a screen, so he shut down the computer and left his office, telling the secretary that he would be gone for the day. Outside, the sky looked ominous, like a rain storm was imminent as he walked downstairs to the SUV.

  Inside the car with the air conditioning cutting the humid air, he turned on his iPad and opened the same program he had viewed on his computer. The dot was still in the same place. From the parking lot he crossed the railroad tracks again, cursing the advent of air freight. His family had bought the building back in the seventies, before Federal Express started overnighting fish anywhere in the world. Back then, it was important to be by the tracks. Now it cost double the freight to get fish to and from the landlocked building.

  A few blocks later, he turned onto US 19 and headed south. A right on 54th Street took him over several causeways toward the beach. Traffic was heavy, and he tapped the steering wheel anxiously, watching the iPad screen as he waited. Finally he reached the beach, turned left, and made a quick right into the hotel’s parking lot. He drove to the valet attendant, left the engine running, and ran up the steps to the lobby.

  Out of breath by the time he reached the pool deck, he scanned the beach. His boat was pulled up on the sand, apparently unharmed. George's boat was off to the side.

  He ran to the beach, slogging through the sand in his shoes. When he reached the boat, he winced as he went knee deep into the water before he could roll over the gunwale. Soaked from the waist down, he went to the helm and checked the ignition. The key was still there. The engine started right away, and he hit the blower switch, knowing he was lucky not to have blown up the boat.

  He closed his eyes and tried to steady his nerves. Too much could go wrong in the coming hours for him to make a mistake like that. Refocused, he looked toward the stern and put the engine in reverse. Not knowing if the stern drive was wrecked from grounding it in the sand, he pushed the throttle, hoping it would move.

  The boat didn’t react. Cursing, he gave it more gas and waited as the hull started to vibrate underneath him. Soon it pulled free, spitting a swath of sand in its wake. He drove carefully out of the swim area. Too many people knew him here to disregard common sense. Once clear, he turned south and pushed the throttle until the boat got up on plane. Five minutes later, he rounded the point and turned into the channel. He slowed the boat and pulled out his phone.

  ***

  George pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the caller ID. With a grimace he answered and listened. After a long minute he said, “Yes” and hung up.

  He sat on the couch in his living room, shirt unbuttoned to his waist, sweating profusely and breathing like Darth Vader. Sheryl sat across from him, unrestrained. She could run if she wanted, but the shotgun leaning next to him discouraged her, although he doubted he could even raise it to fire at her in his current condition. He certainly couldn’t chase her down.

  Lance had been clear that this needed to end now. He w
as sure Will and the boys were still alive and had taken his boat. George neither confirmed nor denied the claim, he just sat and listened.

  Now he had to decide what to do. Although he didn’t like it, Lance was his meal ticket. He got up and looked at Sheryl.

  “Jazmyn!” he yelled.

  The girl came into the room.

  “Watch our friend here. I’ll be back.”

  ***

  Will paced the floor of the fish house. “What do we do now?”

  “We? I don’t see any we here,” Dick said.

  “Shut up, Dick.” Kyle smacked him. “We need to get Sheryl back. You can’t just walk away from this like everything else that goes wrong in your life.”

  Dick turned and walked outside.

  “Let him go,” Will said as he sat down on a pile of lumber. He had been dizzy since they hit the beach and run the mile from the Don Cesar a half-hour ago. George was probably taking Sheryl back to his house, and he knew from the night before that going in there without a plan and something to back it up with was going to end badly.

  “You don’t look so good,” Kyle said as he handed him a jug of water.

  “I’ll be OK. Just have to think.” Will sat there staring into space. The water helped, and he realized he was probably dehydrated; not the brightest thing to do with a concussion. His thoughts came back into focus, but he didn’t trust his body yet. Even though his mind seemed to be working better, a plan eluded him. Going into George's backyard was not an option without reinforcements and weapons, neither of which he had. He was close to panic when Dick came running back inside.

  “Law’s here,” he yelled as he dropped through one of the holes in the floor.

  Will heard the water splash just as he heard a knock and saw a silhouette standing in the doorway. “Can I help you?” he called out from where he sat.

  “Fish and Game. Name’s Brice.” The man held out credentials.

  Not sure where this was going, but with little choice, Will invited him in. The officer walked over to him and extended his hand. Will thought about getting up, but lacked the energy. He held his hand out and shook the man’s hand.

  “My name’s Will. This is Kyle. I’m the contractor on the job here. What can we do for you?”

  “I got a report of some poaching. Some guy is supposedly using the freezer outside as a drop point. You have a key?”

  “No, the owner says he leases it to a guy named George.” Will had no idea where this was going, and decided to offer little information.

  “Mind if I look around?” the officer asked.

  “No. Go ahead,” Will said. Kyle was by one of the holes and Will saw the blood from the fish they had hoisted through it dried on the floor. Brice was looking out over the water, glancing down at the dock when Will had an idea.

  “Kyle, we need to cover the holes so no one falls through. You want to grab a sheet of plywood and start with that one?” He pointed to the blood-stained area, hoping the four-by-eight sheet of wood would hide the stain.

  Kyle went for the wood, but it was too late; they had attracted Brice’s attention, and he started toward them. He was a dozen steps away, the blood just becoming visible, when they heard a boat pull up to the dock outside.

  All three turned as a man yelled, “Can you toss me a line?”

  Will struggled to his feet and went to the end of the building adjacent to the intracoastal. The officer was a step ahead, giving him the time to motion to Kyle to stay where he was and finish covering the hole. When he reached the window, he saw Lance idling by the low docks, waiting for a line to tie up.

