Wood's Reach (13 page)

“You are under orders,” he heard Hawk say.

“You might be my boss, but this ain’t the Navy.” It sounded like Ironhead.

“If you care for your employment at all, you will stay aboard,” Hawk said.

“I’ll be back soon,” Ironhead said.

They huddled together, out of sight, as the thug passed. He was clearly on a mission and walked right past them. Mac exhaled, watching the ship to see if Hawk would follow. He started to plan. Without his muscle, this might be as vulnerable as they were going to find him.

Chapter Fifteen

A hand reached in and snatched the silver coin Trufante was bouncing off the bar. “True dat. Heard you got your ass run outta town.”

Trufante winced when he heard the voice. He turned slowly and grabbed the man’s arm, a large smile appearing on his face as he squeezed it until the coin dropped back on the bar.

“I was just playin’, homes,” the man said. “And whatcha got here?” From his stare it was obvious what he was talking about.

“Pamela, this here’s Jimmy. A turd I know from a past life,” he said.

“Shit. If I’m a lowlife, what does that make you?” Jimmy said and slapped him on the back.

She turned back to the bar and started humming “Ship of Fools.”
Trufante put an arm around her, but she ignored him and started tapping on her phone. He turned to face Jimmy, his larger-than-life smile gone.

“You’re lookin’ a little rough around the edges—even for you,” Trufante said. The bare-chested man standing at the bar looked like a wannabe from
The
Sopranos
. Even his half-fake New Jersey accent, carefully groomed to include all the right words, belied him. He stood a head shorter than Trufante, gaining a few inches with his trucker’s hat complete with knock-off designer sunglasses set on the visor. A rip-off Tommy Bahama shirt was unbuttoned, revealing way more than anyone would want to look at. The outfit was completed by ratty board shorts in a different pattern than the shirt and rubber flip-flops. If his attire wasn’t bad enough, it was capped with a continuous layer of sweat coating his entire body.

“Hey,” he called to the bartender. “Send down a round, would ya?”

The only redeeming factor about Jimmy was his wallet. He was always flush with cash, buying him friends in a town where the natives barely got by. His means were unclear and his persona shady—also okay in a town that lived on the edge. The bartender set three glasses in front of them. Pamela finished her old one, pushed the glass forward, and started in on the new one, all without taking her eyes from the phone.

“So, whatcha been up to?” Trufante asked, feeling he owed him something now that he had bought a round.

“This and that. It’s Key West. Always an opportunity,” Jimmy said.

Trufante nodded his head. That was something he could relate to. Pamela swung around and, with a loud slurp and a giggle, finished her drink.

“Babe. You think we could get out of here? It’s a little creepy-crawly,” she said.

Jimmy appeared not to notice the comment was directed at him. He moved down the bar, slapped someone on the back, and reached around him, grabbing an oyster from the tray on the bar. He moved back to Trufante and Pamela, slurping the mollusk directly from the shell. Trufante felt a jab in his side, so he turned to the bartender and asked for the tab. Seconds later, as if the bartender couldn’t wait to get Jimmy away from his customers either, he handed Trufante a slip of paper.

“Here, babe, ya got it?” he asked, his smile back.

She gave him a vacant look. “My purse is in the saddlebags on your bike—back at TJ’s place.”

Trufante’s smile faded.

“We’ve been on boats, like, nonstop. I didn’t even think.”

“Tru, Tru, Tru.” Jimmy overheard the conversation and zeroed in for the kill. “Your old friend Jimmy knows you’re good for it. You just give me that coin, and I’ll hold it for collateral. From the looks of it, I could float you something extra on top.”

The something extra got his attention. After all, it was Key West. If he could put some cash in his pocket and rid himself of Jimmy, why not? It was just another old coin. He reached into his pocket and pulled the dull silver out. Just as he was about to hand it to Jimmy, Pamela stopped him.

“Let me get a picture of it. I’ll put it on Facebook, like we’re real treasure hunters,” she said, grabbing the coin and placing it on the bar. She stood hovering above it with her phone and took a picture of the front and back.

