by Johnny Asa
Without pausing to think, I spun the wheel, angling across the parking lot for the truck. As I approached, I threw my own vehicle into park. My tires were on the lines, and I was cocked to the side, but I didn’t care as I shut off the engine and leapt out of the Tahoe.
I was at my dad’s truck in a flash. As I laid my hand on the hood, a chill ran through me. It was cold. The weather wasn’t though, so that meant it’d been sitting here for a while, else it’d still be warm. A pang of fear shot through me, but I pushed it down as I walked around the car.
From what I could see, the inside of the truck looked pristine, and there was nothing in the bed, which I guess wasn’t that strange. My dad was usually pretty clean, especially when it came to his toys. He was the type of guy who would have a week’s worth of dirty dishes at his desk and then flip out if he got bird poop on his windshield.
I nodded to myself as I did one last pass. There was nothing odd about the vehicle. No signs of a struggle or anything. No, it more seemed like it’d just sat parked a few days, and since he had one of those permanent parking pass stickers in the corner of his windshield, I was guessing I’d been right. He must have taken the boat out and stayed on it for a while.
As I tried to make myself believe that, I headed toward the docks. I had no idea where my dad parked his boat though, so before I made it more than a few steps, I glanced back toward the dockyard entrance. I wasn’t sure if that guy would know my dad, but since I didn’t even know where the office was, it was as good a place to start as any.
I took a deep breath and then jogged toward the entrance. I made it about three steps before I resolved to get my ass on a Stairmaster for some cardio. I was a long way from doing ten miles hikes in full gear, that was for damned sure.
Still, I made it there quickly enough, and as I approached, the guy poked his head out to look at me. “Sorry, nothing’s open.” He had the decency to look sheepish as he looked me over. “I can give you a refund if you like. I’m not supposed to, but I’ll make an exception.” He shot me a congenial smile.
“No, that’s okay.” I waved him off. “I was wondering if you could direct me toward the office. I’m trying to find my dad’s slip.”
“The office is over yonder, but it won’t open until nine,” he replied, pointing one pale finger at a group of buildings to the left.
As I watched him do it, I was sort of amazed he wasn’t burnt to a crisp. After all, I was pretty tanned, but the sun was still beating on my neck in a way that made me wish I had some sunscreen or a hat.
“Oh,” I said, rubbing my chin. “Would you happen to know where Bob Ryder docks his boat?”
The guy stared at me for a moment, wheels turning in his mind. “Um… yeah, over on dock J. Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” I asked before I could stop myself. “He’s my dad, and I’m looking for him.”
“Right, okay, sorry.” He looked away, staring up at the blue sky like he was trying to discern the shapes of the wispy clouds overhead. “It’s just that you’re the second person this week who has asked where he docks his boat.”
“I am?” I asked, trying to keep my sudden surge of concern from showing on my face. “Who else came by?”
“Big guy with tattoos. Said Bob was his dad.” He stared at me hard. “Just like you did.”
“He is my dad,” I snapped, marching away from the booth and heading in the direction he’d pointed as quickly as I could without actually breaking into a run. My heart was starting to pound, but I sucked in a few breaths and forced myself to calm down.
Just because a tattooed guy had been here looking for my dad and had shown up at the house did not mean they were the same guy. Lots of people had tattoos now so it could be just a coincidence. Unfortunately, my military training didn’t exactly lend me to believe in those.
As I approached the dock, I couldn’t keep the sudden fear from exploding out of me. My dad’s boat, the Storm Ryder, was there all right, but it was absolutely trashed. Even from here, I could tell someone had wrecked the thing, and as I’d said before, my dad kept his toys pristine.
I swallowed as I finally broke down and sprinted forward. My feet pounded on the wooden dock as I approached the dock. The wood by the boat was stained so dark, it was nearly black. The smell, like old fish, hit my nose, and as I glanced around for a bait cleaning station, my stomach clenched. There wasn't one anywhere near here, at least not one that would smell like fish left in the sun. Where was the stench coming from?
