The Black Bullet

O’Brien said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

She blew out a breath, her eyes falling on Max. “You always liked animals. Somehow I pictured you with a German Shepherd or something.”

O’Brien set Max on the cockpit floor. “Max is the ‘something.’ There’s a long story behind her. Come aboard, Maggie, please.”

She took a seat in one of the deck chairs. O’Brien sat opposite her. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? As I recall, you liked chardonnay.”

“You have a good memory. And you always saw things others seemed to miss.”

“Just observant.”

She smiled, her eyes now bright. “I think it was more than that. I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need … it’s only been twenty plus years.”

“How are you, Sean?”

“Can’t complain. I’m trying my hand at this charter boat thing. It’s a good way to make some money, especially during season. One of the guys, two boats down, a Greek with saltwater in his blood, is showing me the ropes.”

“I read a story in the News Journal that a former Miami homicide detective was starting a charter fishing business at Ponce Marina. When I saw your name, I knew it had to be you. I read about your wife … her death, when I went online. I want to….” Maggie paused, seemed to look at something over O’Brien’s shoulder for a moment, her caramel brown eyes falling back to his. “I was so sorry and sad for you when I heard about your wife’s death. After they killed my husband, Frank, I believe I could relate to your loss on a deeper level.” Her eyes watered.

O’Brien nodded. Silent. He waited for her to speak.

“God, look at me, Sean. I haven’t seen you in twenty two years, and I’m crying.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s death.”

She looked away, her eyes filling with guarded thoughts. She smiled, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked up at the fly bridge. “You always loved boats … sailboats I thought. But I guess you can’t charge people to fish from a sailboat. I live about two miles from the marina.”

“I’m sort of a recovering former homicide detective. Left it all behind in Miami. This boat’s twenty years old- owned by a former drug runner. I bought it in a DEA auction and brought it up here, hoping the Daytona area might open some new doors. Where I spend most of my time, though, is at an old house I’m fixing up on the banks of the St. Johns River about a half hour’s drive from here.” O’Brien touched the top of her hand. “Who killed your husband?”

“The same people who run in the pack of murderers responsible for the nine-eleven tragedies. Frank was one of seventeen killed during the attack on the USS Cole. Our son, Jason, was only ten when it happened-a horrible age for a boy to lose his father. Jason’s now a sophomore at Florida State University. I had a rough time; the single parent thing isn’t easy, especially with a boy. When he was fifteen, he got involved with the wrong crowd. Drugs. His attitude was so defensive. Somehow we pulled through. Now that he’s away in school, I think he’s developed a drinking problem. I’ve tried to talk with him, but he’s in denial. When he was home for spring break, I got really scared. I found him passed out in his car. Sean, he reeked of alcohol. An empty vodka bottle was on the floorboard, and he had his father’s picture against his chest.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I feel odd about coming here, crying on your shoulder after all this time.”

“It’s okay. I can see you’re in pain.” O’Brien looked at her hands, his eyes tender, taking in her face. “You’re not sleeping. And I remember a woman who had manicured fingernails. Now they’re bitten down.”

Maggie folded her hands. O’Brien picked up Max and set her in his lap. “Max was Sherri's, my wife’s, idea. One she didn’t share with me until I came home from a week-long stakeout. Sherri said Max could keep her warm when I was away. Sounded like a fair trade. Now Max is my first mate here on the boat. Back at the house, she’s the boss, especially in the kitchen.”

“She’s so sweet.”

“She has her moods.”

“Sean, I feel weird, guilty coming here. It’s presumptuous for me to contact you after all these years, but I remember you as somebody a boy might look up to.”

O’Brien said nothing.

“Jason’s not a boy anymore, but God knows he’s not a man either. I was thinking that if you needed someone to work on your boat, help you with the charter fishing business, maybe you’d consider my son. He’s home for the summer. He’s always been a hard worker at his part-time jobs. He will-”

“It’s okay.” O’Brien smiled. “You’re all the referral I need. He’s hired.”

“Oh, Sean, thank you!” Her eyes watered. O’Brien lifted a hand, using his thumb to wipe a single tear from her right cheek.

He said, “You always had good cheekbones.”

“And you always had a good heart. I’d better be going now.” She stood to leave. O’Brien set Max down and walked with Maggie to give her a hands-up to the dock. “Jason will be so excited.” She hugged O’Brien. “When does he start?”

“He can come in for training tomorrow morning. Seven sharp.”

“Thank you. It’s good to see you, Sean. Seems like a lifetime ago.” She leaned in and embraced O’Brien, her hands holding onto his back and shoulders for a long moment. “Seven sharp,” she said, through damp eyes.

O’Brien watched her walk down the dock. “Max, ever wonder how the past often intersects the present and changes the future?” Max cocked her head. O’Brien said, “Gone fishing might take on a whole new meaning. Let’s go find Nick.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The following afternoon, O’Brien’s boat, Jupiter, was sixty miles out into the Atlantic when Max started pacing the cockpit.

“Bathroom break,” O’Brien said, setting Max on the boat’s dive platform. A sea gull flew over and squawked as Max squatted on the edge of the platform. She spread all four legs to balance herself above the gentle roll of the sea, looked up at O’Brien, who stood in the open cockpit, and released a stream that flowed through the slots in the platform into the Atlantic Ocean.

Jason Canfield said, “It’s pretty cool she knows where to pee.” He scratched the back of his sunburned neck. “What do you do when Max has to take a dump?” Jason grinned. O’Brien could see Maggie in her son’s bright face- high cheekbones, wide smile, gentle eyes. O’Brien also could smell the taint of cheap gin coming from the boy’s skin.

“We’ve never been out that long for Max to feel the urge,” said O’Brien, hosing off the platform as Max trotted back into the cockpit. “If she does, sounds like a job for our newest deckhand, though.” O’Brien turned to his friend, Nick Cronus and winked.

Nick, a Greek with a mop of curly black hair, wide moustache, playful dark eyes, crossed his Popeye forearms. “That’s the way it’s done in Greece. Mates get the shit duties ‘til they can buy their own boat.”

“Wait a sec,” protested Jason, “you guys never said anything about that.” He licked his dry lips. “I mean … I like Max, but-”

“Look at that,” O’Brien said, pointing to a bird.

A small black and white tern circled the boat twice and landed on top of the fly bridge. Nick looked at the bird, rubbed his thick mustache and said, “Birds bring good luck. They get tired flyin’ at sea. One time I was out about a week and had a little bird land on top of my head. Outta nowhere. Let the little fella stay in my hair for a while. Gave him some water and bread, you know.”

“What happed to the bird?” asked Jason.

“He stayed on the boat for a half day. When we got close to land, maybe ten miles out, he took off. But before he could fly home, a sea hawk-the osprey, come down and caught the little fella. Man, I felt awful.”