"... my place. All night, if you want."
His thoughts raced as he sought an answer that wouldn't offend her. He had thought she was a dyke from talking to her on the phone. He'd kill Willie for this when he got back to Baltimore. That bastard knew; he'd let Tony walk right into this. Still, the woman was a deputy, the head matron at the county lockup.
She'd sent a lot of young meat to Willie over the last few years, and she'd assured Tony that she could deal with Kirsten. He'd been reluctant to make the arrangements over the phone, fearful that she might record their conversation. Now he thought taking that chance might have been preferable to the risk of having to go home with her.
"I'd love to, but I'll have to take a rain check. I need to catch the flight back to Baltimore here pretty quick. You understand, I'm just trying to take care of her, right?"
"No problem. You just call me anytime you're in the neighborhood. That Kirsten, she's a lucky girl -- got a fine man like you lookin' out for her. Don't worry, hon. I'll see to her for you."
"Willie talked to you about the money, right."
"Yeah. We're square. He'll take care of it -- no problem." She closed one heavily shadowed eyelid in a parody of a wink.
"Myrtle, I know Kirsten's gotta be jonesin' real bad by now. So ..."
"Poor little thing, she's clawing the damn concrete walls. She's desperate for a fix, all right. Don't you worry 'bout her. Just give me the shit and I'll slip it to her."
Tony nodded as he passed the plastic bag under the table. "Myrtle?"
"Hmm?"
"When can you do it?"
"Aw, sugar, don't you worry. Tell you what -- I'll just slip by the jail on my way home and fix your little missy right up."
Tony nodded. "That'd be great. Thanks."
With another reptilian wink, she slithered out of the booth, all back sequins and quivering pink flesh. Tony watched, relieved, as she sashayed out the door.
* * *
Chapter 17
Connie was completely relaxed for the first time since she had left Annapolis. Phillip had just relieved her; she'd taken the first four-hour watch out of Beaufort. They'd been holding a steady nine knots on a course just south of east ever since they made sail leaving the channel. She sat with her back against the coachroof, her legs stretched out on the cockpit seat, watching the white froth of their wake slowly disappear into the indigo swells. They'd made excellent time; they were well into the Gulf Stream, having lost sight of land a couple of hours ago.
"She feel okay to you?" she asked, noticing that Phillip had disengaged the autopilot and was steering by hand.
"Perfect. I just wanted to get a feel for her while there was still daylight and I could see the sails. She's balanced well, but she responds to the helm way more quickly than my old Carriacou sloop."
"Kayak Spirit, right?"
"That's right."
"I noticed the same thing, after learning to sail Vengeance. It's the difference in not having a full keel, right?"
"Yes. That, and Diamantista's a lot lighter in proportion to her waterline length. You'll be using this autopilot a lot more than you were accustomed to when you were sailing with Dani and Liz."
Connie nodded. "I noticed. I couldn't find a full-keeled boat this size that had the kind of guest accommodations I wanted, though."
"No matter. Boats are always a compromise. Diamantista's solid. She'll take you anywhere you want to go. You tried the wind vane on the autopilot yet?"
"Yes. It does well, except for dead downwind."
"Nothing does well dead downwind, except a good helmsman."
They were silent for a while, listening to Sharktooth singing as he worked in the galley, conjuring up a West Indian chicken curry of some sort for their evening meal. Connie was surprised at his singing voice; he was belting out Bob Marley's 'Three Little Birds' in a perfectly pitched falsetto. His normal speaking voice was deep and rich, rumbling up from his massive chest.
"I'm glad Sharktooth likes to cook," she remarked.
Phillip laughed. "Sharktooth likes to eat; cooking's just his way of making sure he gets enough food."
"He said his wife had him on a diet. He's a big man, but I wouldn't have thought he was overweight."
"Oh, it's not his weight. Maureen just thinks he needs to eat more fresh vegetables."
"He bought a whole cart full this morning."
"Yeah, but wait until you see how he cooks them -- lots of fat added. His cooking does taste good, though."
