Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [28]
“You going alligator hunting?” the old man joked.
“Something like that,” Tick said. “Box it up, seal it good, and take it down to the marina. Ask for Tobias and have him put it in my boat.” Money changed hands, and Tick was back outside in the bright sunshine.
Tick kept walking until he came to the bodega where he usually bought his groceries and walked into the dim interior that smelled of ripe cheese and sausage. He handed over his grocery list, paid for everything, and gave the same instructions to the little old lady in the sparkling white apron. “I will send Manuel to deliver the groceries, Senor Kelly.”
Tick walked out into the bright sunshine a second time and looked around for another ATM. He hit it again, pocketed the money, then headed to the nearest bait, tackle, and dive shop. He walked around the cluttered fish-smelling store, breathing through his mouth. Cash in hand, he walked up to a middle-aged guy who was so leathery-looking his face could be mistaken for a road map. A bad road map. He rattled off what he wanted, and added, “Two of everything. Pack it up, seal it good, no markings on the boxes, and take it to the marina and tell Tobias to load it on my boat.” Money changed hands. As he counted out his change, Tick knew he would have to hit up an ATM for a third time if he wanted to eat a decent lunch. He asked where the nearest ATM was, and the leathery-looking guy pointed to his left.
Tick pocketed his money for the third time, then crossed the busy street to his favorite restaurant, not that there were that many to choose from. He liked sitting outside under the orange and green umbrella sipping at the hot Cuban coffee. He opened the menu and pointed at the pictures. Basically it was the same food he could have gotten back in Atlanta at any Mexican restaurant but better. With the temperatures in the midnineties and climbing, it was too hot for coffee. He waited for his Corona and gulped half of it before he settled the bottle on the rickety iron table. He raised a finger to indicate the waiter should bring another bottle with his food.
Tick was people watching as he played a game with himself. Who, what, where, when, and why? So many people. All with secrets. He didn’t know how he knew this, he just did. When he felt a light touch on his shoulder, he whirled around, his hand automatically going to his side for his gun, which wasn’t there. He looked up to see who had dared touch him in such a public place.
“Pete! What the hell are you doing here?”
“You sure you want to know?”
“Well, when you put it like that, maybe I don’t. Can you give it to me in degrees?”
“Degrees? Yeah, yeah, I can do that. What’d you order?”
“I have no idea. I just point to the pictures. The menu is in Spanish, and the little bit I know doesn’t include Cuban menu items. You want the same thing?”
Pete nodded. Tick turned around, pointed to his brother, and yelled, “The same for him, and a Corona.
“Articulate, little brother.”
Chapter 6
“Nothing earth-shattering, Tick. Just needed some time off, away from the bar. It’s doing extremely well, by the way, but I’m married to the place. I was going to come down sooner, but I wanted to make sure my people were as good as I thought they were. The saloon business is the easiest in the world to rip off. Then Andy told me the trial he was working on was postponed when something in the basement of the courthouse blew up, and they had to shut down the entire building. You know nothing goes on in Atlanta in July, so he volunteered to work the bar while I came down here. Trish is doing the kitchen. Their kids are at camp until school starts in August. Win! Win! It was an offer I couldn’t pass up. So, here I am.”
Tick stared at his brother, his dark eyes full of questions he had no intention of verbalizing. He waited, hoping his brother would see fit to confide in him the way they had when they were younger. Pete looked away and stared at the people walking by in their bright-colored tourist