“What the hell are you two staring at?” the guy with the beard yelled.
The nerve of this guy.
“Our boat,” Ange fired back. “And some loser who climbed aboard it without permission.”
He shielded the side of his face from the late-morning sun. We kept paddling, heading straight for the Baia’s stern.
“This is yours?” he growled.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice raised a few levels above his. “And you’ve got three seconds to get your trespassing ass off it.”
The man bellowed.
I climbed onto the swim platform, stepped over the transom, and strode right into his face. I had a few inches and about twenty pounds on the guy.
His laugh went away, replaced by a twitch of fear.
I don’t care about the situation. I don’t care if I’m facing off against a bigger opponent or overwhelming odds. I won’t be intimidated. Just not in my character.
As expected, the bully wasn’t accustomed to having his own behavior shoved back into his face. He swallowed, regained his fragile composure, and eyed me like an opposing fighter seconds before the bell.
Up close, the guy’s beard looked even worse, with straggling hairs and what looked like an attempt at a handlebar mustache.
Handlebars on a toddler’s bike, maybe.
“And what if I don’t get off, huh?” he snarled. “What then?”
“Oh, you’re getting off. One way or another. Whether you do it under your own strength or by me throwing you is your decision.”
His breath was nasty, like he hadn’t brushed in a week.
“What are you two doing here anyway?” he asked.
“We’re investigating a murder,” I said, catching the guy off guard. “Happened two evenings ago in Key Largo. Know anything about it?”
The man froze. “You police or something?” he spat.
“No. We’re worse than the police. When we find the killer, we’re more likely to deal with him our own way. Then, once we’re done, we might consider handing whoever’s responsible over to the feds.” I shrugged. “Depends if we’re feeling generous or not.”
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to. But those kinds of words won’t fly with me without serious repercussions.”
“Get off my boat.”
“Forget these fools, Jake,” a bald guy on the pontoon boat spat.
I thought back to the phone conversation we’d overheard back in the lagoon. I guess this is Jake.
Jake held his hands in the air in mock submission, then strode past me. The self-identified macho man thought he was being clever. Pretending like I’d won the argument. When he reached for the knife hanging from his waist, I was already a step ahead of him.
I snatched his wrist before he could pull the blade free, then jerked his arm back while shoving a heel behind his left knee. His lower body buckled, allowing me to use his own weight to twist his arm back even more. Right on the brink of a broken bone.
He grunted in pain and flailed like a fish tossed onto dry land. I looked up just as Ange smacked the guy closest to her on the pontoon across the head with her paddle. As he fell to the deck, she snatched her Glock and put the bald guy in her sights before he could grab his weapon. He froze like a deer caught in the headlights.
“What the fuck?” Jake shouted. “Let go of me.”
Forcing him into submission, I pulled out his knife and tossed it into the water. Then I did the same with his Colt handgun. It was only fair. He’d trespassed onto my boat and tried to slice me up with a cheap shot. He didn’t deserve to be armed.
I eyed the guy Ange had struck with her paddle as he stumbled to his feet. Squeezing my left arm tight around Jake’s neck, I pulled out my Sig and aimed it at the guys on the pontoon.
“This is your last chance to leave in one piece,” I declared. “Drop your weapons.”
The two guys obliged right away, then pleaded for Jake to stop. The hot-headed guy grunted, then finally said that he’d get off. I loosened my grip, then kicked him in the back. He fell forward, slamming onto the transom, flipping over, and splashing into the water.
He thrashed as his buddies helped him onto the pontoon boat. Glaring back at me with soaked clothes, he ordered the bald guy to fire up the engines. He hit the gas, accelerating the old decrepit boat and turning west away from us.
Jake didn’t take his eyes off me. When they were a hundred yards off, he yelled, “We’ll meet again, asshole.”
THIRTEEN
“I’m surprised you let him go,” Ange said as we watched the boat grow smaller and smaller as they scurried off into the bay. “He trespassed on your pride and joy, threatened you, and practically admitted to murder.”
“He didn’t admit to it,” I said. “But he certainly knew about it. These are our guys. The question is, how many more are there?”
As I lashed the kayak back to the stern, Ange pulled out her smartphone.
“Well, I can think of one way to get some answers,” she said.
“The email from Jane?”
She nodded. “Why don’t we learn a few things about these guys over lunch at Alabama Jack’s?” she said. “It’s just across the sound, and all this making new mortal enemies has worked up my appetite.”
I smiled. I’d worked up quite the appetite as well, paddling, freediving, paddling some more, and then threatening. A blackened grouper sandwich from Jack’s would surely hit the spot.
“You check out the email,” I said, tightening up the nylon straps. “I’ll get the anchor up and