"Sounds like southern cooking," Connie said.
"Similar. When I was growing up, all the vegetables were seasoned with bacon grease."
"That's like the local food I used to get around Savannah."
"Yep. A lot of the same influences, if you think about it."
"Is Maureen from Dominica?"
"Yes. They were childhood sweethearts. Why?"
"Just curious. I didn't get to meet her."
"Oh, you will. They're quite a pair. She's a fine artist; got her own gallery in Portsmouth."
"Liz told me."
They sailed along in easy silence, listening as Sharktooth moved on to "Don't Worry, Be Happy." Connie's thoughts turned to her conversation with him while they were grocery shopping. She had asked if his visa for entering the U.S. would work to get into the U.S. Virgin Islands. Sharktooth had responded that he was traveling on a U.S. passport.
"You're American?" she had asked, surprised.
"No." He grinned for a moment. "Is very complicated to get a visa with my Dominican passport. Mus' go to Barbados to apply, then wait a long time. No good when you need to travel in a hurry. Easier jus' to get a U.S. passport from a frien' of mine in the business."
Connie refrained from asking what business that might be, amused at how natural Sharktooth's practical approach to travel documents seemed to him.
****
"Alfano says she's connected all right, but not to the cops. He's got her figured for being hooked up with some west coast mob; maybe even one of the Mexican cartels."
"That sounds like bullshit to me. What made him think that?"
"I don't know, Ralph, but Clinton said he was adamant that she was mobbed up."
"Who's Clinton?"
"The lawyer Tony uses for shit like this."
"Alfano's full of shit. No mob got women doin' stuff like that. Especially not the Mexicans. She's gotta be a cop of some kind. Crooked, but a cop."
"Alfano said she took his operation in Savannah down and disappeared. Next thing he knew about her was when he got busted for the diamond deal you were talkin' about; she was right in the middle of that."
"Shit, Mark, I think Alfano just can't admit that his whole operation got taken down twice in a row by a broad. He's makin' that mob shit up to make himself feel good."
"You're the boss, Ralph. You said to ask him; we asked him. That's what he told us."
"Yeah, yeah. I know that's what he told you. He probably believes it, too, but I ain't buyin' it."
"So what do you want to do, then?"
"Same as before. Send somebody out to board that boat and search it. Get my money. Question her; then we'll find out who the hell she really is. West coast mob, my ass. She still in North Carolina?"
"No. They left about midday."
"They?"
"Her and two guys."
"Russo one of 'em?"
"No. Tony's guys saw him head out with a suitcase yesterday. These two guys showed up late yesterday afternoon. A white guy looks to be in his forties, nothin' special, and a big black dude, bald-headed, with dreadlocks down to his waist. They said he looked like a damn giant -- close to seven feet tall, they figured."
"Good. Long as Russo's not there. I don't want to waste a Miami cop -- too close to home."
****
Connie had wedged herself in the corner by the galley sink, bracing her hips against the rail in front of the stove to hold her steady against the boat's motion as she washed the dishes. She passed them to
Phillip, who was propped in the opposite corner with a towel as he dried them and put them away. Sharktooth was on watch, alone in the cockpit.
"So how long is Sandrine going to be in France?" Connie asked.
"She just left a couple of days ago. It's a three-week training course, and she may stay a few days extra to visit some relatives."
"But I thought she was from Martinique."
"She is; she was born in Martinique, but she's got a bunch of cousins in France. That's not unusual, really."
"I always thought it would be nice to have a lot of family like that. I was an only child of two only children."
"Yeah, me too. Your folks still alive?"
"No. They've been dead for a long time. Yours?"
"Same."
"It's nice that you've got Sandrine, then."
"Yes. Until I retired, I was too busy to notice how lonely I was. It was kind of funny the way we ended up together, though."
"How so?" Connie raised her eyebrows, her interest piqued.
"Well, I thought we were just friends; I'd met Sandrine from time to time when I was arranging for shipments from France through Martinique to the western Caribbean and South America. You know, back when I was still working with Dani's father."
