by Chris Niles
She fell in slow motion, inch by inch, or maybe her mind just sped up to record every millisecond—
She awoke with a start, her hands making contact with the carpet a split second before the rest of her body hit the deck. Whiskey lay snoring on the couch, all four legs stretched into the center where Kate had just been sleeping. She pushed up to her knees then rubbed her left elbow.
“Jerk.” She kissed the sleeping dog between the ears before dragging herself down the narrow hall and into her bedroom. Both hands on her watch pointed down. Almost five-thirty. Too late to go back to bed, but too early to get up. She stripped out of the clothes she’d been wearing for two days, climbed into the tiny shower, and let the hot water pound the top of her head and run down her back.
How did any of this get to be my problem?
They’d practically stolen an antique book from the historical society, immediately gotten it stolen from them, then chased the thief across the Caribbean and back. All for nothing. No map to the hidden money. No clear directions of where to look. Not even a viable clue.
People were hurt. Susan was dead. And Shark Key was three days closer to becoming a gated resort, with all its current residents out on the street.
She’d come to the Keys to get away from reality. To escape the trappings of conventional life. After Danny, deadlines were meaningless. News stories were irrelevant. Everywhere she turned, the world looked upside down. Corruption and greed ran unchecked. The innocent sat in cells while the criminals ran free. Danny’s death looked like a simple home invasion. Like one of thousands, and like no other one in particular. No evidence. No arrests. No accountability.
Shark Key was supposed to be a haven from the broken world, but the same old brokenness was encroaching again. Sure, the story of a legendary gangster and his lost treasure held some appeal. And the idea of sticking it to a corrupt developer and winning one for the little guy felt noble. But reality was manifest in the bruises darkening her skin and the indelible memory of Susan’s body toppling over the port gunwale into the cerulean water. Life and death decisions. Nightmares.
No, this was not what she signed up for. But this time Kate had a choice. She scrubbed the crust of Mexican dust and Caribbean salt from her short blonde hair, then toweled off, grabbed her laptop and started typing:
HOUSEBOAT FOR SALE.
It might take a little time to sell a houseboat with no motor, but affordable housing in the Lower Keys was hard to find. Someone was bound to want it. Chuck would surely tow Serenity out for them, and she could easily fit her essentials in the car with plenty of room left over for Whiskey. One former classmate was living in Belize and another had settled in Cartagena after covering the recent economic recovery in Colombia. She’d take it slow, head west, and camp along the way where she could. Maybe she’d even write a book about it.
The irony of taking a month or more to drive to almost the exact place she’d left on a boat not thirty-six hours before struck her, and Kate laughed loud enough to wake Whiskey. She nudged him and hopped to her feet.
“Let’s go take some pictures of the sunrise, boy.”
Chapter Forty-One
Vince clutched his coffee and lowered his aching body to the dock. So much had changed in three days, he took comfort in reclaiming his morning routine. He sat, legs dangling, waiting for the sunrise. A sharp chirp from his phone snapped his attention back from the eastern horizon.
“Yeah?”
“Where have you been?”
Vince held the phone at arm’s length and could still hear every word. When Baumann’s swearing finally showed signs of slowing down, Vince pulled the phone closer.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He glanced around to be certain he was alone. “The details aren’t impor—”
“Like hell they aren’t!”
Vince sighed and started over. “Hear me out. I tried it the usual way. But the dude has some relentless friends. They caught up with me in Cozumel, and I had to improvise.”
“Improvise?” Baumann’s growl hung in the air while Vince chose his words.
“It was my only option. But in the end, it all turned out better than we could have hoped.”
“Better how?”
“They think I’m on their side. We’re working together now.”
Silence.
“Look, they had me dead to rights. I whacked one of them and tossed her overboard.” He crossed his fingers. Perhaps taking credit for the woman’s accident would buy him some credibility. “‘Stead of scarin’ ’em, it just pissed them off. They cornered me. Threatened to toss me overboard in the Gulf Stream. Even if that was an empty threat, they were gonna turn me over to the cops when we got back. So I sold them a story they couldn’t resist.”
