by Matthew Rief
Jack Rubio was one of my oldest friends. We’d first met back in ’89 while my dad was stationed at Naval Station Key West. He was born and bred in the Keys and a third-generation conch. He loved where he lived and embraced the island lifestyle as much as anyone alive.
I slid off my fins and climbed up onto the swim platform. Pulling the spear out of the hogfish’s head, I held it triumphantly in the air.
“Looks like hogfish is on the menu for a few days,” I said. “Did you see those antennae sticking out from that outcropping?”
I was surprised to see them in such shallow water, given that we were nearing the end of lobster season, and catching bugs was a favorite for locals and tourists alike.
“That’s not all I saw. There were a few rows of red-and-white spikes.”
“Lionfish?”
He nodded.
Lionfish are beautiful, vibrantly colorful fish that are popular in saltwater aquariums. Though easy on the eyes, the natives of the Indian Ocean and the South Pacific have long venomous spines radiating from almost every part of their body. Their venom is harmful to many sea creatures and can cause extreme pain and paralysis lasting for days for humans. Through a combination of storms and negligent pet owners, these predators have been released over the years and have spread viciously throughout the Western Atlantic and the Caribbean, becoming an invasive species.
“These unwelcome guests showed up here recently and they’re spreading like wildfire,” Jack said.
I gave Jack a hand as he climbed up onto the deck, then I wrapped both of our fish with an old issue of the Keynoter and stowed them away in my Yeti.
“I thought they’d been here for years,” I said. “I remember spearing a few off South Carolina back in ’05.”
“Nah, bro. Not in the Keys. As far as I know, the first ones were spotted just a few months ago. Sadly it was only a matter of time.”
I paused for a moment, then turned to face Jack. “I speared a few off Key Largo back when I was driving down to move here. That was back in March of last year. Damn, I would have told someone had I known.”
“Really? Well, I wouldn’t beat myself up about it. And you’ve been here for a year is all?”
I nodded. “A year next week.”
He shook his head.
“What a year it’s been. You know, when you first told me you were moving to the Keys, I imagined you sitting back and relaxing for a while. I think that train of thought lasted about six seconds until you went right into telling me about the Aztec treasure.” He laughed, and I couldn’t help but join him as I grabbed a can of coconut water from the cooler and took a few swigs. “It’s been an exciting year, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.”
He motioned towards the wounds I’d received since moving to the Keys, mainly on my chest. Only a few knife wounds and the bullet wound were clearly visible.
I stepped back down to the swim platform.
“Yeah, well, the only excitement I’m looking for right now is to round up some lions.”
Jack smiled. “Don’t forget the bugs. If those delicacies think they’re making it out of this season alive, they’ve got another thing coming.”
We spent another half hour beneath the waves, rounding up as many bugs as we could find and spearing every lionfish in sight. By the time we climbed back out of the water, we’d bagged five lobsters and three lionfish.
We removed our fins, masks, and weight belts, then rinsed them off with fresh water on the swim platform before stowing them under the half-moon seat around the outdoor dinette. I grabbed a pair of towels from the sunbed. Handing one to Jack, I patted down my body and my dripping brown hair, then slid into a white cutoff tee shirt.
Since the water was still calm and we had the site to ourselves, we decided to have an early dinner right there on the water. I brought out my portable propane grill from the salon and mounted it to the starboard gunwale just aft of the helm. Within minutes we had it fired up, the sound of Jimmy Buffet playing through the outdoor speakers as the smell of sizzling lobster mixed with the fresh salty breeze filled our nostrils. Atticus went crazy at the smell, getting so excited I thought he might have a heart attack.
When we finished grilling, we sat around the dinette and enjoyed the fruits of our labor while taking in the sights. We were anchored over the reef about twenty miles southwest of Key West. We were only a half a mile east of Neptune’s Table, a unique underwater ledge where we’d discovered the Aztec treasure almost a year earlier. The southern horizon was empty, just stretches of blue Atlantic as far as the eye could see. To the north, we could see small slivers of the Marquesas Keys, Boca Grande Key, and Woman Key. We could also see a number of boats in the distance along the reef, mainly fishing boats and dive charters.