The boat stood in front of me, and as I hopped onto it, ignoring the fact my work boots would scuff the white surface and make my dad murder me, I headed down into its depths while trying to ignore the debris strewn about the cockpit.
Alarm bells went off in my brain, screaming at me that something was wrong as I moved further into the Catalina 36.
The lower level was worse. Pots and pans were strewn across the small galley, and the pillows and blankets had been flung on a heap beside the small bunks in the back. The small desk area was littered with old coffee stained charts and a litany of small tools that likely had been inside it at one time.
Had someone torn the thing apart looking for something? It seemed likely because even the pillows had been slashed open and the stuffing pulled out.
I swallowed hard, ignoring my sudden panic as I made my way through every nook and cranny of my father’s boat, but he was nowhere to be found.
4
“Hey, Max, it’s Billy, is Vicky there?” I asked into my phone as I sat in the front seat of my Tahoe, nervously drumming the fingers of my left hand on the steering wheel. “I need a favor.”
“Yeah, she’s here,” Max, one of my old buddies, replied. I had never been quite sure what he and his girlfriend did, other than cause trouble, but either way, both of them were good people to have at your back when the crap hit the fan.
“Good. Can I talk to her?” I asked, a thread of worry tingeing the edge of my words.
“Maybe…” His voice muffled on the other end of the line. “We’re sort of busy at the moment. Is it important?”
“Yeah, my dad’s gone missing,” I said, glancing over my shoulder toward where his boat was docked. I’d searched it literally ten times and had come up empty. I’d still not checked his truck, but it was next on the list. I just needed to go back to his house and grab the spare key. If I couldn’t find one, well, I guess I’d have to jimmy the thing open. Either way, I wasn’t getting into it now.
“Oh…” Max got quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “You want me to come down there?”
“Not yet,” I said, shaking my head even though I knew Max couldn’t see it. “I just saw a guy, and I was hoping to get Vicky to do one of those character sketches she does.”
“Are you playing CSI?” Max asked as the sound of his heavy footsteps echoed in the background. “Because I’m not sure you’re smart enough for that.”
“You’re one to talk. You never met a problem you couldn’t punch,” I grumbled, my grip tightening around the phone. This was taking way too long, eating up time I didn’t have. “Just put Vicky on the line. I’ll owe you one.”
“You owe me like six, already, but I’ll put it on the list.” He laughed in that horrible, “I own your soul” way he had. Then I could hear him talking to someone on his side of the line for a moment, but not well enough to make out what they were saying. “Here’s Vicky.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if he’d heard it because the next thing I heard was Vicky.
“What’s up, Billy. Max says you need a drawing?” she asked in her high-pitched valley girl voice. It was weird because she was a short red-headed spitfire and too crazy to boot to own a voice like that. Still, I was glad Max had found her because he was the craziest son of a gun I knew.
“Yeah, I need a drawing. If I tell you what the guy looks like, can you draw him and send over the picture?” I asked, leaning my head back against the headrest in the Tahoe and staring
at the gray ceiling.
“Sure. It’ll take me a few minutes. Hang on a sec.” The line got muffled as I heard her scrounging around. “I’ve only got a blue pen and some napkins. I can try again later when we get back home. Unless you want to wait?”
“Let’s split the difference, and you do both?” I said, finally feeling like I was getting somewhere. I’d had exactly zero leads thus far, but I knew one thing. A tattooed guy had come looking for my dad twice, and if I found him, I’d make some headway.
“Okay, that’s fine…” she mumbled before sighing loudly and launching into a string of questions. I never quite knew how she did it, or what the questions she asked meant, but at the end of it, she always came out with a near perfect sketch of the person. Sure, she wouldn’t be able to show me the picture along the way to get my confirmation, but it was what it was.
“I think I’m done,” Vicky said a few minutes later. “Let me text this over. If it’s good, I’ll work out a better drawing when I get home. I’ll be honest, we’re in the middle of something. It might be a while.”
