Port Starbird (Storm Ketchum Adventures) (5 page)

"I don't know
- why, is that an invitation? I can't tell," she teased. "Sure, why not? Mick won't be around anyway. And hey, I could carry a tank over with me. What time?"

Kari attending would be good; Kari without
that layabout Mick would be even better. He hadn't explicitly invited Mick anyway, but he wouldn't point that out. "Thanks, that's good of you. You close at five today, right? I'll start grilling at six if that's okay."

"
Okay, sounds good! I could do with some partyin', I've been so busy here," she said. Ketch doubted that, but he didn't say so. "Can I bring somethin'?" she asked.

"No, you don't have time for that. I already have the kind of wine you like."

"You remember what I like? I'm impressed. Okay, I'll see y'all then, and I'll bring you a tank."

"Good," Ketch said with relief.
Mission accomplished. He glanced at the wall clock. "Well, I should be going, I have another stop to make. Thanks for the drink."

"Anytime, Han Solo," she said as he
hastened to make his exit. "See y'all later!"

Well
- back to the business at hand. Ketch adjusted his cap, mounted the bike, and allowed himself a deep breath before he started pedaling again. He'd noticed he was finally starting to seriously tire in there; he felt a bit spryer now, but it was probably temporary. Maybe he'd have time for a power nap later if he hustled.

He headed back down Route 12. He'd intended to pick up something to go along with the fish at the Village Market, the town's homier alternative to the Food Lion
supermarket at the south end, but he decided to quickly try his luck at the Barefoot Station first. It was closer, being located right at the Harbor Road turnoff, and if they didn't have anything suitable on the shelves they might sell him some lunch counter leftovers.

The Barefoot Station was yet another of Ketch's favorite places.
It was no coincidence that both his house and most of the places he favored were on the north end of town - he'd already gotten the lay of the land during his periodic vacations before the move, and he'd only house-hunted here at the north end.

At first glance
the Station looked like just another convenience store with gas pumps out front, but it harbored a few surprises inside that weren't obvious from the road. There was a breakfast and lunch counter in one corner, a room in the back where friends could drink some beer and shoot some pool, and via a side door inside the store the rest of the building housed a theater, with a stage and screen and at least a hundred seats it seemed to him, where old and second-run movies were shown periodically and an occasional inexpensive concert or show with regional performers was presented. He'd attended a memorable one not too long ago featuring an older country musician who called himself 'Gene the Plumber' - because his name was Gene and he was a plumber, he'd explained - whose daughter also sang and who'd sounded like Norah Jones.

He got lucky and came out in short order with
a container of pasta salad, a bag of tossed garden salad, and a box of chocolate chip cookies, all of which he managed to pack into the saddlebags. He sprinkled some ice he'd also bought over the contents of the saddlebags before closing them. Once again these good people hadn't let him down. There were a lot of good people in this town, he reflected; in fact, at the moment he could think of only one truly bad one that he'd personally met in recent memory.

He supposed he'd have to start
buckling down soon regarding that one - but not tonight, there'd be time enough to think about that tomorrow. He'd been beaten up enough for one day.

~  ~  ~

Ketch had his second wind now. He had one of those small refrigerators that are popular on college campuses, and he'd moved it out to the front deck and stocked it as full of beer and wine as possible (but not
the
wine, which he'd stashed in the back of the kitchen fridge), along with a couple of sodas and water bottles in case it turned out anyone wanted those instead. There was more of everything in the kitchen if needed. The white plastic chairs and tables scattered around the decks were wiped down, and the dog had been fed.

Four tiki torches were in place out front, one each at either side of the steps and each corner
of the front deck; they'd have those and the screened side decks if the bugs got bad later. That was one drawback of living on the sound, but it was manageable; and that and not being closer to the beach at least helped keep the prices around here down some.

He'd managed a
shave and shower and a catnap in the hammock as well, and now he and the dog were relaxing on the front deck waiting for their guests to arrive, he in a fresh Hawaiian shirt and shorts, and the dog in one of his snazzier bandanas. Reggae music emanated at an inoffensive level from the satellite radio in the corner.

The sun wouldn't set until later at this time of year, but this was still a pleasant time of day
for him and always had been, going way back to his college days when this had been Happy Hour time. Old habits die hard - he still preferred to stay up late, rise early, and nap at some point during the day, a routine he'd first established out of necessity while living in the dorms. Advancing age had if anything reinforced this tendency rather than diminishing it, perhaps because older folks, at least the ones who are still vital, are loathe to waste time sleeping when the end is nearer, he thought. Plenty of time to sleep when you're dead - there was truth in that adage.

"So Jack, pretty soon we'll have some company. You'll like that,"
he said as he stroked the dog lying next to him on a throw rug. The dog had already inferred this from Ketch's recent activities, of course, and though he appeared calm he was in fact vigilant and slightly tensed in anticipation. He got more attention at parties, as well as a tasty tidbit now and then, and he did indeed like that.