After filling my stomach with a final bite of lobster dipped in garlic butter, I washed it down with the rest of my Paradise Sunset beer, a local brew from Keys Disease brewery. I gave Atticus the meat from an entire bug, and he rose in joyous surprise as we handed him the leftovers as well. He scarfed down the food in less than a minute, then relaxed on the deck in the shade beside the dinette.
As I leaned back into the white cushioned seat, my iPhone suddenly vibrated to life. Snatching it from the table, I glanced at the screen and saw that I’d received a text message from Angelina.
“How are you getting a signal out here, bro?” Jack said, looking at my phone in amazement.
“I talked to Quincy over at Queen Anne’s and he hooked me up with a top-of-the-line signal booster.”
I smiled as I opened the message and saw that Ange had sent me a picture. It was of her and two other women holding on to a metal chain as they climbed Half Dome in Yosemite National Park. After spending eight years in the Navy, I had gone to work as a mercenary working various jobs around the world. It was during a job that I’d met Ange, and we’d dated on-again, off-again for years before she’d moved in with me in Key West. We’d been living together for seven months and were rarely apart during that time. The truth was, her visiting California with some old friends was the first time we’d been apart for more than a couple of days since she’d moved to the Keys.
“When does she get back again?”
“A week or so,” I said. “Hard to tell for sure. Like me she rarely buys round-trip tickets.”
He took a few more swigs of beer, then leaned back and grinned at me.
“You sure have incredible luck, bro,” he said. “Ange is quite the woman: beautiful, smart, and quite possibly the most badass girl on the planet.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “There’s no one like her.”
Jack paused for a moment, then leaned forward, removed his sunglasses and set them on the table.
“Look, we’ve known each other for years and we’ve always been honest with each other. And since your dad’s not around anymore, I feel like it’s my duty to ask you when you’re planning on manning up here.”
I looked at my old friend, wondering what he was talking about.
“Manning up?” I said.
“Yeah. With Ange. When are you gonna marry her, Logan?”
I smiled, looked out over the blue ocean and took in a deep breath of fresh air. A moment later, I slid out of the seat, rose to my feet and strode down through the salon door without a word.
“You’re not getting off that easy, bro,” Jack said, chuckling.
I stepped down into the salon, and headed forward into the main cabin. I moved along the port side, between the edge of the queen-sized bed and the head, reached down, and pulled out the top drawer of my nightstand. Reaching up into a narrow empty space, I grabbed a small hand-carved wooden box, then dropped it into my shorts pocket and closed the drawer.
When I returned to the deck, I saw that Atticus had jumped onto the white cushioned seat beside Jack, who’d just popped open another cold one. He raised his hands in the air when he saw me appear.
“No need for the silent treatment,” he said jokingly. “And I mean it in
the nicest way possible when I say that you’re never gonna do better. And if you think that you—”
He went quiet in an instant as he dropped his gaze down and saw the tiny wooden box I’d set on the table in front of him. With a satisfied grin, he grabbed it and hinged it open. The magnificent four-carat diamond glistened in the afternoon sun, and Jack’s mouth dropped to the deck when he saw it.
“This is crazy,” he said. “Look at the details here,” he added, pointing to the intricate patterns along the edge of the platinum band. “How much did this set you back?”
“It was my mom’s,” I said. “Dad left it to me in his will. He wrote that he hoped I would find a finger for it one day.”
My dad, Owen Dodge, had been a Master Diver in the Navy and one of the most experienced aquanauts I’d ever met. He told me that he’d found the ring in a shipwreck off the coast of Tangier back in the seventies.
Jack set the ring back in the box, then rose to his feet and wrapped an arm around me. After congratulating me, he took another swig from his beer and said, “I guess this means I need to buy a suit, huh?”
