The Night Charter (2 page)

P
ARKER WATCHED
C
AMARO
go, and even when she was out of sight he could still hear the blare of her Harley's engine. He got behind the wheel of his truck and started it up. The little sound it made was a thoroughgoing disappointment. He left the marina parking lot and turned himself toward home.

Parker lived deep in the dense urban expanse that spread over Miami-Dade County. The house was small and rented, but it had two bedrooms, and that was enough. The lawn was a patchy little square of crabgrass and dirt, and the property was too small for a garage or a carport. Parker left the truck at the curb out front and went inside.

The smell of food wafted through the front door when he opened it, and he came in to lights and the sound of the television turned too loud. “Hey!” he called. “I'm back!”

Lauren poked her head out of the kitchen. She smiled and his concerns lifted. Never in his life would he ever have said that one look from a fourteen-year-old girl would be enough to put him at ease, but it was true, and he was glad of it.

He turned the TV down in the front room and then went to the kitchen. Lauren fussed with a pair of insulated gloves as she opened the old, olive-green oven to get at the Pyrex dish inside. Immediately there was a stronger odor of spicy meat. “What are we having?” he asked.

“Chuck-wagon casserole,” Lauren said.

It was Kraft macaroni and cheese mixed with corn and browned chunks of Italian sausage. A meal that could be made on the cheap but was filling for two. Parker hugged Lauren as she stripped off the gloves. “Smells terrific,” he said.

“Fifteen minutes to cool down?” Lauren asked.

“Fifteen minutes,” Parker said.

He turned to leave her, but she brought him up short with a question. “Where did you go? I thought maybe you were going to get us ice cream for dessert.”

“You know, that would have been a good idea,” Parker said, “but I completely forgot. I had to run an errand for Uncle Matt. We're gonna go out fishing soon.”

Lauren's face turned down at the mention of Matt. “You're not getting in trouble again, are you?”

“No, of course not. Why would you say that?”

“Mom said Uncle Matt is the kind of guy who gets everybody in trouble.”

Now it was Parker's turn to frown. “Your mother wasn't exactly an authority on anything. You'll notice she's not around to eat this great food. And she's not running out to the store for ice cream, either.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Don't worry about it. Set the table, and I'll be back in a few.”

He left her and went to his room. He closed the door until it almost caught, and then he listened for the sound of Lauren fiddling in the kitchen. When he heard it, he went to the closet and opened the doors. His few nice clothes hung there, and his single pair of dress shoes rested on the floor beside an empty suitcase. These last two things he moved aside to expose the wall behind them.

Parker crouched in the closet and caught hold of the wainscoting at the back. An eighteen-inch section was loose enough to get fingernails behind, and rocking it gently pulled it completely free of the wall. A flat attaché case was revealed. He pulled the case out.

When he unzipped it, a bundle of bills fell out, and he picked it up. It didn't have a paper strap like a bank would use, but was simply collected inside a tight rubber band. He unwound the bills and counted off two hundred in fifties before putting the band back on again. The bundle went back in the bag.

Parker put the attaché case back into place and then stopped. He pulled it out again and emptied it to count. There were fifty bundles of a thousand dollars each, and they were all there, minus the little bit he'd just taken for the deposit. His sudden fear satisfied, he put the money away and secreted the case in the wall before replacing the wainscoting. He closed the closet and put the two hundred on the nightstand.

He had a phone in his pocket. He used it to dial Matt. It rang three times. “Who is it?” Matt asked.

“It's Parker.”

“Parker? Why isn't your name coming up on my caller ID?”

“I don't know. Maybe something's wrong with your phone.”

“Man, there's nothing wrong with my phone. It has to be
your
phone.”

“Okay, I'll check it.”

“All right. So did you go out there and get us a boat?”

“I talked to the lady who runs the charters.”

“A chick?”

“Yeah, but it's okay. She seems to know what she's doing.”

“Did you talk to her about what we want?”

“Not yet,” Parker said. “I just told her we wanted to do a night charter for some fishing. It didn't seem like the right time to get into the rest of it. I'm going back tomorrow to give her the deposit.”

“Don't wait too long to get down to business,” Matt said. “We don't have a lot of time.”

“I'll do it. Let me talk to her a little bit and see how it goes.”

“Dad! I'm putting it on the table!” Lauren called.

Parker put his hand over the phone. “I'll be right there,” he said, and then he spoke to Matt again. “Don't worry about anything. I have it covered.”

“All right, man. Talk to you again tomorrow.”

Parker killed the connection and put the phone back in his pocket. His mind was weighed down again, but then he went to the little dining room and Lauren made him forget about all of it.

