The Heat Islands: A Doc Ford Novel (5 page)

"I don't think he could, either. I was just wondering where he is. A little worried, too."

Tomlinson said, "What? Kill somebody? Kill Rios? No way, not Jeth. I don't even know the man that well, and I can tell you."

"Karma?" said MacKinley.

"Exactly. For sure."

MacKinley said. "Jeth's probably with one of his girlfriends. I've never seen a man the women loved so much. Decent women, too."

Ford said, "It's just that he picked a bad time to disappear." He looked toward the mouth of the bay, watching a lone boat jolt abruptly, kicking mud in the shallow water—a pilot who didn't know the channel and couldn't read the water.

From the docks. Ford heard Captain Nels hoot. "Looky there, boys! Over by Green Point. It's Karl Sutter coming to pay us a call. Out there plowing bean rows."

Karl Sutter was talking to himself, saying, "Aw damn, aw damn, aw crapola," thinking:
If the idiots around here would just mark the channels a little better....

He had run his boat through the mouth of Dinkin's Bay, planning to give those assholes Felix and Nels a quick flyby kick in the ego. No plans to stop, just sweep past the marina docks not even looking at them, letting these five big tarpon swinging on their ropes do the talking for him. Then out through the narrow opening in the wall of mangroves it showed on the charts, the one that led out into Pine Island Sound, where he could dump these damn fish, then get home and get to bed.

Christ, he'd only gotten—what?—three hours' sleep last night? Not much.

But before he could head for home, he'd have to wait out on the water for another half hour so the sun was completely down and no one would see him. Make sure to take the metal tags off the fish. too. But shit, the water wasn't deep enough to run a boat, not his boat, anyway; not outside the channel in this shitty little bay with its worm-eaten old posts for markers. Plus he couldn't even see the opening that was supposed to be there, so the bastards who made the charts were really to blame; a good lawsuit would serve them just about right, and he had the money to do it now.

Fuckers!

Sutter had his big gold Suzuki outboard tilted nearly out of the water, blasting a soup of gray marl twenty feet in the air, his engine screaming like some juiced-up Japanese dirt bike. He cut the wheel this way and that, gunning it, rocking it, spooking about a hundred birds off the little islands at the edge of the channel, pelicans and those birds with the long necks—cranes. he guessed, but maybe that wasn't right.

Then his boat begin to move, breaking the suction of the mud bottom, nosediving for a moment like a wild sled before jumping free, back into the deeper water of the channel, and Sutter could feel the guides and everyone else at the marina watching.

Great! Now what?

There was no way he could make it to the little opening the chart showed—he still didn't see it—and if he just turned around and headed back out the channel, Felix and Nels and the rest of those assholes standing there would think he'd changed his mind about coming in. too embarrassed 'cause of running aground.

Suiter had a brief mental picture of his mother standing over him. big fat woman, wagging that one finger, saying, "They're just jealous. Colin, 'cause they know you're so much better. They ain't got the brains to know how to treat people like us.''

Crazy old fat woman, but she knew people; knew them for what they were, the shitheels, the snobs, everyone acting high and mighty, stealing all the attention. Which is maybe why his mother was always on the move, one town for a year, the next town for two, then she'd get wise to the people, the way they'd stab you in the back if they had a chance, and they'd just pack up and leave. "Screw the rent," she'd say, "after the way they treated us here."

And the things she used to tell people. His dad had been a bomber pilot but got killed in the war. His dad had been a Hollywood actor—she'd name some actor—but they'd gotten divorced because she just couldn't stand Hollywood, too many fakes and all those wild parties. Of course, she'd kept the divorce out of the papers. She wanted her privacy and knew how to get it. And the one where they'd left New York because he was a boy genius and the college professors were after him. but they just wanted a simple life, so they'd skipped, left the bank account and everything, even though they had a lot of money and, of course, would someday go back and claim it.

Big woman in a cheap baggy dress with sweat stains, sucking on a cigarette with the ash growing; inhaling like nobody he'd ever seen with those big lungs, touching him while she talked, always touching him.

