by Winton, Tom
“Smells like an ocean in here,” she said, as she peeked into the shrimp tank, picked up the short-handled net, and extracted a couple of jumping, snapping shrimp. After studying them for a moment she put them back in the water and turned to me.
“Coffee?” I asked, raising my foam cup.
“No thanks, I’m good. Buster’s already out on The Island Belle, and I couldn’t wait to find out how last night went, so I thought I’d drive up here.”
She was trying to camouflage her concern by fiddling with the shrimp, but I could see it all over her face. Nevertheless, I was flattered that she was so worried.
“Nothing really,” I said, as I picked at one of my short fingernails. Full of self-disdain after letting Buster down the night before, my heart still pumping shame through all my arteries, I weakly added, “We think we know who did it, though.”
Julie`s concerned eyes narrowed even more now. Tilting her head forward, waiting as if commanding my eyes to meet hers, she asked, “Who was it?”
“We’re all but positive it was Brock Blackburn. Cap Forest told us last night that he did prison time with him. He told us a few more things too.”
“Who’s Cap Forest?”
“My boss – the owner of this shop.”
“What makes you think Blackburn did it?”
“Cap saw him meet with Lionel Topper at a Key West strip joint Thursday night; shortly after the fire was set.”
“So?” Julie said, still clinging to the hope that Blackburn possibly didn’t start the fire.
“What do you mean – so? You know this guy isn’t one of the champagne and brunch bunch. Believe me, he’s not the type a guy like Topper would want to be seen with in public, if he didn’t have to. As soon as Blackburn, who by the way has teardrops tattooed on his face, came in, Topper jumped up from his table and ushered him outside – pronto. As you know, this maniac has murdered people! On top of that, we found out last night that he’s got a fire fetish. He likes playing with matches.”
“I don’t like this, Sonny. I don’t like any of it.”
“Hell,” I snapped, “you think I like it?”
Julie chewed her upper lip and said nothing. She looked hurt. In the silence that followed, the steady hiss of aerators spraying water into the shrimp tank seemed deafening.
Finally, trying to cut through the tension, my voice cracked when I said, “I’m sorry, Julie. It’s just that ... well, I feel like I’m hanging Buster up.”
“Why?” she asked gently, as she sat on the wooden stool in front of the counter. “What happened?”
“Oh, it was on the way home last night. I asked him what he was going to do about Topper and the lunatic – not what we were going to do. I was backing out.”
“Hmmm ... the macho thing. Sonny, I don’t think you were a bit wrong. This isn’t something either of you should handle. You’ve got to let the sheriff’s department take care of this. Neither of you need to get involved with this ... this killer.”
“You know that people like Buster and Pa don’t go to the police with their problems. And, I can’t say that I blame them. There’s no hard evidence, but we know who did it. There’s not much room for doubt.”
“So, what does Buster plan on doing?”
“I asked him. He said he didn’t know yet.”
“That’s not good,” Julie said. Then, realizing she’d just laid her left hand on the counter top, she quickly withdrew it before I could see it. She put it behind her back and started fumbling as if she were tucking her tank top into the back of her white shorts.
Right then and there I wanted to apologize for the way I’d acted the morning after our affair. But I didn’t. I thought it best to let it go for the time being. I’d known all along that Julie was special, but only recently I’d begun to realize that it just might be possible something could come of our relationship. But it was only that – a possibility. Yes, she truly cared for me. I read that loud and clear. But I needed to work things out in my head and in my heart. First I needed to truly convince myself that I could make a go of it with her. I would never say anything until I was totally sure. I didn’t want to hurt her again. This wasn’t the time or place, anyway. And I now had far more pressing things whirling through my head and weighing heavy on my shoulders. I wanted in the worst way to help Buster out, but I could very well end up getting myself killed.
“Julie,” I said in a desperate, agitated tone now, “what do you suggest I do? I can’t just walk up to Buster and tell him he can’t deal with this maniac.”
