Groaning, he crawled desperately toward the shotgun. Just as his hand wrapped around the stock, I slammed the fragile bones with my heel, then kicked him across the face. As his head snapped back, his mouth opened and his body went limp.
I pulled my knife from his leg, wiped the blood on his pants, and slid it back into its sheath at the back of my waistband. Struggled breaths caught my attention, and I turned back to the window.
Skinny struggled to his feet, blood covering and dripping down half of his face. He pulled a Louisville Slugger off the wall and shot me an evil look.
“You… have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
I stood tall.
Without another word, he stumbled toward me and swung the wooden bat with all the strength he could muster. Instead of ducking or dodging, I lunged straight for him and grabbed his hands and the lower part of the bat. Kneeing him in the breadbasket, I ripped the bat from his hands, then whipped around and smashed his head with the sweet spot.
He went lights out in an instant and collapsed like a late-round Jenga tower.
“Right back at you,” I said, ending the brief conversation with an exclamation point.
SIXTEEN
I stood still and quiet for a few seconds. All I could hear was the downstairs music and the few patrons chatting casually. Apparently no one had heard our little scuffle, not even the part where I’d bashed the guy’s skull like it was a three-and-oh fastball down the middle.
I looked over my two assailants. Casper would be walking with a limp and would probably have his hand in a cast for the next few months. Skinny, if he ever woke up, would be lucky if he only suffered the deep gash to the side of his head and a concussion.
I was about to toss the Louisville Slugger aside when I noticed the name etched in black on the barrel.
Pete Rose.
It was also signed right by the name. Striding across the room, I set it back on its shelf out of respect for Charlie Hustle. It had a new dent and some blood on it, but I imagined that it was still the most valuable item in the entire marina.
Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, I slipped out the window. The climb down was trickier, and I almost hitched a ride on the gravity express, but I managed to keep my balance by leaning forward into the wall.
The moment my shoes hit the damp pavement, I heard shouts coming from upstairs.
Consider the hornet’s nest kicked. Now to deal with this Jake character, and then figure out where Lynch and the rest of his Aryan Order buddies are hiding out.
I pinched my nose as I weaved past the showers and around the back of the bathroom. As I cut between the outhouse wall and the main building, I heard footsteps approach from the corner. I’d expected Ange. Instead, the fat guy from back at Jones Lagoon jumped into view and raised his revolver at me.
Before I could react, a loud bang filled the calm afternoon air. But I wasn’t shot. I watched as an arm grabbed the fat guy from behind. He dropped his gun, then he was jerked to his right. Ange shoved him aside as he gagged, kicking him hard toward the smelly bathroom. His husky frame battered down the door and he fell facefirst onto the toilet, which had flies circling over it.
With the coast clear thanks to Ange, we darted across the marina, ducked down a walkway, and observed the chaos from a distance. People of all shapes and sizes poured out of the dingy marina and took a look around. Fortunately, none of them had guns. It looked like we’d dealt with all of Lynch’s boys, at least the ones on site.
Trying our best to look as confused and frightened as the people standing at the much nicer marina where we’d tied off, we strode casually down the dock and hopped onto the Baia.
“Thanks, Ange,” I said. “I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve saved my skin.”
“Twelve,” she replied right away. “Though you’ve saved me a few times as well.”
I shook my head.
She keeps count.
“You all right?” she said, examining the cut to my arm.
“Yeah. Just lost my grip and slipped. Then one of those bozos got me with a lucky jab during the scuffle.”
“I’ve told you to work on your rock climbing skills.”
“In the Keys?” I chuckled.
We fell silent a moment, continuing to observe Teddy’s Marina from a distance.
“You know, I usually like hole-in-the-wall places like that,” she said. “But that guy back at Alabama Jack’s was right. Anyone who even thinks about buying that place would have to be certifiable.”
I nodded. I couldn’t agree more. What the place needed was a good burning to the ground, bulldozing, and a fresh start.
“Let’s call Jane and get the local authorities on site,” I said. “We can stick around for a few more minutes, but I don’t think Lynch has any more guys here.”
“What about the other guys?” she said. “The ones on the pontoon boat?”
“They’re gonna come after us. I overheard a conversation with Lynch upstairs.”
“Wait a second, Deacon Lynch is up there? Please tell me you—”
“He was on the phone. Or believe me, I would’ve. He told the skinny guy from back in the lagoon that we were to be dealt with quickly and quietly. Then Skinny called our trespassing friend Jake and relayed the order.”
Once confident that there weren’t any more of Lynch’s boys snooping around, we started up the Baia and cruised over to the marina’s fueling station. By the time we finished refueling the tanks, paid the attendant, and motored back into Biscayne Bay, nearly thirty
