Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (18 page)

Erik tried to suppress a smile. “Sure, boss, I can always find a place to crash so you can work.”

Erik knew GT preferred to handle dirty work in private. He didn’t fully trust anyone, not even Erik. When he’d first started working for GT several years earlier, Erik had taken it personally. Now, he realized it was just one of his boss’s weird ways. Not the only one, either. The guy didn’t get physical with people when they didn’t answer his questions. He’d beat the guy into submission and
then
start asking.

GT jerked a thumb toward the bathroom. “I’m sure he knows something more. From the look of his face, it’s a sure thing he’s had a few beatdowns. I might have to change tactics, if he survives the one coming. Who knows, having a sewer rat to ferret out information might come in handy. If not, I’ll dump his body in the water later tonight. Pick me up here at eight, ready to work. And if you can, find us some fucking guns.”

As Erik nodded and opened the door to go back out, Byers came out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of blue jean shorts that hung to his knees and a kids’ Mickey Mouse T-shirt.

Under the table, GT shoved the opposite chair out with his foot. “Sit down. We’re going to talk, and if you lie to me, I’ll know it and knock one of your teeth out for every lie.”

Erik closed the door, knowing that the little weasel was going to experience some real pain, the mood his boss was in. At the concierge desk, he got directions to an all-night detail shop and within an hour, the horrible odor was gone from the car, replaced by a nice tropical scent.

With four hundred bucks in his pocket and eight hours to kill, Erik pulled the white Escalade into the parking lot of the Half Shell Raw Bar. Glancing at the clock in the dash, he noted that it was a few minutes past midnight and hoped he hadn’t missed her. Maneuvering the big SUV through the lot, Erik circled around to the main door. When he stopped, Karly was walking out with another woman.

Erik climbed out of the car and Karly saw him. She turned to her friend and said something, then the two parted and Karly walked toward the big car, smiling. Erik hurried around the hood and opened the door for her with a big smile on his face, too.

Before she climbed in, she looked up at the tall black man. “I don’t even know your name.”

W
hen the smell of coffee woke me, I headed straight to the laptop, with only a thirty-second pause at the counter to pour a mug of La Minita’s finest. I sat down and opened the computer, taking my first sip. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always liked the taste of coffee. Until recently, it’d always been whatever’s on the shelf at the grocery store. I never realized there were a lot better coffees out there.

Rusty had found this brew a few months ago and I made sure to get my order to him every two weeks since then. The distributor had even sent him a book about the farm in Costa Rica.
It’d be a great place to visit someday
, I thought while enjoying the deep, rich flavor.

Sure enough, I had an email from Chyrel in my inbox. I opened it and saw that there was a file attached. While the file downloaded, I read Chyrel’s message.

Stretch,

You might want to print the attached file and study it. The background is pretty extensive and it goes back over four years.

Chyrel

Sending the file to the printer, I reached over to the entertainment center console and switched on the NOAA channel on the VHF radio to get the update on the day’s forecast. I was planning to take the Cigarette boat, since it draws the attention of the kind of people I’d be looking for.

The forecast wasn’t what I was hoping for. The same stagnant, hot air that had been hanging over us for days was going to get shoved out of the way by a fast-moving line of storms in the afternoon. Fast-moving as they advanced to the north, the digitized voice repeated, but the line was moving slowly east, so we were going to have stormy weather most of the evening and night.

The trip down to Key West would be easy, but coming back in the Cigarette would be treacherous, with seas forecast to six feet in the Gulf.

I switched the radio to scan to catch some cross talk from boats out on the Gulf and considered calling Dawn McKenna to cancel, but Conner’s smug face invaded my consciousness. I’d keep the appointment and just take the
Revenge
instead. She’d have no trouble in the big swells.

Which means I need to get underway most riki tik.

While I filled a thermos, I made a quick phone call using the sat-phone, then I shoved the papers I’d printed into a folder and carried them out to the cockpit. Above, I could hear the kids talking away and someone moving around in the kitchen.

The engines started instantly, settling into a low burble. I placed the folder and thermos in the second seat and clicked the key fob to open the big doors in front of my boat. Quickly removing the covers from the instruments and electronics, I stored them away and looked over the panel. All the gauges were reading normal ranges, so I went down to cast off.

The hatch to the pier opened and Carl stepped into the dock area. “I figured you’d just cancel, what with the weather coming up. Taking the
Revenge
instead?”

“Yeah, she hasn’t had a chance to stretch her legs in a while. Something else came up, Carl. There’s a chance I may stay the night. But I’ll be back before noon.”

“I can come along, if you need a hand. What came up?”

He wasn’t offering to be polite. I’d talked to him about what I was going to do after I got off the phone with Dawn. “Remember me telling you about the government guy that was involved in that cluster fuck on Elbow Cay? Chase Conner?”

He nodded, and as I untied the stern line, I continued, “I came across a news headline about Bradley last night. You’ll never guess who his accountant is.”

“Conner? Is he down here, too?”

“I doubt it, but I’m going to try to find a way to either locate him for the authorities or, better still, get Bradley to bring him down here.”

“Then you’ll need help. I’ll grab my bag.”

I stopped him as he started to turn, and Pescador passed by him, coming in. “No, Carl. I got it covered. I woke Travis up and he’s meeting me at Old Wooden Bridge.”