I then glanced out the front window and said in a softer voice, “Here come some customers.”
“You get off at five, right?” Julie asked quickly.
“Yes.”
I was surprised she knew my schedule.
“Come to my trailer. I’ll make dinner for you.”
Before I could answer either way she spun around and walked away. As she passed by the two customers; a couple of yahoos, they stopped, turned, and ogled at her behind.
“That’s what I call a real woman,” one of the yokels muttered to the other, obviously not too concerned with subtleness. “That one I got at home ain’t nothin’ like that!”
I wanted to slap him up against his dense head. But I didn’t.
The rest of the day crawled like they always do during summertime in the tropics. Only on the few occasions when several customers came into the shop at once did time seem to speed up. I’d go an hour or so without a single customer coming in and then, as if I’d put a sign out by the road saying I was giving everything away, a batch of vehicles would pull into the marl parking lot all at once. The place would become abuzz with conversations as patrons bragged, exaggerated, and lied to one another about their fishing conquests. Then, just as quickly as the store had come alive, all would be quiet again. Left alone once again with only that hissing shrimp tank and the VHF, my thoughts would bounce from Julie to Blackburn to Buster to Topper and back again. All day long I tried to come up with solutions. But it didn’t happen. There was just no way I could draw any conclusions with my mind spinning the way it was.
Eventually, five o’clock rolled around and Maggie relieved me. I got out of there like right now. I climbed into the van, wore the sulphur off several humid matches before one ignited, lit my sixth smoke of the day then pulled out onto The Overseas Highway. In just a matter of minutes I was approaching the Wrecker’s Key Bridge, and I did not like what I saw there.
The entire expanse of Lionel Topper’s Flagler Colony Resort property had been bordered along the road with new wooden survey stakes. There were red plastic strips tied to the tops of each of them, and the way they were snapping in the southerly breeze I felt as if they were taunting me, threatening me, daring me to get involved in the dangerous mess again.
Some trees scattered throughout the property had the same red ribbons tied around their trunks. Mostly Australian pines and tall, stately palm trees, they would obviously be spared from the destructive bulldozers. Perusing the whole scene as I slowed down, I could see that half the island had been cordoned off. Acres and acres of saw palmettos, sandspurs, snakes, and coons had been surrounded by the wooden sticks. I hadn’t realized the devastating breadth of Topper’s project until now. All I could do was shake my head.
After crossing the bridge, I hung a right just before the old wooden sign and pulled in front of Pa’s store. Sissy was seated behind the counter, but it wasn’t until the screen door squeaked closed behind me that she raised her eyes from behind a textbook. With all I had on my mind, and being more than a little nervous about being alone with Julie again, I certainly didn’t feel like dealing with Sissy. But I didn’t have a choice. There was something I had to buy.
“Hi,” I said, feeling like a nervy intruder.
As if being held at gunpoint, she grudgingly said hello. Then she immediately planted her nose back behind her history book.
Figuring the heck with her, I headed toward the back of the store but didn’t get very far. I h
adn’t taken two full steps before she said in that same disinterested tone, “Wine’s in the back cooler ... next to the beer.”
“How’d you know I wanted wine?” I asked, turning back around.
She still wouldn’t look at me. Without raising her eyes she said matter-of-factly, “A guy goes to a lady’s house for dinner, he should bring something.”
I tramped to the back of the store and yanked a bottle of Yago Sant’ Gria from the wall cooler. I was getting more and more tired of Sissy’s treatment every time I saw her. I didn’t know whether to sail into her right then and get it over with or to let it ride. Lately, I hadn’t been sure about anything.
Back up front I clunked the bottle on the counter and snapped, “I want a pack of Carlton 100’s, too.” I extracted a ten from my wallet and put it on the counter rather than handing it to her.
She put her open text book down as if it were an excruciating effort then snatched the cigarettes from the rack behind her and tossed them on the counter. I was fuming.
After she dropped the change onto my open palm, I felt like I was giving her a zinger by saying, “I’ll need matches too.” Touché.