Shit, people would believe anything—for a while, anyway. Then they'd get that look in their eyes, like she was some kind of weird bug, looking at him the same way, too, that high-and-mighty look, but a little uneasy, like the bug might bite.

Marvin Rios was born with that look, his brother-in-law, Karl'd known it the moment they met, saw that look in Rios's eye, like no matter who Marvin shook hands with, he was doing them a favor, pulling away even as he was reaching out, like he didn't want to get his hand dirty.

But he'd married Marvin's sister, Judy, anyway, a woman with a shrill laugh he despised and a soft white body that just lay there, letting him do anything he wanted like she'd probably let a hundred other guys do. But she didn't have that look, which was important, and she knew how to get money out of Marvin, which was even more important.

So after four years of her, and after that little accident Judy'd had, Marvin says to him. "You think just because my sister's dead it cancels the money you owe me?"

As if he hadn't earned it, putting up with that crazy slut, the way she botched the two businesses he'd tried to start, never once getting off her fat ass to help, so he'd had to file Chapter 11, bankrupt because of her.

But Marvin wouldn't hear it, saying, "I know how your mind works, bub—and I also know how to put people like you in jail," giving him that look, shitting all over him, the little shyster, which was how he'd become Marvin's employee, not just an ex-brother-in-law.

But Marvin Rios had gotten exactly what he deserved— and, the best thing was. he hadn't had to lift a finger to do it. Not a finger. It was like God actually did him a favor for once; actually did him some good instead of ignoring him or crapping on him while He gave breaks to every other scum bucket on earth. Sending all that debt with Rios to the grave, and making him a free man with tournament money left over, all good luck, though he'd thought of doing it himself more than once.

Like that slut Judy with her laugh like a bird screaming. He hadn't needed God's help at all with Judy.

As his mother used to say, sucking that cigarette and waving it around, "Sometimes I just feel like killing them...."

Karl Sutter slid his boat into gear and pointed it toward the marina, idling in now, feeling the familiar shallow-water lightening of stomach, trying to keep his boat in that shitty little channel, no wider than a ditch.

Sutter could feel Felix and Nels looking until he got between the marker ropes that funneled boats into the marina basin, then no one was watching, intentionally averting their eyes, refusing to look at the tarpon hanging on his boat, knowing these fish had made a lot of money for him, but probably too jealous to acknowledge it.

Like a bunch of damn kids. Childish, that's what they are....

Sutter's stomach tightened even more as he approached the dock, spun the wheel furiously and lurched into reverse too late, banging the dock—
whunk—
then hustling over to get a rope around a cleat before his boat drifted away.

He climbed out of the boat, nonchalant now, taking his time, removing his long-billed Hemingway cap to wipe his forehead, hand resting on the fishing pliers belted to his khaki shorts, trying to catch Nels's eye, already knowing what he'd say to the guides, the excuse for him coming here.

There were people on the docks, a few pretty women, and men with money acting like hotshots on their shiny cruisers, and Sutter made a show of tightening lines, checking the way the tarpon were tied to his boat, letting them see more big fish than most of these bastards had caught in their lives.

Near the office, the foreign guy who ran the marina— Mack-something they called him—was standing with two men. One was a big guy in a baggy T-shirt and wire glasses. And this other dude with long hair and a bright tourist shirt, some fucking zapped-out old hippie.

They were staring, and Sutter called. "Mind if I tie up for a while?"

The foreign one. Mack said. "Long as you want. But if you need something from the store, tell me now. I'm about to lock up," talking with a kind of accent, maybe British, adding, "You're Karl Sutter, right? They figure out what happened to Rios?"

Sutter, thinking.
As if you really give a shit,
said. "We're still in what you call shock; everybody at the marina's real upset. Marvin was a great guy, but he woulda been the first to admit he didn't what you call know a lot about boats and stuff. Being on the water."

The guy, Mack, said. "Is that right."

Sutter said, "Yeah, we figure he went out on the dock fishing or something. Maybe took one of the rental boats, 'cause his big boat's still at the marina, then somehow got knocked in, 'cause Marvin, he didn't swim so good." The guy with the wire glasses, the one the hippie called Doc. said, "He didn't tell his wife where he was going?" Staring, not blinking. Not friendly or unfriendly, just looking at him.

