My tone flat, I said, “No. But that’s not unusual when I listen to you.”
“Are you sure? Then why is it I get the feeling you’re pissed off at me?”
I said, “I don’t know. Is there some reason I should be pissed off?”
He still wore that poignant expression, but there was now also a spark of awareness. “O.K. I’m beginning to tune in. Like clouds moving away from the void.”
“I’m glad one of us understands, because I don’t.” I turned to leave.
“In that case, I’ll walk along with you, if you don’t mind. Maybe we can hash it out.”
I didn’t want him to walk with me, but couldn’t think of a quick excuse that made sense. I looked from one to another of the marina’s main roofed structures. There are four: the combination office and take-out restaurant, the Red Pelican Gift Shop, Mack’s house, which is beyond the docks at the edge of the mangroves, and the storage barn and repair shop behind it.
I was on my way to the storage barn because Mack, for mysterious reasons, had invited me and some of the guides to a private meeting there. So I used that. I said, “I’m in kind of a rush. Mack wants to see me about something-it’s important; I’m not sure what. And I’m late.”
I’ve known Tomlinson so long that I can read his mannerisms nearly as well as he can read mine. The gentle smile on his face told me, I know you’re lying, but it’s O.K., even as he spoke, saying, “It won’t take long, and I’ll walk fast. Promise.”
I began to walk again and he joined in step. “I heard about Dewey splitting. Man, I am so sorry. As you know, good women can’t dump me fast enough once they catch on to how truly weird my act is. So that kind of emotional pain is something I’ve got a handle on. Like, if you need an ear to listen?”
I said, “What I need is to find out where she went. She’s so damn stubborn. I need to discuss something with her. There’s a very important reason that we need to talk. But she won’t. So, if you know where she is, I’d appreciate your telling me.”
He was shaking his head. “I told everybody I don’t want to know. That’s ’cause if you asked, I knew I’d tell you, man. It’s the lady’s gig; Dewey’s secret. Not mine to share. But Doc-” He seemed to put additional meaning in his emphasis. “There’s nothing in the world you couldn’t ask me. Not if I knew the answer. Or do for you. The same deal, man. Anything. ”
I stopped walking. Stood there looking into his blue and ancient mariner’s eyes. “It makes me nervous when friends put little messages between the lines. It’s like they’re trying to make me guess. Or find out what I know. If you want to tell me something, just come right out and tell me.”
He thought about that for a moment, considering, before he said, “You’re in a hurry. You’ve got that meeting with Mack. So maybe tonight, we can have a few beers, sit out and feed the mosquitoes. Yeah, Doc”-this was added reflectively-“I think we’ve got a few things we need to discuss. Maybe clear the air a little, huh?”
Not wanting to sound too unsociable-he was already guarded-I told him, that reminded me: I had a Tucker Gatrell story for him that he was going to love.
THE junk and marine litter that has accumulated around the storage barn and repair shop is screened from the parking lot by a wooden fence that runs back and along the mangrove swamp that encircles the marina and Dinkin’s Bay.
The marina’s fishing guides-Jeth, Felix, Neville, Alex Payne, Dave-were already there when I arrived, sitting on packing crates or leaning against savaged outboards, all looking at Mack, who’d been speaking. Mack was wearing green Bermuda shorts, a yellow tank top, and a massive straw hat, and was smoking a cigar that was just long enough to extend beyond the brim.
When I appeared, Mack paused long enough to relight the cigar and say, “See? I invited Doc. That proves I’m not crazy.”
I wondered what that meant.
Mack is Graeme MacKinley, a New Zealander who sailed to the States years ago and took a flier on a marina. He is stocky, plainspoken, and a superlative businessman who’s tight with a dime but big-hearted when it comes to philanthropy, and with the quirky cast of characters who live and work at his marina. Like many foreign nationals who’ve done well in the States, he’s both ardently patriotic and also a raging libertarian who despises government regulations and interference. When it comes to marina business, he rarely asks opinions or takes polls.
Unaware of the meeting’s purpose or what he meant, I replied, “Sorry to disagree, Mack, but I’ve come to the conclusion that almost everyone at this marina is a tad crazy-including me,” which got a small laugh and, to my own surprise, seemed to lighten my mood a little.
Mack said, “Oh, you got a point there, mate!” and then added to no one in particular, “Fill ’im in, gents. Tell the doctor what we’re doing here.”
Big Felix Blane took charge. “You wanna talk crazy, well, Mack’s come up with one of the craziest ideas of all time. You know the Sanibel police boat? That shitty little tri-hull they keep moored next to the Island Belle? They almost never use the thing, and the engine’s about shot.”
I said, “Sure, I know the boat,” picturing a stained hull with an older Evinrude outboard. I’d heard the department had gotten it in some kind of sting a few years back.
Captain Felix said, “The boat just sits there, they don’t keep the bottom clean, but it could be an O.K. little skiff if they cared a little more about it. Which they don’t seem to. So maybe that’s why the police department hasn’t paid their wet-slippage rent in a couple months.”
“Seven months,” Mack corrected sharply. “For seven months, their bean-counters have been stringing me along. They don’t return my calls, they ignore my letters. I’m sick of being treated like a fool.”
“That’s what this is about,” Captain Dave said. “The Sanibel Police Department hasn’t paid their rent, and Mack’s on the warpath. Now he wants us to do something that’s just plain nuts.”
“Seeking justice isn’t nuts,” Mack said priggishly. “Do you remember what country you’re in? Or a thing called the Constitution? I’ve called them, I’ve sent notices. I’ve gone down to City Hall in person; wasted hours trying to collect that goddamn debt. They made me fill out forms because they haven’t paid their bills.
“How long would I be walking around free on the streets if the tables were turned? If I owed the city money? If I told them to go piss up a rope when they came to collect?” Mack had been gesturing with his cigar, but now jammed it back in the corner of his mouth. “It’s the principle of the thing, damn it! When the government starts ignoring the basic rules of commerce, we’re all taking it up the bum. The department owes me money. They refuse to pay, so I’ve had it. I’ve given them every chance.”
I could see that Mack had been worked up about it for a while.
I asked, “So what are you going to do?”
Jeth Nichols had avoided eye contact after our minor confrontation the night before, but that was now forgotten as he said to me with emotion, “He wants us to steal the Sanibel Police Department’s boat. All of us. We could get in a lot of trouble for doin’ something like that, couldn’t we, dah-dah-Doc?”
Sounding as if he really were a little crazed, Mack said, “I want you to sink the son-of-a-bitch, not just steal her. Punch her full of holes, tow her out, and make a reef. We’ll catch enough grouper and snapper off that piece of junk to pay their tab twenty times over. Just what the bastards deserve, too.” He said the last as if he could feel the satisfaction it would bring him, already anticipating how he was going to feel.