Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series)

by Wayne Stinnett

  We finished our beer and Doc must have yawned a dozen times. “I better get Bob home,” she said. “We're probably keeping you up.”

  “Don't worry about me,” I said. “I'm going to get a shower and head into town for a late supper at the Blue Heaven.”

  Nikki asked, “And to see a certain Cajun girl?”

  My surprise must have been evident on my face. “It's a small island, Gunny,” she said. “I sometimes pick up bartender shifts at different places, to help friends out. She called just before I got to the dock to pick you two up. I'm taking her shift tomorrow.”

  I walked them to the gate and said goodnight, then went back aboard to shower and shave.

  11

  Romance of the Sea

  It was nearly 2230 when I called Lawrence for a ride. He said he was nearby and could be at Oceanside Marina in a few minutes. I dressed, locked up the Revenge and headed down the dock, just as Lawrence pulled into the parking lot.

  As I climbed in the front seat, he said, “Blue Hebin, sar?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “How've you been, Lawrence?”

  As he wheeled out of the parking he said, “Doin well, Cap'n. I heah yuh had a good landin.”

  “We did pretty good,” I said.

  “I heah Santiago is branchin out, mon,” Lawrence said. “Some seh him runnin guns now.”

  “I'm hearing the same thing,” I said. “What else did you hear?”

  “He was in me taxi cab. Him seh he hers er buyer from di middle east.”

  “Now that I hadn't heard. How is it you hear all these things?”

  “Most peepa tink Jamaicans ehr dumb, mon. But, I speeka di spahnish. Dey tot I not unnerstan. Mistah Santiago seh ta his new worka, he tradin guns fa ganja, mon. Gwon mek a run ness week.”

  “That's good, Lawrence,” I said. “Just the kind of intel I'm needing.”

  A few minutes later, we pulled up to the Blue Heaven. As I started to get out, I handed Lawrence a twenty. He protested that it was too much but I stopped him by saying, “It's not just for the ride, Lawrence.”

  He smiled and said, “Tell Miss Tina hi fo me, Cap'n. Yuh have a good night.”

  I stood on the curb for a minute, debating on calling Deuce this late. Finally, I opened my phone and sent a text message saying that Santiago was taking weapons to Cuba next week and I'd call him in the morning with more details.

  A cold front had passed through in the early evening and by Key West standards it was downright cold, maybe even below 60 degrees. I walked through the arch to the outdoor area and it was empty, save for one couple at the end of the bar and Tina, behind it.

  She smiled when she saw me and came out from behind the bar to give me a hug. “You must be exhausted,” she said. “I figured you'd be fast asleep by now. I want you to meet someone.” She took my hand and led me to the couple sitting at the end of the bar.

  “Jesse, this is Justin and Laura. Guys, this is Captain Jesse McDermitt.” Then turning to me, she said, “Laura and I went to college together, they're down here doing research for Mote.”

  “Marine biologists?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Justin replied. “We've been doing research on shark migration along the Florida coast.”

  “Tina told us you own a fishing charter boat,” Laura said.

  “Yes,” Tina said, “It's a beautiful boat. We're going out in it tomorrow.”

  “We're just going up to my house,” I said.

  “Do you catch many sharks,” Justin asked.

  “Not intentionally,” I said. “Most of my clients are after mahi, marlin, grouper and other game fish. Sometimes a shark will get their catch though.”

  “Makos, most likely,” Laura said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “A lot of short-fin makos. They're common around here all year and plenty fast enough to catch a hooked marlin. Just about any shark can catch a grouper, or anything else we hook while bottom fishing.”

  Tina went behind the bar and got a cold Red Stripe out of the cooler and set it before me. “Are you going to eat?” she asked. “Frankie's already gone home, but the sous-chef, Tim, is still here and he's going to close the kitchen soon.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Ask him if he can make me a fish sandwich. Anything's fine, he can surprise me.”

  She went to the little window and talked through it. I'd met Tim Hinson a couple of times, he'd been working under Frankie for years. He was good enough to be head chef anywhere else, but likes working here.