“Thanks, Vicky. I appreciate it.” I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath. I was making progress. Not much, but some because now I had a picture. A picture I wouldn’t need if I’d just shook that bozo down to begin with. “Send it over.”
“Will do. Good luck, Billy. If you need us to come down there, you let Max know, okay? Don’t be a hero.” The concern in her voice surprised me, though I couldn’t have told you why.
“I won’t, Vicky. Promise. I’ll catch you two later,” I said as I hung up the phone, right as I realized I hadn’t let her say goodbye.
A second later my phone dinged, indicating I had a text from Max. I opened it up and found myself staring at a pretty good rendition of Tattooed Guy, complete with all the tattoos I could remember drawn along the side. This was perfect. Anyone who had seen Tattooed Guy would immediately recognize him from the drawing. Now, I just had to find someone who had seen him. I knew just where to start.
I started the Tahoe. As music began to blare from the speakers, I instinctively turned it down. Then I headed back toward the exit.
Thankfully, the redhead was still there at the booth, and he waved at me as I approached. The barrier gate began to rise, but I ignored it and stopped beside his booth. He shot me a confused look as I rolled down my passenger window.
“Um… you need something?” he asked, looking at me. “Oh, yeah, you can re-enter with the pass for the rest of the day.” He pointed at the paper I’d bought for ten bucks earlier. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Good to know,” I replied, waving off the statement. “Just one more thing.” I shifted the Tahoe into park and leaned close to the passenger side, holding out my phone. “Is this the guy you saw earlier?”
It took the guy a moment to realize what I was saying, and then his eyes darted from me to the phone. His smile practically slid off his face and shattered on the ground as he nodded. “Yeah. That’s the guy.”
“Have any idea where I might find him?” I asked, trying my best to look friendly. It was hard because he’d confirmed my suspicion that it was the same dude, so my insides were squirming like a worm bucket at a bait shop.
“No idea,” he said as my grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Maybe try Malarkey’s?” He shrugged. “It’s a bar where most of the locals hang out. Chances are good someone there will have seen him.” He shot me a dopey, apologetic grin. “I’m too young to go myself…”
“Okay. Thank you,” I said as fresh determination filled me. At least I had a plan. A bad one, maybe, but if it led me to my dad, that was good enough for me.
“Not a problem,” he replied as I waved and rolled the window up. Then I used my phone to look up Malarkey’s in Pleasantville, Florida.
A moment later, the directions were in my phone, and I was on my way.
5
Malarkey’s was just the sort of craphole I’d expected it to be, which probably says something about me. The outer walls had that bleached sandalwood look that had probably been nice twenty years ago but had long since fallen into disrepair. The neon green open sign was burning out, so the ‘o’ and ‘e’ were dark. The parking lot was cracked asphalt and filled with a bunch of Harleys and old pickups.
As I pulled the Tahoe into a lone spot in the corner and got out, I could already hear the country music blaring from inside. The ominous crash of guitar against a backdrop of crashing thunder set me on edge.
I slammed the door of the Tahoe shut, ran a hand through my short, close-cropped brown hair, and readied myself. I had no idea what I’d find inside, but I knew it probably wouldn’t make me happy.
The trip across the lot didn’t take long, but I was surprised at the amount of broken glass littering the cracked asphalt. You’d think people would worry about that, but as I stepped up to the grimy black front door and pushed it open, I realized they probably didn’t.
A chick who had probably been really pretty in high school but had since let a few years of hard living rough up her softer edges looked at me from behind the bar. Her scowl deepened as I stepped inside and surveyed the place.
Malarkey’s was bigger than I expected and filled with pool tables, dart boards, and a few twenty-four-inch plasma screens displaying various sporting events. The jukebox in the corner was going absolutely crazy, throwing off neon flashes that danced across the ceiling. I turned my gaze to the patrons, searching for my dad.
A group of neo-Nazi looking skinheads looked up at me from the corner. They were dressed in matching stained wife-beaters, tattoos, and ripped up blue jeans and were way too busy with their beer and cards to pay me much mind.
