wasn’t.”
“What then?”
“Towards the end of the war, he’d shot an SS officer in the face and wanted to know if I thought it was murder.”
“What’d you tell him?”
Steady stood. His complexion changing. His cross dangling from his neck. “I told him it was not.”
CHAPTER NINE
I drove Steady to Chokoloskee, where one of his priests picked him up. He had asked Katie for a list of things she needed, which she’d scribbled on a yellow sticky note. I made the rounds, picking up everything from toothpaste to feminine products to women’s deodorant.
The story was everywhere and on everyone’s lips. The general tone was remorse. Or loss. As in, “What a shame. What a waste.” And most folks were left shaking their heads. Given its proximity to the explosion site, the networks had filled every parking lot with antennae-topped trucks and out-of-place reporters all saying the same thing: “Katie is gone. And nobody really knows why. Long live the Queen.” Their attempts to make sense of it were getting nowhere. Probably good she wasn’t there to hear it.
My last stop on the way out of town was Delilah’s—a thrift store with shelves of secondhand and vintage castoffs. I guessed Katie’s size as a four but bought everything from a two to a six. I bought a few bathing suits, couple pairs of jeans, several T-shirts, a sweater,more sweatshirts, a windbreaker with a hood, some cut-off shorts, flip-flops, a wide-brimmed purplish hat fit for a lady, some big bug-eyed sunglasses that would hide half her face, a new pack of women’s Jockey underwear, and three bandannas: blue, lime green, and red.
I stepped into
Jody
—Costas on my face—cranked the engine, and let her sit idling while I stowed my purchases. A voice sounded over my shoulder. “I’ll give you five thousand dollars to rent you and that boat for three days.”
I turned. A tall, skinny man, with dyed black hair in a ponytail, a voice recorder, and a point-and-shoot hung around his neck stood at the water’s edge. His eyes were piercing aqua blue; fingernails painted black, he looked to be wearing black eyeliner, and dragon-footed tattoos climbed up his neck and behind each ear. My first thought was Queequeg from
Moby-Dick
. A second portly man wearing a dumpy hat and carrying a large and expensive-looking video camera stood behind him. He reminded me of Smee in
Peter Pan
. Queequeg was my height, a little over six feet. Smee was shorter, stockier, had meatier hands. Both looked to be following the story and assured of their own importance.
I shook my head. “I’m not from around here. Wouldn’t be much help to you.”
The tall man shook his head and stepped down into my boat. The cameraman followed. “I doubt it. I’m a pretty good judge of people and based upon your weathered skin, the tan on your face from the sunglasses, the way you handled this boat coming in here, and the proficiency with which you navigated the stores around town while the rest of us are tripping over ourselves, not to mention the well-used look of this meticulously manicured boat, and the darkened cork handles on your fishing rods, I’d say you know these waters about as well as anyone.” He held up a wad of cash. “Seven thousand.”
It was about here that I started wondering if he’d witnessed my purchases at Delilah’s. “Thanks, but”—I patted the console anddeflected it—“she’s not for hire.” I kept my eye on his cameraman because the moment he clicked that thing on and started pointing it in my face, he and his camera were going in the water.
He smiled. “What about you? Everything can be bought.” I hadn’t been around this guy more than fifteen seconds but I already wanted to take a shower. I untied the bowline and was returning to the console when he stepped between me and the wheel close enough for me to determine that the black lines beneath his eyes were in fact tattoos. Permanent guyliner. His voice was smug, giving insight
“What then?”
“Towards the end of the war, he’d shot an SS officer in the face and wanted to know if I thought it was murder.”
“What’d you tell him?”
Steady stood. His complexion changing. His cross dangling from his neck. “I told him it was not.”
CHAPTER NINE
I drove Steady to Chokoloskee, where one of his priests picked him up. He had asked Katie for a list of things she needed, which she’d scribbled on a yellow sticky note. I made the rounds, picking up everything from toothpaste to feminine products to women’s deodorant.
The story was everywhere and on everyone’s lips. The general tone was remorse. Or loss. As in, “What a shame. What a waste.” And most folks were left shaking their heads. Given its proximity to the explosion site, the networks had filled every parking lot with antennae-topped trucks and out-of-place reporters all saying the same thing: “Katie is gone. And nobody really knows why. Long live the Queen.” Their attempts to make sense of it were getting nowhere. Probably good she wasn’t there to hear it.
My last stop on the way out of town was Delilah’s—a thrift store with shelves of secondhand and vintage castoffs. I guessed Katie’s size as a four but bought everything from a two to a six. I bought a few bathing suits, couple pairs of jeans, several T-shirts, a sweater,more sweatshirts, a windbreaker with a hood, some cut-off shorts, flip-flops, a wide-brimmed purplish hat fit for a lady, some big bug-eyed sunglasses that would hide half her face, a new pack of women’s Jockey underwear, and three bandannas: blue, lime green, and red.
I stepped into
Jody
—Costas on my face—cranked the engine, and let her sit idling while I stowed my purchases. A voice sounded over my shoulder. “I’ll give you five thousand dollars to rent you and that boat for three days.”
I turned. A tall, skinny man, with dyed black hair in a ponytail, a voice recorder, and a point-and-shoot hung around his neck stood at the water’s edge. His eyes were piercing aqua blue; fingernails painted black, he looked to be wearing black eyeliner, and dragon-footed tattoos climbed up his neck and behind each ear. My first thought was Queequeg from
Moby-Dick
. A second portly man wearing a dumpy hat and carrying a large and expensive-looking video camera stood behind him. He reminded me of Smee in
Peter Pan
. Queequeg was my height, a little over six feet. Smee was shorter, stockier, had meatier hands. Both looked to be following the story and assured of their own importance.
I shook my head. “I’m not from around here. Wouldn’t be much help to you.”
The tall man shook his head and stepped down into my boat. The cameraman followed. “I doubt it. I’m a pretty good judge of people and based upon your weathered skin, the tan on your face from the sunglasses, the way you handled this boat coming in here, and the proficiency with which you navigated the stores around town while the rest of us are tripping over ourselves, not to mention the well-used look of this meticulously manicured boat, and the darkened cork handles on your fishing rods, I’d say you know these waters about as well as anyone.” He held up a wad of cash. “Seven thousand.”
It was about here that I started wondering if he’d witnessed my purchases at Delilah’s. “Thanks, but”—I patted the console anddeflected it—“she’s not for hire.” I kept my eye on his cameraman because the moment he clicked that thing on and started pointing it in my face, he and his camera were going in the water.
He smiled. “What about you? Everything can be bought.” I hadn’t been around this guy more than fifteen seconds but I already wanted to take a shower. I untied the bowline and was returning to the console when he stepped between me and the wheel close enough for me to determine that the black lines beneath his eyes were in fact tattoos. Permanent guyliner. His voice was smug, giving insight
Similar Books
