Wood's Reach (17 page)

“What happened out there?” the deputy asked.

TJ was about to respond, but Trufante cut him off. “Damn engine blew. Never seen anything like it.”

The deputy looked at him warily, knowing him, at least by reputation. “Is that what happened, sir?” he asked TJ.

TJ looked dead ahead and followed his lead. “Yeah. Don’t know what happened.” He turned to Pamela. “Is she okay?”

“Just shock, I think. Soon as the chill wears off, I think she’ll be fine.” He turned back to TJ, obviously wanting no part of Trufante. “Whose boat was it?”

“Celia over at the marina by the Keys Fisheries loaned it out,” Trufante replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the deputy said, looking at TJ, who just nodded.

Trufante could see the look of distress on the deputy’s face. He knew firsthand that Celia could have that effect on people. He looked around for the first time, noticing that the boat was just entering Boot Key Harbor. “Where are you taking us?” he asked.

“Not really sure. I’ve got nothing to hold you on. Do you think she needs to go to Fishermen’s?” the deputy asked.

Trufante looked at Pamela. Her color had returned and she shook her head. “No hospital. We’re good. How ’bout you drop us over at Pancho’s?”

“That’s fine, but I’ll have to get a statement from you when we tie up.” The deputy went to the helm and spoke to the officer at the wheel.

Five minutes later they were tied up off the side of the fuel dock answering questions. Trufante did most of the talking, although the deputy was clearly looking to TJ for a more substantial or truthful version. He finally gave up and looked squarely at Trufante.

“You know the deal. Don’t leave town,” he said.

Trufante climbed onto the dock and helped Pamela off the boat. TJ followed, and together they watched the deputy pull away. “We gotta get your boat and go to Big Pine,” Trufante said as soon as the sheriff’s boat was out of earshot.

“I’m for getting my boat, but what about Alicia?” TJ said.

“Mac said to find Cheqea. That’ll lead us to her. Probably thinking a trade or something,” Trufante said, knowing it was not going to be as simple as that—anyone crazy enough to want to deal with the old chief was in for a load of trouble.

“Can we get some food and maybe a drink or something while you guys figure this out?” Pamela said.

Trufante went to her and put an arm around her. She was still wrapped in the blanket, but had stopped shivering. “We’ll take care of you, babe.”

“How far is Mac’s?” TJ asked as they started walking away from the water.

“Couple of miles, but I got a plan. Look.” He pointed to the end of the parking area. “There’s a gang of bikes over there.” Trufante pointed to several racks crowded with rusty bicycles. “It’s the liveaboards. They leave ’em here. Bettin’ a bunch are abandoned and don’t have locks.” He went to the rack and pressed the tires of a dozen or so bikes to make sure they still had air before pulling three from the rack. “This’ll do.”

They left the marina, wound past the ballfields of the community center, and turned right onto US-1. Several blocks later, they turned again and rode to the end of the street. Portable sections of chain-link fence surrounded the property that had once been Mac’s house, but at least the police tape was down.

They left the bikes and looked for a way in. There was a gate with a chain and padlock out front, but after a few minutes, they found a section of fence by the corner that wasn’t secured to the next panel. Trufante pushed against it and slid through the opening, signaling TJ and Pamela to do the same. Once inside the perimeter, they took a circuitous route around the demolished building and were about to approach the dock when the security lights on the house next door turned on. A door opened and a man appeared.

“Can I help you with something?”

Trufante saw something long in the man’s hand. “Just gettin’ the boat. We ain’t lookin’ for no trouble.”

“The whole lot of you’s trouble—Travis, you, that lawyer woman. I’m still fighting with the insurance company for my sailboat that Travis took and wrecked.”

Trufante ignored him and kept walking toward the dock.

“Why don’t y’all wait right here?” The man pointed the gun at them. “Sheriff’ll be here shortly.”

***

Mac looked back at the Seven Mile Bridge, wondering what had happened to Trufante, TJ, and Pamela. The sun was setting off to the side, and from this distance, only the arch at the center was visible. Hawk had ordered them off the scene quickly, before the first response boat had arrived. The trawler had escaped unnoticed and was now cruising toward the lighthouse on Sombrero Reef. He had to assume they had been rescued. The explosion had happened only a mile or so from land, which would reduce the search area significantly.

