He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn the previous day.
“We have some new clothes waiting at a friend’s place,” I told him. “If we leave now, you can eat all the breakfast you want there. Old Rufus makes the best breakfast burritos you’ve ever tried.”
He got to his feet and looked down at the dogs. “Will they be coming with us?”
Finn and Woden looked up at me, as if waiting for an answer, too.
“Yes,” Savannah replied. “But if we’re going to eat soon, we’d better get going. It’s about thirty minutes in the boat to Tank and Chyrel’s, then a short car ride to get to the Rusty Anchor.”
Both dogs rose and with tail and nub wagging, headed for the stairs.
“They understood you,” Alberto said.
“They’re pretty smart,” Savannah agreed, as we followed the dogs down to the dock area below the house.
Ten minutes later, we were idling into Harbor Channel. Alberto sat up on his knees in the second seat so he could see all the gauges and over the helm. He didn’t want to miss a thing.
Savannah had opted for the forward-facing seat in front of the helm. Her hair was pulled back with three bands holding it in place and she wore a light sweater against the morning chill. The sun, just beginning to peek over the horizon, gave her skin a rich glow.
I increased speed to a high idle.
“Is this as fast as your boat will go?” Alberto asked.
“Oh, no,” I said, then pointed to the island at the entrance to Harbor Channel. “A friend lives there and we don’t want to wake his boat.”
“His boat sleeps?”
Savannah and I both laughed. “He means the wave that a boat makes,” Savannah explained, turning back to face us. “It’s called a wake, and if we go too fast, our wake will rock Mac’s boat.”
Once clear of Mac’s place, I brought the Revenge up on plane, much to Alberto’s delight. I turned the wheel slightly to starboard and the big boat leaned into the wide turn like a Thoroughbred at the end of the back stretch.
Setting a course that would take us toward Tank’s house on Grassy Key, I checked the chart plotter and explained to Alberto how it worked.
“I don’t cross these waters in this boat often, so we need to know where the deep water is.”
“How come?”
“It’s a big boat,” I replied. “If we try to go in water that’s too shallow, we’ll run aground and be stuck.”
“No. How come you don’t take this boat here?”
I glanced down at the boy. I knew that kids that age were always asking questions. Pap used to tell me the only dumb question was the one I didn’t ask.
“You saw the smaller boats under the house, right?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Those boats are better suited for shallower water,” I explained. “Like here on the Gulf side. We call this kind of boat a blue water boat, and we usually only use it offshore, where the water’s very deep.”
On the chart plotter, I pointed to Bluefish Bank and Bamboo Bank, just beyond it. Both were close to our course, so I turned slightly, ensuring that we’d pass well to the north of them. The course line on the chart plotter moved to the left of the shallows.
Alberto craned his neck and looked out over the bow. “I don’t see anything.”
“They’re still several miles ahead,” I said. “And we’ll pass them a mile to the north. From a distance, it’s hard to tell shallow water from deep.”
Alberto looked back and I followed his gaze. The wake we left in the water could be seen far astern.
“That’s a big wake,” he said. “Good thing we didn’t go fast when we passed Mac’s island.”
I looked at him and grinned, remembering my first ride in a big, offshore boat. I was about the same age as Alberto when I went with Pap and a couple of his friends on an offshore fishing trip. We slept on the boat, miles from shore, and I remember catching a wahoo. From that point on, I was hooked.
In no time at all, I slowed and turned toward the dock extending out from Tank and Chyrel’s house. Tony and Paul were standing at the end of the T-head, behind Tank’s boat, waiting to catch lines.
Right after buying furniture for his new house, Tank had bought a slightly used twenty-six-foot Proline with a walk-around cuddy cabin. It’d only had sixty hours on the twin 200-horse Mercs. Over the months that followed, he’d tripled that, making daily runs out from the dock, fishing and exploring, sometimes overnight.
“Who are those men?” Alberto asked, as Savannah went down to toss lines.
“A couple of friends of mine,” I replied. “You and Savannah will go with another lady named Chyrel to get breakfast. Then the three of you and the dogs will follow me in Savannah’s boat.”
“How come?”
“Me and my friends are going to take this boat,” I said. “We’ll all meet up in a few hours, probably about lunch time.”
I laid the Revenge against the dock, and Tony and Paul quickly made her fast. Then they picked up three black, tactical bags and came aboard, stashing their gear inside.
“You must be Alberto,” Chyrel said, as she and Tank approached the T-head.
Savannah made the introductions and each of them greeted the boy with big smiles.
“Later, there’s gonna be a test on everyone’s name,” I said to Alberto.
He looked over at the dock and rattled off each person’s name.
“Okay, maybe there’s no need,” I offered, as I helped him up to the dock.
I kissed Savannah goodbye, then she and Chyrel led Alberto toward the house.
Tank heaved a cooler from the dock, passing it over to Tony. “We made some food for the trip.”
“Then let’s get going,” I said. “DJ Martin is going to meet us in Fort Myers.”
“He one of your Armstrong spooks?” Tank asked, as he stepped aboard.
Tony laughed. “DJ’s not a spook, man. With just one leg, he’s lucky to sneak up
