The airboat made a tight turn in the middle of the pass, sending up a sheet of water. It whizzed back under the bridge.
Everyone ran across the road again. The airboat zoomed down the channel toward Spanish Harbor, Serge’s shouts becoming mere peeps in the distance.
“He sure seems happy,” said Sop Choppy. “Look at him go.”
Serge turned her around one last time near the viaduct and came back, idling through the man-made inlet at the fish camp. The gang trotted down the embankment for a better look. Jerry the bartender ran a hand along the polished wooden propeller with steel tips. “I wish
“Why’s that?” Serge hitched the Diamondback to the trailer line.
Serge reached in his pocket. He worked a key off his chain and tossed it to the bartender.
“What’s this?” asked Jerry, catching it against his shirt.
“Spare key. Take it whenever you want.”
“I couldn’t—”
Serge started cranking the boat onto the trailer. “Why not?”
“Because it’s yours.”
“Jerry, I like you.”
“You do?”
“I’m not into possessions, just moments. And anyone who’s into
“You sure?”
“Take her anytime.” Serge threaded the trailer straps. “Don’t even bother to ask. Just don’t wreck it.”
“All right,” said the bartender. “But I have to do something to repay you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. Where are you going to keep it?”
“I don’t know. Probably parked at Coleman’s trailer.”
“Don’t do that,” said Jerry. “It’s a hassle every time you want to go out. You need to keep it near the water.”
“I don’t have a place like that.”
“I do. Over on No Name Key. Bought a parcel way back. Was going to build but waited too long and construction went out of sight with the freight charges. I camp there sometimes. It’s got this break in the mangroves that I smoothed out to launch my skiff. Not a proper ramp, but serviceable.”
Serge pulled a strap hard. “It’s a deal.”
“Why don’t we go out there now?”
Serge and Jerry drove off. They tied up the airboat on the edge of the flats and returned to the No Name Pub, where the petite woman in sunglasses was sitting alone again at a table in back.
A man walked over and grabbed the chair across from her.
“I got your call,” said Anna. “What made you change your mind?”
“Did some thinking.”
“You’re really going to help me kill him?”
“I liked your brother a lot. This has to stop.”
“You got an idea?”
“A couple. But I’m going to need a little time to sort this out. Until then we can’t be seen together.”
“What do I do?”
“Don’t do anything. Just stay in your cottage until I call. And keep that Trans Am hidden.”
21
A WHITE JAGUAR WITH a blue tag hanging from the rearview pulled into a handicapped slot in the lower Keys. Four men in yachting jackets got out.
“Here we are,” said Troy Bradenton, looking up at a big wooden sign with words written in nautical rope. LOBSTER TOWN.
Troy and the roofing salesmen could have found their way to the bar blindfolded.
The lounge at Lobster Town was their favorite place in all the Keys. Heavily lacquered wood with brass portholes peering into saltwater aquariums full of coral and clownfish. It was also the annex of a great restaurant, where they could order food over to the drinking side and not miss the babe action. Only thing missing was the babes. Wouldn’t have made any difference if they were around. Troy and the boys had what might be termed an indelicate touch. They decided if their pickup lines weren’t going to work, then they
The beer came in frosty mugs and soon the food. A waitress set up a folding stand behind their stools. It held a big round tray ready to collapse under their orders. Giant lobster tails with all the fixin’s! They strapped on the bibs, grabbed nutcrackers and tiny forks, and went at it like pigs with thumbs. “Can we have more bread?”
Lemon mist and shell splinters filled the air. The waitress returned with an extra loaf.
“You have such lovely blond hair,” said Troy. “Does the rug match the curtains?”
The waitress left quickly. The gang cracked up.
“Hey, guys,” yelled the bartender. “Want another round? Happy hour’s almost over.”
Troy looked at the ship’s clock over the bar. Two minutes till seven. “Set ’em up!”
ONE OF THE classrooms was full of people in Serge T-shirts. But where was Serge? This was the first scheduled meeting he’d called since they had accosted him outside the library. They quietly stared at the clock over the chalkboard. Two minutes till seven.