Jimmy reached in and grabbed it, biting it like a pirate before putting it in his pocket. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Close enough that Trufante could smell the horseradish from the oyster on his breath, he opened the wallet, wide enough for anyone nearby to see the stack of hundreds. With a flourish, he pulled out two and handed them to Trufante. “That’ll be three bills when you want it back,” he said, returning his wallet to his pocket.

“Three hundred? For two? That ain’t hardly right,” Trufante pleaded.

“Shit. A small price for saving your ass. I got no problem keeping the coin. Either way.” He turned and walked down the bar, grabbed another oyster, and continued his search for more victims.

***

“Come on, babe.” Trufante pocketed the money and led Pamela outside.

“Where we going now?” she asked. “You going to show me a good time in paradise? Sloppy Joe’s, The Bull, Hog’s Breath—let’s do it up.” She took his hand and started across the parking lot.

He pulled her back into a dark corner by the bar. “How ’bout a little Key West intrigue?”

“Intrigue? Like spy stuff?” She grinned. “That could be fun. Can we still get a drink?”

“As many as you want,” he said, pulling one of the hundreds from his pocket. “Why don’t you run on in there?” He pointed to another bar next door. “And get us a couple of drinks to go. I’ll keep an eye on our friend here.”

She took the money. “That guy creeps me out,” she said.

“We gotta help Alicia, and I got a feeling he’s gonna lead us right to her.”

“This isn’t going to get dangerous, is it? Like with those guys at the house?” she asked.

He leaned in close, flashing his vintage Cadillac grille smile. “Would I be asking you to get cocktails to bring to a knife fight?”

Reassured, she started bopping over to the bar. He turned to watch the door. Jimmy was seldom welcome anywhere for very long. He should be coming out any minute. As long as Pama-Bama-Jama got back with the drinks first, they were all good.

She came back from the bar carrying two large red cups and two miniatures. “Look, these are so cute, I had to get a couple.”

He took the small cup, being careful not to spill it. “Jell-O shots?” he asked.

“Party on.” She smiled and clinked the plastic cups together. They both placed their heads back and shook the Jell-O from the cup.

With the shot in his mouth, he reached in to kiss her, but Jimmy walked out of the bar, distracting him. Trufante took the larger cup and pulled her into the shadows.

“This spy stuff is fun,” she said, kissing him.

He almost gave into the temptation to close his eyes and enjoy it, but Jimmy was gone. Reluctantly, he broke off the kiss, giving her butt a hard squeeze. “007 here. Ready to roll?” If the spy stuff didn’t work, at least they’d have a good time.

Slowly, he moved out of the shadows. He looked down the street and saw Jimmy bending over to unlock a scooter.

“Shoot.”

“What’s wrong?” Pamela asked.

“We’ll never keep up with him,” he said, pointing to the scooter.

“There’s an app for that.” She pulled her phone out and pressed an icon. “Two minutes,” she said. Catching his confused look, she added, “Uber, dude.”

He drew a blank and was about to ask what she was talking about when a rickshaw pulled up at the corner. She grabbed his hand and led him toward it. The driver, sitting on a bicycle with a small cart behind it, greeted them. “Your Uber is here.”

Trufante was still confused when Pamela pulled him into the open seat behind the driver.

“I need your destination,” the driver, a rail thin man probably in his mid-thirties, said.

“How about we go off the clock and do a cash deal?” Pamela asked. “And the first thing would be a drink.”

“We got to keep him in sight.” Trufante pointed Jimmy out to the driver.

“Jimmy Bones?” the man asked.

Trufante had never heard his last name, and he laughed, sure that he had fabricated that along with the rest of his persona. Jimmy was on the scooter now and pulling into traffic.

“Yeah, follow that scum,” Trufante said, playing the odds that the driver probably didn’t like Jimmy either. Keeping him in sight was not a problem. It didn’t matter what you drove in Key West. A bicycle was as fast as a car on the narrow crowded streets, and the rickshaw had no problem keeping up with the scooter. Jimmy paused at the stop sign at Duval, and Pamela jumped out.

“I’m getting us a refill.” She grabbed his cup and ran across the street to a counter that called itself The Smallest Bar in the World.

He would have stopped her, but with the traffic cruising Duval, she would easily have the drinks in hand before they were able to cross. Finally, the driver found an opening, pedaled hard across the street, and picked her up on the other side. Trufante took the cups, and she hopped in, a huge grin on her face.