A sigh through the tiny speaker was the only reply.
“What do they want more than anything, Boss?”
“I’m not in the mood, Holt.”
“But it matters.
“Fine, they want me to back off.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s not it. If you just back off, you could come back. They want you gone for good. So I told them I wanted out. I told them I was planning to double-cross you — to take the money and take you out. I begged them to cut me in on the deal. To give me enough to get away and get set up somewhere new. They’re suckers for a second chance, and I played them hard. They’re going to lead me straight to it. And then I’m gonna take it all and bring it to you.”
“Why would they trust you?”
“Because they’re naïve, bleeding-heart suckers? Because they love a good story? I don’t know. I just know they do. I sat out there with them all night, poring over that stupid book and listening to the dude’s stories about his grandfather and his childhood. I swear when this is over, you’re paying for me to spend a week at a resort where the drinks and the women—”
“When this is over, we are going to have a long talk about my expectations. A member of my organization is to keep me informed of every step in an operation. Is that clear, Holt?”
“Yes, sir.” Vince rolled his eyes. The thick seagrape bushes on the opposite shore rustled as an iguana or maybe an alligator slunk through in search of breakfast.
“Good. So, in your little ruse, when do I find out you’ve betrayed me?”
“Hopefully not til we’ve got the money.”
“And I just sit tight until then?”
“I’ve got it all under control, Boss.”
“Sure you do. Just so you know, when I hear about this? Nothing’s personal.”
“Of course. This is all gonna work out. You can count on me.”
“That’s yet to be seen. Until this is over, I need to know everything you know, the minute you know it. I don’t care how you manage, but I want phone calls every hour from you, and if I don’t hear from you on time, I’ll assume you’ve bought into your little redemption story, and I’ll adjust my plan accordingly.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll call every hour, and I’ll get you everything.”
The line went dead, and Vince tucked the phone back into his pocket. The last time one of Baumann’s men betrayed him, the guy’s body turned up jammed behind a dumpster in Miami.
He sat on the end of the dock, sipped his coffee, and watched the sun ascend into the morning sky.
When the dock’s planks grew too hot to sit on, Vince walked back to his place and locked the door behind him. Behind the false back in the closet of the spare room, Vince unlocked a shallow case. He selected a tiny .25 caliber Baby Browning and filled two magazines with six hollow point bullets each, which he dropped into a deep cargo pocket. He strapped the Browning to his left ankle, then chose two small smoke grenades and a can of tear gas, which he dropped in the other cargo pocket.
After locking the compartment, he grabbed a deep mesh bag. Packed his faded buoyancy compensator, regulator, mask, and fins. Pulled his wrist-mounted dive computer out, tapped the
power button. Nothing. Tried three more times, but the screen stayed blank. He stuffed it in his pocket, hitched the bag over his shoulder, then hauled everything to his car.
Chapter Forty-Two
Kate heard slow, uneven steps on the dock behind her as she strapped the dripping kayak to the pilings at the end of her dock. She spoke without turning around.
“Good morning, Chuck.”
“It’s a perfect morning for a paddle around the cove, isn’t it?”
She turned toward him, her camera dangling from her wrist. “Perfect. All wrong. Both. Neither.”
“Yeah. I guess it won’t feel perfect for a long time, will it? Look, I want to say thank you. I know it feels like it was all for nothing now, but I appreciate what you and the guys did for me. Really. And I know there has to be something in that book somewhere. I’m gonna get a little breakfast and start fresh. I’d love your help, if you’ve got the time.”
“Chuck, I know you believe your grandpa’s story, but I just see you getting deeper and deeper into a problem you can’t solve. The cost is too high now. You’re gonna lose this place, and I can’t stick around and watch it happen. I’m sorry, but I’m putting Serenity up for sale, and Whiskey and I are gonna hit the road again.”
