Bonefish Blues Page 3

  Wary of the intruders, he paddled around the Key, just out of sight, and watched from the cover of some mangroves as they approached. The wake reached him just as the boat slowed, and birds flew screeching from the mangroves as the waves crashed against the shore. The only noise now was the idle of the motor and the waves hitting the sand. Then he heard the voice.

  “Look at it? Freakin’ paradise. Great flats, not too far out, and the clearing in the center would be perfect for a half dozen houses. You could put a dock over there and power up the whole enchilada with some solar cells and a windmill,” boomed the voice.

  Will cringed. He knew that voice, audible across the fifty feet of water, and the man it belonged to. Cody’s father, Eli Braken, or Judge Braken, as he preferred to be called. The retired judge was now a self-proclaimed real-estate mogul. He sat back on the cooler, gripping the paddle blade stuck in the sand as an anchor, listening to him wax on about his vision for Flamingo Key. The splash of a paddle breaking water alerted him to Roc’s presence. Not wanting to be seen, he lifted his paddle from the sand, paddled quietly toward the kayak and motioned for Roc to follow around the backside of the island.

  “What’s up?” Roc asked when they stopped. They paddled forward slowly to stay in place, the water too deep to set their paddles as brakes, the tide moving them away from land, and Will turned toward his friend.

  “That was Braken and another dude in that boat over there. He’s talking like he wants to sell the island. I don’t even think he owns it.” He wondered if the island was Braken’s to sell or if it was just another scam the old man had cooked up. “Why the heck would you want to build on this pile of sand anyway?”

  Roc was about to answer when they heard the roar of the outboard, a thump, and a man yell.

  “What the hell was that?” Will yelled, starting to paddle toward the noise. They had to fight the current now, but with the urgency in their strokes they traversed the quarter-mile-long Key in a few minutes. The silt trail left by the outboard was visible before they rounded the point.

  “What’s that?” Roc asked.

  “Bet they grounded. The old man ought to know better than that. Let’s see if anyone’s hurt.” He paddled around the point toward the source of the sediment, where he saw the hull beached on a sandbar a few feet from the Key, its engine revving, the propeller the source of the silt as it churned up the sand in an attempt to free the boat. “Hey, shut the engine off. You’re just spinning your wheels!” Will yelled as he approached. The men ignored him as he paddled close enough to see that no one was hurt, then turned to go.

  “Don’t believe in helping out your neighbors?” Braken’s voice echoed toward him. He turned back to the man.

  “You shouldn’t be here. It’s way too shallow for the draft on that boat. Where’s Cody? He’d know better.”

  Braken ignored the question, “Was an accident, son. My friend here slipped and hit the throttle.” He winked at the driver.

  Will looked at the driver as the boat revved again. He was chomping a cigar butt, pushing back and forth on the throttle. He shifted his glance towards Braken, “Tell him to stop and I’ll help you out.” He regretted it the minute it was out if his mouth, but he couldn’t stand to see the damage to the pristine flat continue.

  Braken shouted at the driver, who yelled something back that Will couldn’t understand over the roar of the engine. He paddled to the boat, kneeled down, and got off the board. A hard shove pinned the board’s fin in the sand to anchor it, and he hopped the gunwale and was in the Grady-White.

  Braken was leaning against the transom, clearly distancing himself from the driver. Will went to the wheel and tapped the man on the shoulder. He found himself on the deck seconds later, after a quick right cross from the man. No one moved to help him.

  The driver turned with a scowl. Will wouldn’t soon forget the scar on his brow, pulsing like a vein. “Do not touch me. People who think they can touch me don’t do it twice.”

  Will got up from the deck, rubbing the sore spot on his jaw. As he rose, he noticed a large canvas bag in the cabin — the same kind of bag used to store trophy fish before tournament weigh-ins. This one was large enough for a marlin. Several five gallon buckets were strapped down beside it. He turned to Braken, shrugged his shoulders, and waited for him to intervene. But the only sound was the revving of the engine.

