Tuna Tango (10 page)

“So, you guys broke in again? I guess it won’t do any good to fire you.” He got up.

“Where you going?”

“To the police. Your friend has been abducted and you’re sitting here smoking a joint. It’s not my problem, but someone has to do
something
.”

“Wait. Look, man.”

Will turned to walk away.

“OK, there’s more. Me and Kyle are in some trouble with some bad dudes. You can’t go to the police. I’ve got a couple of bench warrants I know of, and what about the fish? We stole it, too. It’s his word against ours, and that’s like felony shit.” 

Will turned around and sat down. He needed a few minutes to process all the information, and sent Dick into the cabin for two beers. The downside of taking this to the police quickly came to mind as he sipped his beer. Between the illegal fish and the abduction, the fish house would be a crime scene forever. There would be no more income from the job, and he had no other prospects. And crawling back to Sheryl after what had just happened was
not
a good option right now. 

He looked at Dick. Even though it had only been a couple of days, he had grown attached to the boys. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed that there was a little bit of each of them in him, and they were starting to grow on him like younger brothers. 

Plus, if he went to the police, he was probably also guilty by association, and would have to worry about retribution from George, as well as prison time. 

“OK. No police. For now. We know George has him, and I met a couple guys the other night that know him. I can go over to the bar where they hang out and talk them up. See if I can find out where he lives, or if he has any commercial buildings around here. Hang out - I’ll be back.” 

He got up to leave, giving Dick a hard look before he acknowledged him. 

***

Dick waited for a few minutes, finishing the joint and throwing it overboard before he got up and went back to the fish house. What was the point of sitting there waiting for Will, when the least he could do was to sell the fish and pay off his and Kyle’s debt? The padlock on the plywood door was locked and he had a quick, anxious moment before he remembered the holes in the floor. He went back to the platform and pushed himself under the building, stopping at the first hole he came to. As he had earlier, he struggled through the opening, missing on his first attempt. Once inside the building, he went for the fillets, now covered with flies, and started tossing them down onto the platform. He followed the last one through the hole and pushed the platform toward the seawall. 

With an eye on the road in case George or Will came back, he loaded the fillets into the backseat, rubbed his slimy hands on his cargo shorts, and sat in the driver’s seat. It had been a while since he had driven, having lost his license to traffic violations and court no-shows a year or so ago, but the keys were still in the ignition and he started the engine. Flies buzzed around his head as he opened the windows and pulled out of the lot. Once on the road, he drove as fast as he thought he could get away with, the flies streaming out the windows as he accelerated. 

The only choice to sell the fish now was Dirk, the fish dip guy. Dick figured he had at least a hundred pounds of fillets, and that would get him at least a couple hundred dollars—just enough to pay off Rucker. He knew the fillets were worth more, but he had no idea where to get their true value. He drove toward the Gandy Bridge, glancing down at the lights from the boats fishing below, and wishing he were there instead of in his current mess. 

At the end of the bridge, he followed Gandy Boulevard for several blocks before turning right into an older residential area. He passed rows of homes, mostly built in the 40s and 50s, all with the same ranch house layout and shallow pitch roof. They’d been built to house the residents of MacDill Air Force Base, nearby, so they all looked exactly the same. Finally, he stopped at a rundown house with an unkempt front yard and a boat sitting on a trailer with a flat tire in the driveway. Even in the dark he could tell the lawn was dead.

A light came on as soon as he pulled in the driveway, and a face peered out from behind the flimsy curtains. Dick breathed a sigh of relief; Dirk must have recognized the car, because he went right to the door. They talked neighborhood gossip for a few minutes before Dick showed him the fillets, and then quickly made a deal. 

A few flies still swarmed the slimy backseat as Dick pulled out of the driveway a few minutes later, but at least he had some cash. Enough to pay their debt and maybe score a little more weed to see him through. Dirk had seen the fish for what it was and paid him a premium. 

He drove slow, now, careful to stay just below the speed limit as the houses started to get nicer. The neighborhood changed from all older homes to a few blocks of old mixed with newer homes dwarfing the original houses. Builders had moved in and started buying the smaller homes, tearing them down and building as large a house as possible. 

Soon all the houses were new. He pulled into a driveway, skirting the large circle in front of the house, and proceeded to a gate on the side, where an intercom buzzed. The gate opened in front of him. The smaller driveway led to a courtyard behind the home, where he parked and waited, knowing that Rucker had seen him on the security cameras. 

“Dicky.”

He heard the voice before he saw the man. The relationship tortured him—they had run in the same group in high school, but Rucker had cleaned up his act and gone to college, while Dick was, well, where he was. Rucker had become a banker, but his greed had grown, and he’d started supplementing his banking career with drug sales. The man approached the car, dressed in a high-class suit and smirking.

“Didn’t expect to see you. And driving! Shit. Where’s Kyle?” 

“He’s working.”

“Well, you come to settle up?” He looked at his watch.

“Yeah, I got your money.” Dick handed him several hundreds through the window. 

Rucker took the money, folded it neatly, and put it in his pocket. “That’s it? Where’s the rest?”

Dick stammered, “Kyle said we owed five hundred. That’s what I gave you.”

“He didn’t add the interest and penalty. You guys are real late. I need another two hundred.” He leaned into the window. “Christ, what’s that smell?”

