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  “Thanks for the great food. I reckon I’ll try to catch a nap so I can come back here tonight. See what happens.”

  The soft hand gave a gentle squeeze and I got a blue-eyed look of genuine concern. “Please be careful. I’d feel just bloody awful if something happened to you.” She escorted me to the door with her arm through mine.

  As I unlocked Rusty out on the sidewalk something bothered me. A few minutes earlier, a scooter had come beeping by as we got to the door. I’d glanced over at the scooter as she again told me to take care and now I kept thinking it was Trish saying it, and not the doll.

  I headed home for a power nap. I had to stay focused. No telling what would happen in the middle of the night.

  ♦

  About all that happened was it rained. And not just a light New England mist, or a Midwest dust-settler, or even a West Coast winter shower, but a true tropics frog-strangler with generous amounts of thunder and lightning. And it didn’t stop either. Oh, it would slow down enough for me to be able to actually see the front of the restaurant from across the street for a few minutes, but then it would come down again harder than ever. It wasn’t a night fit for man or beast, that’s for sure.

  My original plan had been to hide in the outdoor dining area in a place where I could see the front door, but weather conditions had me hunkered down in the homemade camper on the back of my truck. At least I’d gotten a good parking spot directly across from the restaurant. Funny how much easier parking is after midnight.

  I broke camp at dawn and took it on home, but I was back more determined than ever the next night. I missed Mary Ann and wanted to get this mystery wrapped up quick. I didn’t want anything to mess up my plans to meet her for our romantic weekend coming up.

  This time I had clear skies, so I hid under one of the tables outside. I thought I’d get lonely, but I had a piece of moon and a few persistent mosquitoes to keep me company. Other than the occasional traffic noise, breeze in the palms, or sudden crash, scream, or gunshot in the distance, it was a quiet night.

  To pass the time I’d gone through what your typical crazed voodoo witchdoctor might likely do to anybody he found hiding under a table with only a flashlight and a bag of sunflower seeds. I’d decided he’d probably go with something like knives in the eyes or something involving fire and large pins. Not the most healthy of thoughts, but it kept me awake and alert at two am.

  By three I was nodding. I started slipping into a dream about Mary Ann and barracuda when suddenly I was awake. A noise, behind me. My first thought was the big gun Trish had mentioned and I surely wished I had. I held perfectly still, my ears reaching out into the night. I slowly felt for my flashlight but couldn’t find it. I was about to spin around and beat the tar out of whoever was behind me with a half bag of sunflower seeds when something cold and wet touched the back of my arm. I froze.

  Turning my head slowly, I could see two yellow eyes up close. But before I could jump up and start running, something soft and wet dropped in my lap. I pushed the dead chicken off my lap and patted the dog on the head.

  “Good boy.”

  ∨ Key Manatee ∧

  Eight

  The days that followed were filled with the kind of laughing, tanned, drink-making, fish-catching, untroubled girls who find their way to Key West every year and seem to be everywhere. That is, if you’re Jimmy Redd, the marina’s resident tropical vagabond who always seemed to have things going his way.

  As for me, I decided it might be a good time to hunker down and take stock of things. Maybe tackle some of the repair jobs that needed doing on the old houseboat.

  I also did a lot of grumbling about not getting to see Mary Ann. Her car’s water pump picked a lousy time to go out. I offered to drive up to Orlando but she said someone from work with mechanic’s tools was going to come over to fix it on Sunday.

  I found a small patch of dry rot on the forward deck that ended up taking two days, almost a full sheet of marine plywood, and all of my patience to fix. But at least it took my mind off things for a while. I had just retired to the upper deck with a cold beer to enjoy the late afternoon breeze and watch the final coat of epoxy dry when Slip showed up.

  “Hey, Taco. Consuelo said to give you this.”

  I took the offered paper bag and inside was a book, ‘Tastes Like Chicken – 101 Fowl Recipes’.

  Slip helped himself to a chair and came up with his own beer and a wide grin. The jokes had about played out in my opinion.

