Tuna Tango (5 page)

“Will!”

He looked up and noticed Lance's car. 

“You all right?”

“Yeah. Just thinking about some stuff.” He got up and went toward the building, meeting Lance at the door.

“You guys started already. That’s great.”

“The city is not so hot on it. The inspector came by earlier and shut us down. Some kind of noise thing on the weekends.”

“I should have warned you about that,” Lance said. “They can be real ball-busters here. Let’s see what you got done.”

Will guided him through the building, explaining the work they had done and what he intended to do next. 

Lance wiped his brow. “Let’s go talk outside. It’s like a sauna in here.”

Will walked behind him as they left the building and came to stand in a small patch of shade. The sun had receded enough to allow some of the taller trees to cast their shadows over sections of the lot now. He waited for Lance to talk.

“I was hoping to see some more work,” Lance started.

Will’s heart sank. He desperately needed the draw that Lance had promised. 

“But, I understand the city stuff. Nothing you can do about that.” He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. “Here’s five grand, which should cover your expenses, but I’m going to need to see some serious progress early next week, before I can give you any more.”

Will took the envelope and put it in his back pocket. “Thanks.”

Lance started to walk away, but Will stopped him.

“Can I ask you something? You’re in the fish business.”

“Sure.”

“In fact, maybe you should just look at it and let me know what you think.” He led the way to the cooler and reached for the door. “One of my guys found this.” 

“I rent that out to a local guy. We shouldn’t be going in there,” Lance said.

“Like I said, one of my guys stumbled in here. Found something I think you should probably see.” He opened the door, turned on the light, and stood aside to let Lance past. 

Will stayed outside, allowing Lance the time and space he needed to make his own conclusions. A minute later, the other man emerged.

“Well the circumstances of finding this aside, I’m glad you showed it to me,” Lance said.

“So?” Will asked, relieved.

“You know what it is as well as I do. But what to do about it?”

“That’s why I showed it to you. I thought about calling Fish and Game, but it’s your property. I didn’t want to step on your toes.” 

“I appreciate that. It’s one of the reasons that I have you working on the building—you’ve got good sense, especially when it comes to keeping your mouth shut. With my business, this could look really bad, being on my property and all.” He shut the door. “I’ve got some contacts I can call Monday.”

“Cool. I’ll wait to hear from you then.”

“By the way, you might warn your guys to stay away from this. The guy I rent it to has a mean streak.”

Will walked Lance to his car and shook his hand again. He was grateful for his understanding in Dick's trespass, and he
did
seem concerned about the fish. 

He walked over to the fish house and locked the door. The boats docked at the marina next door caught his eye as he went to his truck. Why not take a walk, he thought. Sheryl was working tonight, so he had no reason to rush home. 

He walked by the three-story steel building and peered inside at the boats sitting four high on steel racks, then headed to the dock, where some of the sailboats were tied up at a series of piers. One boat caught his eye; a for sale sign taped to its cabin window. He went toward the boat, looked around, and hopped on. The sailboat looked to be about twenty-eight feet with a tiller. The companionway was locked, but he walked around the deck and looked inside the small windows. There was a small kitchen and a v-berth in the bow. Back in the cockpit, he sat down on one of the benches and stared out at the water. 

The fish in the walk-in freezer and Lance's reaction were still bothering him. Although he’d seemed concerned, Lance had not been as proactive as Will would have liked … almost like he was reluctant to do anything. It was only Saturday afternoon, so why hadn’t he said he would call someone now? 

He thought again about taking matters into his own hands, but was conflicted; poaching violated his moral compass to the point that he almost didn’t care about violating Lance’s trust. But as it had all too frequently lately, it came down to money. 

The best compromise he could make with himself was to try and gain some information to pass on. If he hung around and kept an eye on things, he could see who picked up the fish and have that information to give to Lance, they could set up a sting and catch the guy off the property. That would keep the heat off the building project and stop the poaching.

He looked back toward the fish house and freezer, realizing he had the perfect vantage point to observe any activity from the boat. It was comfortable sitting here, since the marina building was now blocking the setting sun, placing the deck in the shade. Will relaxed and couldn’t help but close his eyes.

***

Headlights flashed across face and woke him from a sound sleep. It took a few seconds for him to realize where he was and what he was doing. The sun had set, apparently long ago, from the height of the moon in the sky. Living in the Keys and fishing for a living had provided him with a built-in clock in his head for tides and the moon. The lights turned away as the truck parked, illuminating the cooler now.

Will got up slowly and stayed low as he moved off the boat and onto the dock. He crept toward the seawall, doing his best to stay in the shadows. A curse in a strange language startled him, and he figured the missing lock had been discovered. The light went on and the silhouette of a large man moved inside. 

Will didn’t dare get closer, but crouched down in the darkness and watched. The man motioned toward the truck, and two figures emerged. They went to the cooler and started loading the fish into the bed of the truck. A few minutes later, the light went off and the cooler door shut. The two helpers were back in the truck, but instead of following, the larger man went toward the fish house door. He tried the lock and turned away, staring right at Will’s truck. 

“Fucking contractor,” he muttered, heading back to his truck. 

He waited, not sure what to do. There was no way he could follow them—the truck would be long gone before he could even get out of the parking lot. He leaned forward and tried to get a better look at the truck and maybe get the license plate. As it backed toward him, in a flash of recognition, he realized the man was the same guy that had threatened him the other day. 

Back in the shadows, he waited for his heart to slow as the truck’s tires screeched and it pulled onto the street. He cursed himself for leaving his truck here—now he was guilty by association. The confrontation and threats from the other day replayed in his head. Whoever that guy was, he meant trouble. And now he knew—or at least suspected—that Will had been in his cooler.

