Getting up, I made my way toward the door. Passing by Mako, I swung my arm as if to wave good-bye to the bartender and knocked the red cap off his head. Two horrid rows of jagged scars glistened on the bald scalp. He stiffened, eyes blazing. Reaching down, I picked up the cap and handed it back to him.
"My apologies. I didn't see you standing there, Scarhead. Bartender, give this man a beer on me." Turning, I headed for the door. Passing one of the sailors, I whispered that they were being played like a fish. He nodded his appreciation.
Mako was bigger than he looked. I guessed six foot four or five and over three hundred pounds. He had a flat nose and thick lips that didn't hide his ruined teeth. The eyes were small and beady, and he had poor personal hygiene.
Tiny was still the Chef at the Bimini Inn, and he treated me with a leisurely dinner of raw Conch salad and grilled tuna that was wonderful. I drank little wine, as there was a feeling that Mako would make himself known to me again before the night was over.
After dinner, I walked down to the public docks. Turning onto the long wooden pier that ran out a hundred yards into the water, I spotted Mako hugging the shadows. He had not disappointed me. The light at the end of the pier was dim, but I could see water rushing by the pilings on the ebbing tide. Several big fish were holding stationary in the flow behind the wooden posts waiting for food to come drifting by.
With my back to the shore, I was sure Mako's approach would be heard on the creaking planks of the dock. I was wrong. The rush of the wind ahead of the punch was my first warning. Stars exploded in my head, and I could feel myself sinking to my knees. That's when Mako made his first mistake. He backed up and laughed, a low, growling sound that would bring fear to a man's soul.
"Gone teach you sum manners, white man. Teach you not to knock Mako's cap off. And learn you to never make fun of my head." He grunted crazily. "Yo head gonna look like Mako's when I get through."
The stars cleared and I could feel my strength and coordination return. Lunging with my right hand I grabbed him by the balls and squeezed. With my left hand, I yanked one of his feet out from under him and he fell on his back. Sweat popped out and ran off him like water. He tried to kick, but I was on him. Powerful arms lashed out, but I was too close, too quick. A couple of short, hard punches to his temple ended the struggle. He had not uttered a sound since I grabbed him. He was tough.
Dragging him over to the boat out of Key West, I threw him into the cockpit. Dipping a bucket of seawater, I poured it over his head. He started to come around. Taking a filet knife from a leather sheath by the fishing rods, I sat on his chest and made a cut across his neck, just deep enough so that he could feel it.
"You hurt me, Mon," he grunted through clinched teeth. "You hurt Mako bad. What you want, Mon?"
"Listen carefully, Scarhead. I'm only going to say this once." I cut a little deeper. "You put a drugged up young woman on the seaplane to Miami. Who ordered you to do that?"
He shook his head, "Don't know what you talking about, Mon."
Pushing the knife blade deeper into the cut, I said, "What boat did she come in on?"
Struggling, he said, "A sportfisherman, Mon. Down from Nassau. Don't see the name."
"You're a lying bucket of bilge water." Cutting deeper than I intended, a sudden flow of blood ran down onto the deck. It didn't appear to be arterial. "This is your last chance to tell me what I want to hear, then I'm going to cut your privates off and feed them to the fish down by the pilings. You understand me?"
Sweat glistened off the black face and he smelled like he hadn't bathed in a week. "The Sun Dog, Mon. The Sun Dog."
"Who owns it?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, and a tightening movement of his face formed a smile that substituted for a moan of pain. "You a mean one. Maybe I come work for you. We make a good team, Mon."
"I don't think so. I hate bullies and will not tolerate the killing of young, innocent women. Now who owns the boat?"
"Don't know his name. He a doper running the whole island chain. That's the truth, Mon."
"How you know him?"
"Guy works for him hired me to deliver around here. Don't know anything but a nickname. Calls himself Moley."
Removing the knife from his neck, I said, "Get out of here before I change my mind about killing you."
He stood slowly, feeling the cut in his neck with one hand and his testicles with the other. "You a mean one, Mon. We meet again some other time. Yes sir, we meet again."
All of a sudden I was tired. The last four days was taking its toll. Washing the blood off the cockpit deck, I headed back to the Angler. Mako wouldn't give me any trouble tonight, but he might have a friend.
The bartender sat a drink in front of me as I eased onto a stool in the bar. "Mako left behind you tonight, and he was plenty mad. You have any trouble?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle. You got any kids?"
"Why?"
"Need someone to guard my door tonight, let me know if anyone comes around."
"My thirteen year old is dependable. He watch your door. You pay him, but not too much. Don't want him spoiled."
I slid a fifty under the drink. "Thanks."
"The boy will be there in an hour."
Thirty minutes later there was a soft tap on the door. He was a chip off the old block, a mirror image of his father with sun-bleached hair and a round, boyish face. Huge, alert eyes hidden far back under thin eyebrows danced and darted in the dim hallway. He was a young kid growing quickly into manhood on a dangerous and hard island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Handing him a twenty-dollar bill, the expression on his face told me I could sleep easy.
CHAPTER NINE
Telling the young son of the bartender, whose name was Ansel, that someone might try and sneak up the stairs or climb up the outside of the hotel to get to me, I asked if he thought he could stay awake and if any of this frightened him in any way?
With a wile grin, he said, "Papa told me you run up against Mako. I stay awake with no trouble, and tell you if anyone comes around." His face glistened with sweat in the darkened hall, the jaw set. A street-wise kid who was smart, tough, and brought up severely on the island to handle the harsh reality of life; he already thought like an adult.
Confident in the boy, I lay down and remember nothing after my head hit the pillow. Sometime later, I woke aware of a presence in the room. Slowly opening my eyes, I found I was facing the wall, and the glow of false dawn etched odd angles on everything. Turning slowly, I saw the firm-set jaw of young Ansel.
"You said to wake you at dawn, suh. It's about that time. Nobody came during the night. You want me to get you coffee? I can make some in the kitchen. Wouldn't mind a cup myself."
"You go fix the coffee. I'll be down as soon as I dress."
Downstairs, Ansel brewed a strong, black coffee on the gas stove of the tiny kitchen. The air was hot and sticky. He made the coffee the old way, grinding the beans, boiling them in a pot. No drip-grind or percolated for this kid. His movements were quick and sure in the small space.
"My Maw, she cook here at the hotel. Taught me how to make the coffee. Good, yeah?"
"Yes, Ansel. None ever better."
He grinned, showing a youthful set of glistening teeth in the early morning light.
"You know Joseph, the man who runs the Compound for the rich folks on the north end of the island?"
"Yes suh, I know Mr. Joseph. He a good man. His number two boy, him and me play the baseball together and fish the flats.
"Does he still live in the house by the Marine lab?"