Chapter 23
Barry knew he’d reached the fishing market before he saw the fish.
The pungent odor was strong here, and the seagulls swarmed the area like bees to honey.
It looked nothing like the fish markets from back home.
It was also a far cry from the seafood section at the grocery store.
Many stands had large umbrellas to cover their fish while a few others just had large wooden tables with their products on display.
Ice was laid out, and the fish were arranged throughout. There were other vendors with conch and lobster. Some had a butcher block to fillet your fish for you.
Barry scanned the wooden stalls, looking for large amounts of fish and someone with different types. Barry had done some research about the different species of fish found in the area. He’d even learned that trawling could lead to picking up species not meant to be snagged.
Barry stopped at one table. “You’re in luck, fresh snapper,” the vendor said, coming over to him. He was of dark skin and wearing a bright purple colored shirt and dark black jeans. He had a thick island accent.
“How fresh?”
“Just brought in last night.”
“How often does the boat go out for this?”
“Almost daily. Need to so we can bring in more fish.”
“Is this the whole haul?”
The man nodded. “We used to pull in more, but there seem to be less fish these days. The fishing grounds are shrinking.”
“You said snapper, but this is a grouper.” Barry pointed at the fish that, like Where’s Waldo, was well hidden at first but suddenly stood out.
The man looked down at the fish in question. “They get into the nets sometimes. Usually, we put ones like these back, but some slip past us. I can give you a discount if you want it.”
So maybe not the boat he was looking for. “That’s alright. Does that happen often? Fish you unintended end up in the nets?”
“It does, but most put the ones they don’t mean to catch back.”
There were more honest fishermen here than he’d first thought. “What boat is this catch from?”
“Why?” the man countered, looking apprehensive.
“There are so many boats selling here, I’m curious who this spot is supporting.”
“But you’re not buying anything to support him.”
“Is he hiring?”
The man chuckled as if Barry had just told a joke. “You are no fisherman,” he stated as if he could see straight through Barry’s ruse to the real man underneath. “Do yourself a favor and stick to touring.”
Barry pulled out a few twenty-dollar bills and handed them over. “Here, to the support of your captain.”
“Badu will thank you.” The man smiled, pocketing the money.
“Do all the fishing boat sell from here?”
The man planted his hands on the counter and leaned across it. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m a curious person.” Barry shrugged, striving to appear innocent.
“Careful who you start asking questions about or they might silence you.”
Wasn’t the first time he’d heard that. Curiosity killed the cat and all. “Care to share who? So I can avoid them. Or are you included in that?”
“I’m just warning you. Just about anyone with a boat here doesn’t take to strangers asking questions.” He waved his finger around the other stalls. “They don’t like people sticking their nose into their business.”
“I consider myself warned.” Barry was about to move on when he noticed the stand next to him was vacant. It was a wooden table with several slashes in the top from the knife cutting through fish into it. “Odd to see some vendors gone when they could be selling.”
“Like I said, less fish. A lot of fishermen moved onto other areas. But Charlie here gave up the fisherman’s life and moved on. He left about two months ago. Too good for us now that he’s rich.” There was a bitterness in the man’s voice.
“How do you mean?”
“He used to be in debt. Couldn’t bring in a decent haul if his life depended on it, and it did.
” A fisherman’s livelihood was based upon how many fish he could catch and sell.
“He was about to lose everything when suddenly he paid it all off.” This could be his culprit.
Bottom of his luck and suddenly had money.
“Did he bring in a large haul of fish to pay it off?”
“No, just packed up his things. Said he wasn’t indebted anymore and left.”
How peculiar. “Any idea where I can find him?” Barry was curious about his newfound fortune and how he’d acquired it.
“Why are you looking for Charlie? Is he in trouble?”
“No, I just want to ask him a question is all.”
“Are you a cop?”
“No, nothing like that.” Barry wasn’t willing to share more than that.
The man shrugged. “Last I heard, he sold off his fishing boat and bought a yacht, and now he sails the seas.”
“Does he have any family?”
“No, all dead.”
“Do you know Charlie’s last name?” The man looked apprehensive. Barry was pushing his luck asking so many questions.
“Boudreaux.”
“Last question, you said he was the first to go. Did the other fishermen move on to where more fish are, or did they get rich like Charlie?”
“Moved on to new fishing holes.”
“And you haven’t seen any of them since?”
“No.”
Barry knew he had pressed his luck and couldn’t ask any more questions. But at least now he had a lead to follow. “I appreciate it.”
“Good luck finding him, and if you do, don’t tell him I gave you any information.”
“Any reason why not?”
“I figure he’s hiding for a reason.”
“I thought you said he was sailing around the world.”
“Only people in hiding say that. Especially someone like Charlie. He doesn’t want to be found.”
“Someone who buys a yacht isn’t trying to hide very well,” Barry pointed out. A yacht put a large magnifying glass on oneself. Especially when you were on the verge of bankruptcy. That would raise a few eyebrows. “Thanks again.”
“Don’t mention it.”
At least now Barry had another name to look into. It didn’t explain the current trawling, but maybe once he’d gotten rich, he’d passed the job onto someone else.
Barry checked the time on his watch. The day had gone by faster than he’d expected. He had just enough time to get back to the hotel and change clothes for his meeting—he couldn’t call it a date—with Annabelle.