  “Very funny. Tell Consuelo—”

  “Tell Consuelo what?” Behind Slip a blond head popped up, followed by the rest of a very familiar female form coming up the ladder. “Oh, what’s that book you have in your hand, Capt Bob? Someone must have a naughty sense of humor to give you that! Whoever it is probably needs to be disciplined!”

  Consuelo turned and offered a shapely rear within easy reach. Slip and I glanced at the hot pink shorts stretched tight across tanned and toned girl flesh, then concentrated on our beers.

  “You catch that ball game on TV last night?”

  “Nah, after working on the boat all day I decided to turn in early. I heard on the radio this morning though that our boys won.”

  “Yep, pulled it out in the end like the true champions they are.”

  Our sexy friend gave up and turned around with her arms folded across her chest. Actually, they were folded under her halter top so everything pushed up and you could see the tan line across her breasts. I tried not to look.

  “You guys are so full of shit. The only sports on late last night involving balls were golf reruns and bowling. And speaking of a lack of balls.” She fixed a hard stare on Slip. “What did you find out about this creep?” A finger pointed over her shoulder in the direction of the fancy houseboat three doors down.

  Slip pulled out a pocket notebook and flipped some pages while giving Consuelo a couple of warning squints.

  “Since we’re all wondering who the dime-dropping shitheel is who’s been sending the po-lease over here with false reports, I’ve taken it upon myself,” Consuelo had been leaning against the rail, but pushed herself standing and started a low growl. “at the insistence of this fine young lady,” Consuelo eased back. “to make some discreet inquiries around the marina.”

  Consuelo took it.

  “Yeah, I told Colombo here to ask around. Thought maybe the old dude in the marina office knows something about the jerkball on the Busted Flusher or whatever he calls it.”

  Slip made a show of clearing his throat as he consulted his notebook. “The lowlife in question is Harry Grizzel. He’s thirty nine, a lawyer.” Slip spit over the railing. “Did a two year jolt in Stark back in the late 80s for fencing stolen property and domestic violence. After that he decided crime didn’t pay, enough, and got a job as a telemarketer selling phony extended warranties on electronic equipment to pay his way through lawyer school.

  “Graduated from the East Haiti School of Law and Auto Repair at the bottom of his class, headed for New Jersey, and got into the lucrative world of insurance fraud. While hanging with the bottom feeders up there, he got some work with the wise guys in New York.” A bigger spit over the side this time. “He showed up in Key West a year ago when things got too hot up north. Now he specializes in cash-only work for the shoe-scrapings of society like internet spammers, check washers, child molesters, and insurance companies. Recently he’s also dipped a toe into the scum pond of real estate development.”

  I thought there might be more spitting, but we just got Slip’s tight-lipped cold stare he only breaks out for special occasions – like any mention of the kind of lower life forms who prey on the old and infirm. I was impressed by all that he’d learned.

  “That’s a mighty in-depth report, Slip. I’m surprised the old guy at the marina would even come upon knowing such things, much less pass them along. Always seemed a mean ol’ cuss to me.”

  Consuelo motioned to Slip for a sip of his beer. She must have been impressed by Slip’s f
indings as well since she didn’t have any of her usual wise cracks. Slip hesitated, but handed his beer over and hitched his pants a little.

  “Well, the old fart pretty much just said Grizzel’s boat slip was paid up a year in advance by some company, and since he knows I do some guiding, he took the opportunity to ask where he might find some redfish next week when his brother came to town. I asked him what company paid Grizzel’s bill and he said none of my business, so I told him to try the Key West Aquarium on Whitehead for reds.”

  Consuelo handed back the empty and crushed beercan. She locked on Slip.

  “So where did you dig up the dirt on the creep? From the big furry guy, I bet. The one with the thick pelt of gray hair they call Meyers.” Consuelo gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Everybody tells Meyers their deepest, darkest.” It was true. There always seemed to be someone on his stout little boat, the Maynard G Krebs, having a heart-felt talk. Nobody knew the big bear of a man’s real name or where he came from, they just called him Meyers after the brand of rum he favored.

