Chapter 3
S ammy was long gone by the time I woke to the sound of gulls cawing.
I rolled out of the hammock, unsteady on my feet in the soft, dry sand.
Ellie was still fast asleep, her long blonde waves of hair loose around her perfect face like an angel’s halo.
I found a speckled blue metal percolator on the camp stove, lukewarm at best, and poured some thick black coffee into the single enameled mug on the rack above the table.
The bitterness made me wince, but coffee that strong was bound to work. I took another sip of the bitter brew, contemplating what needed to be done. Get my truck, drive Ellie to get her van, and sort out whatever mess that was left at the party. Helluva way to start the new year.
Ellie stirred, groaning as she swung her feet over the side of the hammock. “What time is it?”
I picked up Sammy’s pocket watch. “Almost eight. ”
She smoothed her skirt after she stood. “I’m going to take off. Thanks for the excitement.” She started toward the sandy lane leading to the road.
I called after her. “My place is closer. We can walk to my truck and I’ll drive you.”
She looked around, annoyed. “Whatever’s faster.”
“It’s a twenty minute walk,” I said, anxiety creeping in. She couldn’t just leave now, alone. “You’ll be home before nine.”
“Good.” She stared, waiting for me to get moving.
It stung that she couldn’t get away from me fast enough, but I couldn’t blame her.
Ellie didn’t have much to say on the shady walk down the Old Road, until I got her talking about school. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted to do for a living but she figured studying business was a good start.
“I’m thinking about a minor in accounting. Whether I end up running my own business or managing somebody else’s, I need to learn every aspect. That’s why so many businesses struggle. It’s not for lack of a good idea or a good product. It’s normally a lack of knowing how to manage the money.”
I ran my hand through my shaggy mop of hair, smoothing it off my face as we trudged along the side of the road. I had no idea how to manage a business, or money. She was even smarter than I’d thought. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding work after college.”
“I’m already helping my aunt get her books straight at the restaurant.
Their inventory and ordering system was a disaster, so there was no way to track expenses.
And deposits–don’t get me started,” she yammered on, kicking gravel as we walked.
“They didn’t even add up daily sales regularly.
Boxes full of paper tickets and no way to cross reference with deposits.
They had no idea how much money they were making or losing every week. ”
My money was stashed in a brown paper bag at the top of my closet. I had no room to talk. “They’re lucky to have you. Maybe you can help me figure out how to make a decent living out of fishing.” Because I didn’t plan on keeping up the risky business with George after I had enough to buy my boat.
“You’re already making a living fishing, aren’t you?”
The money I made fishing was a drop in the bucket compared to what George paid me to be sure his deliveries happened on schedule.
“Not the kind of living I’d like to make, not yet,” I said, too ashamed to share with her how close I was to my dreams, because getting there was as a result of living the life I didn't’ really want.
“But fishing’s got potential. There’s only a few guys out there doing it right, and they’re booked solid.
Plenty of room for me in the market, once I save up for a bigger boat.
” My confidence surprised me, and I could tell it intrigued Ellie.
“You’ll get there if you put in the sweat equity,” she said assuringly. “And keep track of your expenses. I can give you some pointers if you like.”
“I’d like that very much,” I said, shooting her a grin.
I could listen to her for days, her voice like a warm breeze, soft and soothing with a gentle, lilting rhythm.
It had a melodic quality, each word flowing effortlessly into the next, carrying a warmth that wrapped around me like my grandmother’s quilt .
I motioned for Ellie to turn left down the gravel driveway marked by an old ship anchor. “This is it.”
We wound through the mangroves to my family’s modest concrete house. “My keys are inside.” I twisted the rusty knob on the downstairs door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
She scanned the small living room with the mini-kitchen along one wall. “Nothing humble about having your own apartment,” she said, impressed.
“Technically, it’s my parents’ apartment. They let me move down here after graduation.” I went to grab my keys from the nightstand in the bedroom.
