This was the first Marty the Manatee impersonator I seen, but not the last. I found out later that there were usually several Martys singing and playing guitar on the streets and in the bars of Key West.
The tourists were eating it up, and I thought this was a kind of ridiculous thing for a grown man to be doing, until I got a look at the kind of money this guy was getting in his tip bucket.
While again pondering on my own dismal financial situation, I wandered over by another of the little beaches and fishing piers. There was a young black fella, maybe 16, standing there wearing Stevie Wonder wraparound shades. He had a table set up with all kinds of little seashells and big conch shells to sell to the tourists.
Like everybody else he was wearing shorts, but his were real baggy and looked like they were slipping down real bad. His boxer shorts was hitched up to about his chest, and he was trying to get a spinning plate to balance on a stick while bopping around to music only he could hear on his headphones. I started to mention to him his britches were about to fall off, but he was really into the plate and stick thing, so I thought it might be better to let it pass.
I walked out the little pier, and the only one there in the afternoon sun was an old black fella wearing a big straw hat. He was leaned back good in a little fold-up chair, holding a fishing pole propped against the railing, and appeared to be asleep. I eased up quiet and looked down at the water where he was fishing and seen he not only didn’t have any bait, but his hook was dangling about six inches above the water.
“Makes it more sporting for the fish, don’t you know.”
The old fella startled me. I looked over and seen one eye opened and some gold teeth showing under the hat.
“No doubt. I would imagine it makes for some rather light meals come suppertime though.”
Now there were two eyes open and more gold teeth showing out of a smile.
“Ya mon. I jus letting the lil fish get sure of themselves for now. They think the old man no good fisherman. I catch them later when I not working.”
I couldn’t help but look around to see what kind of work it was the old man thought he was doing. He nodded his head toward the young fella with the shells.
“Breaking in the new mon. Is my grandson, named Willie like me. I teaching him the family business, don’t you know.”
It was my turn to do some grinning, and Mr. Willie the Conch Shell Man and me did some hand shaking and introductions. I sat there with the old man for a while and spent some quality time listening to him tell me about seashells and the sea.
♦
Come late afternoon I joined a lot of other people heading over to Mallory Square to catch the latest edition of the daily sunset. I reckon a lot of them people must not have sunsets where they come from, because it’s like the main attraction of the day in Key West. There were all kinds of street-performer folks showed up doing mime stuff, and some musicians, magicians, and there was Juan Ponce with his cat show.
Man could sure juggle cats all right. Those same fierce lizard-hunters I seen earlier would just curl up in a ball and let him throw ‘em up in the air. Damnest thing you ever saw.
The one young woman from the beach was there all smiles having a good time helping with some of the tricks. I noticed the gal with the shiner was sitting off to the side looking dejected and ignoring a couple of sailors that were clowning around trying to get her attention.
The sun finally set down into the ocean and everyone clapped, like they were maybe worried there could have been some other outcome to the day, and were just really happy that the sun did make it down all right.
The sun successfully completing its trip into the ocean for another day was also the signal for everyone to break ranks for the bars. I found a little place where it wasn’t too crowded or too expensive, and had another grouper sandwich and a couple beers myself. Of all the things I enjoyed about Key West, the best thing was it seemed to have far less Daltons than other places I’d visited in the state.
∨ Key Weird ∧
20
Butch
When Butch came in at 9, Jose, the other bouncer, told him the little fat guy staring at the dancers with his mouth hanging open had been asking about treasure hunters.
Butch was 26, 6 foot 3 inches tall, and 230 pounds of muscle and arrogance. The New Jersey native watched wrestling on TV religiously and wore tight black T-shirts with pictures of wrestlers on the front. Butch had a big nose, long sideburns, and combed his dark hair like a young Elvis. He was big enough, young enough, dumb enough, and naturally mean enough not to be afraid of much of anything.
Except sharks. Butch had a mind-numbing fear of sharks that went back to when his parents took him to a drive-in movie in Tampa to see Jaws at a very young and impressionable age. They parked in the front row.
Butch wouldn’t go swimming, not even in the neighbor’s backyard pool after that. Even as an adult he wouldn’t go in a bathtub without checking under the soap bubbles first.
♦
“So what’s up with the yahoo and treasure? Fuck do I care?” Butch checked his hair in the window reflection by the front door.
“Before the talent showed, he was going on about how he was representing some big client that would pay some serious cash for a certain piece.”
Jose pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans and stuck it in Butch’s hand.
“And Cindy came by earlier and said to give you this.”
Butch glanced at the packet in the semi-darkness of the bar.
“Shit! That bitch! This don’t look like no $50 to me!”
“Be cool man. I already dipped a little, since we been smoking mine all week.”
Butch gave Jose a hard look, but Jose just smiled and handed over a pack of rolling papers. “Your turn, amigo.” Jose held eye contact and kept smiling. “Be sure to leave me half on the top shelf.”
Butch gave Jose another round of hard looks and headed for the storeroom.
