Tank and Paul were standing on the dock between the two boats as we approached.
“How’d it go?” Tank asked.
“Lake Boyz are out of commission,” DJ said. “And MS-13 has lost a bunch of their prostitutes and drug dealers.”
“What about the gang itself?” Paul asked.
Since the subject didn’t seem to want to rest until morning, I pulled out my phone. “Let’s find out.”
Billy answered on the first ring.
“As always, Kemosabe,” he whispered, “your timing sucks.”
My instincts went on alert. “What’s wrong, Billy?”
“Reader’s Digest version,” he said. “I only have a minute. Callie and two other girls, plus a young boy, were taken captive. Callie’s Krav Maga instructor, Eva, who is a fine lady and exceptionally good with a gun, helped me get them out. MS-13’s leaders are all dead. The police arrested us, then let us go. I have some cuts and bruises, which Eva has patched up. She’s in the head getting into something more comfortable and I am resting in her bed.”
“Jesus, Billy. You had me worried.”
“You should be,” he said, and I visualized his grin from the tone of his voice. “Eva is an extremely energetic woman.”
“So, MS-13 is out of commission?”
“Not completely,” he replied. “They’re new in town, and the whole organization could fall apart without their leaders. Then again, more might come from Miami tomorrow to take their place.”
“Did any of the tangos go by the name Razor?”
“Not that I know of,” he said. Then I heard a woman’s voice in the background but couldn’t make out her words. “Gotta go, Kemosabe. You owe me, heap big.”
I looked down at my phone to find the call had ended.
I relayed to the others what Billy had told me, leaving out the part about him being with a woman named Eva.
“In short,” I summarized, “MS-13 in Fort Myers is like a small boat without a rudder and no way to make money to buy a new one.”
“Think that’s enough?” Tony asked.
I thought about it for a moment. Billy and Eva had taken out MS-13’s leadership. The gang had only recently become active in the area and that might be enough. But I didn’t think so.
“It’s a Band-Aid at best,” I said. “Others will join, and new leaders will rise up.”
“So, what was the point of what we did?” Paul asked, his question a leading one.
I looked over at Sea Biscuit. Through the hull porthole, I could see into the forward cabin. A nightlight was on and I could just make out Alberto’s form under the covers.
“We slowed the advance of evil,” I replied, paraphrasing Jack Armstrong’s unwritten mission statement for his organization. “And we protected the innocent, even if only for a little while, and in only one small place.”
“Think global,” DJ said. “And act local.”
“Y’all get some sleep,” I said, checking my watch and noting the sun would be up in a couple of hours.
Tank and I climbed aboard Sea Biscuit and the others headed over to the Revenge. He went up to the bridge for his watch while I stepped below.
The dinette in the salon had been lowered into a bed on which Chyrel was asleep, the blankets thrown back on the half she wasn’t occupying. Her laptop sat open on the shelf next to the spare bunk, her headphones beside it. And on the screen, a black background with a wall of text was visible.
I stepped closer. At the bottom of the screen, I read my last words to the group outside: Y’all get some sleep.
Chyrel hadn’t shut down like I’d told her to. What had happened earlier were events I didn’t want certain others to know about. Savannah, definitely. Chyrel was a team player all the way, but still…
Reaching across her, I moved my finger on the mouse pad so the menu bar would appear, clicked the Disconnect All icon, then closed the laptop.
Down the companionway in the aft cabin, I found Savannah asleep in the big queen bed.
After a quick shower, I got under the covers with my wife. She stirred and put a hand on my chest, nestling her head against my shoulder.
“We could keep him if we wanted to,” she mumbled sleepily.
Her eyes were closed and at first, I thought she was talking in her sleep.
“We qualify as adoptive parents,” she said, her voice clear and fully awake.
I nuzzled her hair. It smelled like flowers. “Adopt Alberto?”
“He doesn’t have a mom and dad anymore, Jesse. He needs us.”
A son?
I hadn’t been around to raise Eve and Kim, my oldest daughters. And I didn’t even know about Flo until she was a teenager. My grandson, Fred, filled part of the void I felt, but his visits were few and far between.
A son…
“We could,” I said, more to myself than Savannah. “But we’ll have to wait and see.”
She wriggled closer, as if satisfied with my reply. After a minute or two, her breathing became shallow and steady.
“I wasn’t worried about you,” she mumbled. “Rest now.”
Light was streaming through the overhead portlights at an angle when I woke up. I blinked my eyes and sniffed coffee in the air.
The other half of the bed was empty. I got up and pulled on my pants from the previous night, then padded barefoot up the companionway.
“Look who’s finally up,” Savannah whispered to Alberto. “But don’t say anything to him yet. El Gran Hombre Blanco needs his coffee.”
Damn, I thought. She’d been privy to nearly all that went on last night.
Alberto looked at her, puzzled. “Porque le llamas asi?”
We both turned and looked at Alberto in surprise. He and Savannah were sitting at the dinette that had been Chyrel and Tank’s bed the previous night.
“Tu hablas español, Alberto?” Savannah asked.
He spoke Spanish far too fast for me to keep up, but I caught my name at the end. I looked
