Trap Line - Carl Hiaasen [49]
“It’s all over now.”
Except that it was not. While part of Breeze Albury calmly plotted a defense, the rest of him howled bitter outrage. Now what, sucker? Anybody else want to come by and punch me out? No, it was not over.
“Is there anything to eat?” Jimmy asked. “I’m starved.”
“Nothin’,” said Augie.
“We need to let things cool off some more, Jimmy,” Albury said. “In the morning we’ll go up to Bud N’ Mary’s for food and fuel. No sense risking it now.”
“Guess you’re right, but I gotta eat.” Jimmy vanished into the hold and emerged with a rusty spinning outfit with a frayed bucktail jig tied to the monofilament line. He began casting from the bow.
Albury noticed that Augie’s T-shirt was crusted with dried blood and that a bandana had been tied as a makeshift bandage on his left forearm. Augie’s eyes were bright and intent, but his voice was tired.
“What the hell happened, Breeze?”
Albury said, “I don’t know for sure. We were double-crossed.”
“That much I figured out by myself. Tell me the rest, man. We almost died up there at Key Largo. Killed some people ourselves,” Augie said. “Least you can do is tell me why.”
“I don’t know why,” Albury repeated. He swatted at a cluster of gnats, whining around the open wound on his scalp. “I don’t know who in Key West would want me killed. Maybe it was Oscar’s brainstorm.”
“Or Oscar’s boss.”
“Christ.”
Augie asked, “Why did you do it at all, Breeze? The Diamond Cutter’s an honest boat. That’s your reputation. You wouldn’t work for a snake like Tomas Cruz.”
“Blackmail,” Albury said in a dead voice and explained the whole story. “Boone promised that the dope charges would be thrown out if I made the run,” he finished. “Tom said it was worth fifty grand. Fifty thousand dollars, Augie.”
“That I understand. But Tom and his people work for the Machine. They run weed, ‘ludes, cocaine when they can get it. Not illegals.”
Albury shook his head tiredly. “My guess is that this was a favor for somebody, Augie. That’s not important. I told them ‘yes,’ that’s what’s important. I said ‘yes,’ and I wish to God I hadn’t. I thought it would solve everything for me and Ricky. The money would do it. But I thought the same thing a few years ago when Veronica was so damn sick. They always give you the same line, the same bullshit: ‘We need a good captain and a fast boat. One run is all, captain. One run and all your troubles are over.’ This time they helped me make up my mind. That’s the only difference.”
The words came out raw and tremulous. Augie felt embarrassed. “Shit, any fisherman would have done the same. And for a lot less,” he added. “Don’t sweat it. Nobody’s gonna catch us. We’re almost off the hook now.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I knew it wouldn’t be.”
“I’ll drop you and Jimmy at the gas docks tomorrow.”
“Forget it,” Augie said. “A captain’s got to pay his mates. Fifty grand, you said, right? For my share I’d swim through a school of bull sharks. Nude!”
Albury laughed hard and in his exhaustion kept laughing. He needed to wind down, to back away from the cliff. The boat, the boys—solid, Lord, in damn good shape. If only he was as sure of himself.
“Hey, bubba!” came a triumphant cry from the bow of the Diamond Cutter. Albury and Augie turned in time to see Jimmy hoist a silvery five-pound barracuda into the boat.
“Goddamn,” Augie exclaimed. “The white boy’s caught us some supper.”
CRYSTAL WAS HUNCHED over the workbench when he heard the light tapping on the door. His wife came in quietly, kissed him once on the cheek, and whispered something.
“OK,” Crystal said. He yanked the plug on the soldering iron and placed it, still smoking, on a slab of plywood. “Go ahead and send him in.”
Crystal’s wife led Shorty Whitting into the repair shop. The policeman’s uniform was starchy clean; he carried his hat in his hands. His eyes surveyed the electronic jungle with a certain awe.
“Hey, Crystal.”
“Hello, captain. What’s up?”
Whitting shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Chief Barnett asked me to stop by.”
“And what does that fat fucker want that he can