Black River

FIFTY-FOUR

O’Brien made the call en route to the Hilton. When the man answered, O’Brien said, “Hi Oscar. Shelia Winters asked me to call you because you’re the best film editor she knows. My name’s Sean O’Brien.”

The man hesitated a beat. “Shelia’s great. We go way back. She was a show-runner — a producer, on a television show we did together. She scaled back when she went through a divorce and had to stay home more with her two kids. She’s good at casting, too. What can I do for you, Sean?”

“I’m thinking a career change.”

“What do you do?”

“Charter boat fishing guide out of Ponce Marina.”

“Man, I could use some time on the water.”

“Come, be my guest.”

“I might take you up on it in a couple of months. You want to learn the ropes of editing?”

“I’m very interested in putting pictures together. I’d like to see if I might be any good at it. I figure I can fail at something I like as easy as something I don’t like, so why not try to do what I really want to do?”

“I hear you, pal.”

“You mind if I sit in and watch you do so some editing?”

“Not a problem. I can show you a few things. We’ll have to keep it confidential. I wouldn’t be where I am today if people hadn’t helped me. We’ll call it an introductory internship. When you want to come in?”

“No better time than now.”

“Now’s a good time. Just me and an assistant here. We’re only doing very rough cuts for the studio. Director won’t be back until tomorrow. I can show you a few tricks. See if this career’s in your blood.”

Nick Cronus opened all the windows on his boat, St. Michael, a breeze puffing the curtains and moving across the salon. He turned to Malina Kade and said, “I have some ouzo on ice. Let’s make a toast.” Nick reached into a small refrigerator behind his bar and lifted out a bottle of ouzo. He filled two glasses and handed one to Malina.

She sat on a bar stool, taking the glass, then looking directly at Nick. She removed her sun-hat, setting it on a barstool. “What are we toasting to?”

Nick grinned. “To you having the time of your life on holiday here in Florida.” They touched glasses, Nick taking a long sip of ouzo. He smiled, stepping from behind the bar and pressing a button on his phone, music promptly streaming and playing from two small speakers in opposite corners of the salon. Nick kicked off his flip-flops in the center of the salon, raised his arms, clicking his fingers, slowly turning around in a Greek-style dance.

After three twirls, he did a slight bow toward Malina and said, “Come, join me. We dance in the sea breeze, and soon you feel like an Indian princess swept off her feet.” Nick smiled. He sipped his ouzo, tapped a selector button, the music changing to a bluesy vocal. He reached for Malina’s hand and led her in an unhurried dance, St. Michael softly swaying in the rising tide and mild wake of a passing boat in the marina.

She smiled and said, “You have a great sense of rhythm. You dance well.”

Nick chuckled. “I’m Greek. I swim. I dance. I laugh and I love…I love with more passion than all the salt in the seven seas. Your name may be Sarvarna, but your beauty is greater than Aphrodite.” He smiled and spun her slowly around, leaning into a small dip. She followed in perfect cadence, her body agile, feminine and strong.

When the dance ended, she said, “Let’s sit on the couch. I want to learn more about you, Nick. You are an entrepreneur, a successful fisherman, yes?”

Nick laughed, refilled his glass of ouzo, topped off her glass and said, “I’m my own boss. I work hard, but I play even harder.”

She moistened her lower lip. “I enjoy ouzo, but do you have some wine? A chardonnay, perhaps?”

“In the fridge in the galley. I’ll get it.”

“I’ll be right here…on the couch…waiting for you.”

Nick bowed slightly, smiled, turning to enter the galley.

When he’d left, Malina reach in her purse, found a capsule, emptied the granular contents into Nick’s glass. She used her index finger to stir the mixture, wiping her finger on a bar napkin.

Nick returned with a glass of wine, filled more than half way. He handed it to her. She smiled and said, “Let’s make another toast. To learning more about one another today than we ever thought possible.”

Nick clinked his glass to hers and took a long swig of ouzo. He sat on the couch.

She smiled, turning her body towards him, legs bent under her. “Tell me, Nicky, when you take this fine boat out to sea do you ever find treasure?”