  “Listen. Tide will be cresting in an hour. You only need a couple of inches and she’ll float it off,” he mumbled. Seconds later he was back on his board paddling away, the sound of the engine breaking the solitude of the flat.

  Will couldn’t help but think as he paddled, the perfect morning ruined. He was curious about Braken’s plans to sell the island and the fish bag nagged at him, but he did what he always did and put it out of his mind.

  Chapter 5

  “What was that guy’s problem?” Roc asked.

  “Don’t know. Pretty scary-looking dude, though,” Will said as they paddled toward the boat ramp. “What I want to know is what Braken is up to. I can’t seem to get away from him and his son. Don’t know which one gets under my skin faster.”

  They paddled in silence, the wind at their backs, quickly gaining the 54th Street boat ramp. Will went to his knees just before the nose of the board hit the concrete of the ramp, hopped off, and lifted the board onto the pavement, careful not to ding the delicate fiberglass. Roc followed, less careful with the molded plastic kayak, and went for his truck. They unloaded gear from the boats, placed it in the back of the truck and lashed kayak and board down to the truck’s rack.

  Roc reached into a cooler in the back seat and pulled out a couple of beers. “Want one?”

  “Yeah, actually maybe more than one,” Will said. He usually passed on the after-paddle beer, but the cold bottle felt good against the bruise forming on his chin. He pulled it away from his jaw, twisted off the cap, took a long sip, and placed the bottle back against his face.

  Roc watched him closely. “What’re you going to do about Braken?”

  “I’m going to buy Cody a few beers and see if I can get him talking. I want to see if he knows what the old man is up to. He fishes off the Key all the time. Developing the island would ruin his spot too. He cleans up off that point, sometimes every day for a week or two. Never figured out what he’s fishing on. I’ve been back and forth with a depth finder and can’t figure it out. You know if I can get a few beers in him he’ll spill his guts. Then I’ll decide.”

  “Well, stay away from scarface there.” Roc finished his beer and opened another. He motioned to Will, looking surprised when he accepted. “Wow, two beers. You okay?”

  Will ignored the comment but took the beer. “Got a letter from the building department. It says they’re not going to renew the permit on my house again.”

  “And that surprises you? It’s been what, five years? You know there’s a whole new set of codes now, don’t you? That house will never comply with them if you let the permit expire. Maybe we should head over there and see what it’s going to take to finally finish that thing and get them off your back.”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind,” Will said. He dreaded the thought of dealing with the building department, knowing it was just going to cost him more money to finish it now.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the gravel driveway. Will got out, opened the gate, and followed Roc’s truck in. He looked with fresh eyes at the unfinished house. Left to his own devices, he could live with it like this and it irked him the city was after him again. What was it hurting anyone if he was comfortable here. Every year he went down and wrote a check to renew the permit and every year they took the money ~ until now.

  He followed Roc around the building, trying to guess what the contractor’s eyes saw as he inspected the exterior.

  “Not too bad. Stucco, lighting, that kind of thing, and you should be okay out here.” Will watched Roc’s glance as he looked at the rough grade surrounding the house. Grass had s
tarted to grow in clumps in the mounds of dirt. “It’s going to take a little tractor work to get this in shape. You need to have some drainage here. Maybe a day to fix it, and then they’ll make you cover it with gravel or plant it. Let’s go see how much trouble you’re in on the inside.”

  Will led the way up the stairs and opened the door. Roc walked in behind him and started walking through the house, clearing his throat as he noticed all the half finished work. “I’m almost done in here,” Will said defensively.

  “You know, it’s close. Finish the bathroom, install counters and a real stove, and they should let you go. I forgot to ask when we were outside, but did you get a final on your septic system?”

  “No. It’s installed and I had the inspector come out. He gave me a list of a few things to do but I never called him back.”

  “Well, you could be in trouble there. That’s a separate permit than the house, and if it’s expired you’re in deep. The old systems are not allowed anymore. If you can even get a permit, it’s gonna cost about fifty grand to get the new engineered systems installed.”

