Key Manatee Page 11

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard of me, but I used to work for the newspaper here?” I shook my head. “Anyway, I did a story on the big development a few weeks ago.” I nodded now. “Okay, so I was doing more research for another article when I got an offer from a newspaper up north. Kind of an offer I couldn’t refuse, if you know what I mean.” Looking around again. “So I went to New Jersey, took the job up there doing obits, but kept up my research on the sly. As soon as they were convinced I was going to be a good boy I told them my mother was sick and I needed time off. I came back to the Keys instead.” More looking around, then staring into my eyes.

  “I want to stop Blue Manatee and I need your help. I don’t want to tell you too much and put you in danger, but what they’re doing is the beginning of the end for Key West. The people behind Blue Manatee will stop at nothing to get this project completed.” Looking pretty angry now. “But, like I said, I don’t want to say too much in case you’re captured and tortured.” Always a pleasant thought.

  “Uh, huh. Well my friends here have been trying to convince me since we’re the one’s found JB’s body we’re already likely on DDT’s shit list. They’ve had some of their goons watching us, so you might say we’re pretty much involved already.” He jumped just a little when I said DDT. I wanted to ask about the mention of JB in the note, but he didn’t give me a chance.

  “So you know about DDT?” His hand went to his goatee while he gave that some thought. “Well, DDT isn’t the whole story, there’s more.” But it didn’t look like he was going to say.

  “So, you want us to help do what? No, wait, don’t tell me. You’re going to stage a protest, or several protests? You probably need the special social skills of my cohorts and a seaworthy vessel like my Wilbur to pull it off?” He gave me a crooked smile.

  “No, actually I want to blow the shit out of some things and I need a really crazy person to help me. I want you to take me inside and introduce me to Shark Hunter.”

  ∨ Key Manatee ∧

  Eighteen

  It took some explaining and convincing, but I finally decided to do it. Shawn told us he needed to talk to the man in the worst way. He’d heard Shark Hunter had a strong dislike for newspaper reporters and hoped I’d be able to do an intro since I was Hunter’s biographer.

  “Biographer?”

  “Heard it from several people.”

  The final convincing came from Consuelo who was having a great time and said she wasn’t leaving without a look inside. She’d never been in the Scorpion Pit but her sisters had and told her about it. So we got in line at the front door.

  Talking to the doorman were the bikers in charge of keeping an eye on all the parked motorcycles. Slip told me this duty was usually delegated to the one’s who smelled too bad to let inside and those too insecure to be separated from their guns. A big sign by the door, ‘NO WEAPONS OR GUNS’.

  The doorman didn’t want to let the yuppie-looking newspaperman inside until some credentials were shown in the form of a couple of twenties. Behind us in line teetered the two shaved heads who’d been trying to maim each other minutes before. Now with arms around each others shoulders, beer buddies.

  Once inside I hesitated a second from the sensory assault of noise, smell, and sight. Something flew from my left to right a couple of feet in front of my eyes. Yells from the left and I saw the dart had found its mark, or close. A man against the opposite wall bent over displaying a big blue-jeaned ass with a red bull’s-eye painted on. He reached back to pull out a thirty pointer as we walked by. We carefully stepped around broken chairs and prone bodies towards the stairs in back.

  You could almost cut the testosterone in the air with a knife, something every other person in the bar seemed to have one of. Mostly your smaller, easy to conceal switchblades and stilettos. Some being used to pick nails or teeth, or else stuck in the bar within easy reach, still others being waved in someone’s face.

  An exceptionally good-looking woman in tight leather leaned against the bar surrounded by six alpha males in season, all holding drinks and giving everyone challenging looks. Half the people in the bar wearing black leather vests with no shirt underneath, women included.

  The sprinkling of bar hags in attendance drew a good turnout from the abundant ranks of beta males. A few of the hags very likely trannies, at least one openly. She/he surrounded by a small group of badly tattooed men who looked like they’d been out of prison only a few hours.

