decision to do it. I made a decision to work here this summer. I’ll stick with that, and I won’t touch alcohol on the boat again.”
O’Brien nodded. “Think about not touching it anywhere if it has become a problem. And if it has, this time quitting would be honorable. I bet your dad would be the first to agree.”
Jason let out a long breath, his cheeks flush with color. “I look at his picture a lot because my memories of him are kind of fading some. That makes it hard, you know?”
“I know. But you still have them, and the good ones will stay with you.”
“I’d better go help Nick with the fish. Gotta earn my money.”
Jason walked out of the salon as Max trotted inside.
O’Brien went in the galley, found the milk carton in the rear of the refrigerator, got his camera, and called to Max. “Let’s go find a patch of grass for you, little lady, okay?” Max looked up at him through excited brown eyes and barked once.
As O’Brien walked by Nick and Jason, he said, “Jason, take some fish home to your mother. I remember her as a gourmet cook.”
Jason grinned and wiped a fish scale off his eyebrow. “Yeah, she is. Thanks, I’ll see you Saturday for our first customers.”
“Sounds good. I’m really glad you’re aboard. We’ll make it a good summer.”
Nick tossed a fish head to a calico cat, big as a raccoon. “Ya’ll got me in the mood for submarine, Greek- style, grouper sandwiches. Stay for dinner, Jason.”
“I appreciate it, but I promised Nicole we’d hang out tonight. My birthday’s tomorrow. I think she wants to do something special.”
“Happy birthday!” O’Brien said.
“Thanks.”
Nick chuckled. “Women like it when their men come back from the sea.”
“We’ve only been gone a day,” Jason said, dimples popping.
Nick raised both eyebrows, his dark eyes catching the late afternoon light. “I understand, but it’s not how long you’re gone. It’s how you greet them on your return. Trust me, I’m an old sailor. The smell of the sea, it’s something women like to taste. Only thing that makes ‘em more passionate is after a good fight when you make up and then make love like you invented it. The meaning of life is to live it.”
Jason laughed and hosed water inside the stomach of a gutted snapper, the dappled setting sunlight breaking through palm fronds.
“Come on, Max,” said O’Brien. “We’re hearing some real fish tales now. I’ll be on Dave’s boat when you’re done, Nick.”
“Tell Dave I’m bringing over some Ouzo. Need something to chase the ghosts away. I’m still seein’ those bones.”
Almost every stool at the Tiki Bar and Grill was taken by a mix of charter boat captains, deck hands, tourists, and bikers. A teenage girl worked the wooden plank floor and its dozen tables, about half filled with diners.
As O’Brien walked with Max back from the oyster shell parking lot and its grassy places, he looked up and saw Kim Davis working behind the bar. She spotted him at the same time and waved. Kim was in her late thirties, brunette, high cheekbones, her raven hair pinned up, firm body, and eyes that could hypnotize most men. To a college-aged bartender she said, “Tim, I’m taking five.”
“No problem.”
Kim stepped to the end of the bar, next to the open-air ramp leading down to the dock. “Sean O’Brien and his first mate, Miss Max.” She leaned down and petted Max. Kim lowered her voice and took O’Brien aside. “Sean, we have to talk. You okay?”
“Last I checked all was fine.”
Kim smiled. “I bet. Channel Nine had video of your boat, you, and your crew in the inlet. They showed the Coast Guard questioning you. Said something about a local fishing crew catching a German submarine. They said the details are coming up at six. What’s going on, Sean? Did you find a German submarine somewhere out there?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
O’Brien’s cell phone chirped on his hip. He looked at the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number. “Excuse me a second, Kim. I transferred in-coming charter calls to my cell. Not that I’ve had a lot of calls.” O’Brien answered the phone, “Jupiter Charters,” he said.
“I just saw your boat on the news preview,” the man said. “If you can take me out to catch a submarine, I’ll book your fuckin’ boat for a month.”
O’Brien disconnected. “The nuts are falling and calling.”
Kim smiled. “They saw the news promo on Channel Nine, huh?”
“Looks that way.”
“What’s the news talking about, Sean? Who started it?”
“Coast Guard heard something on one of the marine channels. Probably a practical joker. Said they’d found a lost German submarine out in the Atlantic. We were fishing there today and I guess the Coast Guard got a little jumpy. Could be because of the last scare at Port Canaveral. Can’t blame them for being suspicious these days.”
“That incident at Port Canaveral was a fishing boat with some Middle Eastern types cruising in a restricted area. You guys don’t fit that profile. We’ll, maybe Nick looks a little like a terrorist.” She smiled. “I can’t even begin to imagine Nick being arrested in some mistaken identity thing. He’d start swearing in Greek.” She glanced over toward the TV in the corner of the bar. “There it is again!”
O’Brien looked up and saw his face on the screen. Then there was a wide shot of
The reporter’s voice said, “Could a local fishing guide have found a German U-boat somewhere in the Atlantic? That’s the question the Coast Guard is asking. The full story on Eyewitness News tonight at six.”
“See!” said Kim. “They’re going to have everybody buzzing about the story.”
“There’s no story. There’s only an over-zealous reporter who wants to accelerate her career by doing inaccurate, sensationalized stories. Trash TV. Junk journalism.”
A man sitting nearest them at the bar laughed at O’Brien’s comments. He held a bottle of beer in a large hand, knuckles thick and scarred. The man, late thirties, had the shoulders and arms of a pro football quarterback, short cropped dark hair, tanned angular face and a Paul Newman nose.
“Eric Hunter, meet Sean O’Brien,” said Kim.
Hunter extended his hand and O’Brien shook it. “Looks like the Coast Guard had a lot of firepower pointed at your boat.”
“You noticed that, too?”
“Hard not to.”
“Overkill.”
“They get jumpy out there in today’s hostile climate.”
O’Brien laughed. “Out there was right here in Ponce Inlet.”
“I see you’ve got Jason Canfield on board. He’s a fine young man.”
“How do you know him?”
“His dad was a friend of mine. We served in the military together. His mother has done a good job raising him after his father died.”
“You knew his father?” O’Brien asked.
“Yes. Frank died a few years ago.”
“How’d he die?” Kim asked.
