Whitewash (58 page)

Sabrina knew they were ending the evening early with the hopes of getting some sleep. She, however, simply wanted to end it before Eric changed his mind.

The Mayor gave her a salute as he said good-night. Howard watched Max give her a tentative hug, then took his turn, embracing her in a bear hug, all-encompassing but gentle with the wonderful scent of hickory from the grill and a subtle musk of cologne. Russ, however, stood back, suddenly quiet and shy.

When they got up to Eric’s apartment she expected a lecture or perhaps some big-brother words of caution. Instead, he said, “I think he has a crush on you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Russ. He’s got a little crush on you. Can’t you tell?”

“Let’s just say it’s not at the top of my list right now of things to be concerned about.” She plopped down on the squeaky futon. She realized she was still angry with him.

He dragged one of the chairs from the resin bistro set and sat down in front of her. He looked tired. He hadn’t shaved. Even his broad shoulders slumped a bit. Here comes the lecture, Sabrina thought. He would still try to boss her around.

“If we’re going to do this tomorrow I need one thing from you.”

Just one?
She kept quiet. He was serious. More serious than she had ever seen him before.

“Okay,” she said.

“I need you to forgive me.”

Sabrina bit her lip and stared at him. She knew he meant it. He had never intended to hurt her. What was it he’d said yesterday? That she was an unfortunate casualty?

“I forgive you,” she said, “but you have to forgive Dad.”

In the silence that followed she prepared for a litany of why that couldn’t or wouldn’t happen. When he met her eyes again he sighed and said, “It’s a deal.”

He gave her a hug and with the release of tension Sabrina fell asleep while Eric watched the news.

Around midnight Sabrina woke up, almost as if an alarm had gone off, alerting her that she was alone in the apartment. The TV was off, a desk lamp left on. After a quick glance around the apartment, she knew Eric had gone out. She shut off the desk lamp and went to the window. Why in the world would he go at this time of night? And why not at least mention that he needed to go out? Or why not leave a note?

Her eyes searched the empty bistro tables, the boats and the boardwalk down below. Everything was quiet. There was no one around. Then suddenly she saw a flash of light on the beach side of the marina. Four men were walking along the water, two with flashlights, two with long, thin poles. Despite the distance and darkness she recognized her brother’s silhouette and his walk. The big guy she guessed was Howard. The other two she knew weren’t Russ or the Mayor.

She shook her head. What in the world had Eric gotten himself into this time?

Sabrina knew they were ending the evening early with the hopes of getting some sleep. She, however, simply wanted to end it before Eric changed his mind.

The Mayor gave her a salute as he said good-night. Howard watched Max give her a tentative hug, then took his turn, embracing her in a bear hug, all-encompassing but gentle with the wonderful scent of hickory from the grill and a subtle musk of cologne. Russ, however, stood back, suddenly quiet and shy.

When they got up to Eric’s apartment she expected a lecture or perhaps some big-brother words of caution. Instead, he said, “I think he has a crush on you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Russ. He’s got a little crush on you. Can’t you tell?”

“Let’s just say it’s not at the top of my list right now of things to be concerned about.” She plopped down on the squeaky futon. She realized she was still angry with him.

He dragged one of the chairs from the resin bistro set and sat down in front of her. He looked tired. He hadn’t shaved. Even his broad shoulders slumped a bit. Here comes the lecture, Sabrina thought. He would still try to boss her around.

“If we’re going to do this tomorrow I need one thing from you.”

Just one?
She kept quiet. He was serious. More serious than she had ever seen him before.

“Okay,” she said.

“I need you to forgive me.”

Sabrina bit her lip and stared at him. She knew he meant it. He had never intended to hurt her. What was it he’d said yesterday? That she was an unfortunate casualty?

“I forgive you,” she said, “but you have to forgive Dad.”

In the silence that followed she prepared for a litany of why that couldn’t or wouldn’t happen. When he met her eyes again he sighed and said, “It’s a deal.”

He gave her a hug and with the release of tension Sabrina fell asleep while Eric watched the news.