  We waited by the foot of the stairs while Slip got drinks. A blood-curdling scream came from the roof, then another.

  “Y’all give me a hand here!” We helped Slip with some pitchers of beer. No glasses or bottles upstairs at night, only plastic pitchers. The bartenders wearing bicycle helmets with fish clubs on their belts.

  The roof area looked about the same as the last time I saw it, just darker with even more broken glass, but most of the tables upright and occupied.

  At least it wasn’t as noisy up top. Dark though, only a couple of bare bulbs for light. The loud music downstairs made the roof reverberate under our feet as we made our way across. I could see Shark Hunter holding court at his usual table with a few locals. Most of the bikers downstairs were trying hard to look repulsive, for the group sitting and slouching at the table it came natural. One had his shirt off, sitting with his back to the old shark man, who looked up at me coming with a pitcher of beer.

  “Taco Something!” Everyone at the table looked. Shark Hunter held his hands out wiggling fingers at my pitcher. “Mmmmm! Gimme!” I sat the beer on the table in front of him and he immediately drank off almost half, belched, and went back to what he was doing.

  Holding a small flashlight in the dim light, he would look over the man’s body then use a smoking soldering iron with a glowing red tip to burn the man. The screams were pretty impressive. It took me a few seconds to figure out he was burning off small skin lesions.

  The man put his shirt back on and handed over a twenty. Shark Hunter smiled and noticed me still standing there. Then he noticed Consuelo who had edged up for a closer look.

  “How about you, little lady? Just take your shirt off for a free examination!”

  Consuelo looked like she was thinking about it. Slip had wisely elected to stay in the shadows so the old man wouldn’t see him. While everyone at the table eagerly waited for Consuelo to make up her mind, I pulled Shawn up close to the table.

  “Mr. Hunter. This man here would like a word with you.” Shawn sat his full pitcher of beer on the table in front of the old man, who didn’t take his eyes off Consuelo since she seemed about to decide.

  “Well, I haven’t been checked in a while.”

  Just as she pulled her shirt up, every man at the table turned on a small flashlight of his own. No bra. She turned completely around once before dropping the shirt back down. The flashlights all went off just as quickly.

  “See any problems?”

  Unanimous and hardy agreement from the table of doctoral candidates that everything looked mighty fine. They all took a long drink of beer. Shark made a mark on the low wall behind him then noticed Shawn for the first time.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Taco Bob brought me to meet you.” A quick glance at me and a cautious nod.

  “What you want?”

  “I have something very important to talk to you about.” I got a bored look from the old man. “Key West is in grave danger and you’re the only one who can save it.”

  The old man pulled out a book and started reading with his flashlight. I had to jump in.

  “Mr. Hunter, I think what the young man is trying to say is, he’s looking for a charter.” That did it. The book snapped shut.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so! What kind of fishing you got in mind, partner?” Big smile for the prospective client.

  “Uh, night fishing. Maybe even tonight.” Smile gone now, looking serious.

  “I’ll need to check my schedule.” The old charter captain stood
up and walked a few steps, then sat down and held up a hand to count fingers. “I can walk and got five fingers, so I ain’t too drunk and I ain’t dreaming. I reckon we can give her a shot. Though my regular mate went overboard today, so I got no help.” I remembered the big man from my last visit.

  “Baby fell overboard? Is he all right?”

  “Not that kind of overboard, just went overboard on the jalapeno poppers at Gov’s and came down with a bad case of the flaming trots. Last I seen he was sitting in a bucket of ice.” Shawn picked up on it, saying the right things.

  “Not to worry, I’ve got several able-bodied people ready to help. Do you accept cash for your charters? Here’s a down payment.” A c-note disappeared a split second after being offered.

  “Cash is good. What kind of fish you after? Shark, I bet.” Smiles and a wink.

  Shawn had the ball now and was making a respectable run. He leaned in close. “No, not sharks. I’m after something much more dangerous.” And let that hang. The old man picked it up.

