Wood's Harbor: Action & Sea Adventure in the Florida Keys (Mac Travis Adventures Book 5)

by Steven Becker

  Mac grunted and started to release the lines. “We done?” he asked as the boats moved apart.

  “Just remember - you need me. Don’t screw this up.”

  Mac turned to Trufante and handed him the phone. “Take out the battery.” He followed the wake of the rental boat until he saw the water change color to a dark blue, deep enough that he no longer needed his escort. He turned seaward and pushed down the throttle. The boat jumped forward, and crashed through the waves, Mac using the wheel to balance as well as steer. The pounding of the hull against the seas felt good - water under him, spray flying around them, and just the plain speed uncluttered his head. He looked over at Trufante, who held a stainless steel rail anchored to the dashboard; the grille that was his smile glittered in the sunlight.

  Key West came into view and he changed course slightly, scanning the horizon for the first green channel marker. It appeared a minute later and he kept the boat straight, lining up the more distant markers behind it. He passed the last pile, turned to port and entered the channel. They entered the space between Tank Island, the old military depot, now the tourist haven called Sunset Key, and the mainland when he saw the boat coming straight towards them.

  “That’s Commando’s old hull,” Mac yelled to Trufante. “Missing the top, but I can tell from here.”

  “Shit!” Trufante said. “Boys must be on the prowl looking for us.”

  Mac had taken the Scout and not one of the more distinctive go-fast boats to blend in better, but in the close quarters of the channel there was nowhere to turn. They couldn’t outrun the faster boat. He pulled back on the throttle to buy some more time and desperately searched for a way out. The boat was closing fast and he felt something wiz by his head. A second later he heard the retort and ducked. Instinctively he swerved the boat to disrupt their aim, but the next shot hit the windshield, shattering it into tiny pieces. The tempered glass held, but his view was obstructed and he was forced to lean out of its protection to see.

  They were just about to pass the cruise ship pier when a line of jet skis appeared from its bow. Another bullet hit the console and he steered towards the convoy, hoping the men would not shoot at tourists. The lead jet ski slowed, waiting for the rest of the pack, before angling his craft and gunning it towards Sunset Key. Mac wondered about the safety of the maneuver, but jet skiers had a reputation for ignoring the rules of the road and doing whatever they wanted. The others followed and Mac used the diversion to cut behind them.

  The line of jet skis extended across the channel, disrupting traffic and causing both boats to slow. Mac needed to keep the tourist train between them as a buffer until he could figure something out. Just as he was about to accelerate behind them, two stragglers appeared and he got an idea. He cut the wheel hard to starboard and angled the boat to force the two skiers back in the small harbor behind the cruise ship. The jet skis had no choice but to stop and seek shelter behind the liner. Mac spun the wheel and steered between the bow and seawall, almost crashing as the hull slid into the turn. He looked behind to see if he was being followed, but the only thing visible was the mass of the ship, tourists leaning over the rails.

  Mac looked around the small harbor. The five docks jutting out from the seawall were all crowded with launches shuttling passengers to experience Key West for the day. He turned to look at the ship and saw a string of jet skis tied off to the landing where cruisers disembarked for shore excursions. A portable dock jutted from the boat, impatient tourists massed at the gate waiting for a launch to return to take them to the shopping and decadence of Duval Street.

  They had to act fast. Mac cut the wheel, and pulled back on the throttles, allowing the boat to coast to the side of the landing. Men and women, uniformed to look like naval officers, called out to him to keep clear, but he knew the bars on their epaulets held no authority. Several held radios to their heads, probably calling security.

  “We have to ditch the boat and lose them on the ship,” Mac yelled to Trufante. The boat slammed into the metal landing. Mac jumped onto the retractable dock, pushed past two men holding clipboards and forced his way into the mass of tourists. He heard screams as the visitors moved out of the way. They had seconds to find a hiding spot on the cruise ship before security found them.

  Trufante was behind him as they exited the mass of people waiting their turn to go ashore and ran past the shore excursion desk, where he overheard a rotund tourist repeat his room number to the befuddled agent. He looked left, but saw only shops surrounding the huge atrium in the lobby. The area was too exposed. To the right was a hallway with cabin doors on each side. A chime startled him as he passed the elevator on the starboard side and they ran back to the restrooms.

  Mac entered the marble-lined bathroom, cracked the door and watched the hallway. A toilet flushed and he jumped, but it was only Trufante playing with the expensive fixtures. Three men ran from the elevator, past the bathrooms, in the direction of the excursion desk.

  “You done playing?” He looked back at the Cajun fixing his hair in the mirror. Without waiting for an answer, he left the cover of the bathroom and ran for the open elevator door. It started to close before Trufante reached him and the Cajun stalled in the opening, but the doors reopened. Mac grabbed him and pulled him into the mirror-lined cab. He pushed the button and the two men were left alone in the compartment.

  “Twelve freakin’ stories,” Trufante said. He started to push the button for deck twelve. “Crap, Mac, you could live on this sucker.” He grabbed the rail as the elevator took off. “Wonder what they have for bars? I could use a cocktail right about now.”