  They were at the table, each with a fresh beer. Will had a pile of papers spread out in front of him. He offered one to Roc. “This is the original permit.”

  He waited while Roc looked it over. “This is over five years old. It shows a failed inspection four years ago. You got anything else in that pile?”

  Will was almost at the bottom, the documents getting older as he got lower. His filing system was to put everything in a box, new stuff on top. “That’s all I’ve got on the septic permit.”

  “I got a buddy down at the city. Let me see what I can do for you, but you better be prepared for bad news. Look on the bright side, you finish it right it’ll be worth some real money,” Roc said.

  “Yeah, but you know there’s too much of my soul in this to sell. It’s just finding the money now that I’m worried about.” Will looked out the sliding glass doors to the water, trying to think his way through everything Roc had said and wondering how much money he would have to come up with to finish. He saw a boat idling right on the edge of his property. He squinted at it, trying to see more clearly. “That’s the Grady-White. What are they doing here?” He got up and went out on the deck, Roc trailing close behind.

  They leaned against the railing and watched the boat. He could see Braken pointing to his house, talking to the other man in the boat. He pointed again, and the driver started toward his property line. Slowly, the boat came against the mangroves that separated his property from the water, and started moving toward the other end of the property.

  “They’re sizing the place up.” He wondered what was going on. First his favorite fishing spot and now his house.

  “I’m going to the dock to see if Cody’s there. It’s a pretty sure thing that if he’s not, he’ll be at the bar across the street. Need to talk to him about what his dad’s up to.” He turned toward the door.

  “Don’t do anything stupid. It’s after three, and he’s probably had a few. I’ll head to City Hall and see what I can do about the permits.”

  ***

  The dock was empty when he pulled up. He walked towards the office, bumping into a newspaper machine and then ricocheting into the door, “Hey Ned, got any cold ones?”

  “Yeah, might have a few. Looks like you’ve had a couple already.” The old man stared at his jaw. “What happened there?”

  Will ignored the question as he tried to count the beers in his head. “Just a few. Where’s Cody at?”

  “Should be back anytime.” Ned glanced at his watch. “Took a couple of guys out a little before noon.”

  Will took the cold six pack and went to the picnic table shaded by a palapa and watched the water, his head nodding as the beers took hold. He jumped up when he heard the motor. The boat was running faster than the idle speed limit, as usual, Cody behind the wheel, two clients leaning against the opposite gunwale. Their body language told the story of the day — no fish.

  Will walked down to the dock as the boat pulled up and tossed a line to Cody’s waiting hand. “Can you give me a minute when you finish up here? Something I need to ask you.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Will went back to his table, and Matt walked up to the boat just as the men finished paying Cody. They walked up the dock empty handed, sour looks on their faces. Back at the boat, Cody was shouting at Matt. He heard the raised voices from where he sat.

  “Where the hell have you been? You’re an hour late! What about cleaning the fish and the boat?” Cody yelled.

  Matt’s voice was barley audible. “Sorry, I had to stay late at school and finish a project up. I’ll clean the boat.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard. No fish today.” Cody left the dock and walked toward Will. “You’re gonna have to buy me a beer if you want to talk. Slow day out there … but I guess you know how that goes.”

  Will let the comment go and got Cody a beer. He needed information more than a fight right now. Cody grabbed the beer before it was offered. He chugged at least half of it, put his finger up for Will to wait, belched and finished it. Will handed him another hoping the pump was primed now, “I saw your dad off Flamingo Key. Looks like he was doing some kind of real estate thing. Any idea what he’s up to?”

  Cody drank half the second beer and got in Will’s face. “Why would I tell you what my dad is doing? Even if I knew.” Then Will saw him focus on his face. “What happened there, pretty boy?”

  “They ran your boat aground on the back side of Flamingo. I tried to help, but the driver popped me.”

  Cody laughed. “Just your luck. The old man’s got some dude from Miami down. Looking for some land or something. Who cares, as long as he closes the deal.”

