“Nice to see the whole Dodge clan,” he said, lumbering up to the gunwale.
“I think Dad’s more excited to get his boat than he was when he adopted me,” Scarlett said with a chuckle.
I smiled and shook my head.
“Well, I’m excited to show her to you,” Nick bellowed.
“She still float?” I asked.
He held out his arm and teeter-tottered his flattened hand side to side.
“Only one or two leaks,” he chuckled.
“You should put that on your business cards,” Ange said. “It’s one heck of a catchphrase.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” he said as Ange and I climbed onto the dock. “What happened to you?” He slid his sunglasses down and eyed the bandages on my chest and shoulders.
“Got in a fight with a gang of urchins,” I shrugged.
“Eek. At least it wasn’t a pride of lionfish.”
“No, we won that fight today,” Scarlett said. “And we’ll be savoring our victory at dinner this evening.”
I gave Scarlett a double take. Sometimes it was hard for me to believe that she’d only lived in the Keys for three months. She’d fallen into the conch lifestyle as comfortably as anyone I’d ever seen.
Nick led us up the dock, across a dusty gravel driveway, and into one of the buildings. Our new Baia was on the hard, its freshly painted dark blue hull and spotless decks looking like they’d just come out of the factory.
Nick led us up a set of temporary wooden stairs and onto our boat. It was a few years older than the one I’d lost, but the leftover insurance money allowed us to spruce it up a bit, with a pair of sparkling 600-Hp engines, upgraded electronics, and a few custom touches in addition to the new paint.
Nick led us past the reupholstered sunbed, the topside dinette, and the cockpit. Opening the saloon door, he led us below deck. Everything looked new—the galley, the half-moon cushioned bench seat, and both cabins.
The guest cabin aft of the saloon had a full-sized bed, along with a twin bunk that could fold out and hang by straps if we needed it. Under the bed and along the opposite bulkhead, Nick had added spacious lockers for our scuba and rebreather gear and our underwater drone, as well as our magnetometer.
Nick had also added a few secret hiding compartments per Ange’s and my requests. Though both proud law-abiding citizens, we often find ourselves in situations where being armed is significantly preferable to not being armed. And since much of the Caribbean doesn’t allow you to bring in firearms, or requires you to turn them over to authorities for the duration of your trip, the compartments would surely come in handy.
My favorite secret space was topside, just beside the cockpit. It ran flush with the paneling and could only be opened by pressing from the bottom up at a certain point. The easily accessible hidden mini compartment was just big enough for a Sig Sauer P226 9mm, my handgun of choice and the bread and butter of SEALs since the late eighties.
Nick ushered us onto the swim platform, then lowered a white cover, revealing the boat’s name painted in navy-blue letters on the white upper half of the transom.
“I christen you Dodging Bullets II,” he said, taking out a small bottle of champagne. Instead of cracking it against the hull, he handed it to us. “Make sure you do the official honors once she’s in the water.”
I grabbed it and assured him that we would.
“Hopefully this one will better live up to its name,” Nick said with a chuckle. “I lost count of how many times you motored your old one here with more holes in it than Swiss cheese.”
One of Nick’s employees started up his massive forklift and rumbled it over. Within minutes he had our sleek new home away from home floating in its natural habitat. Like a Ferrari or a Ducati, she was a thing of engineering beauty. A real head turner, or a head snapper given its speed.
“Ange, you and Scar can do the honors,” I said. I signaled toward our twenty-two-foot center-console and added, “I’ll take the Robalo home.”
Nick waved a hand. “No need. I’m heading to Key Weird this evening to catch the Wayward Suns at Salty Pete’s. I’ll tie her off at Conch Harbor if you’d like. I’m sure I can hitch a ride back.”
“You sure? It’s no problem.”
“Of course! Can’t let the captain miss the maiden voyage, after all.”
“Ange’s the real captain,” I said, shooting her a wink. “But she occasionally lets me wear the skipper’s hat in the relationship.”
We unloaded our stuff from the Robalo and stashed it away in the Baia. Walking about the beautiful boat felt good. Like coming home. I’d only been without the original Dodging Bullets for a few months, but it’d felt a lot longer.
I handed Nick the keys to our center-console, then thanked him again for everything. We did an official christening once aboard, pouring a few drops over the side to abide Neptune and drinking the rest ourselves. We even let Scarlett have a sip, though she wasn’t a fan.
I handed Ange the half-empty bottle, then started up the Baia’s twin engines. The initial grumble followed by the steady purr induced a deep satisfaction within me.
“You want to catch the Suns at Pete’s tonight as well?” Scarlett asked.
It wasn’t a school night, so I said, “Why not? There’s something I’d like us to do first, though. A way to really put an exclamation point on this day.”
“A Mallory Square Sunset celebration, perhaps?” Ange said.
I smiled.