Sutter didn't like this guy's eyes at all. Pale-blue eyes magnified by the glasses, not showing a thing, but a lot going on inside. Like a librarian on vacation with those glasses.

Sutter shrugged. "His wife. Candy, isn't in what you'd call a real talkative mood. I guess most guys who were me woulda spent their evening dumping down the champagne—I won the tarpon tournament today, ya know. Eighty thousand bucks. All mine. But I called the doctor to get her some pills. Had to kind of take care of things at the marina." He looked at Mack, and couldn't resist giving him the knife, adding, "Parrot Bight isn't like this place. Lot to be done with all the business it gets." MacKinley, kind of smiling, said. "I can imagine." Sutter said, "Tell you the truth, I had to kind of run things even when Marvin
was
there. He was a great guy and all but, like he was the first to admit, he wasn't what you call an expert about boats and things. But a truly great individual. Reminded me of my dad. My dad was a big bomber pilot, got killed in the war."

The hippie said, "Really? Hey, man. I'm sorry, I really am." and Sutter could see that he meant it, his expression sharing the hurt.

What a schmuck.

Sutter said. "Yeah. World War Two."

The guy with glasses seemed interested. "What unit?"

Sutter's mind scrambled, and he said, "Air force," then turned away quickly, looking for the other guides. "I gotta get going, gentlemen. Just stopped in to give your boys a few tips. But—hey—Mack? Just 'cause Marvin's gone doesn't mean our two marinas can't still work together. I'll make sure my people still send our overflow, smaller boats and stuff, straight here."

MacKinley said. "So you're running Parrot Bight now?"

"Well, you know women don't have the brain for that sorta thing, and I guess me being family. Candy's not gonna have nobody else to turn to." Sutter shook his head as if a little tired. "Christ, I sold my business up north 'cause I wanted outta the rat race. Made all the money I needed. But. hell, she's family, so what choice do I have?"

"Sounds like life has you in a corner, Sutter," giving it a tone, like he didn't have time to listen anymore. MacKinley stood there with a smile on his face. but not really smiling, just crapping all over him, and Karl Sutter couldn't think of a thing to say in return.

Asshole!

The two Dinkin's Bay guides, Felix and Nels, continued talking even though they could hear him walking toward them on the dock, hear his footsteps over the noise of the music and the women laughing, and Sutter heard Nels saying, "Know what they say about Key West? You drop a reel on the docks in Key West, you best kick it clear to Marathon before bending over to pick it up."

Sutter laughed louder than Felix, striding right up. letting his weight be felt through the wood of the old dock, saying, "You didn't know that, Felix? You really didn't know that? Fucking queers, man, they
own
Key West." Standing there looking eye to eye with Felix, who maybe weighed a little more but wasn't any taller. "I used to have plenty friends down there; Duval Street scotch-drinking buddies. Hell, taught some of those guides how to fish the flats."

Nels said, "We were just watching you fish the flats. Out there."

"Huh?" Sutter said, giving him his shitkicker look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Lesson number one. is what it means: Don't drive your boat where the birds are standing."

"What? You guys thought I was aground? You shitting me. Just blasting some grass off my prop, that's all I was doing."

Nels and Felix were looking at each other, nodding, like they were trying not to smile. "So
that's
what happened." Sutter said, "Didn't want to come in here at all, what with me still carrying those fish, but the goddamn taxidermist didn't show up at Parrot Bight, so I figure maybe he came up here by mistake. I mean, you guys didn't get any mounts today, right?"

Felix said, "Even if we did, we don't kill the fish. All you have to do is measure the damn thing and let it go. You get the same mount either way. Made out of fiberglass from a mold, and we still get our twenty-five percent from the taxidermist. You saying you don't know that?"

Sutter said, "You do it your way. I'll do it mine, 'cause my way seems to be working," looking across the dock at Jeth Nicholes's empty slip, with the sign that had his name in black and back country fishing / guaranteed fun in orange. "Why didn't Jeth fish the tournament today? Figure too much competition?" Grinning, really giving these two hicks the knife.