Around midnight Sabrina woke up, almost as if an alarm had gone off, alerting her that she was alone in the apartment. The TV was off, a desk lamp left on. After a quick glance around the apartment, she knew Eric had gone out. She shut off the desk lamp and went to the window. Why in the world would he go at this time of night? And why not at least mention that he needed to go out? Or why not leave a note?

Her eyes searched the empty bistro tables, the boats and the boardwalk down below. Everything was quiet. There was no one around. Then suddenly she saw a flash of light on the beach side of the marina. Four men were walking along the water, two with flashlights, two with long, thin poles. Despite the distance and darkness she recognized her brother’s silhouette and his walk. The big guy she guessed was Howard. The other two she knew weren’t Russ or the Mayor.

She shook her head. What in the world had Eric gotten himself into this time?

“It’s called gigging,” Eric tried to explain to the one Howard introduced only as Manny, a thick-chested Cuban with a thin mustache that made him look like he was constantly smiling.

At least Manny pretended to be interested. The other guy who Howard called Porter—tall, thin with a marine-style crew cut and tattoo to match—nodded and agreed to carrying a flashlight, but kept saying things like, “I’d rather get my flounder hot off the grill.”

Eric had no clue why Howard had even suggested they go gigging for flounder. Maybe it was his way to loosen them up for the real business of the evening. Eric had to admit he was surprised. He expected some hard liquor, maybe a sample line of product. He had tried to prepare himself as best he could, especially hoping it wouldn’t influence his effectiveness the next day. Invading EchoEnergy would be tricky enough without a hangover and no sleep. He didn’t, however, prepare himself for a night of gigging for flounder.

“I thought this was something you did in the fall.” Eric didn’t want Howard to believe he was as easy as his two Miami buddies.

“They’re around at other times. October through December’s usually when they’re headed in masses out into the gulf.”

“Why at night?” Manny wanted to know. “We gettin’ them while they sleep? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, no.” Howard laughed. “You get them while they’re hiding just under the sand waiting to prey on other fish.”

“Always showing off what you know.” Porter laughed and slapped Howard on the back. Eric thought he saw Howard wince. “We know you’re this big, successful fisherman now. You don’t have to prove it.”

Eric found himself wanting to defend Howard. Hell, yes, he was a successful fisherman, a charter-boat captain with one of the most reputable deep-sea-fishing businesses on the gulf. He avoided glancing at Howard, afraid if he saw one more wince he’d blow this whole meeting.

“We can’t stay,” Porter said, not wasting time. He lit a cigarette and in the blue flame of the butane lighter, Eric thought his skin looked yellow. “We’re headed to Texas as soon as we’re finished here.”

“Sure,” Howard said and Eric thought he heard relief. “Why don’t you let Eric show you some gigging, and I’ll get what you need.”

They watched Howard head back to the shop. Eric tried his best. Manny still showed interest. Porter sucked on his cigarette and stared out at the water as if he couldn’t wait to get back on it.

In minutes Howard returned with a leather satchel he handed to Porter in exchange for a two-grip handshake from Porter, the only emotion, the only thank-you the man had shown.

Inside an hour they were gone, back on the water. Eric didn’t ask for any explanation. He and Howard walked to the shop in silence. Eric brought in the gigs, the prongs never meeting a flounder that night. Howard stowed the flashlights.

The shop was dark except for a small fluorescent light behind the counter. Eric might not have noticed the three model ships from Howard’s collection down on the counter with cracked hulls. His first guess was that they had fallen and needed repair. That is, until Howard picked up one of the pieces and started shoving a wad of rolled-up bills held together by a rubber band back into the hollow center of the broken ship.

He didn’t look away. Howard wanted him to see. Without glancing up at Eric, Howard said, “Porter saved my ass, pulled me from a burning helicopter just outside of Da Nang.”

“So what business is he in now?” Eric didn’t expect Howard to tell him even if it was cocaine or heroin.

“Business?” Howard laughed. “Hell, he has cancer. One of the bad ones. He just wants to live out what days he has left on the water. Maybe stop along the way and see some of his old friends. I’m glad I can help out. What’s the use of having any of this if you can’t help out your friends?” He waved his hand and at first Eric thought he meant the success of the shop and business. But then Eric realized that wasn’t it at all.

