Lowcountry Punch

by Benjamin Blackmore

  I like to think that I’m a man of the sea, but from time to time, the sea likes to remind me otherwise. I thought of Captain Bruce from my days on the Bahama Star, when I worked for him over a few summers as a teenager. When we crossed from Miami to Bimini so many times in a storm—when half the people on board were balled into fetal positions in the cockpit throwing up into buckets, the ride too rough for them to even hug the rail—Bruce would sit on the bow rail with his legs hanging over the edge, holding on with one hand, a smile on his face, screaming for more, screaming into the night. That is a man of the sea.

  Apart from a visit aft to get rid of the biscuit I had eaten, the remainder of my day involved me laying flat on that cushion with my eyes closed, drifting in and out of consciousness, waking several times to people yelling, “Fish on!” and then again to some conversation in the distance. And, hours later, the same girl waking me with fresh tuna, dipping small pieces into soy sauce and wasabi and feeding them to me. Food entering my belly felt good, and the sickness would go away for a moment, but as soon as I sat up it would all come back. I wasn’t doing a great job at making these guys like me. In fact, I was wasting people’s time, and I needed to do better.

  There’s nothing like being hungry for hours and hours and finally taking a bite. Or the feeling of a Friday after a long week. Or driving to work on a bitter winter morning and waiting those first few miles of the drive for the car to warm up, and you’re frozen, teeth chattering, fingers aching, and then the warm air starts to come out of the vents, and you’re hot in no time. The moment I stepped onto land that late afternoon, my seasickness disappeared as quickly as a dusty thirst goes away with an icy glass of water.

  We went back to Jack’s place to clean up for dinner, and he appeared to be warming up to me some. I think my bout with seasickness made him feel superior to me, which is important to guys like him. He showed me around his condo. Told me Architectural Digest had done an article on his place right before he moved in. I wasn’t surprised. The keypad-controlled elevator opened into a marble-floored vestibule, which led to the open living area. Extremely expensive, over-the-top taste. Large window views of the new bridge and the harbor and downtown. Opposite the wraparound black leather couch, a canvas about six feet tall hung on the wall. Prominent streaks of yellow looked like they had been violently cast across a background of black ripples and pure white. In the middle of the painting were twenty small heads—female and male—all staring in different directions. I was oddly attracted to its uniqueness, and I wanted to take it back to my house and study it for hours.

  We went into his bedroom, where he had most likely slept with Tela Davies. A blue duvet lay bunched up at the end of a king-size Tempur-Pedic bed. A large corner cupboard held a collection of artist biographies and autobiographies. I noticed a framed photograph of a young girl on the shelf above the books.

  “That’s my sister,” Jack said, as if reading my mind. “She died a long time ago.”

  I nodded. “And this?” I asked, picking up a heavy, charcoal-colored rectangular object resting on a stand next to the picture.

  “Remember Ava Gardner?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s the paperweight that she threw at her husband, Howard Hughes. Knocked him unconscious. My mom gave it to me for Christmas. Found it at some Sotheby’s auction.” He dumped a line of cocaine on the bedside table. “You want some?”

  “I’m all right.”

  He cut what they call a hog leg and took it up his nose with a one hundred dollar bill.

  Later, we headed to a wine bar downtown—a dimly lit, brick-walled, modern sort of place called McCrady’s. Antique mirrors and wine racks with dusty bottles hung from the walls. In an hour, we would be on our way to meet Tela, and I would get to see firsthand how much trouble she could be. We sat at a booth and got into some new world wines, starting out with a sparkling. I’m supposed to watch my drinking, and I tried to, but it was getting tough. I had on a light cream summer jacket that Jack had lent me, and I had really taken a liking to it. I was feeling good.

  Ronnie made a run to the bathroom with a bag of coke and when he returned, he set the bag on my lap. “All yours,” he said.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You don’t want a little punch? What’s wrong with you?”