I
N THE MORNING
Camaro took a half-dozen businessmen out into the deep water to search for mackerel or swordfish or anything else that might be biting. One of them managed to hook a wahoo early on, and he wanted to keep it, but it went back into the water. “What am I supposed to show off at home?” he asked.

“Take a picture,” Camaro said, and that was all. Camaro's trips were strictly catch-and-release. Everyone knew this going in.

They got lucky here and there over a few hours, but the men were as interested in drinking as they were in the fish. Camaro did not let them get sloppy and put a curb on them when they went to their cooler one time too many. There was more grumbling and talk about refunds, but she reminded them it was money up front and no refunds. They were more subdued after that.

She got back to the marina a little after two and let the men off. She thought to warn them about driving off buzzed, but they had probably heard enough from her already. If they wanted to end up wrapped around a pole or in the back of a police car that was their business and not hers. Camaro's responsibility stopped the moment they stepped off the boat.

When they were all gone, she broke out the hose and cleaned off the deck. She got an old towel and wiped down plastic and wood and metal alike. She checked the bait locker and made a mental note of what she had to stock. Afterward, she got a sandwich out of her personal cooler and ate it in the shade with a little bag of chips. Watching the men put away beers had put her in the mind for one, but there would be no drinking while she worked.

She lay down for a short nap. It was four when she heard Parker calling from the pier, and she got up to meet him. He stood beside the boat in a different shirt and nearly identical shorts, his feet tanned in his sandals, the barest hint of white flesh peeking out from underneath one strap. Camaro saw herself reflected in his sunglasses. “Hey, there,” Parker said. “Sorry I'm late.”

“You're not late,” Camaro said. “I told you three o'clock or so.”

“Well, I'm here now.”

“You want to come aboard?” Camaro asked.

“Sure,” Parker said, and he stepped over onto the deck. He looked over the fighting chair and made an admiring sound. “I can't wait to sit on this baby. Is that teak? Is this thing an old classic?”

“No,” Camaro said. “It's just a nice chair.”

“I'm gonna land the big one,” Parker said.

“That's what everybody says. Come on in. Let's get you out of the sun.”

They went inside and stood in the little galley. Parker dug in his pocket and came up with four fifty-dollar bills. He laid them in front of her on the counter. “That should cover our deposit,” he said. “But I don't know what night it'll be yet. I'm sorry about that.”

“I said you get a week, so you get a week,” Camaro said. She took the money and put it away. “It's your charter.”

Parker fiddled with his thumbs and looked around the small cabin. He took off his sunglasses, and Camaro was glad to see he didn't have the strange, pale shadow around his eyes that some men got down here. To her they looked like raccoons of the wrong color. “This really is a nice boat,” he said.

“It cost enough,” Camaro said.

“Expensive?”

“Yeah.”

He put his hands flat on the counter. “Listen, I might be able to swing some extra money your way if you're interested. It's not strictly charter stuff, but it could be worth something to you.”

Camaro looked at him. “I just do fishing charters,” she said.

“Right. Of course. I'm only saying that we might be able to arrange some extras to give you a bigger payday.”

“My paydays are plenty big,” Camaro said. “This is my business, remember? If you want extras, there are plenty of places that do extras. This isn't a party boat.”

“Sure, sure,” Parker said. “I'm sorry I said anything. Don't be insulted.”

“I'm not insulted,” Camaro said. “I like to keep it simple, that's all. Boat. Water. Fish. That kind of thing. Maybe that means I lose some clients once in a while, but I don't mind too much. There's always someone out there who wants service without frills.”

Now Parker smiled, and Camaro read both relief and tension in it. He was fiddling with his thumbs again. She could not tell what was driving him on. “This is my first time chartering a fishing boat,” he confessed to her. “I don't know all the rules.”

“They're not really rules,” Camaro said. “I think they're like habits. Sometimes you break them, but most of the time you do what feels right. I like doing what I do.”

Parker stood up. “I guess I should go, then,” he said.

Camaro looked at him again and saw the nerves prickling out through his skin. “Are you busy?” she asked him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Are you doing anything right now?”

“I didn't have any plans.”

Camaro got up. “I already ate, but I could use some dessert. There's a diner up the road. Want to have a coffee or something?”

Parker blinked. “You want to have a coffee with me?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

A
T THE DINER
, they sat across from each other. Instead of coffee, Parker had iced tea, but Camaro had a hot cup with cream, along with a slice of key lime pie. The tartness and sweetness combined with the mild bitter flavor of the coffee played games on her tongue, and she enjoyed it. Parker added far too much sugar to his tea.