“Yeah, right,” I replied. “I’m not extravagant, and if I know Ange, she won’t want anything fancy either. That is, if she says yes.”
“If?” Jack raised his eyebrows. “That woman’s crazy about you, bro.”
I smiled, then glanced down at my dive watch and saw that it was just past 1900. “Hey, we should get going. Pete said the mic gets hot at sunset.”
Jack nodded and killed the rest of his beer.
“Never miss a chance to see the Wayward Suns,” he said as he rose to his feet and climbed up onto the bow. “I got the lanyard once you bring up the steel.”
I operated the windlass remotely at the helm, bringing up the anchor rode into the locker until the shackle rattled against the rim of the bow. Working slowly, I brought the anchor up, securing it in place. After Jack attached the safety lanyard, he climbed back down into the cockpit and I started up the twin six-hundred-horsepower engines. Within a few minutes I had us up on plane, heading towards Key West with the sun setting at our backs. The Baia has a top speed of just over fifty knots, but I usually like to keep her at her cruising speed of forty.
As we cruised past Crawfish Key off the port bow, my phone vibrated on the dash, indicating that I’d received another message. It surprised me because it was from an unknown number, and when I replied, asking who it was, I got no response.
“Hello, old friend,” was all it said.
THREE
We pulled into the Conch Harbor Marina at 2000 and I eased the Baia’s hull against the dock fenders at slip twenty-four. Jack stepped onto the dock and I killed the engines as he tied us off to the cleats. He said he’d meet me back there in thirty, then flip-flopped down the dock to where his boat, a forty-five-foot Sea Ray, was moored.
After connecting the shore power cables and freshwater hose, I moved down into the main cabin and took a shower. Even though the ocean temperature in March off Key West averages around seventy-five degrees, there’s something about a hot shower after a long day out on the water that feels indescribable.
After stepping out and toweling off, I slid on a pair of cargo shorts and a Rubio Charters tee shirt, then laced on a pair of Converse low-tops. After patting Atticus goodbye and setting out some food and water, I turned on the security system, locked up the salon door, and met Jack on the dock. In the parking lot, we hopped into my black Toyota Tacoma 4x4 and drove over to Salty Pete’s Bar, Grill, and Museum. With the sun down and out, leaving the tropical paradise in darkness, downtown Key West transformed into its usual night scene, with tourists walking the streets and island music playing from every corner.
We pulled into one of the last vacant parking spots in the crushed-shell lot beside Salty Pete’s. Pete Jameson, the owner of the unique establishment, was an old friend of Jack’s and knew the southern Florida islands as well as anyone alive. His place was on Mangrove Street, close enough to attract the Duval tourists but far enough away to maintain a more relaxed vibe.
Moving towards the main entrance of what looked more like a well-renovated house than a restaurant, we pulled open the wooden door and were greeted instantly by the ringing of a bell and the smell of grilled seafood. The place was packed, with almost every table and booth filled and waitresses busily shuffling food, taking orders, and clearing dirty dishes. Pete’s was nothing like the rundown restaurant I’d walked into when I’d first moved back to the Keys. It had all new furnishings, windows, and hardwood floors. But the freshly painted walls were still covered with assorted knickknacks, including an old wooden helm, a massive fishing net decorated with crabs and shells, and pictures taken around the Florida Keys over the years, retaining the restaurant’s classic charm.
Mia, a former waitress and the newly promoted floor manager, spotted us from across the busy dining room. She was pretty, with long dark hair she kept in a ponytail, a lean physique, and a small patch of freckles around her nose. She wore a Key lime green Salty Pete’s tee shirt, black shorts, and a pair of tennis shoes. Smiling, she waved us over, then pointed towards the large wooden staircase at the back of the dining room.
“They’re all upstairs at the center stage table,” she said. As we passed by, she added, “Jack, you’re starting to scare me. You never used to show up on time for anything.”
Jack laughed. “It’s Logan’s fault. He wears a watch.” He pointed at the Suunto dive watch strapped around my left wrist.