∨ Key Weird ∧
21
The Wisdom of Grunts Comes to Taco Bob
“Those ain’t exactly what first comes to mind when I think of trophy fish.”
I found a place behind a little bakery there in Key West to park my truck for the night. Nobody seemed to mind, but I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep. About the time the alley cats finally stopped fighting and fussing, the first shift of roosters started up.
In the morning I got myself a cup of coffee to go from the bakery and drove over to the pier where I’d seen Mr. Willie the day before.
Young Willie seemed to be just finishing up setting out the seashells there on the table and on the ground in front. With his arms folded, the old man was standing off to one side scratching the gray stubble on his chin and watching every move his grandson was making.
“Boy, I don’t know why you always want to be putting them ol’ Welks up on top like that! You got to turn them Queens so the color show better too!”
The kid didn’t have his shades on and he was giving the old man dagger eyes, but he was moving some shells around. He glanced over at me and gave me the tiniest little wink.
“And don’t be putting them Tritons like that! Why you do that? You got to pay attention, boy!”
There were more shells moved, and they finally seemed to be right for the old man.
“Pay attention to them customers better and don’t be playing with your fool plates alla time neither!”
The boy didn’t say anything, just sat on his little stool, slipped on his shades, and gave up a big grin like he was running for county commissioner or something. Mr. Willie narrowed his eyes and looked at his grinning grandson a few seconds then came over towards me. We walked out on the pier a ways before the old man stopped and looked back toward the seashell enterprise.
“That boy knows I hate to see him smile like that! Can’t get him to argue with me like he should ought to! Does all that damn smiling just to get me upset, he does! Boy just too damn happy for his own good!”
Mr. Willie had his chair and fishing pole already out there. He’d told me the day before to bring my fishing stuff, and he’d show me some fish. He reached down in a bucket he had there covered with an old towel, and pulled out a wooden spoon with some yellow glop on it that looked like oatmeal. He tapped it on the railing so the stuff fell in the water.
“That be my special chum, now. The tides they good this morning, so we just have to wait a little while and I show you some fish!”
I had a seat on the pier and leaned back on the railing and closed my eyes. I let the morning breeze and the old man’s stories wash over me while we waited for the fish to come.
“I don’t always be the Conch Shell Man of Key West, you know. Spend most of my young-man days on the water. Man could do all right in them old days fishing.
“Soon as I was big enough to pull a anchor I be off on them boats. Them days the water around Bahama Islands and these Keys here, they all the fish and lobster and turtle you want. Not like these days, no, them days plenty for everyone. Water so clear you take the sponges from the bottom with a long pole, never have to go in the water for them.”
The old man took a quick look down in the water and dropped in another spoonful of chum.
“I chase around many a year and learn me some things about the sea too. I got myself a wife for a while down by Freeport town, but the fever take her one spring. Enough years and my eyes, they aren’t so good as they was, so I get a job here with a man sells these little shells.
“The man, he go and get himself sick, so I go into business for myself. Lots of tourist people want to buy shells, take them shells home to look at. By and by I saved me enough money, I get a little house here. And you know, as soon as I the businessman and property owner, I got my long-lost relatives, they all come showing up to visit.”
Mr. Willie was smiling and gave me a wink.
“Yes sir, all kind be showing up here to visit since then. Just this last time, my daughter, she left off her boy Willie here. Boy got problems with his school, got his ass expelled for being trouble.”
Young Willie was out of earshot, but he must have known something was up because he turned a little in his chair and glanced out towards us when his grandfather was talking about him.
“So now, these days I got a boy here I’m trying to learn the ways of the seashell business.”
He didn’t ever say what the boy had done to get kicked out of school, but I think it had more to do with attitude than any serious crimes against humanity. Mr. Willie would never come to admit it, but you could tell he cared a lot for the boy.
Every few minutes another spoonful of chum went in the water until finally the old man looked at the water and the sun, checked the breeze, and whispered so the fish wouldn’t hear – that it was time.
He took a piece of the frozen shrimp I had bought on my way that morning, and after inspecting my hook and pronouncing it good enough, he had me baited and ready. I was directed on location, depth, proper body position, and how to feel for the right bite.
Within a couple of hours, Mr. Willie had turned me into a first-class grunt fisherman. I not only knew how to catch ‘em, but the different kinds of grunts, the best way to clean ’em, and several interesting recipes for cooking the tasty hand-sized fish. The most unusual was “Stuffed Grunts,” which is fried whole grunts stuffed with cheese grits. I was assured this was the best way to get a good dose of that most famous of all Key West dishes – Grits ’n Grunts.
Mr. Willie said he already had brought a lunch for him and the boy, so I took my stack of grunt fillets and drove my truck over to a little park close by with picnic tables and grills. I got myself set up, and just as I was starting to cook I seen Juan Ponce and his feline entourage walking down the street. I gave him a yell to come over.
♦
“Señor Taco, there is no doubt these are some fine-tasting grunts you have cooked here!”