Hawk moved behind him. “Better get some rest. We’re diving in the morning,” he said.

“Don’t think rest’ll be happening,” Mac said.

Hawk thought for a second and then, apparently realizing there was no harm in telling him, said, “Sombrero Light. We’ll tie up on one of the balls out there.”

Mac couldn’t knock his logic. The mooring balls were safer than anchoring, and they were also in federal waters, which would keep the local sheriff away. They were moving towards one of the deeper balls, frequented by dive boats during the day, and away from the swells created by the shallow water around the light. “Where’s Alicia?”

“She’s resting inside. I had to sedate her.”

Mac thought that was probably for the best. There was nothing to be gained until Trufante found Cheqea. If he was able to enlist her help, they might have the final clue to the puzzle and a bargaining chip.

Once they tied up to one of the buoys, he went back into the cabin and grabbed a plate of food that Hawk offered. Sitting down to eat, he thought about what would happen next, knowing that having to rely on Cheqea was not going to make this any easier.

Chapter Twenty

They froze at the sight of the shotgun pointed down from the balcony of the house next door, but Trufante was not going to wait for the sheriff.

“Nice and slow,” he encouraged them. “Damn fool’s always been cranky. Don’t mind him,” Trufante whispered to TJ and Pamela. They started walking.

“I’m serious,” the man yelled.

They heard the sound of the shotgun chamber a round, and Trufante turned back to him. The man stood above them on the second-floor porch. He had a clear shot if he wanted it. “Go on,” he whispered to TJ. “I’ll deal with him.” TJ went for the boat, pushing Pamela ahead of him. “Easy, now. We don’t want no trouble,” he called to the man. Headlights hit Trufante in the face, and he looked toward the street, his view unobstructed now that the house was gone. The sheriff’s car came to a stop. “See that?” he yelled up to the man. “Sheriff’s here. He’ll take care of everything. For once he was thankful for the law’s prompt response.”

The sound of the boat engine starting broke the silence, and Trufante used the distraction. He took off just as the beam from a spotlight coming from the sheriff’s car caught him, but he kept going.

“Son of a bitch,” he heard the man yell.

A shot was fired, and he ducked. The spotlight shifted to the house next door where the shot had come from, and he ran for the boat. “Go,” he yelled to TJ, who was already at the wheel. Trufante untied the dock lines and kicked the bow away from the pilings. The boat was already moving when he jumped. Barely clearing the gunwale, he landed on the deck.

A bullhorn blasted. “You there. Return to the dock.”

TJ was halfway through his turn when the order was repeated.

Trufante climbed up to the bridge. “Can’t hear what he’s saying. Can you?” he grinned at TJ.

“What? I really need to do something about these engines,” TJ said, laughing with him as the boat made the turn and headed toward the harbor.

Pamela climbed up just as they turned out of Mac’s canal. She started singing “On the Road Again” and sat beside them. “You guys ever do anything boring?” she asked.

“Just wanting to keep you entertained,” Trufante said.

“Where are we headed?” TJ asked.

They were in the main channel of the harbor now, passing several rows of sailboats tied up to white mooring buoys. “Cheqea’s bad business when the sun goes down. Don’t think we want to mess with her tonight.”

“Where to, then?”

“I could use a bite to eat. Let’s head over to the Rusty Anchor. Rusty’ll let us tie up overnight. We can head to Big Pine at first light. Damn, I can smell Rufus’s hogfish sandwich from here.”

***

The pain was intense, but Mike continued toward the light, which had turned into the back of a house. It was an older-style home built in the ’70s, before all the houses were required to be elevated above the flood plain. The main floor was just above the ground—a good thing, because he didn’t think he could climb stairs right now. There was music coming from an open window, and he thought he smelled the bittersweet aroma of pot. He banged on the door then backed up several feet to be less intimidating. A few minutes later, after another attempt, a woman came into the room. She walked to the door and peered out.

“Help me, please. I’ve been in an accident,” he said meekly.

The door opened and she stepped outside. “Wow, you look bad.”