Carl stopped and turned around, the disappointment evident in his face as I went past them toward the bow line. I knew he missed the challenge and adventure that went along with his old job as a shrimp boat skipper, but with a wife and two little kids, he was better off without the excitement.

“Be careful, Jesse. You should take the dog. There’s been a rash of boat break-ins down there.”

Dropping back down into the cockpit, I said, “I was planning to. You know me, always careful.”

Pescador sat by Carl’s feet, looking up at me like he was waiting for a bone. “Wanna go to Key Weird, buddy?”

Pescador barked once and I nodded to him. He instantly vaulted the gunwale, landing easily on the cockpit deck, before lying down in his usual spot by the transom hatch.

As I climbed up to the bridge, Carl said, “Yeah, I know you. Careful, most of the time. Just keep your head down those other times, huh?”

I nodded as I engaged the transmissions and slowly idled out from under my house. Once clear of the big doors, I clicked the lock button on the key fob, and they slowly started closing on big spring-loaded hinges.

Turning out of my little channel, I headed northeast in Harbor Channel and pushed the throttles halfway up. The stern of the
Revenge
dropped down as the big props pushed the water out from beneath the hull. A moment later, she was up on plane and I made for the light at Harbor Key Bank.

Before reaching the bank, I slowed and made the turn almost due south into Spanish Harbor Channel at marker fifty-three. Easing the throttles back up to thirty-five knots, I made it to the mouth of Bogie Channel between Big Pine and No Name Keys in just a few minutes.

Travis hadn’t sounded too enthused about going to Key West, but when I offered his regular charter day rate, he didn’t really have much choice. I wanted to feel him out, with the information I’d received from Chyrel, about what was going on with Charity Styles’s disappearance. Or more to the point, the lack of information.

I slowly brought the
Revenge
down off plane as I drew near the markers for the entrance to Bogie Channel, and the big engines settled into a quiet burbling idle, magnified as I went under the bridge crossing over to No Name Key. Approaching the entrance to the marina, I saw Travis pulling into the parking lot in his black Ford Expedition. Mentally, I whacked myself on the head, seeing the big SUV.
What the hell kind of retired guy tools around in something like that?

Just as I bumped the fuel dock, Pescador lifted his big, shaggy head and barked a greeting as Travis stepped aboard. I reversed the port engine, spinning the
Revenge
away from the dock and turning back toward the entrance.

Quickly stowing his go-bag in the salon, Travis came up the ladder to the bridge. “What the hell’s going on down in Key West that you gotta drop everything and go down there all of a sudden?”

“Just meeting someone. Might be an overnighter. Glad you brought your bag.”

He sat down in the second seat and looked at me curiously. “Come on, Jesse. You don’t need me along just to visit someone in Key West. What gives?”

I gave him the Reader’s Digest version of what happened at the
Anchor
and my conversation with Dawn McKenna, leaving out the detail about Chase Conner and my as-yet-unknown fake identity.

“What makes you think you can do anything to help this kid and why would you even want to help someone who ripped off a coke dealer in the first place?”

As I turned back into Bogie Channel, I brought the
Revenge
up on plane as I gave the question some thought. I really didn’t know if I could be of any help and I damned sure didn’t know why I’d want to, outside of the unfinished business with Conner. I steered southeast into Spanish Harbor, with the two bridges spanning the narrow channel between Scout Key and Big Pine Key. The furthest one is the new span that US-1 travels on, and the nearer one is the old arch-style causeway originally built nearly a century ago by Henry Flagler for his railroad. A section had been removed from both ends, creating fishing piers. After the great hurricane of 1935, which decimated the Keys, killing hundreds of people, Flagler’s railroad went belly up and the right of way was given to the Overseas Road and Toll Bridge District to turn it into a highway for cars. The new span was built in 1982.

Once we cleared the bridges, I pushed the throttles up to forty knots and started a wide, sweeping turn to the southwest. “I don’t know that I can help him,” I finally replied. “But last night I looked up this Bradley guy on the Internet and saw a picture of him with someone else. His accountant, a guy named Chase Conner.”

Travis scratched the side of his face, thinking. “I know I’ve heard the name. How do I know him?”

“You don’t, but I do. Deuce may have mentioned him to you. He was the guy that bugged my boat last year and put everything into motion that cost a lot of people their lives and ended up with Doc taking a bullet in the back protecting me, not to mention getting my boat blown up.”

“Ah, so you’re seeking retribution.”

Now was the time to test his poker face. “Yeah, something like that. If the opportunity arises. I’m going to pretend to be a big-time drug dealer, shake the trees and see what kind of rats fall out. I had Chyrel create a phony identity for me.”

His expression remained unchanged. “When did you speak to her? How’s she doing?”

“I videoconferenced with her last night. She was at home in Homestead. Seems to be doing okay.”

We rode in silence for several minutes, then I remembered the file that I needed to read. “Take the wheel, Travis. I gotta learn who I am.”

We switched seats and I put my feet up on the console, opened the file and started to read. Though he tried not to be obvious, I could tell Travis was curious. I just let him think and surmise what he wanted about my conversation with Chyrel. Usually, people will come to all kinds of conclusions, if given the time to stew on something.