  Now that Will knew Cody knew something he pressed harder, “I care. They keep developing the small Keys out here, the fishing’s gonna die off. The flats get all silted up and the fish are gone. ”

  “I ain’t worried. I got my spots,” Cody said.

  “Still can’t figure how you do so well off the point out there.” Will tried to keep him talking. He knew Cody’s ego when stroked kept his mouth going. “Here, want another beer,” he set one on the table without waiting for an answer

  Cody stared at him and stopped talking. Will wondered what he’d said to cause this reaction. Suddenly Cody got up and took one beer in each hand. “Sorry, can’t help you. But, hey - thanks for the beers.”

  Matt walked up as Cody was about to walk away, “I’m done. Can I get a ride? I have a ton of homework.”

  “I got homework too, at the bar. Gonna have to do some damage control to the old reputation after striking out today.”

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Will offered. “To your mom’s?”

  “What this?” Cody blurted. “First off, you don’t need to be taking care of my boy. And second off, you got no business with his mom. You know we’re getting back together,” he boasted. “The boy can walk.” He slammed the empty can on the table and got up to leave.

  Will watched Cody walk away, three beers poorer and nothing to show for it. He knew Cody would probably forget the incident by tomorrow.

  “Nah, It’s ok - I’ll walk,” Matt watching him walk away, chastising himself for all the beers he had drunk, knowing Matt had seen it.

  Chapter 6

  Eli Braken sat behind his desk, the ceiling fan doing little to remove the beads of sweat on his brow. His shoes were off, his stockinged feet set on a desk drawer to try and alleviate some of the swelling he was prone to, mostly from carrying three hundred pounds. A tumbler with an inch of Scotch sat on the desk, a computer monitor the only thing visible besides the phone. Now past sixty, Eli considered himself hip. He knew how to email and even had the Facebook thing going. He looked past the man sitting in front of him at the logo of The Kraken painted on his wall. The legendary sea monster adopted as his logo after the Pirates of the Caribbean movies usually brought a smile to his face. He pictured his business as having m
any powerful tentacles like the monster and had even considered changing his surname.

  “Can you put your goddam shoes on?” The man with the scar sat across the desk, elbows resting on the surface.

  “Never mind my shoes. Have you talked to your boss?” He set his feet down and leaned into the desk until his belly hit his thighs.

  “Here’s the deal. I talked to the guys in Jersey. If that island out there has a sewer and water line, like you said, that’ll service six to eight houses, then they’re in. We’ll put up the money for the little scam of yours. You do have the Army Corp of Engineers okay on the dock too, right?” he asked.

  “All that. But your guys will never get ROGO approval to release all those permits. It’ll take years. Those bastards in Monroe County passed that Rate of Growth Ordinance in 1992, pretty much shutting down new construction. They only give out about sixty permits a year now.”

  “Yeah, well people in Miami never heard of a ROGO whatever. It’s only sixty miles, but it’s a freakin world away from this sandfly-infested pile of coral. We’re just selling land, anyway. They know you got water and sewer, they’re all in. All those greenies will be waiting in line for solar panels and windmills. A few pictures on the world wide whatever and boom, sold out.”

  Braken leaned back, satisfied that this deal was going to be easier than he thought. “Your call.” He sipped his drink and offered the man a cigar. “Now about that other thing. That guy you punched out on the boat is not going to let this lie. My son, Cody, already had a run in with him at the docks. You want that piece of mangrove-infested sand out there, we need to deal with him now. I’ve never known him to have a spine, but you never know what’ll get someone riled up. And what about the tank?” He was starting to worry about his involvement with Pagliano and the Jersey Mob. They had done several deals together, when they went as planned they lined his pockets but a few had gone badly and Braken considered the damage control that Pagliano was famous for to be part of the game. Not every deal got you rich, he knew, but the Jersey mob had other ideas. They hadn’t had a big score in several years and he knew Pagliano and his bosses in Jersey were chomping at the bit for this deal to go through. The vacant island was his dream. The cost of the Key was nothing compared to the potential revenue when they sold lots. An environmentally sustainable island retreat - a marketers dream.