Tuna Tango (14 page)

The PFD was visible, though, and he had to assume it was drifting in the same direction as the girl. Just as he thought he spotted a head bobbing in the waves, the boom swung hard across as the boat, accidentally jibed, nailing him in the head. He went to his knees.

His head throbbed as he lay on the deck, the sail flapping in the wind above him. The boom was swinging back and forth, causing the canvas and lines to slam against each other and the rigging, disorienting him as much as the injury. Not sure if he had lost consciousness or not, he remembered the girl, and struggled to his feet, staying low to avoid the boom. He scanned the water, but there was nothing in sight; not the PFD or the blond head. Terrified at what had happened, he struggled into the cabin to call the Coast Guard. 

As his foot hit the first step, another wave lifted the bow and pitchpoled the boat into the trough. Already unsteady on his feet from the boom, he slammed into the cabin head-first and fell to the deck.

***

George leaned over the transom and cut the line from the reel, grabbing the end before it was lost in the waves. This made it hard to get an angle on the line as he tried to work it around the propeller. The engine was almost horizontal to the seas, the blade dipping into the water every time the boat bounced. Slowly, he tried to work the line backward around the shaft, but he didn’t have the reach. Someone was going to have to get wet. 

He stood up and looked at his choices. The crewman was not the brightest bulb in the ceiling. He could do it, but why risk injury? Plus, George needed his help to fish. It was almost impossible to single hand a large bluefin.

The boy caught his attention. “You. Come over here. Maybe you’ll be useful after all.” He waited as the kid named Kyle approached. “What you need to do is climb over the transom and hug that engine. Once you’re out there, you can untangle the line. Piece of cake.”

Kyle was clearly unsure.

“Here, I’ll tie a line around you just in case.” George opened a hatch and pulled out a coiled dock line, which he tossed to Kyle. “Put it around your waist.” 

Kyle was in the water a minute later, riding the outboard motor like a bucking bronco. Slowly, he seemed to get in sync with the seas, and started to work the monofilament off the propeller. 

“Good work. Let me help you.” George grabbed the line and pulled. He caught Kyle off balance, but the boy recovered and was back over the transom. 

George ignored the trembling figure in front of him. Soaking wet, the wind chilling him, Kyle went and huddled out of the wind against the small console. The lift motor whined and the engine lowered into the water, and then the sound changed as George started it. A bump into forward confirmed that the propeller was functional. He pushed down harder on the throttle, and the boat started to move. 

He steered a wide circle and the boat came around 180 degrees, on a course toward land.

“Enough for this trip.” He turned to the deck hand. “This wind is crazy shit, and not going anywhere. Un-fishable, if you ask me. Screw that guy. What’s he going to do if we don’t bring in two? I’d rather make the run back in the daylight with these conditions.”

“What about him?” The man was looking at Kyle.

“Was going to dump him, but losing the fish gave me an idea.” He pushed the throttle near its limit and the boat launched over the waves, surfing the crests and struggling in the troughs.

Chapter 15

Sheryl felt strange as they pulled into the parking lot of the fish house in Kyle’s car. It felt as if she didn’t belong here after breaking up with Will, and she wondered how the wheel of fate had brought her back here and what it meant. Will’s truck sat unmoved from this morning, and a quick glance around the corner of the building revealed that the boat was still gone. 

She opened the door and got out, thankful for the fresh air. The windows had been rolled down on the drive over, but between the smell of pot and fish slime on the backseat, she was queasy. Dick had lit a joint as soon as they left Lance’s office. Her first reaction was to ask him not to, but he seemed to calm down as soon as he inhaled. Maybe it was better than a half dozen pills, if that’s what worked for him. Ending the medicinal marijuana debate in her head, she looked back toward the road, waiting for Lance’s SUV to pull in. 

She had a bad feeling about what was transpiring. Will leaving work was not all that surprising … if he were fishing. But shutting down the only job he had and going out for a sail was not like him. She had to admit she was worried, and deep down missed him. But the loss of Kyle was what had her more on edge. The boys had struck a chord with her, it was hard not to like them. There was also something about Lance that was bothering her, but she was having trouble focusing, and couldn’t pin it down.

“Got any more of that?” she asked Dick. He gave her one of his queer looks, like it was OK for him, but not for her. “It
is
mine, remember. I know you took some off the tray.” She hoped it would settle her nerves.

He looked down, hesitated, and then reached into his pocket for the half smoked joint. “Here. I could use a little more, too.”

She took the joint back to the car and waited for him. They each rolled up their windows and he lit up. Soon she felt much better. Maybe he was onto something. Then a glint of metal flashing in the sun caught her eye. She looked back and saw the SUV pull in the lot. Lance did not need to know about this, she thought, and quickly exited the car. 

Dick stayed, the yellow glow of the joint in his mouth. Rather than have Lance come to the car and see what they were doing, she went to him.

“Where’s your boat?”

“They should have it in the water now.” He looked over at the large metal building filled with racks holding boats of all sizes. A forklift was moving forward into one of the bays. It grabbed the underside of a hull, reversed, and navigated toward the ramp. The driver lowered the forks and the boat dropped into the water. 

“There we go.” Lance moved toward the boat.

She glanced behind her at the car and waved for Dick to get out and follow. Together, they walked toward the boat, where Lance stood at the helm with the motor running. 

“Come ’on aboard,” he yelled over the engine’s rumble.