  Mac felt a queasy feeling in his stomach and tried to remember the last time he was in an elevator. He could take ten-foot seas, but this floating den of iniquity was too much for him. Trufante was looking at a pamphlet he had picked up from the floor.

  “What in the world? They got a rock wall on a ship.” He stared at the brochure. “Damn, Mac, pools and shit too.”

  Mac grabbed it from him and hit the button for deck eight, remembering the room number of the tourist at the desk. The map in the brochure showed staterooms lining both sides of the boat. What they needed was a place to hide, not a pool to lounge in. The elevator beeped and the doors opened. A maid cart caught his attention and he looked to the left. He fought the urge to run and walked casually towards it.

  “Wait here,” he told Trufante. “Room 8012. After she lets me in, make sure you give it some time, and then come down.” He pushed the lanky giant into a small alcove and continued towards the cart. The sound of a vacuum came from an open door. He peered into the room. “Ma’am,” he called to the maid. “My wife went ashore and took the key. Would you mind letting me into our room?”

  She shut off the vacuum and gave him a quick look. He knew he looked bad. “Kind of had too much to drink last night and we got in a fight.”

  She nodded and pulled a card from a retractable holder on her belt. “What room?”

  He didn’t expect any problems from her. It wasn’t like you could just walk onto the ship. “8012,” he said, hoping she had already cleaned that room, and held his breath as she walked towards the door and swiped her card in the lock.

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he said. He pulled the do not disturb card from the back of the door and placed it on the handle. “I’ve got to sleep this off.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry about this room today.” He closed the door and waited for the vacuum to start. It started again and he propped the door open and waved to Trufante.

  The bulk of the two men made what was advertised as a luxurious cabin feel cramped. Trufante was looking in drawers and pawing through the luggage. “We’ve got some time. Let’s get cleaned up and figure out what to do,” Mac said and went to the bathroom.

  “Wonder what kind of umbrella drinks they serve. Seems like the right kind of place for some froufrou.” Trufante grinned.

  TEN

  Bradley Davies leaned forward in the small cubicle an
d studied the documents in front of him. Even though he had practically memorized it, he read Mel’s living will again, trying to twist the words to his goals, making notes on the legal pad. This was the perfect opportunity - one he never thought he would have - to silence her. Once his student, her fiery personality and steamroller vision had helped him in his causes. She was a tool though, and never saw the back deals that lined his pockets, at least until she started hanging around that guy in the Keys. Now she was a liability, the one person that knew all the skeletons in his closet. Her view of justice was different than his, and she had apparently been placated when he was sentenced. His view had a more permanent tone to it.

  He set the will aside and started another list with what he would need once he was released. Any minute now, he expected the papers to come through.

  Another prisoner came towards him. “Warden wants you.”

  Davies stacked the papers and pad together, placed them under his arm, and followed the man back to the warden’s office. He waited outside, smiling at the secretary until called in. It was a game he played, a kind of primitive flirting, as he watched her fidget under his unwavering smile. If you stared at someone with a scowl on your face, they would likely turn away, but smiles made people react differently and he watched her constantly shifting to glance back at him. He guessed she didn’t get smiled at too often.

  The door opened and the game ended. “You must still have friends in high places,” the warden said.

  Davies didn’t respond. The warden had a piece of paper in his hand and he knew he was going to paradise. No point blowing it with a smart-ass comment.

  “Sue,” he handed her the paper, “please get a guard to escort him.” He turned back to Davies. “I wouldn’t trust you to make medical decisions about my goldfish,” he said and turned back to his office. “A Federal Marshall will escort you to the sheriff in Monroe County, who will handle it from there.”

  Davies took a seat and resumed the game while he waited. Things were moving well and with any luck he would be in Marathon tonight. A guard entered the room and the secretary handed him a paper with his instructions. He looked at Davies, who rose, and they walked towards the intake area of the facility. Davies was handed a bag with his possessions and another guard pointed to a restroom.

  The suit hung off him, at least a size too big now, but the expensive fabric felt good. He walked to the mirror and tied the silk tie, a little surprised that his hands remembered the movement. He deemed himself presentable and left the room. A man in a much cheaper suit was waiting by the guards’ desk. He looked up at Davies and without a word, signed the paper the guard pushed towards him.

  “Hold out your hands,” the Marshall said, reached behind his back and dangled a pair of handcuffs which he laced around Davies’ wrists, a little tighter than he would have liked. Together they walked out the door into the afternoon sunshine. A curious onlooker might have wondered why they were both smiling. He clutched the legal pad and folder under his arm, enjoying the feel of the suit and the Italian leather on his feet as he walked to the waiting car.

  Davies held his head high and the Marshall opened the passenger door for him, got into the driver’s seat and started the car. A few minutes later he looked behind him at the prison receding in the landscape. He sat back, hoping if everything went right this would be the last time he saw it.

  ***

  “I called in to see what time the ship leaves. Figured I’d get some room service.” Trufante sat on the bed watching TV, eating a giant burger and sipping a beer when Mac emerged from the steaming bathroom. “Got one for you too,” he said.

  Mac went to the table, lifted the lid on the plate and took several large bites.