  “Ain’t nothing more dangerous than sharks!”

  Grumbled agreement from around the table. But Shawn was into it now, his voice rising.

  “I’m looking to tear the heart out of a beast, a monstrous beast that has killed once and will kill again if it isn’t stopped!” Fist hard on the table, spilling beer. “I need a good boat and a captain who isn’t afraid to spit in the eye of the Devil himself and willing to take on the most dangerous monster that ever came to Key West!” Touchdown, six points.

  No one at the table said anything, just looked nervous. The only sound the droning of music from below and thundering motorcycles in the parking lot. The man known as a killer of huge sharks glared at each man at the table with narrowed eyes.

  “Blow!” And they were gone.

  He motioned for Shawn to sit. Maybe it was the light, but the young reporter looked older, his eyes a little crazy in the dim light. Still standing, he shook my hand.

  “Thanks, Taco Bob. Mr. Hunter and I have to discuss some upcoming felonies, and I really don’t want you or your friends to get any more involved in this than you already are. In fact, you might want to forget about this evening.”

  I didn’t bother to tell him we might be having a personal audience with representatives of Blue Manatee later on. I figured he had enough to think about already with whatever he and Mr. Hunter might be about to get into. I wished him luck and headed out with Consuelo close behind.

  Slip sat waiting over by the stairs. Next to him a woman back in the shadows I hadn’t noticed when we came in. The woman attractive in a anorexicly Goth way, nattering on to Slip while protecting a martini with long red fingernails and holding a cigarette stuck in a phallic-looking holder. Slip jumped up, anxious to go.

  We followed Slip down the stairs. The place even noisier and more crowded. But we made it through the mêlée and almost to the door. That’s where Slip spotted the two Blue Manatee goons just coming in. One had a big white X bandage over his broken nose and was hard to miss. Especially hard for Slip to miss.

  As soon as he saw the guy he ran over and started punching him in the face again. I tried to grab Consuelo, but she squirted out of my grasp and ran over and got in front of the other one to keep him off Slip. The guy spit in her face. The petit hotel proprietress brought a knee up into the guy’s crotch so hard his feet came off the floor a bit. He bent over in agony enough for her to grab two handfuls of hair and give him another knee just as hard in the face. He staggered off and fell into the dart players.

  By then Slip had Mr. X on the floor doing some clog steps on his head, so the two of us grabbed the dancing fishing guide and dragged him out the door before one of the bouncers got there with a ball bat.

  Heading for the car I gave them each a look. Consuelo wiping her face off on her shirt. I was not particularly happy.

  “Well, that was close. I thought for a minute there we might actually get out of that place without you two starting a fight.”

  We walked by the two guys with shaved heads back at it again, waling away at each other on the edge of the parking lot.

  Slip just shrugged. “I figured with that big X on his face someone would be taking a shot at him before long anyway.” He did have a point. That X was sure to draw a fist or a dart.

  Consuelo was still flushed from the fight, strutting a little now as we got to the car. “New girlfriend you were talking to, Slip?”

  “Yeah, right. I was just trying to stay away from that crazy shark guy. I’d been talking to the stick chick’s boyfriend. He was in the shadows taking a crap over the wall when you stopped by on your way out.” I got the car unlocked and we piled in. Slip wasn’t done. “I was keeping an eye on things though, seen the newspaper guy got his meet. Also saw you showing your chest bumps to the dregs of society.”

  “Hey, I just wanted everyone to feel comfortable, you know, do my part.” Slip started to say something which would likely start an argument I didn’t want to hear, so I held up my hand. I kicked the little car in the ass and we sped out of the parking lot.

  “How about we talk about the rest of the evening’s entertainment, as in the possibility of one of those previously mentioned Blue Manatee enforcement teams stopping by?”

