On the Line (Smugglers Cove)

Chapter 1

R olling a rough-edged coral rock between my fingers, I leaned back onto the fender of the Lincoln stretched limousine that Waylan was charged to drive tonight.

My best buddy (and “coworker” of sorts) was inside taking a leak—and hopefully scoring us some booze from the party on his way back.

Drinking on the job would be frowned upon, but it was New Year’s Eve. A little nip wouldn’t hurt.

Neither Waylan nor I had a lick of experience driving a stretched limo.

We drove boats and pickup trucks. George had given us the limo post “in case anyone got out of hand,” a distinct possibility when the biggest weed runner in the Keys threw a bash.

Waylan and I knew that our real job was to stand lookout, like we always did for George.

I was eyeing the side entrance Waylan had disappeared into at least five minutes earlier, wishing he’d get back with a beer, when a pretty girl I recognized from high school came rushing out.

The blonde ponytail swinging behind her was unmistakable.

Eleanor Russell. I’d stared at that ponytail fifty minutes a day for our entire junior year.

I couldn’t tell you a thing about dangling participles, but I could pick that ponytail out of a lineup any day.

I tossed the rock back into the gravel driveway, calling out as she made a beeline toward an old Dodge van painted with the Coral Grill logo.

“Leaving so soon?”

She stopped short, seeming surprised I’d spoken and reluctant to answer. “Yeah, just dropping off the food.”

“Ah, Coral Grill, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at the van and back at me like it was a redundant question. I felt like an idiot, but only for the moment before Ellie’s lips parted in a soft smile. “It’s my aunt’s restaurant. I’m just helping out over Christmas break to make some extra money for college.”

I wasn’t surprised she’d gone off to college. Ellie was always the first to raise her hand in English class, and definitely seemed too smart to be mixing with George’s crowd, or with me for that matter. It didn’t stop me from trying though.

“Gainesville or Tallahassee?” I asked as she started to turn away.

Eleanor gave a confused look for a moment before it dawned on her. “Oh, for college? Neither, yet. I’m just here at FKCC for now.”

So she hadn’t moved away. That was good news. I started to ask, “What’re you stu…” But she asked me at the same time, “Are you a local?”

Cocking my head, I realized she didn’t recognize me. “I am. Spencer Rodman.” I stuck out my hand, briefly struck with panic when she looked at it like she had to think twice before shaking it.

“Eleanor Russell,” she said, finally giving my hand a firm shake. “My friends call me Ellie.”

I chuckled. “I know. I sat two seats back from you in Mr. Hollowell’s English class junior year.”

“Oh,” she said with an embarrassed giggle, her cheeks flushing pink. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have eyes in the back of your head.” I’d craned my neck to see around Jimmy Felton, admiring her perfect blonde ponytail all year. “Where’re you rushing off to, Ellie? You got big plans for New Year's Eve?”

“Nah, not till tomorrow. My family does a New Year's Day fish fry. But tonight I’ll probably just get ahead on reading for my marketing course next semester.”

“You can’t study on New Year's Eve, that’s bogus!

” I flashed a smile. “Stay here. I can make you my guest.” Not that I had any authority to do so.

But no one would think twice about her hanging out in the parking lot with me and Waylan.

“Ringing in 1982 here would be a lot more fun than reading marketing books alone.”

Ellie looked toward the house, erupting with Salsa music and laughter, and winced. “Parties aren’t really my scene,”

She was too prim and proper for this crowd, but I was wracking my brain for how to convince her to hang out with me and Waylan on our boring post, when he appeared.

Awkwardly clutching something very poorly hidden under his starched white dress shirt, and grinning from ear to ear, he pulled out a bottle of rum.

“The good news is, there’s still plenty of rum,” he said, flashing his pearly whites, “but apparently they miscalculated the champagne order. They’re almost out.

George needs us to get four cases for the midnight toast.”

“Where’re we gonna get that at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve?” I asked, dubious. “Nothing’s open.”

“Pfft,” Waylan scoffed, reminding how silly it was to think George shopped in stores. “George has a guy down in Grassy Key.” Waylan fished the limo keys out of his pocket, turning to Ellie. “You coming?”

I flashed Ellie a roguish grin. “Is a limo ride more your scene?”

“You want me to go with you to Grassy Key ?” It was only 30 minutes south but you’d think it was Siberia from the way she said it. Ellie eyed the sleek black stretched Lincoln. “In a limo?”

I could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t convinced that a night with us would be more fun than a textbook. But, to my complete and utter amazement, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Yeah, why not? Beats studying.”

The last day of 1981 was turning out to be the best. I could have jumped for joy, but I tried to keep my cool. “You wanna sit in the back?” I asked, reaching for the door handle.

“Alone?” She smiled across the hood of the Lincoln at Waylan. “We can’t leave him up front by himself.”

I hadn’t intended to sit in the back with her , but I like that her mind went straight there.

“I’ll keep him company up front if you want the VIP experience.

We can roll down the partition.” I’d checked out all the limo’s bells and whistles earlier, when Waylan and I were pretending to be in one of those music videos on MTV, belting out John Lennon’s “Working Class Hero,” lamenting that Lennon never had a chance to make a music video since he’d died nine months before the first cable music channel had launched.