  Unless it’s a life-or-death situation, agents aren’t allowed to do coke. “I haven’t done it in a while,” I said. They both looked apprehensive, and I continued, “I found out a couple years ago I’ve got a congenital heart defect. Haven’t done any since.”

  “Bullshit,” Jack charged.

  I looked him in the eyes. “Think what you want. I started having abnormal murmur episodes. My mitral valve doesn’t close all the way, and blood flows back into my left atrium. I keep a diuretic on my bedside table.” This last bit was true. I don’t have any heart issues, but I do have a few prescriptions I’ve carried over the years for this exact reason: a diuretic, an antiarrhythmic, anticoagulants. No one is going to tell me I don’t have a heart problem. “It’s only business for me now.”

  Jack looked convinced, for the most part.

  Three young women walked in the door, changing the subject. Jack stood. “You guys are late,” he said.

  “Do we know you?” the one in front asked. She had a 1950s kind of look about her, bouncy hair, bright red lipstick.

  “Not yet. We can change that quickly. Can we buy you some drinks?”

  In seconds, they were sitting with us, and I could see Jack was good at that kind of thing. After another couple of rounds, we left to go find Tela at the Mazyck Hotel.

  18

  I do fall in love a lot. But I am faithful. If anything, I am faithful.

  Of course I can tell if a woman is beautiful and Tela was, but I didn’t entertain further thoughts. Liz was my woman. So, contrary to my team’s belief, I did not fall in love with Tela that night.

  Leaving the white gloves, fresh flowers, and marble floors of the lobby, we rode to the top floor of the Mazyck Hotel. Passing the doors leading to the penthouses, we proceeded to a rooftop bar overlooking the city. It was fairly crowded at the bar and all the tables were taken. There was a pool carved out in the center, but no one was swimming. Tela was standing to the left of the pool, by the railing. We approached.

  Her figure caught my eye first, her white dress hugging her large breasts, skinny waist, and curved hips. The dress stopped at her knees, and she had fine legs and a tiger’s prowl. She wore a strand of pearls around her neck. She was a brunette Marilyn Monroe. I’d seen several of her movies over the years, and she was every bit as beautiful in person as she was on screen.

  She was a touchy one, and I don’t mean sensitive. After we all said hello, she took my hand in hers, focusing her blue eyes on me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Travis,” she said with a clean English accent. I smiled, and she put her hand on my arm and felt the material of the coat. “This looks wonderful on you. I really like it.”

  “It’s actually Jack’s.”

  “He should give it to you,” she said, winking at me. Tela was one of those full-court press kind of women. She didn’t let go of my hand for a full thirty seconds, and I felt like Jack and Ronnie were watching us, wondering what the hell was going on, maybe even asking themselves if Tela and I knew each other.

  We joined the rest of her group. It was my first time meeting James King, the owner of the hotel and the man we’d originally pursued. As I’d remembered from our earlier work, he had played basketball at Wake. I had a hard time picturing such a short man on the court. There were rumors that he might try a run at the mayor’s office soon. King led the conversation and told some very funny stories. The man was quick as a whip and listened very intently when others spoke. I couldn’t wait to put cuffs on his wrists.

  We stood there talking, Tela next to me. She was quite close. Out of nowhere, she stepped on my foot with her six-inch heels. I knew it was deliberate, but she didn’t look at me or apologize. She only
kept listening to King. He carried on, “Jack, I don’t think you know the first thing about Chinese economics, yet you’re standing here telling us that you know what they’re thinking. I would call it presumptuous. I don’t suppose for a moment that they are looking to—”

  “Where on earth do you get your facts?” Jack interrupted. “Right out of the lips of your

  father—”

  “‘The lips of my father?’ You would be amazed, sir, at the depth of my knowledge in such matters. A childhood spent in a hotel sponging up the banter of the world’s travelers is well on par with any Ivy League education.”