  ∨ Key Manatee ∧

  Nineteen

  By the time I was sure I was alone and hadn’t had any visitors, I was worn out. Mary Ann was still on my mind and not in a good way. Coming back from the bar I realized I’d forgotten to ask Shawn about the mention of JB in the note, and we still didn’t know what happened to his sister.

  I really needed to get some sleep, some sound sleep, but the night wasn’t over. I left all the lights on inside my cozy houseboat while I made a phone call, some coffee, and a sandwich.

  An hour later I turned out all the lights except the bathroom light. I gave that a few minutes, then turned it off and moved quietly up through the roof hatch onto the bridge. I set my supplies on the floor within easy reach and got comfortable lying where I had the best view of the dock. Everything quiet now, just the distant tapping of stainless lines on the masts of sailboats in the dim light.

  Five minutes later the phone in my pocket vibrated and I looked at my watch. Somehow over two hours had slipped by. I looked along the dock and saw two men walk straight to my houseboat and carefully step aboard. I was coming awake fast and trying to wait until I could see the whites of their eyes. A second later I hit the switch on the one million candlepower spotlight and got the first one right in the face. His partner a step behind held up his hand but he got some of it too. I was so nervous I didn’t do the yelled voice quite right, but it still did the trick.

  “Wake up, Johnny! There they are! Shoot ‘em! Give ‘em both barrels!”

  The blinded one fell trying to get off the boat and cracked his head on the dock. He came up holding his head with one hand and a gun in the other. Both had guns out now, running. I killed the light and watched them run out of the marina into the gloom. Two figures in the dark following a safe distance behind.

  I heard an engine start and a short peel of rubber. I went below and flipped on some lights and set a few things on the coffee table in front of the yellow couch. A minute later the boat moved and my two wild-eyed cohorts burst into the lounge. I pointed towards the low table. Consuelo grabbed the pencil and pad I’d set out and scribbled furiously, then showed it to Slip who studied it for a second or two before nodding his approval. Then they both grabbed the cold beers waiting on the table and took long pulls.

  “What were they driving?”

  Consuelo wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and picked up the pad.

  “Ford Mustang, dark blue or black, probably a rental. Got the tag, though.” A sly smile as she handed me the pad. When I looked up from the pad and the smile was gone. “They had guns.” Slip holding his beer didn’t look too happy either.

  “They pulled guns when I put the light on ‘em. I don’t think they had ‘em out when they came on bo
ard.” Slow nods.

  “Want to hear the big news?” Consuelo holding a hand out, inspecting her nails. “Like, where they came from?” Slip must have fallen asleep as well, which would explain the looks we were both getting. She waited until we both nodded. “I didn’t see them come from the direction of their car. They must have already been setup waiting when we got back from the bar.” A quick glance at her audience. “I hit the speed dial for your cell when I saw two men step off the boat three slips down and start walking this way.” Slip said it before I could get it out.

  “The asshole lawyer’s boat?”

  ♦

  It took a while for us to wind down and get to bed. My partners wanted to go right then and roust Grizzel, but I was able to convince them to sleep on it. I’d decided to wait until the next day to tell them about my call earlier to Tony the Crab.

  I’d already been thinking about making the call, and the young newspaperman saying something about there being more to DDT made the decision for me.

  The number was for a seafood restaurant. I’d called late, but I could hear in the background they were still busy. I asked if it was too late for a delivery of Crab Surprise. Asked just like I’d been instructed while standing in the sand spurs along U.S.1 one evening. There was a long pause on the other end, then I was told they’d call me back in a few minutes. I gave them my cell number and ten minutes later it rang.

  “Taco, baby! How you doing?”

  “Fine, Tony. I trust you’re feeling better? You looked like you might be coming down with something the last time I saw you.”

  “Yeah, coming down off a bridge with a cinder block wired to my ankles plays hell with my allergies. But lucky for me the morons didn’t know it was only five feet deep under that bridge. But hey, I’m doing better since my stay in the hospital. A few more visits with the plastic surgeon, I’ll be good as new, maybe better.”