The second floor of Salty Pete’s was lined with rows of glass cases containing various artifacts Pete had assembled during his years in the Keys. We headed for a large sliding glass door that led out to the balcony, where a small crowd had gathered around the tables and outdoor bar. The door was wide open, allowing us to hear the Wayward Suns as they performed their mic checks on the humble stage.
Pete made eye contact as we stepped out and signaled us over to a round table right beside the stage. He was in his sixties with tanned, leathery skin and a mostly bald head with thin patches of gray hair. He was half a foot shorter than my six foot two, drank enough to maintain an impressive beer belly, and had a metal hook in lieu of a right hand. As Jack and I weaved through the people, Pete slid his chair back and rose to his feet with the springy movements of a much younger man.
“Well, if it isn’t the two sons I never had,” he said in his rough yet friendly tone. He wrapped an arm around each of us and ushered us to the table. “Where’s the beautiful Angelina?” When I told him that she was away for a week, he said, “That’s too bad. She sure makes this town look good.”
Jack and I sat beside Pete in the only empty chairs on the balcony. A few other locals sat around the table, including Frank Murchison, a brilliant professor who’d been a big help in our discovery of U-3546, the lost German U-boat, and had been by my side while fighting off a notorious Mexican drug cartel for a buried pirate treasure. Harper Ridley, a writer for the Keynoter for the past twenty years, also sat at the table.
Pete had an article that Harper had written in the most recent issue unfolded in front of him. Apparently, it was about a new resort being opened up in Key Largo that Pete wasn’t too excited about. They were just at the end of a passionate exchange when Jack and I arrived. I pretended to listen for a few minutes, but really just enjoyed the music and thought about the delicious meal to come.
The table was full of appetizers, and I grabbed a plateful of conch fritters and fried pickles, then filled my glass from a pitcher of their famous Key limeade. Their chef, Oz, a big Scandinavian guy, whipped up some of the best food I’d ever had. One of the waitresses brought over a few Paradise Sunset beers and a mojito just as the music started. The Wayward Suns played a unique combination of reggae and country music, and within minutes they had our island paradise rocking as they sang about exotic beaches, hammocks swaying under palm trees, and beautiful lovers lost.
Sitting on the balcony, listening to the music and enjoying the food among f
riends, I couldn’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. I found myself missing Ange, though. I brought up the message she’d sent me and zoomed in on her stunning face adorned with brilliant blue eyes and covered by her long blond hair. As I closed the message and was about to slide my phone back into my pocket, I noticed the other message I’d received recently, the one from the mysterious old friend.
As I put my phone away, I looked up and saw a man on the other side of the sliding glass door. He was standing still, staring straight at me. As my eyes focused, I tried to figure out who he was. There was something familiar about his stature, but it was difficult to see his face through the glare from the light of the tiki torches reflecting off the glass. In a moment of clarity, I saw his face. My eyes grew wide instantly and my jaw nearly slammed against the table.
“Shit,” I said to myself in a tone that was overshadowed by the sound of the band and the crowd cheering and singing along.
I slid my chair back a few inches instinctively, and faster than a blink, he vanished. It was like he’d never been there at all.
Was I seeing things? Had the years of fighting taken their toll on me? One too many blows to the head, perhaps?
I didn’t know how to explain what I’d seen, and there was a part of me that wanted it to be a hallucination.
“You alright, bro?” Jack said, snapping me from my thoughts.
I shook my head softly and blinked a few times before turning my head and making eye contact with him.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” he added.
For a moment I was quiet. A ghost. Had I seen a ghost?
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said. Without thinking, I slid my chair back a few more inches and rose to my feet. “I’ll be right back.” Then, motioning to my empty Collins glass, I added, “Can you have her bring me another one when she comes by?”
Jack nodded, and I could tell he knew that something was bothering me. Without another word, I moved through the crowd, comprised of a mixture of intoxicated islanders and tourists, heading for the sliding glass door. When I reached it, I took a quick look around before stepping inside.