  When she came back she said, “Tim said he's got some cobia. What time did you want to leave tomorrow?”

  “As early as you want,” I said.

  “Skivvies time?”

  I laughed and said, “Why don't you ride your bike over and we'll go for a run together before we head out.”

  “That sounds great,” she said. “I don't usually get to run with anyone.”

  “We have to leave, Tina,” Laura said. “We'll he here through Sunday, call me when you get back.”

  I stood and shook hands with them both. “It was nice meeting you both,” I said.

  We exchanged pleasantries and the couple left. A bell rang at the window and Tina brought my sandwich to me and set another cold beer in front of me.

  “Looks like I'll be closing early,” she said. “You have plans?”

  “Well,” I said, “I've been up for over twenty-four hours. What do you have in mind?”

  “A lot of things,” she said coyly. “But, you need your sleep. How about you take me out for a nightcap?”

  “Deal,” I said. I'd finished my sandwich when Tim came out from the kitchen.

  “How's the sandwich, Jesse?” he asked.

  “You two know each other?” Tina asked.

  “Been a year or so, but yeah,” I replied. Then to Tim I said, “It's really good. Tina said it was cobia. Did you bake it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “With a parmesan crust and lemon juice. I gotta run, Tina. Good to see you again, Jesse.”

  “Why don't you go inside and I'll close up here.”

  I left a twenty on the bar and went inside. A band was playing a catchy song about a hollow man. I listened while I drank my beer between yawns. Tina walked up in the middle of a particularly long yawn.

  “Long day, huh,” she said.

  “Too long,” I said. “Especially at my age.”

  She was dressed in tight white jeans and a red tank top, under a white sweater. She looked really good, especially since I knew that she'd probably been on her feet, slinging drinks, for the last six or seven hours. I stood and offered her a seat.

  “Can we go somewhere quieter?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said and followed her to the door.

  The streets were nearly deserted as we walked north on Thomas, then a block east on Southard and went into the Green Parrot, on Whitehead. There weren't a lot of people in the bar so we had no problem finding a quiet corner table, not far from the stage. A small band was just setting up without much enthusiasm as the waitress came and took our drink order. I'm a beer man, but on occasion I like a good rum. I ordered a double Myers's, chilled and Tina ordered a white wine.

  The band started before our drinks came, a smooth jazz number by Coltrane. The sax player was very good, hitting the inflections just like Trane did. The only thing missing was a blue, smoky halo around the lights. We talked about her last couple of days at work and how I did on the shrimp trawler for a few minutes. I was really tired and I guess it showed.

  “I need to get you to bed,” she said. Then realizing what she'd said, she tried to correct herself.

  I stopped her and said, “Don't worry about it. The idea has crossed my mind a time or two. But, I don't know. It just seems too soon.”

  We left the bar and she took my arm as we walked east on Southard a few blocks, then took Elizabeth over to Angela, winding our way through Old Town.

  As we passed the old graveyard, I asked her if she'd ever visited it. “Visit a graveyard?” she asked. �
�Why on earth would anyone do that, unless they knew someone buried there? Which I don't.”

  “I'm sure you've noticed some of the odd sort of people that live on this little rock. It's been that way for centuries. One of my favorite markers is a guy named Pearl Roberts. His epitaph reads ‘I told you I was sick’.”

  She laughed and said, “You're making that up.”

  “No, really,” I said. “Another one is a lady named Gloria something. Hers reads ‘I’m just resting my eyes’.”

  We were passing the entrance to the cemetery and I said, “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  “In the cemetery?” she said hesitantly.

  “It's just inside the gate,” I said. “Don't worry, most of the ghosts are way over on the far side.”

  She laughed nervously as we turned and walked through the gate. We came to an area that was fenced in with a short cast iron fence. I stopped at the gate and peered in. There was a short sidewalk which led to a statue at the center, with graves on either side of the walkway.