Sheryl hopped into the boat, admiring the luxurious fittings. It was certainly not a fishing boat. About thirty feet long, shaped slightly beamier than a cigarette boat, it was all leather and stainless steel. And spotless. She had never seen a boat gleam like this. Looking down at her feet, she realized that she was leaving a trail of dirt behind her. 

“Don’t worry about that. Get settled and we can get out of here.”

She looked at Dick, who was looking warily at the boat. By now she knew his ticks, and one was definitely coming on. Having him along might be more of a liability than a help if he started getting anxious, or worse. 

“Why don’t you stay here and keep an eye out? If George or Will show up, you can give us a call.”

He looked relieved. “OK. But I got no phone. Kyle has ours.”

She thought for a second and tossed him hers. “Be careful with it.” Then she turned to Lance. “Can you text him your number so he can call us if anything happens here?” 

Lance handed her his phone, she entered the number and sent it to her phone. “You know how to use that, right?”

Dick gave her one of his looks. “What do you think? I’m not from the olden days.”

Satisfied that she had made the right decision, she settled into the soft caress of the seat and waited for Lance to pull away. He went to the bow and released the dock line, then came back to the helm and backed toward open water. When they reached the end of the pier, he turned and straightened the boat before putting it into forward and pushing down on the throttle. 

The air felt good on her face as the boat picked up speed, and she watched the white sand beach of Shell Key disappear in the distance. Used to the ride of Will’s flats boat, where you felt the water, she noticed that the heavier boat cut through the waves, parting them with huge swaths of white spray. Despite the circumstances, she found herself enjoying the ride. The engines were too loud for conversation, which suited her. Lance was busy working some kind of computer screen set into the dashboard. She looked over to try and see what he was doing, and saw a chart of the area with a line they were following leading to a cross. That must be their destination. 

The thought that she couldn’t pin down earlier resurfaced. How did he know where to go? The Gulf was huge, with no landmarks like the Keys. There, if you told someone you were going out by Sombrero Light on the reef, they knew where you would be. Here, there were no landmarks at all. 

Suddenly the speed dropped as he eased off the throttles and pulled the phone from his pocket. It must have been on vibrate, she thought, as there was no way he could hear it ring over the engines. Even at idle speed the engine was too loud for her to hear any of the conversation.

But something must have happened, because he swung the wheel and turned the boat back toward shore.

***

Will thought he heard a scream and something slam against the hull, but his ears were ringing from the blows to his head, and he couldn’t be sure. Slowly he rose from the deck, careful that he didn’t follow the girl overboard. Finally, he was able to pull his body high enough to see over the gunwale. He pulled on the jib sheet, which was hanging over the side, but felt resistance. With both hands, he hauled and the line started to move. 

On his knees, he peered over the side and saw her body caught in the line. Her head was bobbing in the water, submerged each time the boat hit a trough. Will gathered his strength and started to haul her back onto the boat. When her body reached the side, though, he lost his leverage and was unable to pull anymore. He dragged the line to the winch, used to trim the sails, took three loops around the cylinder, and started to pull. The mechanical advantage helped, but he had to resort to the winch handle for the final few feet. She came aboard an inch at a time. 

The effort was monstrous, his head still spinning from the effects of the boom hitting him. Once she was aboard, he sat back, trying to catch his breath, and unable to even assess her situation for several minutes. Finally he was able to get his head straight, and went to her. She was conscious, but appeared out of it. Probably a good thing, as he anticipated the tongue lashing he was destined for when she came to. He sat her up on the cockpit floor, allowing the benches on either side to keep her from falling over, and started to organize the boat. 

First he released the tension from the sheets, allowing the sails to flag. Then he sorted out the lines, pulling the jib sheet that had taken her overboard back onto the boat. As soon as the lines were organized, he tightened the main sheet and set course back to the dock. Considering the weather and what had just happened, it was the only move he had. 

The ride was slower but more comfortable with the wind and seas behind them. The boat no longer fought him, but settled into the rhythm of the waves, allowing the wind to push it forward. He lashed the tiller and went to the cabin, where he grabbed a bottle of water and drank deeply. Back on deck, he went to the girl and placed his hands against her face. Devoid of makeup and her hair a wet mop, she barely resembled the girl he had fallen for last night. 

She seemed to respond to his touch, and suddenly reached up and grabbed his hand. Her eyes cracked open, and she shrieked. Before he could calm her, she head-butted him in the forehead. He staggered backward and sat facing her. 

“I’m sorry. We’re headed back,” he said, trying to diffuse her anger. “I’ll drop you wherever you want.” 

She grabbed the bottle of water from his hand. “Yes you will. I want money too. Ten thousand dollars you owe me, or I will go to the police. And if you don’t pay me, I will send Gregori to help me collect.”

He didn’t doubt her threat, and added the debt to the running total in his mind that the forty dollars in his pocket would not cover. In a no win situation he came to the conclusion that heading back was probably the best solution, at least financially. He thought about Kyle and hoped he was still alive, but at this point his mission was over. He’d get back, dump the girl, call the police, and get back to work - probably what he should have done in the first place. 

He adjusted the course slightly to the south as the high rises on St. Pete Beach came into view, the pink stucco and white turrets of the Don Cesar hotel a clear landmark, and trimmed the sails. For the first time since the girl had walked into the bar last night, he felt like he was thinking with his own brain. 

Half an hour later, the first green marker slid by the port side of the boat and the seas started to subside. Another hundred yards and they were in flat water for the first time in eight hours. He started the engine and turned the boat into the wind to take the sails down. After furling the jib, he released the main sheet and went to drop the halyard, when a boat cruised past, going far faster than the no-wake signs called for.