Key West Connection by Randy Wayne White Page B

smiled—smiled for the first time in more than a week.
    She added, “Janet, your kids—I sure was awful sorry to hear about them. They was so good. They say us Conchs is cliquish, but I liked that woman the moment I met her. We ain’t standoffish when it comes ta good people. And I just want you to know that if’n there’s anythin’ you need—ever—you got friends on this island. Like tha’ business off Middle Sambo th’ other night? Well, had you needed any help, my old man an’ a buncha other Conchs woulda slipped out there with ya. We take care of our own, we do. Always have, always will. I just wanted ya to know. . . . ”
    I didn’t ask her what she had heard, how she had found out. The few true islanders that are left have their own ways of knowing. Something about her concern, her affection for Janet, her way of telling me that they would help—no matter what—touched me. Really touched me. I winked, said nothing, and I managed to hold back the hot rush of tears until I was offshore, well away from Cow Key. . . .

    There was a guy waiting for me when I got back to the docks. I nosed the Sniper around, port engine forward, starboard engine in reverse, then backed her in, stopped my sternway with a forward thrust of power, then shut her down.
    â€œAre you Captain Henry MacMorgan?”
    â€œThat’s right.” I looked up briefly as I made the lines fast and rigged the spring line. He was a big man in a neat business suit. Short black hair, angular face: the Clint Eastwood type, only burlier.
    He took a wallet from his jacket pocket, opened it, and held it up plainly for me to see. “My name’s Fizer, Captain MacMorgan. Norm Fizer. I’m with the federal government.”
    â€œGreat. Enjoy the benefits. Buy more suits.”
    â€œI think we might have met before, Captain MacMorgan. Remember, Dusky?”
    I stood up and studied his face. And, finally, I did remember. Stormin’ Norman. Special Forces. CIA, maybe. One hush-hush mission and too many jungle nights in Cambodia, long, long ago. A good man that we all had entrusted with our lives. And he had come through—unusual for a government man in those times. And these times. And all times.
    â€œNo,” I lied. “Can’t say as I do.”
    He smiled. “Guess I can’t remember, either. Mind if I come aboard and we talk about our poor memories?”
    We sat in the forward salon, me with Hatuey, him with ice water and a squeeze of lime.
    â€œI told that Lenze character everything I know about the murder of my friend, Norm, so if that’s why you’re here . . . ”
    He held up his hands. “Hold it, Dusky. Not so fast. Give me a chance to set a few things straight, first, and then we’ll talk. Okay?”
    â€œSure.”
    He sipped at his lime and water. “Before you resigned from the Navy, you had a very high security clearance. That’s why we were together in that place neither of us can remember. A very high security clearance, and so, back then, I could have prefaced what I am now about to say with ‘Restricted Information’ and gone on with every assurance that you would not blab, and get me fired and force me into selling that crummy secondhand heap that my wife drives. Now I have to ask you for your word.” He chuckled. “How about it, Dusky? A few minutes of talk, all strictly confidential.”
    â€œYou’re not here, right?”
    â€œCorrect. I’m up in Atlanta this very moment—just as you were up in Miami one Friday night—”
    â€œNow hold it, Fizer!”
    He waved his hands at me, relaxed, self-assured. “I didn’t come here to entrap you, Dusky. Take it easy. We’re on the same side.”
    â€œAnd what side is that?”
    â€œOh, the side of law, order, and justice for all, of course! But all sarcasm aside, Dusky, I . . . well . . . we need your