Black River

FIFTY-THREE

She could have been a tourist. Maybe someone looking to buy a condo in Ponce Inlet. She dressed in casual clothes. White cotton slacks. Matching top. Wide-brim sun hat. Sandals. She wore tortoise shell dark glasses on a striking oval face. The woman carried a straw handbag as she strolled the boardwalk around Ponce Marina, sea gulls squawking overhead, watching the charter boats unload fish and tourists. Watching people.

Searching for Sean O’Brien.

Inside the handbag, buried beneath a change of clothes, passport and sunscreen, was a 9mm Beretta. She could have been a tourist.

But she wasn’t.

Malina Kade was, perhaps, the best female intelligence agent India had produced in the last twenty years. Fearless, persuasive, and deceptive — her talent for finding and retrieving covert intelligence was exceptional. She’d been in the states a week. Back on holiday to visit close friends, she’d told immigrations when she arrived in Miami.

She glanced at a sunburned, heavy-faced man under the shade of a thatched palm frond roof above a small fish-cleaning station. He scraped a serrated knife down the back of a red snapper, fish scales flying in his gray hair, a cigar wedged in one side of his wide mouth, smoke curling under the dried palm fronds. Three pelicans squatted on the dock in front of him patiently waiting for handouts. She said, “Excuse me.”

He looked up, used the tip of his tongue to flick a fish scale from his cracked lower lip. “Hi, what can I do for you?”

“Looks like you have some hungry friends.” She smiled and gestured toward the sitting pelicans.

“Nothing goes to waste around here. But those birds are smart. They won’t touch a catfish. But ol’ Joe, the dock cat, will. Haven’t seen him today.”

“What kind of cat is Joe?”

“Looks like a calico…but male calico cats are rare as a blue moon. Joe spends more of his time over on L dock. Nick the Greek kinda adopted him.”

“Are you a fishing guide?”

“Oh, no. I just came back from a half day of bottom fishing on the Ponce Pirate. Great boat if you don’t mind people. It can get a little crowded, especially on the weekends.”

She smiled. “I was thinking of buying a fishing trip for my husband’s birthday. Maybe hire a smaller boat that accommodates a couple of people and the crew. Any recommendations? How about Nick the Greek?”

“He fishes commercially. No tourists. But knowing Nick, I’d wager he’d make an exception for you.” He grinned, white smoke spiraling out of the tip of his stogie.

“Maybe Nick the Greek can recommend someone.”

“I heard Nick does sign on from time to time with a fella who’s tryin’ his hand at guiding. I think Nick is the real fish finder. His pal appears to be learning the ropes.”

Malina inhaled deeply, her breasts rising. “What’s his friend’s name?”

“I met him once. Looks like he’d be a better hunter then fisherman. Big, strong guy. Name’s Sean O’Brien. His boat is down on L dock. You know, your best bet is to check with the marina office. They have a list of charter boat captains. Or you can ask over there at the Tiki Bar. You’ll usually find a captain, first mate or two, shootin’ the breeze there.”

“Thank you.”

She approached L dock, stopped and glanced down the dock, tethered sailboats and powerboats rocking in unison with the breeze and slight chop on the surface of the water. Somewhere amongst the boats is where Sean O’Brien moored his boat. Maybe within a few meters of where she stood. Malina looked over at the waterfront entrance to the Tiki Bar and started walking that way.

It was the wide-brim sun hat that first caught Kim Davis’ eye. Most of the lunch rush was past when the woman entered the Tiki Bar from the dockside of the building, found a stool at the center of the bar and sat. Kim set three drinks on a tray for a server to carry to a table, stepped to where the woman was sitting and said, “Hi, here for lunch?”

“Yes, please.”

“Today’s menu is on the board behind me.”

The woman looked over Kim’s shoulder. “What do you recommend?”

“The grouper sandwich is delicious. The fish comes from the ocean right behind you, caught by local fishermen.”

“The sandwich sounds fine. Water with lemon, please.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“You mentioned local fishermen…I’m going to hire a fishing guide for my husband’s birthday. Can you recommend someone?”

Kim was about to answer when Nick Cronus walked in the Tiki Bar, humming a Rolling Stone classic, Wild Horses, his thick, dark hair coiled from the salt air and thick humidity. Nick wore cut-off shorts, flip-flops and a tank top with a skull in a pirate bandana and three sharks encircling the base of the skull. He looked over at Kim, smiled, glanced at the woman sitting in the stool. Nick’s eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. He removed the glasses, his eyes taking in the woman’s body. Nick pursed his lips and grinned wider as he tried to allay the disapproving glance that Kim shot his way. He approached the bar and said, “Kim, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”

“Hi, Nicky. Grab a seat somewhere. I’ll be with you in a sec.”

Nick smiled as the woman on the stool looked over to him. She returned his smile. He said, “If this seat’s open, I’ll sit here.”

She said, “Please, no one is sitting there.”

“I’m Nickolas Cronus. Friends call me Nick.”

Malina Kade said, “My name’s Sarvarna Dama. Pleased to meet you, Nick.”

“I love exotic sounding names.”

She glanced at his tank-top and said, “In India, or Hindu, it means daughter of the sea.”

Nick’s black eyes danced. “I believe my mama was a mermaid on the island of Patmos and my daddy was Poseidon. That’s why I love the sea so much.”

Kim cleared her throat. “Nicky, the lady was about to order lunch when you arrived.”

Malina said, “I’m not in a rush.” She looked over at Nick. “What do you recommend?”

“Oysters. They’re fresh and delicious. Do you like oysters, Sarvarna?”

“I love oysters.”

Nick began a slow grin, his moustache rising, eyes animated.