“ Already told you. I got shiners and wiggles.”
“ Then I better use this for something else.” Steve swung the frozen fish at Cruz’ head. The man stutter- stepped sideways and the blow glanced off his shoulder and sideswiped an ear. Steve swung again, and Cruz ducked, the fish flying free and shattering the glass door of the salon. Cruz reached for his knife in the ankle sheath and Steve barreled into him, knocking them both to the deck.
On the fly bridge, Victoria screamed. “Stop! Both of you!”
The two men rolled over each other, scraping elbows and knees on the planked deck. Cruz was heavier, and his breath smelled of tobacco. Steve was wiry and quicker, but ended up underneath when they skidded to a stop. Cruz grabbed Steve’s t-shirt at the neck and slammed his head into the deck. Once, twice, three times. Thwomp, thwomp, thwomp.
Steve balled a fist and landed a short right that caught Cruz squarely on the Adam’s apple. The man gagged, clutched his throat, and fell backward. Steve squirmed out from under, but Cruz tripped him. Steve tumbled into the gunwale, smacking his head, sparks flashing behind his eyes. He had the sensation of being dragged across a hard floor. On his back, he opened his eyes and saw something glistening in the sun.
The knife blade!
Cruz was on his knees, knife in hand. “ Pendejo! I oughta make chum out of you.”
“ No!” Victoria’s voice, closer than it should have been.
Steve heard the clunk, saw Cruz topple over, felt him bounce off his own chest. Straddling both of them was Victoria, a three-foot steel tarpon gaff in her right hand. “Omigod,” she said. “I didn’t kill him, did I?”
“ Not unless a dead man grunts and farts at the same time,” Steve said, listening to sounds coming from both ends of the semi-conscious man.
He shoved Cruz off and stood up, wrapping his arms around Victoria, who was trembling. “You were terrific, Vic. We work great together.”
“ Really? What did you do?”
“ Come on. Help me get him up the ladder.” Steve pulled the handcuffs from his pocket. “I want him on the bridge.”
“ What now? What insanity now?”
“ Relax Vic. In a few hours, Cruz will be dying to give back Teresa’s money.”
Steve had played fast and loose with the rules before, Victoria thought, but nothing like this.
This is scary. And in the eyes of the law, she was dirty, too.
This could mean trading the couture outfits and Italian footwear for orange jumpsuits and shower shoes.
With one wrist handcuffed to the rail at the rear of the bridge, Cruz had been berating Steve for the past twenty minutes. “Know what, Solomon? She hits harder than you do.”
“ Mr. Cruz,” Victoria said, “if you begin to feel dizzy or nauseous, let me know. Head trauma can be very dangerous.”
“ What about my head?” Steve demanded.
“ It’s impervious to trauma. Or reason.”
The Wet Dream was planing across the tops of small whitecaps when Steve said: “Take the wheel, Vic. Keep it on two-zero-two.”
“ Please,” she said, irritated.
“ What?”
“‘ Keep it on two-zero-two, please.’”
“ A captain doesn’t say ‘please.’”
“ Maybe not Captain Bligh.” Victoria slid behind the wheel, thinking maybe she’d hit the wrong man with the gaff. She still didn’t know where they were headed, and Steve’s behavior was becoming increasingly bizarre. He had the beginning of a lump on his head, and blood trickled from his skinned elbows and knees.
“ Kidnaping,” Cruz said. “Assault. Boat theft. You two are gonna be busy little shysters.”
“ Shut up,” Steve said. “Under the law of the sea, I’m master of this craft.”
“ What law? You stole my fucking boat.”
Once past Key West, they entered the Florida Straits, the water growing deeper, the color turning from light green to aquamarine to cobalt blue. No reefs here, and a five-foot chop slapped at the hull of the boat. The wavecaps sparkled, as if studded with diamonds in the late afternoon sun.
“ Gonna tell you a story, Cruz,” Steve said, “and when I’m done, you’re gonna cry and beg forgiveness and give back all the money you stole.’”
“ Yeah, right.”
“ Story starts forty-some years ago in Havana. A beautiful lady named Teresa Torano lost her husband who was brave enough to oppose Fidel Castro.”
“ Tough shit,” Cruz said. “Happened to a lot of people.”
“ Teresa came to Miami with nothing. Worked minimum wage, mopped floors in a car dealership, ended up owning Torano Chevrolet.”
“ My papi always told me hard work pays off,” Cruz said, smirking. “Too bad he never got out of the cane fields.”
“ A few years ago, she hires a new controller. A fellow exilado. This guy’s got a fancy computer system that will revolutionize their books. It also lets him steal three million bucks before anybody knows what hit them. Now, the banks have pulled Teresa’s line of credit, and she could go under.”
“ I’m not crying, Solomon.”
“ Not done yet. See, this lady is damn important to me. If it hadn’t been for Teresa giving me work my first year out of school, I’d have gone broke.”
“ Lo unico que logro la dama fue posponer lo inevitable,” Cruz said. “She only postponed the inevitable.”
Victoria knew there was more to it than just a financial relationship. Teresa had virtually adopted Steve and his nephew Bobby, and the Solomon Boys loved her in return. After Victoria entered the picture, she was added to the extended Torano family. Now, each year at Christmas, they all gathered at Teresa’s estate in Coral Gables for her homemade crema de vie, an anise drink so rich it made eggnog seem like diet soda. All of which meant that Steve would do anything for Teresa. One of Steve’s self-proclaimed laws expressed the principle:
“ I won’t break the law, breach legal ethics, or risk jail time…unless it’s for someone I love. ”
Now that Victoria thought about it, the question wasn’t: Just what would Steve do for Teresa Torano? It was: What wouldn’t he do?
“ That sleazy accountant,” Steve said. “In Cuba, he kept the books for the student worker program, the students who cut sugar cane. Ran the whole food services division. But he had a nasty habit of cutting the pineapple juice with water and selling the meat off the back of trucks. The kids went hungry and he got fat. When the authorities found out, he stole a boat and got the hell out of the worker’s paradise.”
“ Old news, hombre.”
“ Vic, still on two-zero-two?” Steve asked.
“ I know how to read a compass,” she said, sharply.
“ Where you taking me?” Cruz demanded.
“ Jeez, how’d you ever get from Havana to Key West?” Steve said.
“ Everybody in Havana knows the heading to the States. You want Key West, you keep it at twenty-two degrees.”
“ A bit east of due north. So what’s two-zero-two?”
“ A little west of due south.”
“ Keep going, Cruz. I think you’re catching the drift, no pun intended.”
Steve waited a moment for the bulb to pop on. When it didn’t, he continued, “Two hundred two minus twenty-two is one hundred eighty. What happens when you make a hundred eighty degree turn, philosophically or
