Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (13 page)

Gradually, the gay bars thinned out and there were more restaurants, some of them pretty nice.
Must be the family part in the middle
, GT thought. He and Erik agreed that they’d just walk the street first and then start checking the numerous bars on the way back.

It seemed that most of the traffic, particularly people on foot, were heading north. Crossing Southard Street, GT looked to the left and noticed that the sun would be going down very soon.

The two men continued walking, catching sight of one another from time to time in the crowd. GT quickened his pace. Not because he was in a hurry, but because there were very few people walking toward him, and the only way he could see those going in the same direction was to overtake them.

Nearing the north end of Duval, most of the foot traffic was now on the same side that GT was walking, everyone seeming to have an urgent destination. Erik stuck out like a sore thumb on the other side, half a block behind him. At the next crossing, nearly the whole crowd of people turned left on Greene Street.

GT stopped on the corner and looked over at Erik, waiting to catch his eye. When Erik looked his way, GT motioned for him to continue up Duval, then come back down his side and follow him. Erik nodded and continued northward, as GT followed the crowd.

He soon arrived at a large open area. To his left, a giant cruise ship was docked, looming over the island and casting a long shadow over the buildings. All around the dock area ahead of him, some kind of circus or celebration was going on, the blazing sun getting closer to the horizon.

Must be a thousand people here
, GT thought.

He moved toward the dock about a hundred feet ahead, figuring that he could drift down the center of the throngs of people from this end to the other, scanning both sides.

A flash of bright yellow caught his eye. A woman stood by the rail, leaning over it. She wore a very short yellow dress which the setting sun had no problem shining through. GT could clearly see the bottoms of her ass cheeks as the dress rode up. But then she turned to a guy next to her and took his hand.

Guy’s not much to look at
, GT thought.
How’s a guy like that score a cute little hard-body like her?

GT turned and started down the middle of the square. There were all kinds of street vendors, magicians, performers, and musicians, even a fortuneteller. They were set up all over the whole dock area, each with a hat or coffee can for people to put money in.

The phone in his pocket vibrated against GT’s leg. Taking it out, he read a message from Erik, saying he was in the square now, but didn’t see GT or the guy.

Looking over the crowd in general, he decided most of these people weren’t the type to visit hookers. A lot of them had families. As he stood in the center of the large crowd, suddenly everyone started cheering.

GT looked around, but saw nothing worth cheering about. The sun had just gone down and it was getting dark fast, but he hadn’t seen a hooker anywhere in the square.
Dude wouldn’t be here, then
, GT thought.

Pecking a message back to Erik, instructing him to head back to Duval Street and they’d start checking the bars, GT made his way back the way he came. Nearing the spot where he entered the square, he saw the little hard-body in the yellow dress again. She was hurrying ahead of the dissipating crowd, dragging the guy she was with by the hand. GT noticed her hair for the first time. She wore short dreadlocks.

T
he smell of coffee woke me. Rather than an alarm clock, I use a twelve-volt coffeemaker with a timer. I’d had my fill of alarm clocks and preferred to wake up with my coffee ready for me.

I rose and padded naked to the dresser, where I put on clean boxers and shorts. I looked out the large south-facing window. The only light on in the house was a little red one on the coffeemaker, so my eyes were well adjusted to the darkness.

The rest of my island is connected to an electric grid, powered by a huge bank of deep-cycle twelve-volt batteries, kept charged by a large generator. My house is still connected to the original system I installed six years ago, four marine batteries kept charged by a solar panel and wind turbine on the roof.

Nearly all electric on the island is twelve volt and the things that run constantly, like the refrigerators and freezers, run off of propane. My house has a small alcohol stove I’d salvaged from a boat many years ago. Charlie has two propane oven-and-stove combinations in her kitchen, for when we have visitors.

The half-moon was near the western horizon. It lit the water’s surface and the islands to either side of Harbor Channel like an old black-and-white TV show, casting long, dark shadows. A light glow emanated from the south, several miles away in Big Pine.

The wind looked calm, barely a ripple on the water. Above the horizon, stars lit the inky blackness of the night sky by the millions, unabated by the glow from town. You really can’t enjoy looking at the stars from shore, unless you’re in the middle of a desert. Other light sources wash them out and reduce your night vision. Out on the blue, they stretch across the heavens to the far horizon in all directions with equal intensity, each winking out as it slid below the western horizon, only to be replaced by another to the east.

I went outside to where I keep my kayak and gear on the south deck. The kayak rests on brackets just below the roof overhang and above the window, where everything’s handy. Ten minutes later, with a thermos of coffee, a cooler of bottled water, and my favorite rod and reel, I paddled away from the house. At best, I’d drink half the coffee and one bottle of water, but it’s always a good idea to carry more than you need when you go out on the water.

My kayak is a 4.7-meter Trident Ultra made by Ocean Kayaks. Unlike a traditional kayak that you sit inside of, this kind you actually sit on top of. It’s made of hard molded plastic and the top deck is depressed in the hull for sitting and storage.

Mine’s set up for fishing, with several rod holders, storage wells, even a small tilt-up console for a fish finder and GPS. The console snaps shut between my legs, out of the way for heavy surf.

