Chapter Two
The waves pushed hard against the bow and the Hold Fast rolled with the Gulf of Mexico. It was Thursday afternoon in early September, hurricane season. The sun was high in the sky and baked anything not wet. The Hold Fast had a cockpit Bimini top to keep the sun off me while I stood at the helm. Normally, I prefer piloting a vessel as God made me, a benefit of being alone in the middle of a large body of water.
But today I was heading for land, so I wore a pair of Bermuda shorts and a white Stetson cowboy hat I’d won in a poker game after spending a couple of days in New Orleans. I’d played three good games in the Big Easy and come out ahead. The hat had been a bonus when my opponent couldn’t cover all his bets. No skin off my teeth. So, I’d taken his hat, and it fit good, too. Besides, I had always wanted to be a cowboy.
Prior to my trip, I had forgotten how much I loved being out on the water. Technically, I’d lived on the water in Detroit, but yacht-club life on a big river is different than the spray of seawater and a rolling tide. In my short Navy career, I’d only seen the inside of one ship. An aircraft carrier, the USS Independence, then out of Yokohama, Japan. The Independence sailed the South Pacific eighteen months in two years, three months at a time. I’d been on the ship for one of those three months. I had eventually ended up in the mountains of Afghanistan where boredom and danger took their toll on me. But those three months at sea stayed with me and I looked back on them fondly. There was nothing like pulling into a port after a cruise on miles of liquid real estate. I was getting that old feeling back again as Key West grew closer.
As I lowered the mainsail the Hold Fast jerked and bobbed in the waves. Splashes of seawater sprayed me as I hurried along the bow. It wasn’t a one-man show, but I was a picky captain. I wasn't going to let just anyone run around my vessel. Never mind I was light on friends who wanted to spend half a year traveling from port to port in search of new experiences with me. Their loss, my gain.
Once I had the sail tied down, I went back to the cockpit and turned the key to kick the diesel engine on so I could sputter into port with ease. The engine turned and the Hold Fast was soon riding the waves again. It wasn't swift, but it was safe and easy, and easy is the name of the game.
The Key West City Marina looked full, but I had reserved a slip for the next two weeks. I figured that was long enough to decide my next move. Yachts, ski boats, fishing boats, and sailboats filled the slips. It was a lot of action, and the marina was tight on space. I maneuvered the Hold Fast alongside the main dock and tossed a line to a haggard-looking man with a body like an egg. He had pencil-thin legs with knees that wouldn't bend. He wore baggy cotton shorts pulled up past his navel, and unfortunately, he was shirtless. White hair spread from his stomach up his deflated chest, over the shoulders and down his back. A pineapple hat that had seen better days sat atop his head.
Egg Man helped tie down my vessel and I climbed up to the dock. I stood a foot taller than Egg, but most people looked up at me. Easy to do when you’re six-foot-three. Egg Man was no different. He squinted cloudy and bloodshot eyes in the sunshine after he sized me up. He smelled like a damp towel left in a hot car.
“You the harbormaster?” I asked.
He coughed up some phlegm, spat into the water and said, “This here is the city marina. Harbor is on the other side of the cay. Javier runs the show here.”
“You're not Javier?”
“Main buildin’.” He gave me the once-over again, then said, “You new?”
“First time.”
“Fort Myers?”
“Tampa, by way of New Orleans.”
“In that thing?”
He made a gesture to the Hold Fast, and I noticed he was missing part of his right thumb. Probably a fishing accident or payment for a welched bet. He wasn't impressed with my purchase.
“She gets the job done, pops.”
Egg Man grunted, then reminded me where I could find Javier. He wandered over to a speedboat pulling in full of young girls in bikinis and one lucky kid who kept a towel wrapped tight around his waist. The girls giggled at the sight of the Egg Man, but he didn’t mind. He had a job to do.
I made my way up the dock and onto dry land. There was a small steel building with a mobile home next to it. The steel building had a Thai restaurant, a place to rent Jet Skis, and bathrooms. I deduced the mobile home was, no doubt, the main office. I knew this because there was a shingle hanging outside the door that told me so. I used to be a detective. I opened the door, and a blast of cold air stood me up straight. The air felt good as it cooled my chest. Someone yelled for me to shut the door.