Eric’s eyes followed along the shelves and what had to be over a hundred model ships, the collection Howard had just the other day told Eric he wanted him to have if something happened to him. And in his own way Howard was telling him, showing him, that the rumors were true. All the drug money the feds never found was stashed inside Howard’s collection of model ships, and it was here only to help out his friends.

“It’s called gigging,” Eric tried to explain to the one Howard introduced only as Manny, a thick-chested Cuban with a thin mustache that made him look like he was constantly smiling.

At least Manny pretended to be interested. The other guy who Howard called Porter—tall, thin with a marine-style crew cut and tattoo to match—nodded and agreed to carrying a flashlight, but kept saying things like, “I’d rather get my flounder hot off the grill.”

Eric had no clue why Howard had even suggested they go gigging for flounder. Maybe it was his way to loosen them up for the real business of the evening. Eric had to admit he was surprised. He expected some hard liquor, maybe a sample line of product. He had tried to prepare himself as best he could, especially hoping it wouldn’t influence his effectiveness the next day. Invading EchoEnergy would be tricky enough without a hangover and no sleep. He didn’t, however, prepare himself for a night of gigging for flounder.

“I thought this was something you did in the fall.” Eric didn’t want Howard to believe he was as easy as his two Miami buddies.

“They’re around at other times. October through December’s usually when they’re headed in masses out into the gulf.”

“Why at night?” Manny wanted to know. “We gettin’ them while they sleep? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, no.” Howard laughed. “You get them while they’re hiding just under the sand waiting to prey on other fish.”

“Always showing off what you know.” Porter laughed and slapped Howard on the back. Eric thought he saw Howard wince. “We know you’re this big, successful fisherman now. You don’t have to prove it.”

Eric found himself wanting to defend Howard. Hell, yes, he was a successful fisherman, a charter-boat captain with one of the most reputable deep-sea-fishing businesses on the gulf. He avoided glancing at Howard, afraid if he saw one more wince he’d blow this whole meeting.

“We can’t stay,” Porter said, not wasting time. He lit a cigarette and in the blue flame of the butane lighter, Eric thought his skin looked yellow. “We’re headed to Texas as soon as we’re finished here.”

“Sure,” Howard said and Eric thought he heard relief. “Why don’t you let Eric show you some gigging, and I’ll get what you need.”

They watched Howard head back to the shop. Eric tried his best. Manny still showed interest. Porter sucked on his cigarette and stared out at the water as if he couldn’t wait to get back on it.

In minutes Howard returned with a leather satchel he handed to Porter in exchange for a two-grip handshake from Porter, the only emotion, the only thank-you the man had shown.

Inside an hour they were gone, back on the water. Eric didn’t ask for any explanation. He and Howard walked to the shop in silence. Eric brought in the gigs, the prongs never meeting a flounder that night. Howard stowed the flashlights.

The shop was dark except for a small fluorescent light behind the counter. Eric might not have noticed the three model ships from Howard’s collection down on the counter with cracked hulls. His first guess was that they had fallen and needed repair. That is, until Howard picked up one of the pieces and started shoving a wad of rolled-up bills held together by a rubber band back into the hollow center of the broken ship.

He didn’t look away. Howard wanted him to see. Without glancing up at Eric, Howard said, “Porter saved my ass, pulled me from a burning helicopter just outside of Da Nang.”

“So what business is he in now?” Eric didn’t expect Howard to tell him even if it was cocaine or heroin.

“Business?” Howard laughed. “Hell, he has cancer. One of the bad ones. He just wants to live out what days he has left on the water. Maybe stop along the way and see some of his old friends. I’m glad I can help out. What’s the use of having any of this if you can’t help out your friends?” He waved his hand and at first Eric thought he meant the success of the shop and business. But then Eric realized that wasn’t it at all.

Eric’s eyes followed along the shelves and what had to be over a hundred model ships, the collection Howard had just the other day told Eric he wanted him to have if something happened to him. And in his own way Howard was telling him, showing him, that the rumors were true. All the drug money the feds never found was stashed inside Howard’s collection of model ships, and it was here only to help out his friends.