  All their bullshit made me thirsty, and I disappeared toward the bar and ordered another Pyrat and soda. As the barely-legal bartender turned around to make my drink, I felt a hand on my back and turned around to face Tela. Her dangerous eyes were all over me.

  “Travis,” she said to me, “do I make you uncomfortable?”

  I turned toward her and put a hand on the bar behind me, leaning against it. “Maybe a little.”

  “Any reason why?”

  “Not really. I think I’m starstruck.”

  “I’ve seen starstruck, and you’re not starstruck.”

  I almost said I didn’t want to fall off a balcony but that wouldn’t have been very charming. Instead, I offered, “Maybe I’m trying to stay out of trouble.”

  “That one is easier to believe. But we’ve only just met, and you’re worried about getting into trouble.”

  “Am I off base?”

  “I’m as innocent as a lamb, and I think you’re charming.”

  “I’m best from a distance. Believe me. And I’m scared of lambs.”

  My eyes left her as Jack came from behind. She turned around, saying, “Hi, Jack. Your friend is rather intriguing.”

  “Good-looking, too, isn’t he? Trav, you’ll have to watch yourself.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  Jack took out his phone. “You guys get together.” I put my arm around Tela’s waist and Jack snapped a photo. The flash lit up the night.

  The evening took on wings, and the next thing I knew, a group of us snuck out the back to avoid any paparazzi and piled into a limo. Several miles and many bridges south, we reached Folly Beach and drove along the coast. A row of beach houses separated us from the water. Eventually, the houses disappeared, leaving only the sand between the road and the moonlit sea. The limo driver pulled over on the shoulder at the Washout, the public beach where I surfed on occasion. The wheels sank into the sand.

  As everyone piled out of the limo, Jack grabbed me by the arm. “Don’t get any ideas with Tela. I don’t want you chasing her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. You’d be smart to leave that one alone.”

  There were those threats again, but I slapped him on the leg. “Don’t worry about it. She’s not my type.” With that, I climbed out onto the sand. I wanted to rip his face off.

  We all dashed into the sea in our underwear. The water was as warm as a bath, and we floated on our backs and let the waves lull us into relaxation. I lost count of the shooting stars that fell like waterfalls from the sky.

  After a while, Tela was at it again. I was in waist deep water, talking with Tela and Jason Corey—her new costar and Chad Rourke’s replacement—when she let the waves push her toward me. Jason took the hint. He drifted away and left us alone. We were only dark shadows in the gentle waves. Another wave brought her closer, and I felt her leg against mine.

  “You can’t do this all night,” she said.

  “You aren’t having fun?”

  “Not really. Somehow I’ve given you the upper hand. You Southern men are tough.”

  I licked my lips. “You Brits are easy.”

  One of her hands came out of the water, and she slapped me hard. We had floated far enough away where no one saw it.

  I touched my left cheek where she had struck it. “I didn’t realize there was a line.”

  “There was, and you bloody crossed it.”

  “I bloody did, did I? You’re a hot little pistol! I told you I’m best from a distance. I think we both are.”

  She reached out under the water and touched me. I jumped, thinking she was going to hit me again. It was a light touch, though, and she ran her hand along my stomach, saying, “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” I shook my head and looked over toward Jack. I couldn’t tell if he was watching us or not. She asked, “Are you scared of him?”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think? Jack, of course.”

  “Not scared of him. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea—”

  “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “I’m not looking for a love triangle.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.” I glided my hand across the water’s surface, and a trail of phosphorous sparkled like lost stars.

  19

  Back in the limo, wet and wrapped in towels, we headed back toward downtown. Somehow, I ended up next to Tela in the far end near the driver. With the lights down low, no one noticed her hand rubbing my thigh. I didn’t think anyone but Jack cared anyway. I removed her hands only for her to giggle and snuggle closer to me. “I’m cold,” she whispered into my ear. She rested her head on my lap. Boy, was I in trouble.