Behind a desk was a man I figured to be Javier. Like the shingle outside the mobile home, his shirt had a name tag on it that told me so. Again, I used to be a detective. Javier was typing something into a computer, and he didn't look up at me as I stood near his desk. I was the only other person in the room. There were other rooms with doors shut, probably storerooms, not offices. How many people did a marina need? Someone out on the docks and someone in the office. That’s it. No big deal. Big boss in the air-conditioning, while Egg Man humped under the sunny skies of Key West. A short but effective chain of command.
Javier was around thirty, maybe as old as thirty-five. He had dark, sunbaked skin and hair buzzed down to his scalp. He was sinewy from what seemed to be working his whole life and had big hands. Javier looked like he could handle himself if trouble called. He probably had to in this town. Key West is a beautiful island, but beneath its exterior isn’t an isle of tranquility in the Caribbean. Back in the day, this place was the Wild West, filled with drug runners, people smugglers, and weary souls with nowhere else to go. My guess was that not much had changed. Plus, anywhere Dan Yarnall lived had to have a certain level of excitement and seediness for him to call it home.
I cleared my throat to catch Javier’s attention. He’d kept me waiting long enough. I was easy but could still be impatient. I had things I wanted to do and the sooner I could get to them, the better life would be.
He finished typing and said, “Leroy Cutter, right? Another five minutes and you would've been a no-show.”
“Then I'm right on time.”
“Fifteen minutes early is right on time. You’re almost a day late.” He produced some paperwork and said, “Read and sign. How are you paying?”
“Cash all right?”
“As long as it's not funny.”
“Just stained with tears and disappointment.”
Javier didn't even crack so much as a smile. He was a hard man all right. I verified my information on the paperwork and paid for two weeks in cash. Javier handed me a receipt that included the slip number, as well as a printout of the marina rules.
“Slip thirty-eight is along the main road here, third dock, down at the end. Good spot.” He pointed out a window and I looked. “You can't miss it. There's a placard on a post that holds electrical and water. Water's free. Sewage pump is at the service dock by the ramp. Don't let me catch you dumping in the marina, or I'll beat your ass to Marathon and back, then report you to the authorities.”
“Got it.”
“Everything else is on that sheet I gave you. Any questions?”
“You wouldn’t happen to be the concierge, too?”
Javier gave me dull eyes.
“Then I'm cool,” I said.
“Ever been to Key West?”
“First time.”
“Well, it's a little late in the season, but there's plenty to do around here. Don't bring any of it back to the marina.”
“Like what? So, I know if I'm bringing it back or not.”
“If you gotta ask then don’t. Key West is a great place to get lost. Hospital is within walking distance. Anything else?”
“Can you tell me where the Oceanside Motel is?”
“You passed it coming in. Just across the bight. You not staying on your boat?”
“No, I am. Old friend of mine lives there.”
I thanked Javier for his impeccable hospitality and took my receipt and rules, then stepped back out into the blazing Florida sun. The comings and goings of day cruisers, charters and tourists strolling around looking at the big boats, riding bicycles, and taking pictures of pelicans, crowded the marina. Traffic hissed along the highway and overpass nearby. Peace and quiet were scarce. Maybe everything died down when the sun set. At least, I hoped it did. I needed my beauty rest. I headed back to the Hold Fast.
Egg Man was ogling the bikinis and the young man was sans the towel now. The kid was aggravated with Egg but didn't have enough in him to say so. He had attitude but no experience to back it up. The kid stayed smart and kept his mouth shut. He fully knew who he was dealing with on the dock.
I gave the girls a wink and a smile to add fuel to the fire and got the stink eye from the kid. Egg Man gave me some attitude, too. Guess he thought I was moving in on his territory. I liked his optimism.
After I untied the Hold Fast, I started the diesel engine, then eased her around and parked her into slip thirty-eight. I was right next to a houseboat that made my last one look like a washtub. An old couple waved to me from behind tinted glass. I waved back.
I took a cold shower—a habit I picked up on my last boat after the water heater broke and I was too lazy to fix it—then changed into a cool pair of white linen Tommy Bahama shorts, a pair of brown leather sandals, and the ugliest Acapulco shirt in my seabag, pink flamingos and sailboats. With the Stetson and Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses, I was ready for an unexpected night with an old Navy buddy. Get ready, Key West, a sailor on a pale boat cometh and hell follows with him.