  “He's called the Lone Oarsman,” I said, pointing at the tall statue, with the American flag flying behind it. “That’s the USS Maine memorial.”

  “I'm afraid I’ve never heard of it,” she said.

  “In early 1898 the Maine was sent out from Key West to Havana, Cuba,” I said. “Three weeks later, while resting at anchor in Havana Harbor, there was a huge explosion and the Maine sank within minutes, taking 258 men to a watery grave. This was toward the end of the Cuban War of Independence from Spain. Shortly after that, America entered the fray and it became known as the Spanish-American War. ‘Remember the Maine’ was the battle cry of the day.”

  “So much history on this little island,” she said. Then looking toward the statue she said, “You're a kindred spirit to him, you know.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you are,” she replied. “I can feel it.”

  “Ah,” I said, “the Marie Laveau coming out?”

  She jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow as we turned to walk back out of the cemetery. “Scoff if you must,” she said. “But, I really do get vibes about people. My dad said I had the gift.”

  We walked on up Angela Street for another block and I suddenly recognized her little house. “Hard to believe you live a stone’s throw from the cemetery and never visited it,” I said.

  “Want to come inside and call Lawrence?” she asked. “I promise I won't bite.”

  “Yeah, but I might,” I said with a laugh. “It's only a mile or so to Duval and I need to sort some things out in my head anyway. See you about 0700?”

  “If that means seven o'clock, that’ll be great. Do I need to bring anything?”

  “Just a couple of days of clothes,” I replied. Then realizing for some women that could be six or seven outfits I added, “Nothing fancy, just shorts, jeans and tee-shirts.”

  “No evening gown?” she asked.

  My face must have registered my reaction. She punched me in the shoulder and said, “I’m only kidding. I don't even own an evening gown.”

  Then she came into my arms, standing on her toes and kissed me. A long, passionate kiss. When she stepped back, she smiled and said, “I'm looking forward to it. You gonna let me drive, I mean pilot, again?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. I hugged her again and she turned and walked up the steps to her porch. I had to admit, she looked good in those tight jeans. She turned her head suddenly, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder and caught me looking. She winked and went inside.

  As tired as I was, I wanted nothing more than to get to bed. Instead of walking, I called Lawrence. He said he was dropping a fare off in Old Town and I told him I'd be walking Frances Street toward Eaton.

  “Dot's neah weh Miss Tina lives, mon.” he said.

  I could hear his big, toothy grin over the phone and said, “Yeah, I think she lives somewhere around here.”

  “Ya mon,” he said. “Be dere in a jiffy.”

  I walked slowly west on Frances, enjoying the cooler air. I knew it wouldn't last long, though. By tomorrow afternoon it would be back into the low seventies. As I walked, I thought about the past three days. Skippering the Miss Charlie was a challenge, but I'd thoroughly enjoyed it. I couldn't decide if it was the challenge itself, or just being in command. I thought back on my days in the Corps with sorrow sometimes. Before I retired, I looked forward to leaving it behind. Then a little over two years later, the Towers came down. I went the next day to a prior service recruiter who told me “Leave this one to the younger guys, Gunny.” Many times I thought that I should have stayed for the full thirty year ride. Being in command of a group of hard charging warriors was very satisfying. The crew of the Charley weren't highly trained Marines, but the feeling of satisfaction was still there.

  A car turned the corner behind me and came to a stop alongside. It was Lawrence. I climbed in the front seat and said, “Thanks, Lawrence. Slow night?”

  He started forward and said, “Ya mon, pretty slow. Dis cold weatha keeps folks inside. I heah Santiago got hisself a new mon. Fah security.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I heard his last bodyguard was killed a couple days ago.”

  “Also heah he got a new Cap'n,” he said looking over at me.

  I didn't say anything. Something told me that Lawrence knew a lot more that he wasn't saying. A few minutes later we pulled up at the gated dock at Oceanside Marina. I looked over at him and asked, “You know anything about his new bodyguard?”