“Is that really what you want? To always be packing up and moving on? Constantly looking to the next shore and never really being present where you actually are? To always being an outsider, a tourist that locals depend on for dollars, but never really accept or trust?”
Kate shrugged. “Better than getting dragged into local land wars where good people end up dead.”
“Some things are worth fighting for. Worth dying for. This place is one of them.”
“Maybe it is for you. You’ve lived here all your life. You have no idea what it’s like out there. How cruel people can be to each other. You’ve never been out in the real world. I did all the things I was supposed to do. Went to college, got a job, got married. And it all got ripped away by some asshole who wanted our DVD player. Is a DVD player worth dying for? I’d say no. But it’s what Danny died for. I think I’ve paid my dues to this world already.”
Chuck stared off the end of the dock, toward the tiny green island across the channel. His voice sounded a million miles further away. “You think you’re the only one who’s paid a price, Kate? You think you’re the only one who wants to be free from the bull crap of the people who were supposed to love you and protect you but didn’t?
“My daddy died when I was six years old. He died because he stepped up to fight in a war we never should have been in. But we were. And once we were, he said that serving and leading those boys who never asked to be there but got sent into hell anyway seemed like the right thing to do.” He swatted at a gnat beside his ear.
“My mama, she took it hard. And she tried to run, like you’re trying to run from the memory of Danny. But she had me, so instead of packing us up and running for real, she ran in her mind. And no matter how far she ran, how much she drank or smoked or shot up, the world was still the same when she landed. Until one day she ran too far. She died trying to run from something too big to run from — reality.”
Kate rested a hand on Chuck’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off and glared into her eyes.
“I was nine. So don’t try to tell me about paying your dues. Don’t try to tell me about what price is worth it and what isn’t. Don’t try to tell me I haven’t seen the world enough to know it’s not worth saving. You with your fancy college degree and that trust fund you refuse to touch. This is all a game to you, and you don’t even know it. You’re slumming it. Living in a rundown boat, driving a beat-up car, packing up and moving on when it gets a little too real. You’re running away from everything being human is all about, Katherine Kingsbury. You’re fighting, but you’re fighting the wrong battle in a war that’s already decided. Stop already. Smell the ocean. Taste the saltwater on your lips. Sit around a table and drink a beer and savor the reason we live.”
Chuck started back toward the seawall. He tossed these parting words over his shoulder as he walked away. “Or you can tow away that hulk and let people like Baumann and your father pave over our haven to build tennis courts and ten-bedroom houses. As for me, I’ll die trying to stop it.”
When he was gone, Kate pulled out a scrub brush and attacked the siding of her boat. Fifteen minutes later, she flung it into a bucket. Every muscle in her body screamed as she stood up and stretched out the hose that dangled from the piling. While she sprayed the suds from the walls over the side and into the water, Whiskey leapt and bit at the stream of cool fresh water.
“Cut it out.” She directed the water away from him, and he chased after it. “Whiskey, I’m serious. Stop it.”
“He’s just having a little fun.”
Kate jumped at William’s baritone, then quickly wiped a tear from her eye before turning to meet him. Michelle stood beside him, her fingers interlaced with his.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.
“It’s okay, I just didn’t realize you were back yet.” She dropped the hose sprayer back onto its hook. “He just…he doesn’t understand.”
Michelle wrapped her arm around Kate’s shoulders. “He’s not supposed to understand. But I’m sure he senses that you’re sad, and he wants to make you laugh.”
“It’s not just that, though. Chuck was just here. He tried to convince me to stay. Kept talking about how this place is all he has left. How there’s a price to everything, and how his parents died when he was a kid. Yeah, it’s sad. I get that. But we all have our own issues. Maybe my parents are alive, but they may as well have died. Hell, life would be better if they did. They’re out there stealing people’s lives, no different from what Baumann does. And as many times as I’ve tried to fight them, I always lose. What makes this any different?”