Jimmy was a block ahead of them. He crossed Whitehead and started weaving his way to the water. Trufante and Pamela sat back, watching the Victorian houses cruise by like any other tourist couple, except their destination would be determined by Jimmy Bones.

***

Mac crouched down by the dock, watching the trawler. From his position, the windows on Hawk’s boat were hidden behind equipment or bulkheads. The only way to see what was happening was to board one of the boats docked on either side. He looked at the boats adjacent to it, trying to see if they were empty and if they allowed for a better vantage point, but was distracted when he heard someone coming toward them. Turning for a better look, he caught the flash of a lighter and saw the red end of a cigarette. Before he got any closer, Mac slithered back to TJ, pointing to the approaching figure. He whispered for him to stay put and slowly moved toward the dock.

His eye followed the flare of the cigarette butt, as it caught its last breath of air, before being dowsed in the water. The man was still fifty feet away and looked to be approaching Hawk’s boat. Creeping forward, Mac crouched down by the shore power box, fiddling with the cord like there was something wrong with it. Slowly he moved to the sailboat docked on the starboard side, rose to his full height, and approached it like he owned it. Just as he was about to step from the concrete section of the dock to the wooden finger pier, their eyes locked. The last thing he expected was to see someone he knew, or rather who knew him.

“Mac Travis? In Key West? I should have figured you’d be around if your boy Trufante was here. And a silver coin too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin, flipping it carelessly in the air. Mac was about to snatch it from him, but was distracted by a tipsy couple turning the corner from Front Street, looking like they had enjoyed their evening in Key West. The couple turned at one of the finger piers, and he turned back to Jimmy.

“Where’d you get it, Jimmy?” Mac said quietly. He knew the man, having hired him years ago for a salvage job. Another half-bent Northerner making their way to Key West, needing some temporary work to make it the final sixty miles to what they thought would be their paradise. It was a pilgrimage of the misfits. They often stopped in Marathon, looking for work on the way down, quitting as soon as they had enough money to move on, their minds filled with dreams of the paradise just down the road. Then, disillusioned and often broker than when they had come through before, they’d come back, but with a different attitude. Mac could always tell the ones that would make it and those he would see on their return trip. Jimmy was one of those he’d never expected to see again.

He laughed, and with his face close enough that Mac was forced to step backwards, he whispered, “Payback’s a bitch.” He got in Mac’s face. “Now I have something you want.”

“Here to sell it to Hawk? He’s here for a few hours and already the scavengers are coming in,” Mac said.

“I ain’t no scavenger. Nope, Jimmy’s legit.”

Mac was about to respond when he saw a movement in the shadows. Before the next words could leave his mouth, something smashed into his head and he fell to the deck.

Chapter Sixteen

TJ sat motionless, blood pounding in his ears but unable to do anything as Ironhead picked up a boat hook, wound up, and swung. Mac dropped to the deck. The thug kicked him and then turned to look at the strange man who Mac had been talking to.

“What do you want?” Ironhead asked the man.

The guy who called himself Jimmy pulled something from his pocket and held it out. “Just want a minute with your boss.”

“You on a fishing trip or you selling?” Ironhead asked.

“Maybe both. I think he’ll want to see this,” Jimmy said.

Ironhead grabbed Mac’s legs and started pulling him to the boat.

“Wait, what about me?” Jimmy asked, clearly afraid to move closer.

“Just stay there. I’ll be back with an answer,” Ironhead said and crossed to the deck of the ship. He turned, pulled Mac across the void, and hauled him through a cabin door.

TJ was alone and far outside of his comfort zone.

***

Mac tried to lift his head, but it stuck to the deck. It took him several tries before the clotted blood broke free. He sat up slowly, waited for the room to stop spinning, and looked around. The cabin was windowless, leading him to believe it was under the waterline. It was empty—devoid of furnishings or supplies, just the steel floor and bulkheads. Placing his hand against the wound, he was thankful the bleeding had stopped. He sat still and listened for a few minutes, trying to get his bearings. The engines were off, and the gentle lapping of the waves against the steel hull told him they were still in the harbor.