Ellie peered out the small window to the dock. “Where are your folks now?”
“I guess they already took off to my Uncle Charlie’s down in Marathon. I’m supposed to meet them for supper.” I fantasized, briefly, that she wanted to know if we were alone so that we could make out. Ellie wasn’t that kind of girl, but a guy could dream.
She blinked through the blinds out toward the dock. “Is that your Whaler?”
“Yep.’73 Montauk,” I beamed. “She’s a beauty but too small for big-money charters.”
Ellie’s lips pursed to one side. “Living at home and not paying for dockage, you should be able to save up for a bigger boat in no time as long as you can get enough small trips. That just requires proper marketing though.”
“That’s the plan.” I grinned, not really having a plan. Ellie seemed to know a lot more about how I should go about building my dream business than I did. “I can drop you at the van if you want.” I said, jingling the truck keys in my hand.
“Yes, please,” Ellie said, more enthusiastic to get away from me than I would have liked.
“Watch your step,” I said, swinging open the passenger door of my old Ford before I held out my hand for Ellie to climb in.
It was less then ten years old but the ‘72 F100 was already a relic.
The beast of a machine had seen better days, but it still held onto its rugged charm.
The body was a deep, weathered green, with patches of rust creeping along the edges like old scars.
But she was all mine, handed down from my dad last year.
Ellie tugged her dress down over her knees, and I realized with a sheepish grin that I’d been staring.
The further south we got toward George’s neighborhood, the more nervous I got.
I had no idea what we were driving into.
My sweaty palms gripped the wheel as we turned off the highway down the street that had recently become known as Smuggler’s Row.
Drug runners like George had bought half the lots in the new development.
No one could prove they were smugglers since they all had legitimate businesses, like car dealerships, but everyone knew.
Okay, almost everyone knew, including the police who were on his payroll.
My heart beat faster in my chest as George’s house came into view.
The Coral Grill van was the lone vehicle in the empty lot beside the deserted house.
The perimeter of the house was roped off by yellow and black police tape.
High ball glasses and champagne flutes strewn about the tables around the pool created an eerie scene.
It was almost as if the party guests had vanished in an apocalyptic event, right out of a Stephen King book, if you hadn’t seen the blue lights the night before.
Ellie stepped down out of the truck, turning her head slowly to take it all in. “Where is everyone?”
“I guess the cops broke the party up.” I tried to sound like it was normal that there wasn’t a soul to be seen, but I was as confused as she was, and probably a lot more scared of what this meant. “Probably noise complaints or something,” I said half-heartedly.
“It was pretty loud.” She looked toward the house, obviously uneasy. “I guess I’ll have to come back for my aunt’s steam trays.”
I stepped closer, wishing I could put my arm around her petite shoulders and tell her I’d take care of it for her if she’d let me. “I’ll get them from George. I can call you when I have them, if you give me your number.”
Her worried brow relaxed as a smile spread across her lips. “Nice move there. I suppose they don’t call you Slick for nothing.”
I rested my hand on the hood of the truck, leaning in like I was telling her a secret. “It’s only a slick move if it works.”
She unzipped the small purse that hung on her hip, grinning as she pulled out a pen.
My eyes fixed on her mouth when she bit the cap off the pen, holding it between her teeth while she scrawled seven digits that tickled my palm.
“That’s my aunt’s house up in Tavernier.
I’m living there since it’s closer to school. ”
My hand lingered in the air after she released it, wishing she hadn’t. I repeated the numbers back to her, to be sure I didn't screw it up .
“That’s right. Call me when you can get the trays and the rest of our stuff. Or just drop it by the restaurant.”
“I’ll call you.” I stared down at the numbers and thought I might never wash my hand again. I wasn’t going to miss the chance to see her again. Or to steal a kiss. I leaned in to plant a peck on her cheek. “Happy New Year, Ellie. Sorry it turned out like it did.”
“We don’t know how it turned out yet, now, do we?” She smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss me right back, her lips planting soft on my cheek.
