'Yeah.'
'Let's have a few drinks, then get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll help you make some plans.' He poured more cognac. 'Of course, I'll have to bill you at the usual rate.'
'Of course.'
An hour and a half bottle of cognac later we heard a loud commotion from the back of the bar.
'What's all the racket out here, Skinner? I thought I told you to keep the drunks quiet in the mornings?'
'Yes, sir, Mr. Bobby, but these drunks, they be a different breed.'
Bobby appeared hitching up his britches, kept tied with a length of half-inch sisal rope run around the outside of the belt loops. Looking over at us with a frown, he said, 'Well I'll be keel-hauled, look what the sharks dragged ashore. What are you two doing on the island?'
He came over and shook hands with a big, meaty paw as powerful as a vise. A stocky man about six feet in height, he had huge arms developed from years of fishing and diving commercially for crawfish. He was one of the strongest men I have ever known. Skinner was the only one ever to beat him arm wrestling, and Bobby would not speak to him for a week. He possessed a pair of eyes that could freeze your heart, and let you know he would back up what he said.
Bobby built this bar twenty years ago. It was soon after he'd survived a near drowning during a hurricane that sank the crawfish boat he was working on. He vowed never to go to sea again. He never has. Now, he is an alcoholic who drinks all day, every day, though I have never seen him drunk.
Sitting down with us, he motioned for Skinner to bring him a glass. He sipped slowly on the cognac. I could see it rise in him then, from somewhere in his stomach, that tyrannical craving for alcohol, hot and satiny and sedating. It made him lick his lips and squeeze his hands. He felt that something was expected of him, that our eyes were on him, measuring him, that here now was the chance to win back the respect lost that horrible day to the sea. We both loved this old man, but would never try to change him.
Half an hour later, Dave excused himself, saying he needed to talk to Karl Strange about his son, Will. I'd make the call to Glossman, and we would meet back here, then we'd get some sleep.
After Dave left, Skinner came over and sat with Bobby and me. Skinner said he knew Will, and that he was a good boy. All boys go through that wild stage. He knew that the boy was messing with some bad people, but he didn't realize it was the dopers. If he had, he would have put a stop to it.
Bobby said that they tried to set up shop in his bar when they first started operating in the islands, but he wouldn't put up with it and ran them out. They did most of their business up at Treasure Cay anyway so it did not turn into a war. He said that they would keep an eye on the two from up at Walker's Cay that tried to steal back the cocaine.
The wind picked up outside and a salt-filled breeze wafted through the tall doors. Waves showed whitecaps in the harbor, appearing like fields of diamonds. The cognac began to act as a sedative; it had been a long night. Tension washed away like the waves beyond the door, and I began to feel like a human being again. If I was going to call Glossman, it had better be now.
'Do you still have to make calls to the states from the telephone office?'
'Yeah, up the road about half a mile. You remember?'
'If Dave returns before I get back, tell him I won't be long.'
The bright sunshine hurt my eyes. My legs felt leaden and rubbery. The coral cuts were sore and oozing blood. Kathy's bandages needed changing. A quarter mile up the dusty road, a black sedan almost ran over me. Sitting on the passenger side was Lynn Renoir. The cognac numbed my senses, but it was Lynn. I could not see who else was in the car.
At the telephone office the operator assigned me a phone and put my call through to Glossman. His secretary seemed anxious to hear from me. Glossman came on the line immediately.
'Jay, we were worried. Is everything okay?'
I filled him in on all the information we learned from Barrel-chest. He listened quietly, making no comments. Ending the conversation, I related seeing Lynn headed for the airport only minutes ago.
He offered to send a plane down this afternoon, but I asked to wait until tomorrow so that we could get some rest and clear up a couple of things. Kathy Peirce was on my mind. He agreed and said that the plane would land around two p.m. the next day.
The walk back to Bobby's Bar took me past the big grocery store where the young children begged for money from the tourists. The goodhearted mainlanders who yielded to their pleas were doing a great injustice to them. A new hotel was being built on the east side of the road to attract more unneeded visitors to this quiet island village.
Dave was waiting for me. He looked as bad as I felt. We had one more drink while I filled him in on the conversation with Glossman. Bobby said if we'd show up at the bar around noon tomorrow that he would prepare a big seafood lunch for us. We appreciated the gesture and assured him we would be there.
I asked if he'd send Skinner down to B.J.'s house and invite Kathy to join us. He said he might go himself, being as she was so pretty.
We took one of the cigarette boats back to American Harbor at Man-O-War Cay. We boarded the sailboat, Dave took the Vee-birth, and I fell into the portside bunk. We were asleep instantly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The gentle rocking of the boat woke me. Sun slanted through the starboard porthole. A fresh smell of salt air filled the cabin. My feet were itching ferociously from the coral cuts. Dave's snoring brought it all back.
Lying still for a moment, feeling the movement of the sailboat tugging at the end of the anchor rode, I wondered why Lynn Renoir was on Abaco Island, and why had she showed up in Nassau at the Paradise Island casino? Did she know I was here, or was she simply following some lead concerning her sister? Why had she not been in contact with Joe Glossman or Bill Moran?
The sad thing about these questions was that if asked yesterday I wouldn’t have known the answers, today I knew them all.
From the angle of the slanting rays of the sun beaming into the cabin it was close to noon. Glancing at my old worn Rolex, I saw that it was ticking past eleven a.m. Rolling out of my bunk, I lit the gimbaled stove and rummaged around for coffee and a pot to brew it in.
'There is no coffee,' Dave grumbled from the Vee-birth.
'Not my idea of a way to run a boat.'
Climbing out into the cockpit, I dove overboard. The cool water was refreshing. Struggling down to the white sand bottom, the water became colder. My ears popped, clearing my head. Rising slowly, I swam back to the boarding ladder, saltwater stinging my feet, however I knew it was cleansing the wounds and would help the healing process.
Dave was taking a shower and, while he dressed, I rinsed off with fresh water. Feeling renewed, I was suddenly hungry.
'We're supposed to be at Bobby's by noon.'
'Don't get in a hurry, you're in the islands, remember.'
'Kathy's going to be there. I wanted to spend some time with her before we left.'
'Figured as much. She's a fine lady, but you don't stand a chance. She's way out of your league.'
'You let me worry about my league.'
Bobby and Skinner did prepare a feast. Two tables were pulled together and piled with cracked conch, fritters, crawfish salad, and warm homemade bread.
Kathy was there, standing at the bar talking with Skinner. She was dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a white blouse with hand-sewn red roses across the front. Her black hair was tied up in a ponytail with a red ribbon, and she wore a pair of hand-woven, leather sandals. Her green, bottomless eyes sparkled like the diamond-crested waves in the harbor. She turned and looked at me with a peculiar grace of motion that was slow, relaxed, and athletically feminine.