  “He ride wit Santiago in my taxi cab, mon. Big mon, neah as big as yuh. Cuban, wid a bald head.”

  I handed him a twenty and got out. My legs were stiff, as I made my way down the dock. I think I fell asleep half way through the salon, long before my head hit the pillow.

  At least I remembered to turn on the coffee maker. The fresh aroma of the all mighty Columbian bean roused me. It felt like I'd only been asleep for a few minutes. I got up, opened a drawer and pulled out my favorite running shorts and tee-shirt, got dressed and put on my running shoes. I wasn't going to let Tina catch me in my skivvies today. I poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a banana out of the galley and went up to the bridge. The early morning air was cool and crisp, with a low fog blanketing the little bay. It would burn off shortly after sunrise, though.

  A few minutes later I heard Tina's bike coming across the parking lot and walked down to open the gate.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep alright?”

  “I don't think I moved a muscle all night. Pulling an all-nighter was easy a couple decades ago. I must have gotten old and didn't notice.”

  “Old?” she said. “You can't be any more than thirty-eight or forty, right?”

  I looked down at her as we walked along the dock to the Revenge and said, “Thanks, but that channel marker is well astern.”

  She looked up at me and studied my face in the dim glow of the dock lights and asked, “How old are you then?”

  “Turned forty-four last summer,” I replied. “I'm guessing you're about thirty?”

  She laughed and said, “Yes as a matter of fact, that's exactly how old I am. With four years of experience, too.”

  I took her bag and set it inside the hatch to the salon, noting it was pretty light. That was a good indicator, in my book. “So, how far do you want to run?” I asked.

  “Up to you,” she said. “I can run quite a ways without tiring. Did a half marathon last spring.”

  “Well, we'll keep it shorter than that,” I said. “How's five miles sound? Then we can shower and shove off after this fog burns off.”

  “Hmm,” she said thinking. “We could do the loop around northern Stock Island, past the Naval Station and back. That's about five miles. I got a good warm up on the ride over.”

  “Then let's go,” I said.

  “You don't need to stretch, or warm up?”

  “Never have before,” I said and started down the dock, toward the gate.

  I started off
at a slow pace. She was a good foot shorter than me, but she had a good running form. When we reached the end of MacDonald Avenue, we ran against the traffic, what little there was, on A1A. Then we turned north on College Road passing the botanical garden. The smell of night jasmine filled the air.

  “How tall are you?” she asked.

  “I'm a hair under six-three,” I replied. “Why?”

  “Is this your normal pace?”

  “No,” I said. “I usually run faster.”

  “Don't think that just because I'm only five-two you need to hold back,” she said as she lengthened her stride and increased her rhythm.

  I caught up and held her pace, looking over occasionally. I was wrong, she had a very good form. I'd obviously misjudged her. We held a six minute mile pace all the way around the loop and she was still breathing comfortably. When we crossed back over A1A and started down Second Street to MacDonald again, she even picked up the pace and we did the last mile in under five minutes.

  As we jogged into the parking lot and slowed down I said, “I'm really impressed. That was a good run. How often do you do it?”

  We slowed to a walk as we neared the dock, letting our bodies cool down. “I'd like to run every day, but usually every other day. I usually run the eight mile loop around Roosevelt, along the beach.”

  “Eight miles every other day?” I said. “Very impressive.”

  We climbed aboard the Revenge and I showed her to the head. I told her to shower first, I needed to check my email. Once I heard the water running, I opened my laptop and saw that I had only one email. From the lawyer. He wrote that he really needed to meet with me, as soon as possible. He'd be in Marathon until Saturday, but then had to fly back to Oregon. He also said it would be very beneficial to me to meet him as soon as I could.

  I still had no idea what this was all about, but I wrote back a quick note that I would be in Marathon Friday afternoon and he should meet me at the Rusty Anchor at noon.

  Then I called Deuce. When he picked up, before he could say anything, I said, “I only have a minute. Santiago offered me the job of hauling his grass. I have to confirm that I'll do it by tomorrow.”