“I found you! That’s a great treasure. And I did it on dry land.”

“You’re sweet. I mean real treasure, lost at sea. Maybe a pirate’s booty, gold or diamonds in a treasure chest in a long-forgotten sunken ship.” She ran her finger around the lip of her glass.

“Sometimes I find pearls in oysters.” He swallowed more ouzo his moustache damp with alcohol.

“I love pearls. But I love diamonds even more.”

Nick lowered his voice, leaning closer to her. “They found a diamond, maybe the biggest in all of God’s green earth, right here in Florida in the St. Johns River.”

“Oh, tell me more.”

Nick told her everything he knew about the discovery of the diamond. He drained his glass. She smiled and said, “That’s fascinating. So, Sean O’Brien, the fishing guide you mentioned in the bar, sort of stumbled onto this thing. He’s helping the widow of the deceased man recover the diamond, correct?”

“Stumbled on is the right way to put it. Sean often stumbles in some deep poop, but he somehow manages to claw his way outta the mess. He wasn’t looking for the diamond; he was looking for the old painting. Everything else somehow got all connected in a web. Our pal, Dave, his boat’s right across the dock, told Sean there could be a black widow hiding somewhere in that web.”

“So your friend Sean is good at finding things.”

“The best. Or maybe things find him.”

“Where’s his boat?”

Nick motioned to the left with his head. “Right next to mine.” Nick cocked his head, curious. “Why you want to know about my pal. Sean? You sound like that dude I met in the bar last night. He wanted to know about Sean. First I thought it was because the fella wanted to charter Sean’s boat, but now…maybe not.”

“Did he have an accent?”

“Yeah, British. How do you know?”

“Lucky guess. Lots of Brits in Florida this time of the year on holiday. Maybe he did want to do a fishing charter. Maybe you’ll never see him again.”

Nick snorted. “We got a hellava neighborhood watch here in the marina. Laid back, but we know who’s supposed to be here and who’s not.”

“Is that right?” She smiled and placed one hand on Nick’s knee. “You probably don’t even have to lock the doors on your boats when you leave.”

“Used to be that way. Now the marina gets too many tourists. This is supposed to be for boat owners and their guests only, but people like hangin’ at the marina, and they come down the docks like ducks waddling to a lake. I have a key to Dave’s boat, Sean’s boat, and they have keys to my boat.”

“I’m looking for a key. Never found it, though. Maybe one day.”

“What key are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for the key to my heart, or more specifically, the man who can unlock the passion in my heart.”

Nick grinned. “I’m a locksmith, but not a thief of hearts. It’s not a single key — the key to the soul, it’s a combination of respect, honor, love, and protection that might open your heart.” Nick leaned in to kiss her. She responded, moaning slightly.

Nick suddenly felt tired, his arms and legs heavy. He blinked hard, Malina’s face beginning to blur. He felt sweat on his brow, perspiration trickling down his ribcage. Malina’s hot breath in his ear, her hands on his chest, moving to his genitals. She whispered, “Where is the key to Sean’s boat?”

Nick stared at her face, his eyes trying to focus, his penis numb to her touch, his mind disoriented. She hiked up her dress and straddled his lap, leaned down and held his face in both her hands. “Nicky, listen to me…Sean needs help. Where did you put his keys?”

Nick grunted, his voice just above a whisper. “Hangin’ from a mermaid in the galley.” Nick saw the woman’s face come closer, could smell the wine on her breath, his lips numb to her kiss. She jumped, Jack-in-the box style, from his lap to the floor. She smoothed out her dress and walked to the galley.

Malina found three sets of keys hanging from a figurine of a bare-breasted mermaid magnet stuck to the door of the refrigerator. She took all three keys, walked back to the salon, picked her hat off the barstool, turned to Nick and blew him a kiss.

Nick watched the woman walk out the door, the sunlight becoming narrow, black edges, the light at the end of a dark tunnel, coming straight ahead at his body. He was unable to move, to scream, to close his eyes. All that moved were his disoriented thoughts and a single tear that rolled down his cheek.