William leaned against the weathered piling and stared until Kate met his gaze. His eyes were gentle, but firm. “Who do you think lives here at Shark Key? Do you think you’re the only person who doesn’t pay rent?”
Michelle smiled — somehow her eyes were soft and kind, but also disappointed. “Kate, haven’t you ever wondered why there are so many single moms living at the campground? Do you even know Linda in the Beneteau over on the east dock? Her husband died in Afghanistan. Or Evelyn—”
Kate whirled out from under Michelle’s arm. “So now I’m the selfish one?”
“That’s not what we’re saying at all. I’m just trying to tell you that no matter what he says, Chuck doesn’t want to save this place for himself. Losing Shark Key means putting all those people he’s been helping out on the street, too. Susan understood that. It’s why she and Steve came along when Chuck couldn’t go to Mexico. Baumann is hurting more than just one man who likes his space. At least twenty women will be homeless if he gets his way. A lot of them with kids. Think about that, Kate.”
William took Michelle’s hand and led her past the seagrape hedge then across the crushed coral parking lot to the deck.
Kate slowly walked back to the end of her dock. She sat, feet dangling just above the shallow water. A small skiff slowly explored the waters across the channel. While a woman piloted the boat, a small boy, maybe six or seven, ran along the gunwales, pointing out the wonders he saw darting between the surface and the sand. The small boat rounded a point on the island revealing her name — Bonnie J — emblazoned on the hull.
Why are boats always named after women? She went back to spraying down the dock. And the nerve, the nerve. Talking to me like a child like that. Calling me by …
Kate froze.
Katherine Kingsbury. Katherine K.
It wasn’t a person at all.
Kate ran inside for her laptop. She opened up a browser and typed “Katherine K.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Kate sprinted past the mourners on the deck, the crushed shells and gravel in the parking lot shredding the soles of her feet.
She burst through his door. �
�Chuck, give me that book!”
He didn’t question her. Just crutched toward the door, the small novel in his hand.
Kate snatched it from him then ran to Gramps’s room, flipping pages.
Chuck followed, but much slower.
“Look!” she cried. And when he finally caught up, she turned to him and pointed at an entry in the book. “Here. Just before he built the first docks.” She pointed at what she wanted him to read.
6.4.53: Went to see Katherine K. Beautiful day.
“And here.” Kate indicated another line of text.
7.15.53: Poured pilings for new docks on east shore.
She flipped more pages, rattling off entry after entry. They were often separated by many lines of the mundane — weather, tide, catch records — but the pattern was clear. Every reference to Katherine K in the book was followed by a significant investment in the marina.
“Katherine K wasn’t a person, she’s a boat! It’s been under our noses this whole time.”
She pointed to a bronze ship’s placard on Gramps’s dresser. The left half was missing, and the engraving was worn from years at sea.
—herine K
K marks the spot. Katherine K.
“Sometime in the thirties, your Gramps found this wreck, and that’s where he hid Al Capone’s gold.”
She flipped open her laptop and showed him the page.
Katherine K (SP-220) was built in Baltimore, Maryland in 1894 and was purchased by the United States Naval Coast Defense Reserve in 1917. Katherine K patrolled the waters around Key West and served as a patrol and harbor tug. She was swept away from Key West Harbor in the Hurricane of 1919 and the wreck was never found.
“Your grandfather went to visit Katherine K just before building new docks.” She ruffled through the pages. “And here. Katherine K gave Ophelia and her new husband a generous wedding gift. So where is it?” Kate frantically flipped through page after page of the book, opening it to random pages, flipping back and forth and holding a finger in the page for each Katherine K entry until all her fingers were taken. She snapped the book around her fingers, gripping it with her thumb. “Bring the biggest chart of the Lower Keys you’ve got, then meet me up on the deck.” Halfway to the front door, she spun around, ignoring the pain shooting through the balls of her feet. “Hurry up, my friend. Everyone’s depending on you!”