"She's worked for Customs for a good while then?"
"Yes, close to ten years."
"But you discovered you were more than just friends after you retired. That's nice, that you started out like that, though."
"Well, like I was saying, it was funny. My other friends like Sharktooth and Dani, even J.-P., they all started making jokes about when we were going to get married. I thought they were just pulling my chain but damned if they weren't right."
"So, if you don't mind me asking, when did you decide to ask her to marry you?"
"I'm not sure."
"You don't remember?"
Phillip smiled, shaking his head, "Did you meet J.-P. yet?"
"Dani's father? No, I haven't met him -- only talked to him on the phone a time or two. Why?"
"In some ways, he's like a surrogate father to me. Anyway, when I told J.-P. that Sandrine and I were getting married, he said he knew that already. I asked him how he knew, thinking Dani had told him, or something. He gave one of those Gallic shrugs that only the French can do. I guess I looked puzzled, so he said, ‘No, but you see, Phillip, I have been married many times, now, and I still don't know how it happens. Somehow, I just find myself with a wonderful wife.' He was right. It just happens, I guess."
"That's a nice story, Phillip. Thank you."
Phillip smiled, stifling a yawn as he put the last dish in its place in the locker and hung the towel up to dry. "Guess I'm still jet-lagged. I think I'll crash for a while. You going to catch a nap before you relieve Sharktooth?"
"Maybe. I've had a couple of days of rest; I'm not too sleepy yet. I get really wired the first day out. You go ahead. I'll be fine. I'll see you in the morning."
* * *
Chapter 18
At midnight, Connie made herself a thermos of coffee to see her through her watch. She enjoyed the watches from midnight until dawn. The moon was going into its last quarter, but this far out to sea, there was no ambient light. As the moon faded, the profusion of stars took over the sky. She was looking forward to Nature's show. It was a cool night, but not chilly, and they had a nice, steady 15-knot breeze on their port quarter, making for a fast, comfortable sail.
She stepped onto the companionway ladder, reaching out to put the thermos on the cockpit seat. "Hey, Sharktooth. How was your watch?"
"Everyt'ing good. Beautiful sailin'. It's midnight already?"
"Yes. Can I make you some coffee? Or decaf? Tea, maybe? Water's still hot."
"No, thank you. I'm already too awake; got to get in the rhythm."
Connie climbed into the cockpit, and Sharktooth shifted his bulk around to the seat on the downwind side, making room for her to slip in behind the helm.
"That was a wonderful chicken curry you made us."
"Glad you like it. It's pretty easy. You want the recipe?"
Connie smiled. "I can't boil water without burning it, but thanks for offering. Maybe Paul would like the recipe, though?"
"Paul, he cook some good food, that mon. He say he learn from he father, cause the Italian men, they like to still eat good when they off away from their wives."
"Was Paul's father from Italy?"
"No, I doan t'ink so. He grandfather, mebbe. Paul's father was p'lice, like Paul, he say."
"How about you, Sharktooth? When did you learn to cook?"
"Always cook. In Dominica, everybody know how to cook. Jus' the way t'ings are."
"But Maureen won't let you cook?"
"She let me, sometime. But Maureen, she go to these classes that the government have, 'bout 'heart-healthy diet.' They worry 'cause so many people got the sugar, and the high blood pressure. Come from the old days. People used to eatin' lots of fat an' sugar from when they have to work hard; they need it then, but now ..."
"Most people don't get enough exercise to eat like that without health problems? Is that what you're saying?"
"I t'ink so. Not mos' people, but anyhow a lot of the people, they doan get the exercise. I t'ink then, the old way of cookin' not so good."
"You don't look overweight."
"No. Not me. Not now, at leas', cause Maureen she cook the low fat, low sugar food."
"Well, it must work, whatever she's doing."
"Yeah, but it doan tas'e as good."
"Does she know you're cooking on this trip? You going to get in trouble when you get home for going off your diet?"
"She knows. She let me cook sometime. I jus' like to tease her 'bout her low-fat food."