Shaken, he saw the neon sign down the street for a bar, and figured a beer wouldn’t hurt. Maybe a local could tell him something about the guy in the truck. 

He decided to walk the quarter-mile to the bar, figuring if the guy came back, he would think the truck was parked for the night and Will was gone. Five minutes later, he reached the bar and pulled the door open, letting a blast of cold air out . It was Saturday night, and the place was pretty full—a typical beach bar, with an exposed rafter ceiling, unfinished concrete floors, and a bar front covered with corrugated metal. 

He went to an empty spot at the bar and stood waiting for the bartender to come over. Suddenly two men came toward him. 

“Hey, aren’t you the guy working on the fish house?” one asked.

Will swallowed, not knowing if they were the men that had loaded the fish. “Yeah, that’s me,” he mumbled.

“Cool, man. I’m Doug and this is Marty. We saw that some work was being done there. Glad for it, too. We own a couple of stores down on the beach side, and having that building back in service would be great for the area. Any way we can help, let us know.”

Will swallowed again, relieved. “Buy you guys a drink?” he asked.

“Sure.” 

The three men went to a table in the corner, and a waitress with the shortest shorts Will had ever seen came over to take their order. A few minutes later, she was back with three beers. They clinked bottles and drank, the men asking Will about his background, fascinated with his stories about the Keys. 

Several beers later, Will got the courage to ask about the man. “You guys know a big guy, drives a lifted black truck?”

They exchanged glances. “That’s George Borkowski. Not one of our better residents. He give you trouble?” Doug asked.

Will told them of the exchange and threats from the other day, leaving the details of the fish out. 

“Yeah, he’s a bad dude. Thinks he can bully everyone around and get things his way. Lots of rumors about him, too, although no one’s ever proven any. Best to steer clear of that one,” Marty said.

Will sighed, wondering if he would have a choice.

***

Ybor City on a Saturday night looked more like Manhattan at rush hour than an old cigar town. The area had been built in a different era, not designed for the massive traffic caused by the influx of bars. Will navigated carefully, trying to find a parking space. Normally he would have taken pains to find a free spot, but with a half-dozen beers in his system, he was over both his own limit and the law’s, making him anxious to get off the road. 

Finally, a spot opened and he backed in. Car horns blared as he missed the mark on the first few attempts, all but stopping traffic on the narrow street. He opened the door; realizing he was still two feet away from the curb but not caring, he stepped out and locked the truck. The crowds became thicker as he made his way toward the main drag and the club. Groups of twenty-somethings were out in force, spilling off the sidewalks and forcing foot traffic onto the street. He slid sideways around people and parked cars as he made his way toward the bar. 

There was a short line at the door, but a quick word with the bouncer and Will was allowed in. The action on the street was nothing compared to the bar. Music assaulted him as he eased between the mass of people, trying to make a path to the waitress station on the far side of the bar. He spotted Sheryl as she worked the crowd like a running back, a tray full of drinks hoisted above her head, her free hand extended in front to clear space. He knew she would be upset. They’d already had the talk about him hanging out at the bar while she worked, and he knew he was only supposed to pick her up when she got off.

But after the beers, he knew if he went home, he would crash and probably not hear the phone. 

A small space by the brass rail separating the wait staff from the customers opened, and he slid into it. The bartender working the service bar spotted him and nodded, bringing a beer on his next trip. Will stood and watched the crowd; the packed dance floor was indistinguishable from the rest of the place, as everyone seemed to be moving to the beat of the band playing on the far side of the building.

Sheryl spotted him on her next trip to the bar, her face gleaming with sweat and her look exasperated. In line behind another server at the bar, she took a minute to talk before collecting her drinks and heading back out. “Will, what are you doing here?”

“I had a few at a bar by the job. Figured if I went home I would crash, so I came down here.” No harm in the truth; she had a way of finding things out, anyway.

She threw a look at him, her green eyes that he loved so much now dark with anger. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

The waitress in front of her moved away, her tray full of drinks, and Sheryl filled in her spot. The bartender leaned over and took her order. 

“Please don’t get drunk. Last time I almost got fired.”

He knew he had been out of line before, but she had been right there with him. It was the night the bank had finally foreclosed on his house in the Keys. The end of all the last-ditch efforts to save it had started him on a binge that he was just emerging from. That night had been the worst. He had come to pick her up from a day shift, and they’d stayed late into the night drinking. He couldn’t really remember much more than being escorted out. 

Will turned away from her, thinking about leaving, but she would be off work in an hour. He could nurse the beer until then, probably have to listen to a rant on the way home, and then it would be over. Maybe he could use some of the money in his pocket to buy her a car. That would take a lot of the stress off their relationship. That word again stuck in his head, he turned away from the bar, contorting his body to avoid the guy behind him and lifting the beer over his head. 

The guy moved forward to take his spot at the bar, and knocked Will off balance. 

“Shit, you asshole!” screamed the girl next to him as he grabbed her to stop his fall, his beer splashing her face and dripping into her cleavage. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Some guy, maybe her boyfriend stepped between them and pushed Will towards a waitress just leaving the bar who spilt her tray of drinks and screamed loud enough to attract the attention of one of the bartenders, who made a motion toward a bouncer. Inside of thirty seconds, Will had his arm cocked behind his back and was being paraded out the front door. He walked quickly from the bar, hoping that Sheryl hadn’t seen him, but a second later she was on the sidewalk yelling his name. 

He didn’t turn around.