He took it and flipped it over. “It might not come to pass,” he said, putting the card in his wallet. “If the kid regains his memory, we might be able to find his parents.”
“But you said he’d been abused most of his life,” Savannah said.
“We can investigate that,” he replied. “But if his parents want him, it’ll be difficult not to return him. Being the victim of poverty isn’t abuse.”
“We’ll do whatever is needed,” I said, putting my arm around my mama-bear wife. “He’ll be safe and well-cared for with us.”
“I believe you,” Andersen said.
Then the two cops turned and walked out.
“We’d best be getting back,” I said. “Jimmy has a charter scheduled for tomorrow and we have to get El Cazador ready.”
“Reef-fishing charter?” Rusty asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, not sounding very enthusiastic. “Three guys from Atlanta.”
“Jimmy can’t handle that himself?”
“He can,” I replied. “Until about the second case of beer.”
“That kind, huh?” Rusty said. “Happens every April. Where ya fishin’?”
“G Marker,” I said. “It’s close enough they can swim to Big Pine if I decide to toss ’em overboard.”
When Savannah and I returned to our island in the Content Keys, Jimmy had Cazador out from under the house and tied up to the south pier.
“Everything okay?” I asked, as we tied up the little Grady in front of the much bigger thirty-two-foot Winter.
Jimmy’s head appeared from where he was bent over the raised center console. “Yeah. All fine now. I just wanted to do a good engine inspection and cleaning. She hasn’t been out in a while.”
He was right. Most of our charters were aboard Gaspar’s Revenge, my big forty-five-foot offshore machine. She was built for blue water fishing, going after mahi, tuna, or billfish in the Gulf Stream. El Cazador was a diesel-powered center console, with lots of room to walk around her decks from bow to stern—ideal for stationary reef fishing with larger groups. The downside was she had only a single engine, where the Revenge had two. Jimmy was always nervous about going offshore on one engine.
I looked down into the Winter’s engine bay, which occupied most of the space below the console. The whole console was hinged at the helm area and the console and T-top were in the raised position.
“Looks brand-new,” I said. “What time did you say we were picking the charter up?”
“Sunrise,” he replied. “At the Rusty Anchor.”
“Where are they staying?”
“Old Wooden Bridge Marina,” Jimmy replied. He’d worked for me for a long time and knew what I wanted to know. “I talked to Old Jason last night, man,” he continued. “Just to check in on what’s where offshore. You know how he likes to gossip.”
I did. Old Jason wasn’t old. But he was older than another guide by the same name, and he was a good source of information about the goings-on in the northern part of Big Pine, as well as what was happening offshore.
“He told me he met our clients this morning,” Jimmy continued, “after they apparently tore up Key West last night.”
“Having second thoughts?” I asked.
I was particular about who I took out. We didn’t charter because we had to. Everything we owned was paid for, free and clear. I just didn’t like being around unpleasant people. And when you were miles from shore on a small boat with unpleasant people, it got damned crowded.
“Nah. Nothing like that,” he said, lowering the console. “Dink and Ash put them on a big tarpon run yesterday afternoon. Dink said the three guys were rowdy and boisterous, but not a problem.”
“I’m going to go up and put together something for lunch,” Savannah said. “Any requests?”
Jimmy and I looked at each other, then back at Savannah. She turned before we could say anything.
“Lobster salad it is,” she said, turning, and heading up the steps.
“With melted garlic butter on the side!” I called out.
She tossed her hair over one shoulder and looked down at me. “Not happening. Too much cholesterol.”
I turned back toward Jimmy and shrugged. “At least it’s lobster.”
“We’re both kinda lucky, man. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I replied, as Savannah reached the top of the steps and disappeared into our house. “In a lot of ways.”
He stepped up on the dock as Finn came down the steps. “Neither one of us is getting any younger, man. And our ladies will see to it that we live a damned long time.”
Jimmy was more than a decade younger than me and had been with a woman named Naomi for quite some time now. She was Sid’s niece and a part-time model. Like Savannah, Naomi kept Jimmy on a healthy diet and had even gotten him to cut down on smoking pot.
Not that either of us were gluttonous slobs before they came along—we ate mostly seafood and I’d had an aquaculture garden for many years. We worked hard for exercise and were fit and healthy, for the most part. But Jimmy was right; we weren’t getting any younger.
Finn came trotting toward me, his big head bobbing and his tail smacking his flanks. He melted on top of my feet, nudging my hand for an ear scratch.
“Where’s Woden?” I asked, as I rubbed the fur on Finn’s neck and head.
“Last I saw him,” Jimmy said, “he was lying in the sun out on the end of the north pier. How’d the race go?”
“I guess we’re not the only ones growing old,” I offered. “We didn’t finish the race.”
“Huh? You and Savannah are great runners, man.”
“We jumped off the bridge,” I replied, then went on to tell him about the boy in the boat and the visit by Detective Andersen.
“So, the little guy’s gonna come and stay here?”
“Maybe,” I replied. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“We have two bedrooms,” Jimmy offered. “Be no problem for him to shack up with us, man.”
“I hadn’t even thought about where he’s gonna stay,” I said, as we went up the steps to the deck.
Naomi was just coming out of the house when we