"I'm looking forward to meeting her."
"She say the same 'bout you. She know 'bout you from Liz an' Dani."
"Liz told me she's an artist. She owns a gallery, right?"
"Yes. She help the others 'roun' Portsmouth sell they t'ings to the tourists, mostly. She make some little bit of money from it, too, though."
"And you run the water taxi and do tours, is that right?"
"Some. I still do some t'ings wit' Dani's father, sometime. You know 'bout J.-P., right?"
"Not much. I know Phillip worked with him until he retired."
"Yes. Business not so exciting now like when Phillip aroun'. Times change. I t'ink Phillip, he more bored than retired."
"I see. I thought maybe you'd retired too, and gotten married, like Phillip."
"Oh, no. I been married long time. Maureen my wife fo' 25 years, now. Good years. She my bes' frien' since we chirruns."
"That must be nice, to be married to your best friend."
"Yes, I t'ink so. If she not my best frien' she never put up wit' me, fo' sure."
"Aw, come on, Sharktooth. You're easy to get along with."
He chuckled. "You tell Maureen that, okay? See what she t'ink."
"I will, but I'm sure she'll agree with me."
****
Ralph Giannetti was finishing his breakfast on his patio when his butler announced, "Señor Murano, he is here to see you."
"Bring him out here, José. Ask if he wants anything to eat."
"Sí, señor."
Pushing his plate aside, Giannetti lit his first cigar of the day, mostly because he knew the smoke annoyed Murano.
"Good morning, Ralph."
"Morning, Mark. José take your breakfast order?"
"Nah. I ate earlier. I been on the phone with Tony all morning."
"Yeah? So what's happenin'? You guys got your shit together yet?"
"Yes. Everything's under control. He's sending the two guys he used in Beaufort down to ..."
"I don't want to hear all that. These guys, are they any good?"
"Yes. They're ..."
"Just tell about their skills; I don't want any names."
"One of them's got shit for brains, but he's as mean as a rattlesnake. Big redneck son of a bitch
, and he's got the hots for the Barrera woman. He's pumped up about questioning her. The other one's got enough sense to make it all happen. They're going to ..."
"That's enough. When?"
"That depends on how fast they sail; probably a few days yet. We're tracking the boat, and when they get to ..."
"What about the two guys on the boat with her?"
"You said to ..."
"I know what I said. Who the hell are they?"
"We don't know, I thought it didn't matter if we were gonna ..."
"Find out who the hell they are, dumb-ass. They're probably cops of some kind. If we goin' to burn them, we might want to know something about them, so we can do some damage control. Besides, they might be worth questioning, too, if your shit-for-brains rattlesnake can handle more than just a girl."
"That's a good point. I'll ..."
"Get outta my house and do some damn work. I'm tired of having to explain everything to you."
****
Diamantista was slicing along through the two-meter high, long-period swells, leaving a straight, creamy wake on the indigo surface. The color of the sea seemed to get darker with distance, until a thin, almost black band marked the point where the blue began to fade to clear sky. There were only a few fluffy white cumulus clouds to punctuate the endless expanse of brilliant blue sky.
"That was great, Sharktooth," Connie said, wiping butter from her chin with a paper napkin. "Thank you."
"Thank Phillip. He catch the fish. Me, I jus' put in the pan wit' a little nice brown butter an' some spices."
"Thanks, Phillip."
Phillip smiled. "Fish is always best when it's right out of ..."
They were interrupted by the chirping of the satellite phone. Connie lifted it, shading the display with her hand to see the caller i.d. screen. She flipped it to hands-free and set the phone on the cockpit table. "Good afternoon, Paul. You just missed grilled mahi-mahi sandwiches on warm French bread. Phillip caught the fish about an hour ago, and Sharktooth had just baked baguettes."
"I'm jealous. From what I got on NOAA's website this morning, you're probably having a perfect sail, too."
"Absolutely. It just doesn't get much better. I'm glad I was delayed; it worked out for the best. I could have done without Kirsten and Jimmy, though."
Love for Sail Page 11