“What do you do?” Camaro asked him.

“Me? Oh, I'm a business consultant. I go around to businesses and tell them how to improve their operation. Efficiency. Stuff like that.”

Camaro grinned a little. “That so?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Do business consultants work outdoors a lot?” Camaro asked.

“What? You're talking about the tan, right? I like to do yard work and gardening on the weekends with my daughter.”

She shook her head. “You are an absolutely awful liar,” she said.

“I'm not lying,” Parker said. “I'm a business consultant, and I'm going to take a few clients out fishing to butter them up a little before we make a deal. Try to jack my fee up, you know? That's how you make a living.”

“I believe you're chartering a boat,” Camaro said. “And I believe you have a daughter, but I think the rest of it is bullshit.”

Parker opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he said, “I do have a daughter.”

“How old?” Camaro asked.

“She's fourteen. Going on forty. She's trying to turn me gray, but I think I can keep a handle on her for a couple more years. When she hits sixteen, I don't know what I'm going to do.”

“What about her mother?”

Parker made a gesture with his thumb, whisking the thought away. “She's long gone. Out the door when Lauren was seven. The old, ‘I'm going to get some cigarettes,' thing. Never called again, never wrote. She was just out of there. So it's the two of us, me and Lauren.”

“Any other family?” Camaro asked.

“I have a brother, but he's not local. I think he's seen Lauren once. No, twice. You?”

“A sister.”

“Huh,” Parker said.

“What do you really do?” Camaro asked.

Parker rolled the moist glass of tea between his palms for a minute. The condensation made a smeary puddle on the tabletop. “Can we hold off on that question for a little bit? I'm kind of happy with the whole ‘business consultant' thing right now.”

“Okay,” Camaro said.

“How about you? Maybe I can ask you some questions.”

Camaro shrugged. “Ask me anything you want.”

“You from around here?”

“No.”

“Where'd you come from?”

“California originally.”

“How'd you end up in Florida?”

Camaro smiled to herself. She took a forkful of pie and held it between them a moment. “I rode my bike,” she said.

“Now who's telling lies?” Parker asked.

“No lies. Go ahead and ask me another.”

“If you're from California, what are you doing running a fishing boat out of Miami? Why aren't you off surfing somewhere or something?”

Camaro ate the piece of pie and followed it with coffee. She considered the question. “When I was growing up, my dad liked two things more than anything else in the world,” she said. “He liked fixing cars, and he liked fishing. Fast cars were his favorite. Muscle cars? Forget about it. He'd fall in love with anything that had a big engine. And when he wasn't under a car getting oily, he was saving up his money to get on a fishing charter and go after barracuda, calico bass, yellowtail…whatever.”

“So you have fishing in your blood.”

“Something like that. I know how to put together an engine, and I can tell you where the fish are. That's what my dad gave me.”

“Can't be a cheap business to get into. You said the boat cost a lot.”

“I had some money to spend.”

“You make a good living?”

“Good enough. Keeps me in my house, and I don't starve. I make what I need and a little extra to put away. I keep up the boat myself and that saves a bundle. Whatever it takes to go on.”

“And you still don't want more than you're charging me,” Parker said.

“Nope. The price is one seventy-five a person and that's it. More if you need gear. I told you: I like to keep things simple.”

“I can respect that,” Parker said.

“I'm glad. Some guys don't.”

“I get the feeling those guys don't last too long around you,” Parker said.

“They don't,” Camaro told him.

Parker was quiet awhile, and Camaro thought he'd finished talking, but he spoke up again. “So you have a sister, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“I'm surprised she doesn't help you run the business.”

“She doesn't live around here. Besides, I don't think she liked fishing as much as our dad did. She was the one who always got seasick.”

“That's funny,” Parker said.

Camaro finished off the last of her pie and drained the coffee cup. The waitress came by with the pot to top it off, but Camaro put her hand over it and asked for the check instead. “I have a night charter tonight,” she told Parker. “We're headed out around eight.”

“What time is it now?” Parker asked.

“About five. That gives us a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours for what?”

The waitress put the check down between them. Camaro took it up and counted off the cost from the bills in her wallet, plus a twenty percent tip. She weighted it all down with her coffee cup. “I don't want to go back to your place, and I don't want you back at my place,” Camaro said. “But there's the boat.”

“I'm still not following,” Parker said.

“Hey, listen: I know you're a bad liar, but don't tell me you're slow on the uptake, too,” Camaro said.

She got up, and Parker followed her out.