I was sitting in Capt. Tony’s bar one evening, nursing a beer after a hard day of fishing for grunts and looking for work. It was another warm evening and the place was filling up. Word has it that Capt. Tony’s is one of the places where ol’ Hemingway used to hang out.
Anyway, I’m sitting at the bar with a crossword that had me stumped. I gave that a rest, and started thinking about that last emergency twenty folded up in the corner of my wallet. Across the smoky old barroom I noticed this fella wearing an eyepatch sitting at a table by himself. I’m looking at this fella, and thinking he’s somehow familiar. About then he turns and looks over at me with his one good eye, and I realize it’s ol’ One-Eyed Pete, one of my former employees from the possum ranch.
This is some kinda great news, so I go over there and we’re all shaking hands and bear hugging and happy and shit. We then proceeded to spend some prime time catching up and drinking up. I had completely forgot him telling me once about his sister moving to Key West. She was there with her husband and kids, so he’d been staying with them when he first hit town.
“Got myself lucky and got me a killer job, Taco. Sis told me about this writer fella, Mr. Shirt, got a boat and a house here in Key West, needed somebody to run the boat and keep an eye on things while he was in New York, which is most of the time.
“Mr. Shirt give me the job taking care of his 36-foot Bartram, which he don’t hardly go out on much on account he tends to get a mite seasick sometimes. Spends most of his time when he’s in town over at his house writing books and hanging around naked in his pool in back.”
This was sounding like a fine set-up for Pete, and I was proud for him.
“So Taco, what you been doing with yourself here in the land of the conch?”
I finished off my beer and took my turn.
“Before I got to Key West, I had a few encounters with the Dalton Gang. I’m sure you remember those two knuckleheads, the ones got caught back in Texas after forty-nine armed robberies, nearly all of them filmed by surveillance cameras.”
“Sure, I remember. You were on the jury. They’re the ones robbed a bank once and forgot the money. They still play that video on TV once in a while.”
“Shoot, I was the dang jury foreman! Those mean-ass varmints got it in their heads I’m the one caused them to get sent up. Their uncle was the one gave ’em the five years when we found ’em guilty after a forty-five second deliberation.”
“It’s been five years already?”
“Not exactly. Those rocket scientists broke out of prison four days before they were due to get released.”
We both did some slow head shaking and beer-sipping over that.
“But since I got here, I been mostly learning to catch some fine-eating kind of fish called a grunt that goes quite well with grits, and due to current cash-flow concerns, I been kind of camping out in my truck.”
Pete ordered up a couple more beers, leaned back in his chair, and got him a good grin started up.
“Man living on grits and grunts, and sleeping in his truck, might be proud to know my sister done heard from Hop the other day. Said if Taco Bob come through town to have him call out to Texas. Turns out your membership in the Possum Ranchers Association had a nice insurance policy with it. Said he’s got a check for ten thousand for you now and plenty more coming later.”
Needless to say, this was some kind of good news, and it set off another round of handshaking, grinning, and bear hugging.
“Mr. Shirt I work for said he wanted me to keep an eye out for somebody to house-sit his place here in town while he’s gone, since I been staying on the boat most of the time. We can give the man a call in the morning if you’re interested in the job, maybe get a-hold of Hop and get you some cash wired in too.”
So I’m leaning back in my chair, squeezing Key Lime juice in a cold Corona beer, and letting a grin have its way with my face. Some money coming in, a job with a place to stay, and Pete running a big-time fishing boat seemed to all of a sudden have everything covered for me. Well, almost everything. Pete seen the crossword I had on the table and picked it up.
“Let me take a look here. You know, I can’t hardly see a crossword puzzle these days without it reminding me of possum ranching.”
I showed him where I was stuck, a five-letter word for change that starts with a ‘w’. Pete always had a knack for crosswords, so I let him scratch his head on that while I went back to my beer and pleasant thoughts.
“It ain’t ‘woman’, that don’t quite work.” The song playing on the jukebox ended just as Pete had it.
“I got it! It’s ‘witch’!”
I looked over to the door just then, and who walks in the bar but this good-looking young gal with buzz-cut hair who works at the bakery where I’ve been getting my morning coffee. She came straight over and gave us a big smile and sat right down there at our table.
Turns out she knows Pete because she’s staying with another woman at the place next door to Mr. Shirt’s house. So ol’ Pete introduced me to Mary Ann.
“I know this guy! He lives in his truck parked behind the bakery and gets coffee there in the morning!”
Pete thinks this is real funny for some reason and starts in laughing. While I was busy blushing, I noticed the gal’s toenails were painted black with the big toes sporting little white skulls and crossbones.
“How long you been living here in Key West, Mary Ann?”
She gave me a strange look with some mighty fine big eyes.
“Not long. How long you been living in that old truck of yours?”
She didn’t seem to want to talk about herself, so I told her some about leaving Texas, staying in Panama City and working my way on down to Key West. I was about to order another round of beers and launch into a few exciting, and mostly true, anecdotes about life as a possum rancher when she made the time-out sign.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to come by my place and use the shower, would you? I’m pretty sure I have some beer in the fridge.”