  “Yeah, Meyers said our man Grizzel showed up at his place drunk one night with a bottle of tequila. Wanted the old fella to fix him up with a woman since there always seems to be young ladies hanging around there. Grizzel ended up telling his life story, then ralphing all over the Maynard before passing out.” Slip started in inspecting his fingernails like he hadn’t seen them in a long time. I took the bait.

  “So, I’m assuming he told you something else? Something to make you think neighbor Harry Grizzel is the one responsible for those calls?”

  Slip looked up like he’d forgot we were there. “Something else? Oh yeah, he had plenty more to say. Things like Grizzel can’t handle his liquor, has been doing some kind of illegal wire taps for big money, and is blind jealous over seeing Miss Manners here jiggling down the dock everyday on her way over to your boat.”

  Consuelo quickly withdrew the little finger that had covertly begun to explore her left nostril.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him watching me. Tried to talk me into checking out his houseboat once. Offered me a drink with some kind of gin I never heard of and said he had some great stories about the ‘salvage game’. Real creep.” She stuck out her tongue and made a face.

  Slip had more. “Meyers said the man is trying to live like a fictional character out of some book. He said the name but I didn’t write it down.” Slip held up his notebook and shook it like a TV evangelist. “I think the guy’s got a screw loose when it comes to women and goes ballistic at any sign of rejection.” Slip slapped his notebook closed and looked at Consuelo.

  “Hey, he comes on about as sincere as a used car salesman on crank. No woman in her right mind would have anything to do with a creep like that.” Consuelo turned from Slip to me. “Anyway, I’ve got like a sixth sense when it comes to men. I usually know a loser before he even opens his mouth. I also know when I’m around a real man.” I got an intense, doe-eyed look that could mean only one thing to any male with a pulse. I tried to get things back on track.

  “Well, it sounds like he’s likely the one’s been doing it then. I reckon I should have a talk with the man.”

  My companions looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Both started to say something but I held up a hand. “I’m sure you two can cook up the kind of dirty tricks Fox could make a TV series about, but you need to let me talk to the man first. Okay?” Unconvinced looks all around. “No exploding buckets of rotten fish, letters from AIDS clinics, or sinking boats. Agreed?”

  Slip couldn’t stand it. “How about just give him one quick ass-whupping?” Balled up fists.

  “No.”

  “How about if Blondie does it?” Consuelo tried an innocent look.

  “No. You both just behave. I’m sure I can talk some sense into the man. Anyway, we’re not one hundred percent sure he’s the one making those calls.” Both started to protest, but held when I raised my hand again. “You two give me a minute to take a shower and I’ll treat at Floaters.” The mention of our favorite cheap restaurant seemed to console them for the moment.

  As I headed below to clean up I could hear Consuelo say to Slip in a low, menacing voice that she does not ‘jiggle’.

  ∨ Key Manatee ∧

  Nine

  Floaters Restaurant had sunk again so we went to Governor’s. There was a Governor’s Chicken Burritos just opened on Duval with the new menu we’d heard about. Besides the old favorites, there were some new items to choose from:

  Chicken or the Egg – chicken omelet

  Offroad – garden salad with roasted chicken strips

  Eighteen Wheeler – platter of wings in red sauce

  Skidmark – bacon strips on a chicken patty

  Road Gravel – peas and rice with chicken

  Hit and Run – chicken feet soup

  Speed Bumps – chicken link sausages

  Chicken That Almost Crossed The Road – jalapeno and chicken poppers

  Blowout – deluxe platter, a generous sample of everything

  We got our orders figured out finally. The food came served up on a plate that looked like a hubcap. On closer inspection, it was a hubcap. We dug in.

  “The funeral’s tomorrow morning, you know.”

  I had forgotten until Slip mentioned it. “Slipped my mind. You two going?”