She fished a book out of a cigar box, slid it in front of me then hid behind her book once again. I bit my tongue and stormed toward the door. When I closed the door behind me, I slammed it so damn hard it bounced against its old wooden jamb three times.
Minutes later I parked the van alongside the trailer and stepped across the tiny grass patch to Julie’s porch. When I went inside and knocked on the trailer door I could smell the delicious aroma of fresh seafood wafting from an open window.
“My, don’t we look snazzy?” Julie teased after opening the door.
She was wearing this cute little white apron around her waist. All frilly around the edges it’s red, block lettering shouted, “OUTTA MY KITCHEN!” She also had on snug jean shots and a powder blue, man-tailored shirt. I know that may not sound like the most attractive outfit in the world but with the way Julie Albright filled it out, well, if you’re a man you know exactly what I’m talking about here.
“How are you doing, Julie?” I said, stepping inside and handed her the bottle of Sangria.
“Why, thank you, Sonny! Want a glass? Dinner won’t be ready for a few minutes yet.”
“Nah ... not right now. Maybe with dinner.”
“I hope you like seafood.” she said, turning to the stove, flipping over some sizzling golden fillets.
“You bet I do. And this looks every bit as good as it smells.”
“It’s fresh permit. Buster’s charter caught it today. They’re staying at a motel and don’t have cooking facilities so they gave the fish to Buster. He cleaned it and dropped these off this afternoon.”
“How was he?” I asked in a concerned voice laced with guilt.
“He seemed preoccupied. I could tell the gears were turning in his head. He didn’t stay long, just gave me the fish and said he had to go back and clean the boat.”
Noticing a clean ashtray on the tiny snack bar alongside to the stove, I sat on one of the two rattan stools and lit a cigarette. I inhaled, let out a thin plume of smoke then said with finality, “I’ve decided what I’m going to do, Julie.”
Turning from the stove abruptly, as if she’d been waiting on pins and needles to hear what I planned to do, she asked, “And, what would that be?”
“Well, there’s only one thing I can do. If I want to be able to live with myself, I’ve got to stick with Buster all the way. When I was growing up back in Queens I never once even considered not helping a friend who needed it. Sure, there were always possible consequences, and a lot of times they weren’t very promising, but my friends and I had an unwritten code. We helped each other out of a lot of jams on those New York streets. And it’s no different now ... here with Buster. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way I am.”
More than a little ticked at my decision, her happy look all but gone by now, Julie said, “Code! Come on Sonny! That sounds like some kind of unwritten macho law?”
“No, Julie, it’s much, much more than a code or a law. It comes from the heart. Somebody messes with your close friends or family, helping them – no matter what the consequences, is a reflex from within.” Starting to tap myself on the chest with my index finger now, I added, “And I like Buster. He, his father, everybody around here are good people.”
Relenting just a tad now, Julie said, “Okay, what you’re saying is admirable. I’ll give you that. But I still think the police should be handling this.”
There was a short pause in our conversation then. Just outside the trailer a mockingbird let out a litany of squawks. It was as if the bird was giving us hell for having a disagreement. Julie and I just looked at each other. I watched what was left of her perturbed look melt away.
“What do you say,” she finally said, “are you hungry? Dinner’s ready.”
We ate the fried fish along with conch fritters, brown rice and spinach. It was out of this world, and so was the homemade conch chowder. As I scarfed mine down, I twice told Julie how delicious everything was. Right after the second time, when I was secretly comparing her cooking with Wendy’s, and thinking about Julie’s hidden left hand, the telephone rang.
Quickly dabbing her lips with a napkin, Julie went to the counter and picked the wireless up.
“Hello! Oh, hi Pa! No, no I haven’t. Not since about three o’clock when he dropped off some fish here. He didn’t stay long, and when he left he said he was going to clean the boat.”
Julie then glanced at the starburst clock on her living room wall. “No,” she said, lifting a long strand of black hair from her eye, “he didn’t say a thing about it.”