I looked into those big, laughing, brown eyes, and you could have knocked me over with a feather. I was kind of embarrassed and all, but she was just a-grinning at that, and well, I hadn’t had a good wash with soap and hot water in a while. I looked down at my hands for a quick finger count to make sure all this wasn’t going to turn out to be some dream. When I came up with five, I checked again, and started up grinning myself.
♦
I ain’t going to bore nobody with the details, but it was one of my more memorable nights. It’d been a while since I was with a good-loving woman like Mary Ann, and when I woke up the next morning in her bed, I was having a much better outlook on things.
∨ Key Weird ∧
24
A Much Better Outlook for Taco Bob
“Life is sweet!”
I found Pete after Mary Ann ran off to work, and we got some cash wired in from Hop for pocket money while that first insurance check worked its way through the mail down to the Keys. I offered to send Hop some money later if he needed it, but he said he was doing fine and had himself a good job already doing accounting for some Internet company.
We called Mr. Shirt up in New York, and struck an even better deal than I’d hoped with the housesitting. Turned out I’d get a little salary just for keeping an eye on things while I was staying there.
So I was off straight away celebrating my new prosperity with a used bicycle for touring the island in style. It seemed like the sky was bluer, the breeze sweeter, and the people even friendlier with things going my way. I figured I would have the money to buy a nice flats boat with enough left over to live on for at least a few months before I had to worry about finding a job.
I spent the rest of the morning riding around Key West just grinning at life, eating an ice cream cone, and waving to the tourists wandering around Old Town looking for the perfect t-shirt or the best deal on a scooter rental.
There were parts of the island I hadn’t seen yet, so I let my new bike t
ake me along the narrow streets of some old neighborhoods that’d been baking in the tropical sun for a lotta years. As rough as the tropical climate was on buildings, the landscaping sure didn’t seem to mind any. Just about every yard had some kind of huge shade trees, palm trees or exotic flowering plants going on. Some houses had cars out front all decorated up with hand-painted pictures of boats and parrots and sunsets. Other houses there were old men sitting on porches telling stories and keeping an eye on the little kids playing in the street.
In the afternoon I rode about a dozen times by the bakery where Mary Ann was working, grinning ear to ear and waving. Finally, Mary Ann came out and gave me a stern look.
“Taco, you really need to get your silly ass somewhere else so I can get some work done. I can’t be looking out the window and laughing at some clown going by on a bicycle every few minutes!”
I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes. That got me a big ol’ kiss and she ran back in the bakery, then came out a couple minutes later. Said she was getting off early and got on the bike with me. We rode on back to her place to check if we had remembered to make the bed that morning.
♦
I got myself set up comfortable in Mr. Shirt’s house next-door to where Mary Ann was staying, and did some looking around at boats for sale the next few days.
Mary Ann and I took to each other like biscuits and butter, and we spent a lot of time just hanging out around town together enjoying each other’s company. There were plenty of restaurants around town for us to have some relaxed and unhurried meals, sampling exotic tropical delicacies. Relaxed and unhurried evenings in bed afterwards seemed to just come naturally.
My job housesitting left me with a lot of free time – an important ingredient in your better tropical lifestyles. Mary Ann, on the other hand, kept busy with work. Besides the full-time bakery job, she was working a couple nights a week dancing at a club, one where she’d told me real serious-like she didn’t want me coming to visit.
But she had some days off, and one time we caught a ride on a dive boat and did a little snorkeling. Saw all kinds of pretty little multi-colored reef fish and even some big ol’ mean-looking barracuda. Mary Ann was a pleasure to be with, and interested in everything around her, like she hadn’t been getting out much for a long time. I found out the hard way she not only had a great sense of humor, but was also a natural-born actress.
One afternoon we stopped by the newly renamed Two Willie’s Seashells where Mary Ann hit it right off with my shell-merchant acquaintances. After a bit, young Willie commenced to wax eloquent on the merits of individual specimens and Mary Ann was hanging on every word, giving the display of brightly colored shells a good look. The old man and I stepped over into the shade of a big palm.
“Your grandson sounds like he’s been paying attention.”
“Boy seem to know a lot more about them shells when they a pretty woman around.” He gave me a wink. Mary Ann, wearing her usual skintight shorts, was bending over to check out a lower shelf. “This lady, she seem like a nice girl for you. Built nice too.”
“Yep, I sure been lucky to meet her.”
“You tell her you a expert Grunt fisherman?”
“Uh, no. That ain’t come up in conversation just yet.”
“You should tell her, mon! Show her a stringer of nice grunts sometime. Women, they like these kind of things, this I know!”
While I was filing away this important piece of information for future use, Mary Ann turned around holding two pink shells the size of footballs. She held one on each side of her neck and batted her eyelashes.
“What do you think, Taco? Earrings?”
“I would say a mite large, but what do I know?”
She put her nose in the air and turned around to the grinning Willie.
“The man obviously has no fashion sense. I’ll take this one my handsome young friend.”
I paid for the Queen Conch over the protests of the eldest Willie, who then offered to demonstrate his musical talents. Both Willies got into it, blowing into the big conchs and before long a pretty good crowd had come up. There was a break in the show and a little applause from the tourists. That’s when she got me.
