Tuna Tango (4 page)

He didn’t say much, though, as these days she was more pleasant on it than off it.

The padlock popped open, and he yanked on the temporary plywood door leading to the interior of the building. It was surprisingly cool inside; the water below the structure must have had some kind of cooling effect at night. That would soon wear off, though, as he heard the first creaking of the corrugated metal roof heating in the sun. Once the roof heated up, the building would be a sauna. 

He went back to his truck to get the concrete saw he had rented that morning. Cutting the concrete floor above where the new posts would be installed was the first step in his plan. With any luck, he could do the layout and show the boys how to operate the saw. He then planned on picking up a couple of poles while they cut the square holes and removed the concrete from the floor. 

Kyle and Dick rounded the corner as he was bringing the saw in. 

“Hey, can one of you get the hose and gas can from my truck?” 

Dick went for the truck, while Kyle followed him into the building. 

“I’m going below to drill some pilot holes up through the floor. Can you keep an eye out for them and mark them with this?” He handed him a can of spray paint. 

It took a half-hour of work below the building to move the paddle board around the piers to the locations where he wanted the new poles to be installed and drill small holes up through the deck. Then he got on his knees and paddled with his hands back to the seawall and climbed off the board, securing it to a deck cleat. 

Back in the building, he saw the boys sitting against a wall, clearly looking tired. 

“Come on.” He looked around at the dots of paint on the floor where he had drilled his holes, and grinned; at least they had followed directions so far, he thought as he went for his tool bag. With their help, he measured off each hole, using the marks as centers and drawing a three-foot square around each one. 

“I’m going to do the first one with you, and then go for materials while you do the others.” 

He reached into a paper bag and handed them ear and eye protection; the boys looked at him like he was crazy, but followed his lead as he put them on. Ready, he grabbed the saw from the ground. 

“Hook that hose up and turn the nozzle to a small stream of water. One of you needs to hold it in front of the blade to keep the dust down.” 

Choke opened and fuel primed, he pulled the start cord of the saw and waited for it to warm up. Once the motor evened out, he nodded toward Kyle, who held the hose. 

The boy immediately opened the nozzle, flooding the floor. 

Will gave a signal to lower the flow, then, with water gently streaming onto the concrete, lowered the blade to the floor and squeezed the trigger. The saw increased rpms and he slowly put it down on the painted line. 

Sparks flew and the noise became deafening as the blade bit into the concrete. Kyle increased the water flow slightly to keep down the dust as the saw’s diamond blade started to make its way along the line. Will jerked when the blade sparked, and the saw kicked back as it hit the steel reinforcement half way through the 4-inch-thick material. 

With his core tightened and the saw revved higher this time, Will set the blade back in the hole and finished the cut. 

“You guys do the next one. Slow and steady.” He wanted to make sure they had a handle on this before he left. Dick went for the saw, leaving Kyle holding the hose. He revved the engine and jammed the blade into the concrete, almost falling backward when it kicked back. 

Will placed a hand on his shoulder and made a downward motion with his hands, telling him to slow down. 

The boy tried again, a determined look on his face. The saw cooperated this time, and the cut went smoothly. 

“OK. When you’ve cut all four sides, you can try and pry the piece out with this.” He handed them a long steel bar with a flat end. “If it won’t go, cut two diagonal lines and make the pieces smaller. You may have to cut the wire inside the concrete with these.” He showed them a large set of bolt cutters.

“Won’t it just fall through?” Kyle asked.

“No. There’s plywood underneath it. We’ll cut that later, with a different saw.”

The building was heating up, and sweat poured off Dick as he revved the saw for another cut. Will went to his thermos and poured a cup of coffee, watching the boys as he drank. Satisfied they had it under control, he finished the cup, screwed it back on the thermos, and left. It would take him an hour or two to pick up the poles, and hopefully the boys would be done when he returned. 

***

They were through the third hole when Dick turned the saw off. “I need some air.”

“Sure, man.” Kyle said as he turned the hose off. 

They walked out of the building, seeking shade, but the sun was high overhead now. “It’s freakin’ hot. If you would have fixed the AC in the car, we could chill there.”

“Will didn’t say anything about breaks,” Kyle said, ignoring the comment. 

“Dude.” Dick looked at Kyle. “Screw that. I need to cool off. You got any of that weed left?”

“A little.” Kyle headed to the car. 

Dick looked around the parking lot baking in the late morning heat. The angle of the sun was above the building’s roof, and there was no shade to be found. He walked toward the three-story-high steel building the Pass-A-Grille Marina used to store their dry dock boats, and noticed the small, square cooler adjacent to the fish house. Curious, he walked over to the cooler and jiggled the lock on the door. The compressor kicked on just as he touched it, startling him, but he realized what it was and had an idea. 

“Hey man, bring those bolt cutters over here,” he yelled to Kyle. There was no reason he could think of
not
to enjoy the cool air inside. 

Kyle came back with the cutters. “What the fuck, man? You can’t just cut somebody’s lock off.”

“Do you see anyone around? Why is this thing even running? The place is closed.” He took the cutters from Kyle and opened the jaws, placing the steel shackle inside. The cutters closed around the lock and met resistance. With another push, the metal parted and the jaws met. “Now let’s chill. You got the weed?” He twisted the broken lock until it separated and he could manipulate it out of the hasp. The door opened, and he was given a taste of the cool air inside. 

“This is gonna be classic. Our own chill box.” He stepped in, leaving the door open for Kyle. “Turn on the light. I can’t see anything,” he said as he took a pipe from his pocket. 

Kyle ran his hands against the door jamb, found a switch, and turned the light on. 

Dick was the first to jump. “Holy shit man. It’s a freakin’ marlin. Look at that son of a bitch.” He went toward the fish and ran his hand down the bill. 