This dog was a smart one, probably the smartest one
Ketch had ever had. He couldn't speak, of course, but his listening vocabulary was prodigious for a dog, and he knew his way around and how things worked. He was a handsome five-year-old brown and white beagle/labrador mix, bigger and heavier than a beagle but smaller than a large lab - or to look at it another way, small enough to be manageable but big enough to be a factor to be reckoned with in a confrontation, as Ingram had learned earlier today. And emotionally, the dog had probably done more for Ketch than any high-priced therapist could have, in Ketch's opinion. Ketch figured he could maybe have another ten years with this one if they were both lucky.

Regarding longevity, i
t had once amused him to measure his life in terms of the number of dogs he'd had instead of in calendar years, but it was less amusing now that he might be a last-dog man, or at least a penultimate-dog man. There had always been dogs in his life, as far back as he could remember; and they'd always been loved; but as always he loved this last one the most.

The dog
abruptly rose up and started wagging excitedly. Ketch didn't restrain him, as the dog wouldn't leave the deck without permission. Ketch hadn't himself seen, heard, or smelled anything out of the ordinary, but he knew the dog was right and someone they knew was on the way. Sure enough, a minute later the Captain's pickup pulled into the graveled drive and parked next to Ketch's.

"
Hey, I see y'all finally got a date!" the Captain's voice blasted from his open window, flushing some small birds from the underbrush. He hopped down from the cab and lowered the tailgate. "Gimme a hand with this cooler. Len and Mario loaded 'er for me, and she's a heavy ole bitch even with nothin' in her."

Ketch obliged while the dog waited on the deck. "So, are they coming then?" he asked.

"Said so," the Captain replied. "Them and a couple beach bunnies that was hangin' around the boatyard, didn't know 'em offhand. Hope you don't mind." He made a show of squinting at Ketch. "There's somethin' different about you tonight, but I can't pin it down." He snapped his fingers. "I know! Did y'all get some action this afternoon?"

"I guess
we know what's on
your
mind this evening," Ketch observed with a tolerant smile. "No, that's fine if they all come. But maybe I should order some pizza? I don't know if we'll have enough fish." He grunted. "Why is this cooler so heavy? Let's just leave it down here by the grill."

"I stuck some beer and flounder I had l
ayin' around in there along with the cobia, brung some chips an' such too by the way. We'll have enough to eat. Think we should fire it up?"

"I guess so. I told Kari we'd start grilling at six, and it must be a
bout that time now." Ketch remembered the poor dog patiently waiting on the deck. "Jack, you can come!" he called, and the dog raced down the steps to greet the Captain. "I probably already have enough beer, you know."

"Well, you never know, we'll have it if we need it.
Besides, I like mine better. Hey, Jacky-boy!" The Captain gave the dog a brisk two-handed rubdown. "Kari's comin'? So you did get busy this afternoon after all, you dawg!" he grinned.

"Knock it off," Ketch said, but good-naturedly. "Jack, you stay
in the yard."

"Hey, y'all!" Len
walked into view, followed by Mario and not two, but three girls, a blond and two brunettes. Ketch had seen a couple of them around the boatyard now and again, but he didn't remember their names, if he'd ever known them. They looked to be in their mid-to-late twenties like their escorts, and were not hard on the eyes. The dog barked once, then trotted into the front yard to greet them.

Mario pushed ahead of the others. "Ketch, th
is here is Barb, Joette, and Diana," he said, pointing them out as he named them. "Hope it was okay to bring 'em, Don said he thought it'd be okay," he added in a lower tone.

"Of course," Ketch replied, "no problem, the more the merrier. We have plenty of everything." He stepped
past Mario into the yard. "Ladies, welcome, it's nice to meet you. There are drinks in the fridge up on the deck there, and the door's open if you need anything else. Make yourselves at home."

"Thank you kindly, Mister Ketchum, and thanks for havin' us," the blond one (Barb?) said. "Oh, and you too, Captain Manolin
," she added - since he'd brought the fish, Ketch assumed. The other two muttered similar sentiments and headed for the steps.

"You can call me Ketch."

"And Don!" the Captain called from behind the grill. "We're skippin' the black ties tonight! Though we do serve fine wine here - y'all bring any?" he cawed. "Well, I see I got a pan and a kit. Hey Ketch, get me some tinfoil and butter when you get a chance, and I'll get these babies started. And you ladies, make yourselves useful in the kitchen! Remember, you don't have to be crazy to work here, we'll train ya! And you there, Len, grab me a beer out a that cooler!"

"Aye-aye Cap'n!" Len
grinned and saluted, cutting a somewhat comical figure in bib overalls with no shirt, and his scraggly beard, straw hat and glasses.

"What's with you tonight? Y
'all look like a dang farmer - all you need's a corncob pipe!" the Captain said to Len.