Dick sat there frozen. Rucker might have been a high school friend, but he was serious about his side business and collecting. He had no qualms about sending muscle after his money. Dick handed him the extra hundred he had held back, hoping that would placate him. 

“Another bill. That’ll buy you another day. But remember, it goes up fifty a day.”

Dick didn’t answer. He pulled the shifter into reverse and backed into the turnaround, then put the car in drive and drove back toward the street. The gate was closed, and he had to wait anxiously for Rucker to open it before he could leave. He knew the guy was waiting the few extra seconds just to torture him. 

Two streets over, he pulled into a dark spot where the streetlight had burnt out, and checked the glove compartment. There was a small baggie with a little weed—maybe enough for a day. But the way things were going, he knew his consumption was sure to go up with all the stress. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pipe, dumped the wet contents onto the street, and packed a full bowl. At least the ride back to the beach would be mellow, he thought as he turned on the radio.

Chapter 11

Will walked down to the bar, still thinking about what to do. Kyle was in danger, and he rethought his decision about the police. Maybe an anonymous tip would at least alert them there was a problem, but other than that, he could find no way to approach the authorities without involving himself and Dick.

He entered the bar and saw one of the guys he had talked to the other night. They exchanged pleasantries and Will sat next to him at the quiet bar, both glancing at the football game on the TV. The men exchanged comments about the game as they watched and drank. Will finished his beer and summoned the courage to ask about George. There was really no way to ask what he needed without sounding like he was fishing for information, so he didn’t attempt to disguise the conversation. 

“You know that guy we were talking about the other night?” he started. “I need to find him. Do you know if he lives around here, or has an office or anything?”

The man put down his beer and looked Will in the eye. “I warned you about George and his crooked deals. You haven’t gotten involved in something have you?” 

“Not me. But a friend kind of got mixed up in something.” He felt better not lying. 

“All the same, even the police keep their distance from him. He actually filed a law suit a couple of years ago that they were harassing him. I don’t know how it ended, but since then he runs around the beach like he owns it.” He drank from his beer. “Be careful, is all I’m saying.” 

He took a cocktail napkin off the bar and wrote on it. 

***

Dick snapped erect as the flashing lights came on behind him. He turned off the radio and tried to control his heart. As he started to pull over, the police car sped around him and accelerated. He was shaking so badly he had to pull off onto the shoulder, but after a few minutes, when he was calm enough to drive, he started the car again and turned toward the highway. 

As he accelerated, he was greeted by the rough lumpy feeling of a flat tire. He got out and went to the rear of the car. The rim rested on the pavement, with what little remained of the tire surrounding it. A quick kick brought pain to his foot and little relief. Hobbling, he went to the trunk and opened it. Surprised the spare was there and actually had air in it, he pulled it and the jack from the trunk and set to work. 

Fifteen minutes later, he was back on the road. His hands still shook from the scare, and he checked his pocket for his pipe, which was gone. Somehow, he must have lost it when he changed the tire. 

Now he was really anxious. He pulled over at the next exit and checked the glove compartment. There was still a small amount of pot left in the baggie, but he needed some now, and had no pipe or papers. He checked his pockets again, confirming what he suspected—that he was broke as well. 

This was not a good situation for him. In fact, the first thing he checked every morning was that he was supplied for the day, often rechecking several times during the day as well. He needed the weed. But without his pipe …

A sign for a 7/11 down the street gave him an idea, and he pulled back on the road. He took the turn into the parking lot too fast, hitting the muffler on a bump—another sign of his condition. Parked, he scrounged through the car looking for loose change, barely finding what he needed for a single beer. The clerk asked for ID and he had to settle for a soda, but it would serve his purposes. 

Outside, he dumped it on the grass and used the key to puncture the round part of the can, where he fashioned a bowl. This would work for now. He got back in the car and moved to a dark spot in the abandoned lot next door, where he lit up and waited for the effects to calm him. 

***

The man had left, and Will was alone at the bar, staring at the address written on the napkin and wondering what to do. Another man would have run right over there, kicked the door in, and saved the day, but that was not him. He was more apt to study a problem, evaluate it from all sides, and then jump off the cliff. 

The bar door opened and he lost track of his thoughts, then, as the blonde from George's truck walked in and glanced around the room. It couldn’t be any one else—he was sure of it. Her blonde hair, backlit by the parking lot lights, was so fine it was almost translucent. His breath caught in his throat both from the sight of her and the probability that George would be walking in right behind her. 

Unable to look away, he caught her eye and froze as he watched her come toward him. 

“Hey, you’re the guy from the construction job,” she said with an accent, sitting a stool away from him.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Something was not right here. He looked toward the door, but it remained closed. George could be walking in any second, he reminded himself as he tried to look away. 

But he kept glancing back at her. She sat at the bar with her head in her hands, and looked like she was crying. He sipped his beer and waited, not sure what to do. It didn’t really matter whether he consoled her or ignored her, if George walked in and saw them sitting next to each other it was going to be bad either way.

Slowly her head came up and she looked at him, tears streamed down her face, her mascara following in their tracks. He reached for a napkin and handed it to her.

She took it and wiped her eyes. The bartender walked toward them, tossing a quick glance at Will—a warning, he was sure—and then the three of them watched each other, not sure who would break the silence. Finally, the girl looked up and asked for a glass of wine. The bartender walked down the bar, grateful for the excuse, leaving them alone again.