“Dick, something’s wrong here.” Kyle was looking at the bags and carcasses of the other fish. “This is all illegal. The fishing season for snapper and grouper is closed, and no one keeps billfish.” 

The boys were both avid fishermen; though restricted to the smaller bay because of money, they knew the law. Snapper and grouper, although on the smaller side, were common in the inshore waters they fished with a small skiff in the winter. Both knew Fish and Game were constantly parked at the boat ramps, looking for illegal catches. 

“Well, whatever. It’s cool in here.” Dick stuffed the bowl of the pipe full and pulled a lighter from his pocket. The flame flickered, and he had to shield it from the cool air blowing from the evaporator coil. Finally the bowl caught, and he inhaled deeply, holding his breath as he handed the pipe to Kyle.

A horn blared suddenly, causing Kyle to drop the pipe. He picked it up and they slid outside, closing the door behind them. A white sedan with the insignia of the city sat in front of the fish house. At least it wasn’t the police, Kyle thought as he watched a man get out of the car, wearing shorts and a polo shirt walk towards the plywood door of the building.

“We gotta see what he wants,” Kyle said.

“Yeah, you go.” Dick slunk away toward their car, where he opened the passenger door and got in. 

Kyle expected the reaction, knowing Dick's disdain for authority. He went toward the door and walked into the building. The man was looking at one of the holes they’d cut. 

“Hey. Can I help you?” Kyle asked.

“Building inspector.” He showed Kyle the credential hanging from a lanyard around his neck. “You doing this work?”

“Yes, sir. Working for the contractor. He should be back anytime.”

“Listen, I know he got a permit for the job, but we have some rules you need to follow here.” He reached into his back pocket, removed several pieces of paper, and handed them to Kyle. “Noise is a big deal, and we got several calls about you guys this morning. You can’t be doing this on weekends—only during the week. The hours are all on the paper there.”

“OK, I’ll pass it on. We’re pretty tired, anyway.”

“I’ll give you a verbal warning this time. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He turned to leave. “And one more thing.” He handed him a business card. “I need to speak to the contractor. Whatever you guys are up to, it’s not on the plan.”

 ***

Will pulled back into the lot and was surprised the site was quiet. He figured the guys would still be working on the holes. The truck backed toward the door, leaving the tip of the poles as close as he could get them, he got out and went inside. The building was deserted, two holes still left to cut. 

He looked at his watch, surprised; they should still be working, as it was only 1. Outside the building, he looked around and saw the two heads slumped forward in the car. 

“Hey! I knew you guys couldn’t pull this off.” He screamed at them. 

Kyle stirred from the driver’s seat and looked toward him. “Building inspector came by and said we couldn’t make noise on Saturday.” He handed Will the papers and the business card through the open window. “Wants to talk to you, too.”

“Shit.” Will scanned the papers in amazement. There were more rules here than a Catholic school for wayward girls. How was he ever going to get anything done? 

“You guys can clean up and put away the tools. I guess we’re shut down for the day.” He looked at his truck. “Have to get those poles inside before you go, though.”

“No problem. We can be back Monday.” Kyle smacked Dick to wake him, dodging the reflexive strike back.

Dick rubbed his eyes. “Dude. You need to check out that cooler over there.”

“What for?” Will asked.

“Your old lady said you were a fishing guide in the Keys. You need to see this.” Dick got out of the car and walked toward the cooler. 

Will followed reluctantly, wondering how the boys had found time to get in trouble when they should have been working. Finally they came to a stop in front of the door, and he saw that the lock had been cut. Before he could say, anything Dick opened the door and he was assaulted by the smell of pot. 

He glared at Dick. “What the—”

Dick cut him off before he could say anything. “Just look, OK?”

Will turned on the switch and stepped inside, trying not to breathe too deeply. What he saw shocked him. A marlin carcass and several huge bags of fish. He walked by the marlin and picked up a bag of meat. “Snapper. Looks like American Red, and this is jewfish.” 

“Exactly,” Dick said.

“You guys go clean up the job. We’ll talk about this later.” Will stared at the fish on the floor wondering how this was going to affect the job. He suspected that this might have something to do with the conflict between Lance and George as well as the big man’s threats. Turning away he turned off the light and shut the door. He needed to focus on what mattered right now - and that was getting a paycheck. Will wanted to get the place cleaned up before Lance arrived. He would deal with the broken lock, pot smoking, and fish later. 

They had the job organized and the poles unloaded quickly. Will stood in the doorway and watched the boys pull out. It hadn’t been the day he had planned, but it might be enough work to get the payment he had asked for.

Chapter 5

Will sat on a curb in the only shaded spot in the lot and thumbed the inspector’s card. The pages of regulations lay at his feet, quickly spreading out in the light breeze. He had been taught carpentry at an early age, and clearly had talent as a craftsman, but the rigors of being a contractor differed vastly from those of a carpenter. Customers and general contractors had forced him out of the trade years ago, as they were always trying to build something faster and cheaper. 

He’d thought he could go back into it. But the visit by the inspector and the regulations at his feet had dampened his spirit for the project.

The fish in the freezer were also on his mind. It should have been none of his business, but he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. The cooler full of what he was sure were illegally caught fish—especially the marlin—offended his sense of right. He didn’t always agree with the regulations passed by the bureaucrats in Tallahassee, but he followed them, nevertheless. He had worked for years as a guide, making his living primarily from catch and release. Witnessing the decline of the fisheries firsthand, he feared if they didn’t recover from the abuse of overfishing and poaching, fishing for many species would be shut down entirely, ruining it for everyone. To further complicate things, if he called in the authorities and revealed what they had found, the job was likely to be shut down as a crime scene.