"
I got one, right here in my pocket!" Len replied, producing said object. "It ain't my fault, I ain't got to the laundrymat yet this week. Besides, I
am
a farmer." He passed a beer to the Captain and opened one for himself. "My daddy's got a tobacco farm back home in Tar Heel..."

"Here you go, amigo," Mario said, dragging a lawn chair closer to the grill and handing Ketch a beer. "You take a load off, I'll go help the girls in the kitchen."
Amigo, indeed - although Mario could speak Spanish and one of his parents had been born in Mexico, Ketch knew Mario had never been there.

"
Tinfoil and butter!" the Captain called after him.

"There's tossed salad,
pasta salad, and cookies in the fridge," Ketch added. One kept most everything that was edible in the refrigerator in these parts, to deter what the locals variously and euphemistically referred to as 'palmetto bugs', 'water bugs', and so on - cockroaches, in other words, which thrived in sultry environments. He hadn't yet seen any in his house, knock on wood, but he still fumigated periodically.

Ketch eased into the lawn chair and twisted the cap off his bottle. This turned out to be a fine idea, he thought amidst the pleasant babble of voices. It was usually
pretty quiet around here, which he also enjoyed, but sometimes too quiet. The dog settled next to him to wait for something good to happen with the grill, but then bounded up again as a weathered Outback pulled into the yard and popped its liftgate. He waited for Kari to start crossing the yard before sauntering out to meet her. "Kari, over here," Ketch called contentedly. Now that the best part of this day had arrived, the party was complete.

"Jack
y, I missed you this afternoon," she said, giving the dog a quick hug. "Ketch, here's your tank, I'll just set it down over here." She leaned it up against a post in a shady spot under the house. "Hey, Don," she said as she joined the group at the grill. "And you are?"

"I'm Len
. Nice to meet you, Kari."

"Ketch, you shaved!" she exclaimed when she finally looked more closely at Ketch, who rose and motioned to the chair.

"Here, have a seat and I'll get you some wine," Ketch directed. "Yes, I was getting tired of the beard, and I figured I'd better do it now before I got too burned."

"You look ten years younger
!" she marveled.

"If you say so
. But even if I were ten years younger, I'd still be twenty years older than you."

"Ha! Flattery will get you
- well, maybe
somewhere
, who knows?" she grinned. "But really, I'm older'n dirt already, and I've got the big four-oh comin' up next time around."

"I'll have to teach you how to count in hexadecimal - then you
could tell me you were twenty-eight and my math would be technically correct."

"Huh? What's that?"
Len asked.

"Never mind, I'll explain later
- or never," Ketch waved as he walked away. "First the wine."

"
And tinfoil and butter, dammit!" the Captain yelled.

Ketch
returned momentarily with a bottle, a wineglass, and a corkscrew (and foil and butter) and pulled up another lawn chair. Kari took the bottle from him and inspected it. "Is this the kind I like?" she asked. "I can't even read this label. What language is that? It doesn't look like anythin' I've ever seen." She removed the wrapper from the neck. "Huh - can't open it neither!"

"
The language is Euskara Batua. It's from the Basque regions of Spain and France. I think you'll like it," Ketch said, taking the bottle back from her and working the corkscrew. "I tasted it. It's not exactly the same as what you're used to, but it's close - and better, I think." He was glad he'd thought to remove the price tag.

He poured her a glass.
"Ooh, this is divine!" she shortly exclaimed. "I needed this! Where'd y'all find it? I'm gonna have to get me some of this!"

"Hey Ketch," Len interrupted. "I
been wonderin' about that life ring y'all got hangin' out front, and I keep forgettin' to ask. Why's it say 'Port Starbird' on it?"

Thank you Len, Ketch thought. Kari couldn't afford to shop where he'd found that bottle
- and neither could he really, other than for special occasions. "That's what I named my house," Ketch answered. Almost all of the houses in this town had names - the only thing that was unusual about the white life preserver with red lettering hanging on a nail next to the steps was the spelling, which Len had noticed.

"Well,
I know that, but I hate to tell you, it's spelt wrong, did you know that?"

"No it ain't," the Captain said, and Kari concurred.

Ketch explained. "The 'starboard' part is spelled the way it's supposed to be pronounced - and yes, it's also the way people often misspell it, and it's the basis of an old joke I know. I also wrote a song based on that joke."

"No shit? I
got to hear that!" Len declared.

"
If you mean the joke, okay. If you mean the song, I'll play it for you sometime - but not tonight."

"Aw, come on, why not?
What's the matter, you shy or somethin'? Y'all don't have to be shy with us."

"Well,
we'll see," Ketch relented. "Maybe after we eat, if I've had enough to drink. I'm not used to playing in front of strange people."

"What, them girls up there?
They ain't
too
strange. They'll think it's cool you wrote a song. Somebody get this man another beer!"