Closer to the jukebox was a cowboy dressed in a white chamois shirt, a white Stetson, and a pair of wranglers. The girl standing beside him was all black hair, and even though I could only see the back of her head and her curves were covered by a yellow sundress, I could tell she was pretty.
Unfortunately, none of these people jumped out at me like they’d have any information, so I marched my happy ass over to the bar and sat down on one of the red vinyl upholstered stools. I leaned on the sticky sandalwood bar and glanced around one more time, trying to find a clue I’d missed before. There were none, and I was starting to think the guy at the docks had led me astray.
“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked in a voice that had smoked one too many cigarettes and chased it with one too many shots of cheap whiskey. She tried to smile, and I was surprised when it reached her eyes. It made her twice as pretty.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, trying to think of a reason for my being here. Drinking would have worked, but I needed to keep my head on straight, and with the way things were going, if I started, I might not stop.
“Well…” she said after a moment of silence passed. “What will it be?” She gave me that, “please order something” look.
“Um… you have anything to eat?” I asked, my stomach rumbling. Two days of nearly no sleep and meals on the go hadn’t kept me fueled, and now my body was starting to rebel.
“Got an early bird special. Two eggs over easy. Biscuit and gravy. Hash browns.” She gestured behind her toward a chalkboard with a bunch of stuff scribbled on it in nearly illegible print.
“That sounds great. Can I get that and some coffee?” I asked, fighting the urge to turn away and look around one more time. Maybe those skinheads knew something? They had tattoos after all. Only theirs looked a lot more like prison ink than Tattooed Guys had.
“Of course you can, sugar. I’ll put on a fresh pot.” She spun on her heel and disappeared into the back. I heard her muffled voice for a second, and then a minute later she reappeared, smacking her lips together like she’d just put on new lipstick.
As she came closer, I decided I didn’t want to pick a fight with those guys just yet. Not when I still had some cards to play that were both easier and faster.
“Say, could you help me out with something?” I asked as the bartender set
an empty mug and silverware on the bar in front of me.
“Oh, I’d love to help you out,” she replied, leaning across the bar as she spoke and giving me a good view of her assets.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” I said, ignoring her display as I pulled out my phone and showed her the picture of Tattooed Guy. “Know where I can find him? The guy at the dock said he might come around here?”
“Your friend, eh?” she asked, raising a shapely golden eyebrow at me. “Let me take a gander.” She snatched the phone from my hand, and as she turned her eyes on it, the smile on her face evaporated, and her eyes hardened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as her jaw clenched.
She slid the phone back to me. “I’m really sure that isn’t your friend.” She looked away from me then, like she couldn’t wait to be anywhere but here. “If that’s who you’re looking for, I’d suggest you just stop and head back to wherever it is you’re from.” She tried to smile, and this time, it didn’t come anywhere near her eyes. “I’m serious. That fellow is nothing but trouble.”
Her words were like a knife twisting in my gut. Dad was definitely in trouble. Not just small trouble either. I had to find him fast. If I didn’t… no. I couldn’t think like that.
“I appreciate the warning,” I said as something behind her dinged, and she turned away to investigate. “But I’m trying to find my dad, and this guy keeps coming around…”
“Who is your dad?” she asked, turning and brandishing a glass coffee pot at me. Sloshing black liquid steamed inside, and as she poured it into my cup, she mumbled to herself. “Jesus, Darlene. You see a pretty face and your sense goes out the window.”
“Bob Ryder,” I said as I reached out to take my smoking hot cup. I blew on the steam before taking a sip. It hit my tongue like a burning fire, but in that good way diner coffee always seemed to. “He called me and asked me to come down, but he wasn’t at his house.”
“You try the docks?” she asked, quirking a smile at me as she returned the pot. “Wait…” She swallowed. “You mean that Tom was snooping around looking for Bob?” Her eyes filled with worry. “Oh no. What’s that old fool…?”