  Blue lights lit up behind us, and a siren sounded. Jack jerked his head around, then pulled a bag of coke from his pocket. Without even thinking, he stood up and dumped the contents out of the open moon roof. Hopefully before the cops were close enough to see what he was doing. Then he crumbled the plastic bag in his hand and stuck it in his mouth. He’d swallowed it by the time we stopped.

  I didn’t know what had caused the violation, but it wasn’t that big of a deal for any of them. Everyone had their late night buzz on and didn’t care a bit.

  Everyone but me. I didn’t feel like dealing with it.

  I looked out the window. Officer Darby Long—the redneck cop who’d arrested Kado—walked past the tinted glass. Thank the Gods he couldn’t see inside. There are not that many cops on Folly Beach, but I hadn’t considered that I’d run into this guy again. Oh yes, I had a big problem. In that limo, my name was Travis Moody. He knew me as Special Agent T.A. Reddick, and we hadn’t gotten off to the greatest start anyway.

  He tapped on the driver’s window with a flashlight and the driver complied, rolling down his window. But the partition separating the front and back was raised and we couldn’t make out the conversation. I ran through several scenarios in my head. Obviously, if Long didn’t look in the back, I was good. But I had to prepare for the worst. If he recognized me, I could be done. We had not informed the Charleston County Police Department about my insertion. The less people who knew, the better—except for times like these.

  Being the good, thorough, obnoxiously curious, and clairvoyant police officer that he was, Officer Long had to come see what was going on inside the limo. The driver lowered the privacy window and said, “He wants to come check y’all out. Sorry about this.”

  Each step Officer Long took toward the door tested me. I wished I’d let my team follow me out there. They could have radioed in and pulled Long out. But being the rogue idiot that I am, I was on my own. He opened the side door and stuck his head in, his two-foot-long Mag-Lite shining brightly. As he shined it in the eyes of Jack and another girl, I had a clear shot at Officer Long’s face. There was that mustache, just thicker than a No. 2 pencil and perfectly groomed.

  “You know you’re not allowed on the beach past hours, don’t ya?” he said.

  Jack put up his hands. “You wanna get that light out of my face, Officer? We’re trying to get home and get some sleep.”

  I wanted to tell Jack that speaking to this particular officer that way was not a great idea, but Officer Long made that clear instantaneously. He shined the light square in Jack’s face. “Now, look here…boy. You will not speak to
an officer of the law in that tone. If I have to, I’ll jerk you out of here, put your head in the dirt and step on it. I’ll hold you there for three weeks, ‘til you’re licking Australia.”

  Right next to me, Tela burst into a loud laugh. “You can’t be serious.” I turned to quiet her but it was too late.

  Officer Darby Long handled his job with the pride of the Secretary of Defense. Mocking him wasn’t wise. He turned his light and attention directly to Tela. “What did you just say?”

  I separated myself away from her and the light. She answered, “I said you can’t be serious. We’re out having a bit of fun, not breaking the law. Now you should run along before we have to speak with your superiors, you little troll.”

  “Oh, boy, sister. You just did it,” said Long. “I want you all out. Let’s go.”

  No one moved and Tela decided she wasn’t done. “You bloody wanker. You’ll have to pull me out of here.”

  I hit her on the leg. “Shut up, Tela.”

  Officer Long drew his weapon. “I’m gonna count to twenty. Whoever isn’t standing out here in a straight line, I will come and get. And I will put you behind bars. That little lady with the mouth in there’s gonna be first in line.”

  Jack said, “Officer, I apologize. She’s hotheaded. We’ve all had too much to drink. If you could please just—”

  “Get the heck out of the vehicle!” Long screamed. “You got ‘til twenty. One, two, three… ” He paused and let us drink the fear. “Seven, eight…and I can’t wait to shoot somebody.” He turned the gun back and forth in his hand, teasing us. “Eleven, twelve… ”