  “Better go around to the marina and tie up there,” Will yelled. “There’s no easy way in from there.”

  He turned toward the door and nodded to Kyle, who had just gotten the plywood into place. Brice followed him out the door and they went across to the pier running parallel to the building. Lance was just pulling up to an empty slip. Will stayed on the seawall and watched a marina employee run to help him tie off.

  He waited where he was, watching Brice and Lance talking by the boat. They finished their conversation and came toward him. Not sure whether he should just put his hands out and await handcuffs, he stood stiffly.

  “Officer has some questions about George,” Lance said as he approached. “Why don’t you help him out?” He lowered his voice, “Tell him the right story and we can still make this work.”

  Will picked up on the nuance and wondered what Lance was up to. He appeared to be throwing George under the bus. The law going after George might help get Sheryl back, though, so he went toward Brice. “Happy to help,” he said.

  Brice took out a notepad and asked Will for his personal information. Just as he seemed like he was about to ask about what he knew, they heard the roar of a diesel engine pull into the parking lot. Both men turned simultaneously and watched as the black truck stopped and George got out. Will tried to peer into the tinted windows to see if Sheryl was with him, but they were too dark.

  George took one look at the officer and went for Lance. “What did you say?”

  “Officer has some questions for you,” Lance answered.

  Will could see the panic in Lance’s eyes as he waited to see what George would do. It took a few seconds for the larger man to react before he went for him.

  “Bastard!” He pushed Lance into the water. He was caught by surprise and hit hard, but soon surfaced and swam to the closest pier, well out of reach.

  “Goddamn it! I go down, I’m taking your sorry ass with me!” he yelled as he clung to the pole and tried to hoist himself to reach the dock. It was low tide, though, and his hand fell inches short. He clung to the barnacle encrusted pile his arms dripping blood.

  Brice stood next to Will, both men watching the action. Finally he turned to Will. “Can you please tell me what’s going on here?”

  “I’ll tell you,” the accented voice of a woman yelled.

  Will looked over and saw Jazmyn standing in the bow of George's boat, a line in her hand. He looked toward the helm, and there was Sheryl at the wheel pulling up to the lower dock of the fish house.

  “Bitch, stay out of this!” George yelled and stamped toward the building.

  He was almost to the back of the building ready to pull a piece of plywood off an old door opening when Brice and Will entered.

  “Better watch what comes out of that mouth of yours!” George yelled at her as he grasped the wood and pulled trying to gain access to the boat and the woman.

  Brice drew his gun. “Enough. No one move!”

  Chapter 23

  Will stood there next to the officer with his gun drawn, wondering what the two women were doing here and working together. George let go of the plywood and turned with a grace that belied his body he drew a gun from his waistband and fired. Brice fell to the floor, grabbing his leg. Will froze, and watched as George made his way across the room. He looked down at Brice and watched as blood poured from the wound as the fallen officer reached for the microphone clipped to his lapel in an effort to call for help.

  Before his hand reached it, George kicked his gun away and yanked at the wire connecting the microphone to the unit on his belt. Weaponless and unable to communicate, Brice rolled away from him and with his back against the wall he tried to stem the bleeding. Will was about to assist him when George went back to the window.

  He rested his elbows on the sill and extended the gun through the opening.

  “Gregori!” he heard a woman scream.

  “Both of you. In here now.” He backed away, but kept the gun aimed at the women as they climbed through the window into the building.

  “I want my money from the American and to be done with you. Threatening to send me back to Russia,” she spat at him.

  George smiled as if he was enjoying himself. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be digging potatoes from the frozen ground on that farm I bought you from.”

  Will rose and looked over at Sheryl, who seemed unharmed. He
mouthed from across the room are you ok? She nodded back, a tear falling down her cheek. He was so intent on her that he didn’t notice the movement out of the corner of his eye until it was too late. He had forgotten about the boy.

  Kyle went for the gun George had kicked away from Brice’s reach, but he was too slow, and George spun toward him. “Back away, sonny. I’ve had enough of all of you.” He focused his aim on Sheryl. “Seems you’re all attached to the girl here.”

  “Dude!” They heard a voice yell from below.

  Kyle backed away from the gun, took a step toward an open hole, and jumped. Will knew it was now or never, and ran for George as he turned to watch Kyle disappear. Before he reached him, he stumbled and lost his balance, careening into the bigger man. His momentum carried George forward a few feet, and they landed on the plywood sheet, which cracked.

  George fell through the hole below it, nearly in slow motion. His body hit the beam they had just placed and spasmed, his back breaking from the impact.

  Before anyone could react, they heard a boat engine start. Sheryl walked well clear of George's body, trying not to look at the grimace on his face, and went to help Brice, who was semiconscious on the floor. Will went for the door.

  He was out in the lot when he saw Jazmyn trying to pull George's boat out. The boat swung out of control as she attempted to steer, though, her efforts overcorrecting for each turn, and without enough power to compensate it turned toward the marina pier. They heard a scream as she bore down on the piling, and he saw Lance frantically swimming away from the oncoming boat. His jaw dropped as the fiberglass hull hit the wooden piling and spun the boat, the propeller aiming right at Lance.

  He disappeared under the water, and a pool of red appeared seconds later.

  Somehow, she got the boat pointed toward open water and accelerated. She turned toward Will with a look he would not soon forget, before she had to correct course. The boat sped away, drifting from side to side as she tried to control it.