“I could really use a ride to the hospital,” he said.

She rubbed her head. “I’ve been smokin’ a little. Maybe I should call an ambulance, or the sheriff.”

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. A little bit of smoke would be cool, though,” he said, cursing that the painkillers had been ruined by the water.

She walked back into the house, closing the door behind her, and he considered his options. The hospital was out of the question. The police would have alerted them to be on the lookout for survivors of the explosion, and there would surely be questions. There had to be a better way—maybe a vet, or a private doctor.

The door opened and the woman came out holding a pipe. Flicking the lighter, she pulled the flame into the bowl, held her breath for a second, and handed it to him. He took it and inhaled deeply, immediately feeling the smoke enter his lungs. While he waited for the magic to happen, he took another hit and handed the pipe back to her. He followed her gaze to his feet. Blood was pooling on the tile floor.

“I don’t care what you say. I’m going to call for help,” she said, going for the door.

He had to act. As fast as his injury would allow, he sidestepped around her and put his hand on the door. “That won’t be necessary. Maybe we should go inside and see about patching this up—see if you’ve got anything stronger than the smoke too.”

She was scared and looked like she might scream. He was about to reach out to stop her when he saw her tank top. “What’s this Turtle Hospital?”

“Just a place down the road. Takes in injured turtles and stuff,” she said, calming slightly.

“Call them. Tell them an injured turtle washed up on the beach.”

She looked at him strangely.

“Look, you want me out of here. Make the call and I’m gone. Nobody gets hurt,” he said, moving away from the door. Either she was going to do what he asked, or he would take matters into his own hands.

“Okay. I’ll get my phone,” she said and went inside. A minute later she was back. “They’re on their way, but you’ve got to promise this is going to be cool.”

“Yeah, sure, I promise,” he said. “Now this is how it’s going to go. All you have to do is direct them to the beach down there.” He pointed to a spit of sand just outside of the reach of the lights.

He waited with her in an uneasy silence, passing the pipe back and forth several times before they heard the sound of a car pulling in the driveway. “Remember,” he said as he walked away from the patio. Looking back, he saw her meet a man and a woman who exited what looked like an ambulance. Suspecting a trick, he crept around the side of the house, surprised to see the markings on its side said
Turtle Ambulance
.

Hobbling down the beach, he moved behind a cluster of scrub palms and hid. Without a weapon, he was counting on surprise to take one of the pair coming toward him. The woman was leading them to the spot he had pointed out. Just as she passed him, he lunged forward from his knees and grabbed the ankles of the man. The surprise was total, and he met little resistance.

He had the man by the legs and quickly reached up for his arm before he could react. With a twist, he grabbed his hand, pulling it behind the man’s back. “Okay. Everyone is going to listen carefully and we’ll be fine.” They stood in a semicircle, the girl and woman on each side of the man. “Let’s take a nice walk back to your little ambulance and go see this hospital of yours.” They didn’t move. “All I need is one of your doctors to stitch me up, and you’ll never see me again.” Their eyes were bugged out, but they nodded.

Leaning heavily on the man for support, they walked back to the ambulance. “You two in back,” Mike said to the women. They climbed in, and he shut the door. “And let me have your phones.” He collected their phones, closing the door behind them. Having to contort himself to ease the pain, he made it into the front seat. “Drive,” he ordered the man.

They turned onto the highway and followed US-1 north for about a mile before making a left into the hospital’s parking area. The driver clicked a remote. Before Mike could say anything, an automatic gate slid open, he drove in, and they parked by the office of what looked like an old motel.

“Get out,” he ordered the driver. He opened his door and slid out. With an eye on the man, he hobbled around the orange-and-white ambulance and let the women out of the back. “Okay. All together now, let’s find a doctor.”

“I am the doctor,” the girl said. “If you’d given me the chance, we could have fixed you up back there.”

He shot her an angry look. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Jen. Now let’s get you inside and patch that up,” she said, leading him around the front of the office to a glass door. She reached into a pocket of her lab coat, and he grabbed her hand. “Easy there. You’re going to have to trust me a little,” she said, pulling out a key. The door opened, and she led them to a small exam room.