“Was anyone on it?” Santiago asked.
“No, jefe. At least not that I could see or hear.”
“We’ll go inside,” Santiago said. “Me and Manuel first. You two wait a minute before coming in. We’ll find a place inside where we can see just what’s going on. What does this man look like, Bones?”
“Real tall, jefe,” Bones replied. “Taller than Manuel and just as big as him. I was told he was clean-shaven and had dark blond hair. Oh, and a tattoo on his forearm—a skull.”
“Let’s go, Manuel.”
The two got out of the back of the SUV and strode confidently toward the entrance. Just before they reached it, the door opened, and a man stepped out. He stumbled slightly and the door banged into his shoulder. To Santiago, he appeared drunk, but he held the door for them.
Entering, it took Santiago a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior. It was a restaurant. And it had a long bar against part of one wall. A short, fat man with a bald head and bushy beard stood behind the bar, talking to two men and a woman, who sat on stools in front of it. Both men had long hair and he noted that the woman was very pretty. Aside from them, the place was empty. This didn’t fit with the number of cars and trucks in the parking lot.
Maybe they belong to people who were on the boats, Santiago thought.
“Have a seat anywhere,” the fat man said. “I’ll be right with you.”
Santiago moved to a window table, where they could see the SUV parked in the lot. The two men sat down and looked around. The interior was all wood, each plank a different shade, but all of them with knots.
The fat man arrived at their table quicker than Santiago would have thought he could move, sliding menus in front of them.
“What can I get ya to drink?” he asked.
“Just water,” Santiago said, picking up the menu. “What’s good?”
“Everything at the Rusty Anchor is good, mi amigo,” the man replied. “I’m Rusty—the owner. We just had some fresh hogfish delivered by the guy who almost ran into you at the door. Dink’s one of the local fishing guides.”
“Sounds good,” Santiago said, putting the menu down, and wondering just what a hogfish was. “We’ll both have that.”
“How do you want it? Platter or sandwich? Grilled or blackened?”
“Grilled sandwiches,” Santiago replied. “Make it for four. We’re expecting a couple of friends.”
“That comes with fries and a pickle,” the man said, picking up the menus. “I’ll be right back with your water.”
When the man left, Bones and Julio entered, spotted them at the table, and came over.
“I don’t think any of those is the guy,” Bones said, nodding toward the bar.
Santiago looked over. The man sitting next to the woman turned and glanced at them. He nodded a friendly greeting and turned back to the fat man. The woman was more than just pretty. She was tall, with long dark hair. She looked like she could be in movies or a model.
Santiago’s lips curled slightly in a lecherous grin.
Behind the bar, a door opened and a tall, redhaired woman came out. The bartender said something to her, and she nodded, then went to work putting glasses on a tray. She filled a pitcher with ice and water, then brought the tray to their table. She was older, but still well put together, and, like the younger one, very tall.
“Rusty just put your order in, gentlemen,” she said, placing the pitcher and four glasses on the table. “It should be up in a few minutes. I’m Sidney, if you need anything.”
Santiago jerked a thumb toward the window. “Do you know who owns that boat on the end? Sea Biscuit?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, without looking. “I’ll ask Rusty. He knows everyone.”
Santiago thought the woman was lying.
When she left, he leaned toward Bones. “Didn’t you say the other boat was a fishing boat?”
“Si, jefe. One of those offshore fishing boats.”
He thought about it a moment. “I think the man is out fishing,” he said. “And I think the woman must be on that boat out there. The waitress was lying.”
Slowly, as if he were just looking around at the décor, Santiago glanced toward the bar. The two men were turned toward each other, both looking over at his table, as was the dark-haired woman. The fat man was looking at him, also, and the redhead was leaning in and telling him something in a low voice.
“It is time,” Santiago said, scooting his chair back and rising. He pulled his gun from under his shirt.
Manuel was a half-second behind him, then the other two came up, all of them with guns in their hands.
“Don’t any of you move!” Santiago shouted, pointing the gun at the fat man behind the bar.
After lunch, we went back around to the other side of the shoal. It had been more productive, and the fish box was a little more than half full. As we drifted along, my phone chirped again.
“You ought to turn that thing off when we’re fishin’,” Tank commented.
It was Rusty’s cell phone.
“Hey, Rusty,” I said, answering the call.
“How’s the fishing, you old dog soldier?” Rusty asked.
Dog soldier?
That was a slang term for an Army infantryman. Rusty and I had served in the Corps together, during my first tour. We’d arrived at Parris Island for boot camp on the same bus. It sounded like he had the phone on speaker.
I was instantly on alert.
“Just a typical day,” I said, straining my ear for anything out of the ordinary. “How are things there?”
“A usual day at the old Roadhouse,” he replied. “Jimmy said Savannah was with you on the boat. Is she available?”
Surely Jimmy had told Rusty that he’d