  “About time you did something useful.” He took another bite. “Don’t suppose you got a beer for me?” He already knew the answer when he saw the empty bottle on the floor.

  “Ship pulls out of here at six tonight. The launches are due back at five.”

  Mac finished the burger. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a few hours’ sleep on a real bed, and maybe some more food. The chop shop guys had probably recovered the boat and were placated, at least for now. The ship’s security detail would be looking for them, but he expected them to confine the search to the public areas. A room-to-room search would alarm too many people. As long as the occupants of this stateroom were living large in Key West, there was no reason to leave.

  He stretched out on the twin bed and tried to sleep, but the wreck replayed in his mind again. The last thing he heard before he drifted off was Mel scream as she and Armando entered the life raft.

  ***

  Norm pulled up to the rental dock and tossed a line to the waiting attendant. Without a word he handed him a five-dollar bill and walked towards the seawall. A lot had happened this morning and he needed a meal and somewhere to sit and think to work things out. He walked towards a cab parked by the marina office and opened the back door, waking the driver in the process.

  “Duval Street,” he told the man.

  The driver shook the cobwebs from his dreadlocks. “Where be, mon?” the driver asked with a heavy accent.

  “Hog’s Breath,” Norm answered, trying to ignore the smell of weed.

  The cab pulled off the curb, nearly hitting a bicycle, and swerved into traffic. Horns blared as the driver navigated the mixture of bikes, scooters, pedestrians and cars, many ignoring the sidewalks and lanes. The cab turned left on Eaton and a dozen blocks later, pulled to a stop just short of Duval Street

  “You can walk faster than I can drive you from here, mon,” the driver said and told him the fare.

  Norm dug in his pocket and pulled out a ten, handing it to the driver and waving off the change. He needed to get out of the cab whatever the cost. He walked to Duval and turned right. Past Caroline and Greene streets, he saw the sign for The Hog’s Breath Saloon, but decided against it and passed by, walking another block to a short flight of stairs leading to Teasers. He always thought better in the dark.

  He paid the bouncer the five-dollar cover and walked into the cave-like club. There were several stages with girls gyrating in different phases of undress. The club was near empty, but there were a few tables and stools occupied. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. The blonde on stage caught his attention and he wondered if she could play the part he had in mind. With the beer in hand, he walked over to the padded rail and took a seat. She came over and squatted, her crotch at eye level. He leaned forward, stuck a hundred in her waiting garter, and as she bent over, he asked to speak to her privately.

  She glanced around the room. Norm knew this could go either way. She was either going to turn him in for trying to solicit her, or make sure no one was watching and take him up on his offer. He followed her gaze to the bouncer, reading a newspaper by the door, and then to the bartender, who was busy stocking beer bottles into a cooler.

  “I get off at six. You meet me here.” She whispered an address in his ear. “And bring a few more of your friends.”

  He nodded and walked back to the bar to keep an eye on her, not interested in her moves now, but more in her interactions. He had a few hours to judge whether she was right for what he had in mind. Worst case, he was out a hundred and got a good show; best case, she would fit his job description.

  After the second beer, his attention started to wander. There was only so much ass you could watch without touching, he felt. The conversation with the generalissimo took over his thoughts and he tried to figure out a way to make the Cuban’s demands work to his advantage. The novelty of the bar had worn off and his mind was wandering, He finished his beer, paid the bartender, leaving a generous tip, and went for the door. The girl gave a quick wink, which he returned with an almost imperceptible nod, confirming their rendezvous. He left the cold, dark room behind and went down the stairs, his exposed skin instantly crawling with beads of sweat when it met the humid air.

  He walked down the street and entered a small electronics store
where he paid cash for two pre-paid cell phones. He had given his last one to Travis, and in this business they were invaluable. The open air patio of a small bistro just off Duval caught his eye and he wandered over and took a table. After ordering, he opened one of the packages, checked the contacts in his phone and entered a number in the burner.

  A woman who sounded more like a teenage girl answered.

  “If you are still interested in getting some field experience, I may have a job for you.”

  ***

  Davies walked down the narrow stairs leading from the plane to the steamy tarmac of Key West Airport and smiled. More a fan of an air-conditioned office, he was never so happy to be bathed in humidity. The Marshall followed him down the stairs and motioned him to stay within the cones and follow the airline employee leading the passengers into the building. They walked straight through the terminal, the Marshall carrying a briefcase that was too expensive for his suit. Davies clutched the legal pad and folder tightly under his arm and they entered a waiting car.

  “Pull out and drive around the airport,” the Marshall instructed the driver.

  Davies looked over at him and held out his hands. The man removed the handcuffs and handed him the briefcase. They were almost at the exit and Davies instructed the driver to go to the departing passengers’ area of the terminal. He waited until they were at the curb and nodded as the Marshall exited the car. He watched him look both ways and enter the terminal. Once he was sure he was gone, Davies instructed the driver to head towards Marathon. They left the airport and the car turned north on US 1. He looked out the window. One more step and he was a free man, but he had work to do before he could enjoy his freedom. The cost to bribe the judge and set up the fake Marshall had severely drained his off-shore account and there was still one Melanie Woodson to take care of.