“I’d rather sit up front with y’all,” Ellie said. I’d sure rather be in the back with her. But she was right, we couldn’t do that to Waylan.

Ellie scooted across the black leather seat, stopping on my side of the middle.

When I pulled the heavy door closed and settled in beside her, our shoulders brushed, sending an electric jolt through me.

I caught a faint whiff of her perfume, or maybe it was the scent of shampoo in that ponytail that drove me mad.

Waylan fumbled to pull the Lennon cassette tape out of the sound system, switching it for another.

He popped in the new cassette as we headed toward the highway, cranking up the volume.

Wind whipped the blonde strands of Ellie’s ponytail, her smile wide as she sang along to Bob Marley’s No Woman No Cry on the bench seat between us.

We started over the Channel 5 Bridge, the sea stretching dark as night in all directions. I mused, “It’s weird cruising the Keys in a limo. Feels like we should be staring up at skyscrapers and city lights somewhere.”

Waylan chuckled. “I bet Miami’s wild tonight. Can you imagine South Beach on New Year’s Eve?”

Ellie’s nose crinkled. “I’d rather not. Miami’s turning into a war zone. The narcos are ruining it.”

Waylan let out a chuckle, but I just shrugged, hoping to divert the conversation away from the drug trade, since I wasn’t exactly proud of my small role in it. “I never liked the big city anyway. ”

Ellie wasn’t wrong, though. Miami was worse than ever. The rise in homicides was all over the news. And everyone knew the Colombian drug lords were the culprits. At least everyone I knew, knew. And apparently Ellie did too.

George’s marijuana operation had made him millions over the years, but the cocaine cartels were another level.

They were bringing in literal tons of pure powder on every flight, each shipment worth more than the amount of reefer that George would run in a year.

He claimed the rise of cocaine was good for guys like him—a distraction for the authorities.

Weed runners would be much less of a priority if they were chasing the cocaine cartels, he said.

But the new cocaine cowboys were ruthless enough to get President Reagan’s attention. And his War on Drugs got mine. Coast Guard patrols had doubled in the past six months. It was a lot more dangerous out there for everyone in our line of work now.

Waylan killed the lights on the limo when he turned onto the short gravel driveway on Grassy Key.

“Just wait here,” he said, hopping down to greet a bearded old man who’d come out the front door of the small block house.

Waylan exchanged a few words with him before they went into the detached garage.

Ellie watched intently as they carried several cardboard boxes around to the trunk.

“French champagne?” She asked while Waylan passed with a box bearing vibrant red letters I couldn’t read.

“I guess 1981’s been a good year for used cars. ”

I chuckled under my breath, amused that someone I knew to be smart as a whip could be so innocently na?ve. But it helped explain why she was hanging around us in the first place. She had no idea who George really was. As long as she didn’t, I still had a chance with her.

After Waylan settled back behind the wheel, I noted the time: 9:19. “We’ve got time to spare. Let’s stop off at Long Key on the way back, take a little dip.”

Waylan hesitated. “I dunno. George’ll be pissed if they’re out of bubbly already.”

“C’mon. Twenty minutes,” I chided.

The look he shot me told me I owed him one. “Twenty minutes. Tops.”

Ellie slipped off her sandals while Waylan and I rolled up our pants legs. Together, we waded into knee-deep water, passing the bottle of rum between us. Ellie’s face twisted in a grimace when she took a swig. I grinned, taking the bottle from her hands. “Way better than studying?”

“My mother keeps telling me I need to get out more,” Ellie said, snatching the bottle to take another sip. She pushed the bottle back into my hand before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a huff of sweet rum breath mixing with the ocean air as she said, “I think she’s right.”

“It’s good to meet new people and let loose a little,” I encouraged, though I doubted we were the kind of fellows her mother hoped she’d let loose with, but at least Waylan was going off to get an education.

I guess I thought bringing that up would make me seem smarter by association.

“Come August, that’ll be you, Waylan. Nights spent studying. ”

Waylan laughed, swaying a little on his feet. “I think finding time to study between all the parties in Tallahassee will be the hard part.” He’d have no trouble finding a good time at FSU, no doubt. I still thought he was crazy to walk away from the money we were making working for George though .

Ellie cocked her head, curious. “What are you going to study?”

He shrugged. “Maybe business.”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s what I’m studying.”

I regretted immediately bringing up Waylan’s plans that she seemed so interested in, and for a second I was glad he was leaving.

Waylan flashed a grin but deflected her attention.

“Truth is, I don’t know what I’m going to study.

I’m just going because my dad’s making me.

I’d rather stay here and fish with Slick. ”

I patted him on the back. “You gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

“Slick, huh?” Ellie asked, taking the rum bottle from Waylan. “Is that what your friends call you?”

“Sometimes…” I stammered. The ability to talk my way out of any situation wasn’t exactly a selling point with the girl I’d been crushing on since puberty hit.

Fortunately, Waylan’s impatience saved me. “I don’t want to be a party pooper, but what we’ve gotta do right now is get back to George’s,” he said, twisting the cap back onto the rum bottle in Ellie’s hand. “Now.”

I looked back at the crescent moon over Ellie’s head, reflecting with the million stars in the calm flats, and hoped it wouldn’t be the last time I’d see her like that.