It was still full dark as I paddled silently south along Upper Water Key toward the shallow gap between it and Lower Water Key. The setting moon and stars cast more than enough light for me to see.

Turning west, I left the channel and crossed the shallow sandbar separating the two islands. Very little of the area around my home is navigable for any kind of powerboat. Some areas are deep enough, but surrounded by very shallow sandbars and cuts like I’d just crossed. Way too shallow even for my skiff to pole across, but the kayak glides easily in just a few inches of water.

Knowing the tide was almost full, I raised the console and switched on the GPS, striking out at a fast pace and easily getting into the rhythm. I was very familiar with the area and knew I’d have at least two feet under the keel for several miles. I only used the GPS to monitor my speed. At a brisk five knots, I settled into a smooth constant reach and pull with the paddle, using my whole body with every stroke.

Having no need for it in the calm shallows, I had the rudder raised out of the water. The Ultra has a rudder for ocean paddling, so you can steer it with two pedals by the footrests. Just forward of the rudder is a deep recess behind the seat, large enough to store a scuba tank and dive gear. I was hoping to use it for something different this morning. It’s the perfect kayak for my needs.

After ten minutes, I eased the pace, catching my breath, already sweating in the hot, still air. After a few more minutes, I stopped stroking altogether, resting the paddle across my thighs as the kayak continued to glide silently across the still and shallow water. I took a bottle of water from the cooler and drank half of it before replacing it and pouring a mug of coffee.

Leaning back in the seat, I enjoyed my coffee and looked up at the indifferent night sky. After only a minute, I saw the first of several shooting stars.
A good omen
, I thought.

The moon was slowly sinking toward the horizon beyond Raccoon Key, which lay just ahead and to the south. Most of the stars to the west were lost in the brightness of the moon, but to the north and south they sparkled like tiny diamonds under a bright light.

Out here in the dark, away from everything and everyone, you could imagine being in a completely different time. A time where everything around you was calm, beautiful, and innocent. A far cry from the events of the day before.

Carl was right, it is getting worse. Anywhere man could go easily soon became trashed. The more people, the more trash and crime. Build a bridge to an island and it too soon became trashed. I don’t mean just litter, but the human trash, like the three guys at the
Anchor
.

My island is my escape from all the trash that society brings with it. Out here in the backcountry, I feel more alive. Finishing my coffee, I began paddling, slower now. I’d come about two miles and my destination was just ahead, Cudjoe Channel.

The shallows all across this flat were just one or two feet deep before dropping into Cudjoe Channel and then back to just a couple feet on the other side. It’s a very narrow and natural channel, cut by the constant changing of the tides. Twenty feet deep in some places, it was deeper than it was wide in most. That deep trench has always been a great spot for big grouper, particularly this early in the morning. I approached the edge of the channel at the north end, where the waters from the Gulf entered.

I paddled slower, making no sound whatsoever, like a tiger would move through the grass after unsuspecting prey. With the sun just starting to purple the eastern sky, I dropped my bait into the water at the north end of the channel and let the current carry me south. I had a half dozen finger mullet, a favorite of game fish. After drifting like a ghost for the whole length of the channel, down to where it spilled out into the flats surrounding the Tarpon Belly Keys, I lifted the paddle once more.

I left the bait in the water and slowly paddled against the current to the north end of the channel once more. This time, as I drifted south past Riding Key, I got a bite. Reaching back, I released the bungee holding the rudder out of the water and pulled back on the rod, setting the hook. The rod bent, bouncing a little, as I held it tightly with one hand and secured the paddle in its holder with the other. The fight was on.

The big grouper instinctively headed north against the current, toward the Gulf and open water. I could just make out the shallow edges of the channel and used the rudder controls to muscle the big fish away from one side and then the other, using his own pull to allow me steerage and angle away when he’d run, pulling the kayak sideways at times.

The fight only lasted ten minutes before the big fish tired and rolled near the surface. As I approached, he flipped his giant tail, smacking the surface and sounding, pulling out line against the drag. The effort only lasted a few seconds and I reeled him back to the surface next to the kayak.

It was a big black grouper. So big I had no need to measure, it was obvious the fish was a good foot longer than the twenty-two-inch legal limit and probably weighed forty pounds. That’d make for a few good meals. Strapping the big fish in place behind my seat, I stowed the rod and began paddling toward home.

We don’t usually catch large fish, simply because there is an abundance of smaller ones, and catching larger fish means refrigerating it. But my daughter Eve and her husband were coming down the next day, with my grandson, little Jesse. His full name is Alfredo Jesiah Maggio. Eve and Nick call him Alfie, but I think he prefers what his pappy calls him. The big black would be perfect to feed everyone and save a little for the next day.

Pushing harder than I had on the way out, I maintained a fast pace all the way back to the house. Arriving, I was sweating hard and could feel the burn in the muscles along my sides and back. Swimming exercises a lot of muscle groups, but paddling really isolates the long, thin muscles from the low back to the groin. Let go, these form “love handles.”

The sun was just peeking above the eastern horizon, when I reached the house. Carl was already up, the east door open, and I could hear the quiet burble of the big outboard on the Grady-White. I’d given him and Charlie the twenty-foot center-console, so they’d have a means of getting the kids to the bus stop on Big Pine.