I touched my face where her lips had been as I watched her walk to the van. The sweet ending to a night that had gone sour.
Ellie drove away, the Coral Grill van leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. I contemplated crossing the police line to see if there were any clues to what had happened last night, but thought better of it. Someone might be watching. Besides, Mateo would know.
He’d been inside the party before the raid. As George’s nephew, he was there as a guest, not hired help like Waylan and me. I hopped back in the truck and sped south toward Mateo’s mom’s place in Layton. The limo was parked outside.
“Great place to stash the getaway car,” I muttered, shaking my head, not knowing where a better place might’ve been but pretty darned sure the drug smuggler’s sister’s house wasn’t the best choice.
I knocked on the door and heard Mateo yell through the open window to come in.
He and Waylan were eating bowls of Captain Crunch at the kitchen table.
I looked around at the beer cans and potato chip bags, a pizza box in the center of the coffee table.
They clearly didn’t have adult supervision. “Where’s your mom?” I asked Mateo.
“Up in Miami. She had a charity dinner last night.”
“So she missed the excitement?”
“Thankfully,” Mateo sighed, shoving another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
“Well…? What the hell happened?” I asked anxiously.
“Fucking cops,” Mateo said, mouth full. “I thought George paid them enough to leave him alone. I guess they’re getting greedy.”
“Don’t worry, Slick. It’s all under control,” Waylan added.
I glared at Mateo before squinting at Waylan, annoyed that he wasn’t giving me details. “What did they find?”
“They wound up with two bales thanks to dumbass Johnny B,” Waylan said, shaking his head. “Had them in the bed of his truck under a tarp.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, processing. They’d found drugs. Only two bales, but they’d know there was a lot more where that came from. This was bad. “Is George in jail?”
“Hell no,” Mateo said. “He’s at home in Miami.
His lawyer was there at the party. Told him to keep quiet and told the cops to produce a warrant if they wanted to search the premises.
One of ‘em had already seen the bales in Johnny B’s truck though—which they claimed was probable cause to search all the other vehicles.
The cops tried to stall long enough to get a warrant for the house but George locked up and went home to Miami, on the advice of his attorney. ”
I huffed in relief. “That was smart, I guess.” George was smart enough to have his lawyer around, and to listen to him. It gave me hope that he might have actually escaped this unscathed. “So, now what?”
“I don’t know, really. Wait and see what George says,” Mateo shrugged, crunching another bite of breakfast cereal.
Waylan spoke up, much calmer than I would’ve been. “Maybe we ought to call him?”
Mateo was the only one with direct access to George. I took a deep breath. “That sounds like a fine idea. Why don’t you call him?”
He pushed back from the table and sauntered over to the avocado-green rotary phone on the wall, dialing the numbers like it was a chore.
Mateo’s face grew more worried as he waited, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear, its green cord stretched nearly straight. His face finally lit up. “Hey George. Just wanted to check in and see how things are going up there.”
He looked confused as he tentatively replied to whatever George had said.
“Happy New Year to you, too.” George must be worried about talking on the phone.
Mateo apparently realized, too, replacing the worried tone with something more artificially cheerful.
“I was just talking to my buddies . They were curious what the plan was now, since they missed all the excitement last night.”
I rubbed my palms on the black pants I’d been wearing since yesterday afternoon, waiting.
Mateo nodded as though George could hear.
Idiot . I couldn’t say a word though. I felt like the biggest idiot on earth to be tangled up in this mess.
We were all idiots. Finally Mateo answered.
“Alright then, we’ll see you in a couple of days. ”
After setting the phone back on the cradle, Mateo frowned. “He didn’t want to talk. He must be worried they’re tapping the line. But he said he’d be back down here just like we’d planned. Seems like we’re still on for Thursday.”
Those two things didn’t seem to add up. If George was worried they were onto him, why would he go through with the drop Thursday? He might not be as smart as I gave him credit for.