Mary Ann snatched up her conch shell and held it to her chest like it was a long-lost child. As she took a step back from me I thought I saw her give the Willies a little wink, but there was fire in her eyes when she let me have it right there in front of everybody.
“I’m done run off an leave my husband and thirteen childrens and sick momma back in Alabamer, an come all the way down here with you in your fancy car, and now you won’t even buy me no damn seashell?” She caught me off guard, but I tried to come back.
“But, sugar-dumpling!”
“Don’t you be sugar-dumpling me none! You get me down here in that fancy motel with that air condition and color teevee, and get me doing all kinds of things on the bed and then you taking all them pictures! I swear, if I wasn’t carrying our love-chile, I’d…”
“There a problem here?”
It had to be the biggest Cuban cop I had ever seen. Man looked like a finalist in a scowling contest.
Mary Ann was holding her own, but her eyes were laughing. Both Willies were looking down and highly involved with straightening up their shells. I thought I heard a snicker get loose from the old man as I came up with my best smile.
“No sir, officer, no problem! Little lady here just got a touch too much sun, makes her a bit excitable sometimes. We’ll be going now, get her in the shade for a cool drink. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
The crowd of tourists parted to let us through, and I had to pull Mary Ann along by the arm while she was giving her audience a last look of total innocence and confusion. Willie couldn’t hold it any longer, but the cop didn’t seem amused.
“What’s so funny, old man?”
We only got about a block away before we had to stop because Mary Ann was laughing so hard she was about to fall off the bicycle.
♦
I decided that if before long I was going to be fishing the waters of Key West in my own boat, I needed to dress the part. We checked some shops and I got set up with some pants with zip-off legs and the latest in vented shirts with Velcro pockets. I was in style, of sorts, except for the hat. Never could find anything I liked better than the ol’ straw hat with the sides rolled up I’d paid a dollar for back in Panama City.
It being Key West, a young woman with buzz-cut blonde hair and a scruffy-looking older guy in fisherman’s clothes strolling down the streets arm-in-arm didn’t bring much notice. I was finding the place just as laid-back as all those songs said it was.
One day we were walking down Duval Street and my flip-flop broke. It was a goner, so I went native – barefoot as a duck.
“Taco, we better go by your place and get some shoes.”
“I’m okay, maybe I’ll spring for a new pair of flops later. I want to stop by Margaritaville for a drink first and see if there’s anyone wasting away in there.”
About ten more steps and I found an old soda can pull-tab the hard way. My normally sympathetic companion rolled her eyes.
“Now you’ve done it. And don’t look at me like that, you know it’s your own damn fault.”
Mary Ann stopped the bleeding from the cut on my heel with a scarf and we cruised on back home for a blender-full of medicinal beverages and a band-aid.
♦
By the time the insurance check got to me, I’d located a nice little flats boat that a condo Yankee was selling at a good price. Flats boats look kind of like one of those bass boats I used to have that the tornado tore up so bad. The main difference is most flats boats are white, and have a little roof over the motor you can stand on to look for fish and push yourself along with a pole in the shallow water. They’re great for sneaking up on fish.
So I bought the boat and headed out exploring all that gorgeous water around Key West most days. Pete went out with me a few times and we got into catching bonef
ish and pompano, sharks and barracuda, snapper and grouper, and one time a few grunts that I proudly presented to Mary Ann. Her and I took some trips on the boat checking out the little islands around Key West and found some nice private places for swimming and snorkeling.
I still hadn’t come up on what I’d call the Ultimate Fishing Experience, but life was sweet on the little island at the end of the road. It seemed like the good times would never end, and I was going to sleep every night looking forward to the next day.
∨ Key Weird ∧
25
Checking on Jeremy
Carol was feeling good. Nothing like a little time on stage in front of adoring fans, even if they were Charlie’s fans, to build a girl’s confidence. Carol was feeling so good about her performance the first night at the workshop in Germany that she stuck around even after Sara made a miraculous recovery. The next night, the new head of the Spider Cult was decked out in her latest designer ensemble by Frederick’s of Hollywood, and warmed up the enthusiastic crowd with some of Charlie’s old jokes. She was having such a great time she didn’t really want to call Jeremy, but she knew if she didn’t stay on his ass, he wouldn’t get anything done.
♦
“Jeremy, you slimy worm, you better have some news for me from the treasure museum.”
Jeremy was pacing back and forth next to the bed in his tiny room.
“Shit, Carol! When have I had time to go to some dusty old museum? There’s something wrong with the water here; I keep getting food poisoning every night! I’m telling you, Carol, this place is the armpit of the world! I’m lucky to still be alive in this primitive backwater town!”
Jeremy ignored the things on his bed: a Key Lime pie, a basket of conch fritters, a fried grouper sandwich, half a large sausage pizza, an empty champagne bottle, several skin magazines, three new Hawaiian shirts with matching shorts, and a naked, overweight, snoring prostitute. The TV was on the Playboy Channel with the sound turned down. With a cigarette dangling from his lip, he had the phone in one hand and a large frozen drink with a little umbrella in the other.
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