I was proud my grunts were coming out so good. I was also hungry, and was wasting no time putting away some fish myself while trying not to look at all those sets of sorrowful cat eyes staring up at me. I noticed the tallest, newest, and best built of Juan’s following was absent. I inquired. Juan sighed.
“She has gone to the shops to buy new clothes for me. I told her that I have no need of fancy clothes because soon I will be off to the swamps and bog-lands of Florida to spend the rest of my life looking for something that might not even exist.” He took a break for a quick sigh. “All my life there are women like this that want to do things for me. I think it is also part of the curse.” Before he could get too far into the deep sighing thing again, I had to ask.
“Juan, what with all those ancestors of yours looking around for the Fountain of Youth all those years, didn’t none of ‘em find anything?” This seemed to brighten him up some.
“Yes indeed, they did find many things! The first Ponce, after he discovered Florida for the Spanish King, he spent all his time looking for the Fountain in the clear springs across the state. He found many wonderful things in nature, as did his son, and the next few generations as well.” We broke up the leftover fish into enough pieces to equal the number of sets of cat eyes that had been watching us eat.
“Ponce the Seventh was the first to go into the underground caves of Florida looking for the fountain. He too found many beautiful and wondrous sights, but no spring of eternal youth. Others have swum the lakes looking for springs, and my own father swam many times in the waters around these Keys islands looking for springs.” I set a piece of fish down in front of each cat while Juan was talking. As hungry as those cats had been acting, not a one would touch the fish. They just stared at Juan and stole little glances at the fish there in front of them.
“My father never found the spring of youth in his life, but he did become a rich man working as a diver. He worked for a man who found the wreck of a treasure ship from our homeland.” Juan snapped his fingers once and all the little pieces of fish disappeared instantly.
I asked if maybe they had asked some of the Indians about the fountain. Juan Ponce stiffened at the mention of Indians.
“There have been many rumors from the Indians for my predecessors. Once a small Indian boy told my father that a clue to the Fountain was in the mother lode treasure. But we Ponces have never trusted the Indians, not since Ponce the First was killed by a poisoned arrow.”
The smiling young woman showed up with a double armload of boxes and bags for Juan to carry. She got a good grip on his arm and started in telling Juan Ponce about all the things she’d bought while dragging the sighing juggler down the street. I swear one of those cats winked at me before it ran off behind them.
♦
The next couple of days I checked up and down Charterboat Row looking for gainful employment, but it just wasn’t happening. Key West is a great place to be, but it’s a lot better place to be if you got some money coming in somehow.
I found a quiet spot along the water to sit in the evenings, where I could think about things and inspect my hand. I definitely wasn’t dreaming being broke in the Keys, and I was getting a little worried.
∨ Key Weird ∧
22
Room 325-C Big Pelican Nice Lucky Motel
Jeremy woke mid-morning, face down, wedged between the bed and wall. He wasn’t sure where he was at first. He was only sure he had a roaring headache and his bladder was nearing critical mass.
The effort it took to crawl into the bathroom woke him up enough to vaguely remember hugging the commode at some point during the night. The discovery of his obvious lack of accuracy during the previous evening’s projectile vomiting prompted yet another round of retching.
After a quick shower, Jeremy came out of the splattered bathroom and took off his soaked clothes. He laid the shirt and shorts on the chair next to the window air conditioner to dry, wadded up his underwear and lone remaining sock, and threw them in the bathroom. He toweled off and took stock of his belongings. Still had his wall
et and gold card, but the pocket mirror was missing. He was so happy to find his boots in the room, he gave them a quick wipe before crawling into the bed for a nap.
♦
After a few of hours of oblivious sleep and several extra-strength aspirin, Jeremy put on his almost-dry clothes, and got a complimentary cup of burned coffee from the lobby under the watchful eye of André.
“Yo, Chief! You might want to have somebody check the lock on my room. I had a hell of a time getting the key to work!”
André’s sincere apologies and assurances of prompt action satisfied Jeremy, who then helped himself to some stale complimentary candy and some freshly expired Disney coupons. He marched out scorching his tongue on the coffee while Andre sighed and went back to playing Hearts on the office computer.
Back in the room he checked out the booklet of information on treasure he had bought from the big, surly bouncer at the club. It was a weathered book with no cover, but it had a lot of information about treasure ships that had sunk around the Keys. Jeremy was feeling pretty good about having gotten the price down to only a hundred dollars until he saw the last page that said, “Compliments of Keys Real Treasure Museum – Key West, Florida.”
Jeremy’s stomach growled, signaling it had recovered sufficiently to begin accepting small, easily digestible donations. Since it was already afternoon, he decided to grab a cheeseburger on his way to the Pink Snapper.
♦
Thus began a routine for Jeremy that was to have little deviation for the next few days. The one slight difference being that the next thing he bought from Butch was a treasure map for seventy-five dollars, which was the same one the gift shops on Duval Street sold for five dollars.
∨ Key Weird ∧
23
Capt. Tony’s Has Some News for Taco Bob
Key Weird 01; Key Weird Page 7