  A couple of grunts in the affirmative from my table mates, both very involved in developing a close personal relationship with their food. We had a booth by the front window and Consuelo boob-speared me in the shoulder reaching for the pepper. I set the rest of the condiments in front of her and she blushed a little.

  “I told my sisters I need the car tomorrow. The funeral is scheduled for ten, you guys want me to pick you up at the marina?”

  Sounded fine to me. “Sure. You good with that, Slip?” A nod and a grunt. “No sense in us getting there too early, it’s not like we’re family or anything.”

  Consuelo had gone back to eating but came up for air. “Yeah, all we did was find the guy all bloated and stinking with his skin splitting open and his eyeballs falling out and stuff. It’s not like we were close.” She waved something that resembled a chicken leg in my face for emphasis. “You know, it’s been almost a week, I hope they did something so he doesn’t smell so bad.”

  There was a muffled noise behind me and the two young women from the next booth left abruptly. Consuelo reached over to their table for two pieces of untouched chicken and gave me another spearing in the arm. She handed one piece over to Slip who didn’t even look up, just grabbed it and started gnawing.

  Consuelo glanced back over her shoulder. “Wonder what their problem is?”

  Slip took a swallow of beer. “Probably too much sun, makes ‘em flighty like that.” He motioned to the waitress across the room. “Bet they’re kindergarten teachers. Saw in the paper there’s a whole convention of them in town this week. Since I’ll be all dressed up for the funeral tomorrow, maybe afterwards I’ll go by the hotel where they’re all staying and see what happens.”

  The waitress started over for our desert order.

  “Yep, ain’t nothing in the whole world like a sunburned kindergarten teacher. I heard rubbing a stick of butter on sunburn is a mild aphrodisiac. I get all frisky just thinking about it.” Slip smiled big at the waitress looking down at us with a sour expression. “Imagine we’ll each have a piece of your famous gizzard pie.” He checked our nodding heads and the waitress left. Consuelo was looking out the window.

  “Hey, isn’t that Jimmy Redd in that convertible with the blond? The one parked across the street?”

  We took a peek. I couldn’t really tell.

  “Might be. Man always seems to travel in fine company.”

  Consuelo gave me a look. “And you don’t?” She laid her head on my shoulder, snuggled a bit, and belched. I patted her on the head, then pushed her back up straight.

  “But you’re the fairest of them all.”

  “Ah, you say the sweetest things, Taco.” She gave
me the fluttering eyelashes. Slip was still looking out the window.

  “Yeah, that’s him. Good-looking woman, all right. Not my type though, I like my women with some meat on their bones. Damn, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about slippery pink kindergarten teachers.” Slip’s upper half was still eating, but his legs were twitching so much the table started to shake. Consuelo picked up her almost full water glass and pointed it at Slip. The twitching stopped. I noticed Jimmy and his lady friend had gotten out and walked over where a Marty Manatee stood singing and playing guitar on the corner. I’d lay odds by the size of the crowd that had gathered up all of a sudden the song was Tequila Breakfast.

  Our dessert arrived and Slip wrapped his in a napkin and stood up. “I think I’ll ease on over and see if I can catch a ride with Jimmy. Maybe get him to drop me off at that convention hotel.” And headed for the door. Consuelo gave him a yell.

  “Hey! Nine thirty tomorrow morning!”

  “No problem! Thanks for the dinner, Taco!”

  I slid my pie across the table then took Slip’s seat. Consuelo started to protest, but gave it a rest for once. She did try a small pout though.

  “It’s not like I bite.”

  I dove into my pie and watched Slip talking to Jimmy across the street. Consuelo gave up the act and started in on her own dessert.

  “Hey, TB. What’s the deal with Jimmy anyway? I heard he used to live up north? Hard to believe, looks like a conch if I ever saw one.”

  “You know how you hear about some people are lucky? Jimmy’s one of those people, though he says he wasn’t like that before coming to the Keys.” It was one of your more popular stories around the marina, so I was surprised Consuelo didn’t know it.