“Is Pa at the bar?” I blurted out.
Julie nodded her head at me in small quick bounces and furrowed her eyebrows.
“Yes. He is here, Pa.”
Jumping to my feet then, I said “Tell him I’m coming right over!”
Chapter 15
Julie hung up the phone and declared, “I’m going with you.”
“Come on, are you losing it. This could get nasty. I don’t think you should.”
“Sonny, I want to go,” she said sternly then softened her voice some, “I’ll stay out of the way. I promise.”
It was obvious that no matter how much I resisted she was going.
“Damn it you’re stubborn. Alright, let’s go. There’s no time to be arguing.”
As we rushed over to Barnacle Bell’s in my van, I let her in on a few more of the details I’d learned from Cap and Dalton the night before at Hugs & Jugs. She told me that Pa had said it wasn’t like Buster to miss supper. He’d have at least called to let his father know if he wasn’t going to make it.
When we got to the bar the old man’s face grew pale and the trenches in his forehead deepened as I told him about that madman, Brock Blackburn. Buster only told Pa that we had picked up a lead in Key West, and that he was almost certain Lionel Topper was involved. All he’d said other than that was that he wanted to investigate further to be sure.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything else?” I asked Pa, wondering if Buster told him that I’d backed out of helping him.
“No, that was it.”
Relieved as all hell I then thought, That Buster’s a pretty shrewd ole boy! I’ll bet he knew all along that I’d be with him. I never should have suspected he would tell anybody how I wiggled my way out of the jam last night. He’s got too much class for that.
“We’re going down to Stock Island, Pa. Blackburn lives there. That’s got to be where he went – either there or Hugs & Jugs. Come on, Julie. If you’re still going to insist on coming, let’s go!”
“Hold on just a bit,” Pa said, holding his palm up like a traffic cop. “Wait here for a sec.”
He then snatched a brown paper bag from behind the bar and hustled to his small office in back. Julie and I glanced at each other quizzically then I looked around the bar. Sweet Home Alabama was playing
on the jukebox. The redhead from the supermarket was back with her friend. This time they were rapping away with four shrimpers in white rubber boots. That’s all I noticed because that quickly Pa came back out. Walking towards us, around the outside of the bar, he jerked his head at the door and said, “C’mon, outside.”
Another one of those fast moving Florida thunder storms had moved in from the west, and it was beginning to come down pretty hard.
“Take this,” Pa said, handing me the brown bag.
It was weighty. I looked inside and there was a handgun – a 38 caliber. Now holding the bag if it were contaminated, I felt my stomach tighten and my teeth clamp together.
“Sonny,” Pa said, “forget that you even have it. It’s only in case you get into a jam.”
The rain started pouring down then. Heavy drops drummed on the roof of the building as I said, “Okay, Pa, you go back inside. We’re going to head down there. As soon as we get back we’ll let you know what we found out.”
“Maybe we should drive by your house first,” Julie said hopefully. “Maybe he’s home now.”
“Nah,” Pa said, shaking his head, rain dripping from his bushy white brows, “I called one last time when I went into the office for the piece. Still no answer.”
Julie and I bolted through the rain to my van. Once inside, both of us soaked to the skin, I leaned over to deposit the firearm into a slide-out storage compartment beneath the passenger seat. As soon as Julie saw me leaning toward it, she quickly, reflexively, curled the remaining fingers of her hand into her palm. Little did she know that ever since we’d gotten back on good terms I’d been making a point of not looking at that hand.
Nasty lightening – blinding cloud-to-ground strikes – snapped all around as we drove south through the now dark Keys. One time, just a hundred feet ahead on the road’s shoulder, a ball of fire exploded six feet above the grass. Its light, like a small explosion, brightly illuminated the green leaves of some mangrove trees.
Both of us flinching, I said, “Oh shit! Did you see that?”
“How could I not? Look at that smoke where it hit.”