Trap Line - Carl Hiaasen [61]
Teal’s mahogany tan made him look like a Cuban in the night. “Wake the boys,” he said. “Tell them you’re leaving.”
Teal climbed into his skiff and started the outboard engine. Jimmy and Augie wobbled to their feet. Albury told them he was going to Key West.
“Stay with the Diamond Cutter,” he instructed. “Give me a couple days. If I’m not back, you get out of here.”
“What about the grass?” Jimmy asked.
“Fuck it. Leave it on the other boat. If I’m not back in two days, you guys take the Diamond Cutter up the Keys and lay low for a while. There’s a couple hundred bucks left in the cabin.”
“What’s the story?” Augie asked. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
“Teal, what’s going on?” Augie called. “How come Breeze has got to go back?”
Teal shrugged and said something that was swallowed by the growl of the engine. Jimmy and Augie watched Albury lower himself into the skiff; he waved at them once as Teal punched the throttle. The lightweight bonefish boat planed off quickly and cut a creamy stitch in the sleepy Gulf. Teal found an invisible channel and followed it along the edge of the flats toward the mainland. An unlit cigarette poked from one corner of the old guide’s mouth. Though tearing from the wind, his eyes never left the dark water.
Albury smiled. Crystal must have known. Only Teal could have found the Diamond Cutter, could have navigated by instinct through the serpentine flats. Teal hunted the Mud Keys for bonefish every spring; if anyone, he would know where to look for an old Conch captain and two hot lobster boats. Crystal had picked the perfect scout.
Ahead of them, the mainland took form. Albury recognized the brontosaurus profiles of construction cranes along Highway One on Stock Island. Then Key West itself, where one of the ball parks was lit up. Probably the men’s softball league.
After a few more minutes, Teal found the channel into Garrison Bight and throttled back to accommodate the no-wake signs posted along the shore. As the skiff approached the bridge by Trumbo Point, Teal turned off the engine and let the boat drift. He lit a fresh cigarette and held out the pack. Albury shook his head.
“I’ve known you your whole life,” Teal said awkwardly.
“We caught some fish together, didn’t we?” Albury said. “I’ll never forget that one trip to the Tortugas. The twenty-eight-pound permit on six-pound mono. Remember?”
“Yeah. On a goddamned dead shrimp.” Teal hacked ferociously. “You made a good cast on that fish.”
“I should have got him stuffed.”
“Damn right. I could have used the commission.” The skiff hung in the channel, caught between the wind and the current, as if tied to the big bridge. Teal stared hard at the water, looking all the way to the bottom, or seeming to.
“Breeze,” he said, “the reason I came to get you, it’s your boy. Ricky.”
Albury’s ears filled with the sound of his own heart drumming.
“He got hurt,” Teal stammered. “Somebody hurt ‘im.”
“How bad?”
“I’m gonna leave you at the charter docks,” Teal said, turning the ignition. “You go to the hospital right away. He’s on the third floor. He’s not critical or nuthin’ that bad.” Teal was talking faster, in a cracking voice. He took the skiff under the bridge. “He’s not critical, Breeze, so don’t get all panicked.”
Albury grabbed Teal’s elbow. “How bad?” he groaned.
“Some broken bones. He’ll be all right. We’re here now. Grab onto that piling and pull yourself up.”
Albury bounded from the bow of the skiff to the docks, where a row of gleaming deep-sea boats rocked together.
“Breeze, I’m sorry,” Teal said, standing at the steering console, looking up at his old friend. “It’s all gone to hell, this place. We talked about it all the time. We talked about it but never imagined it would come to this. Goddamn, going after your boy.”
Albury’s shoulders sagged. His arms hung at his side, swinging slightly with his breathing. He dropped to one knee and bent forward over the edge of the dock.
“Teal,” he whispered plaintively, “who did it?”
“Go see your boy, Breeze,