Breaking Creed

62

O’Dell walked across Pensacola Beach from her hotel room to Howard’s Deep Sea Fishing Marina. It was still early and the beach was already crowded and the sun already hot. She carried her flip-flops in her hand for the part of her trek that was sand. It reminded her that she could use a few days of sand between her toes and the sound of breaking waves. Maybe when all this was over, she’d come back.

The two-story shop was whitewashed with a marlin painted on the sign below the orange and blue letters. A boardwalk ran the width of the shop and connected to a long pier where boats of all sizes occupied some of the slips. On the boardwalk were bistro tables with umbrellas and chairs. She noticed the small oyster shack attached to the far side of the shop. It had its own sign: BOBBYE’S OYSTER BAR. It was closed but the chalkboard out front already advertised that night’s specials.

O’Dell stopped and watched the pelican sitting on one of the posts. Seagulls screeched overhead in a blue sky that didn’t show a hint of clouds. From somewhere she could smell the heavenly aroma of food on an open grill, and her eyes started looking for the café or restaurant before she reminded herself why she was here.

The man behind the counter had to be six-foot-five. His broad shoulders and chest filled the lime-green and yellow boat shirt with a marlin across the front that matched his sign out front. He wore white linen pants, as white as his mustache and the thick mass of hair on his head.

The first thing she noticed was the shelf that ran along the walls, about a foot from the ceiling. Miniature model boats were displayed, tightly packed end-to-end. There had to be hundreds of them.

“A hobby that has become an obsession,” the man said in a rich baritone that could have been intimidating if it wasn’t accompanied by the crinkles around his brilliant blue eyes.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks. What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Ellie Delanor sent me.”

She watched his smile come slow and easy as he said, “I’ll get something cold to drink.” Without hesitation, he flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED.

They spent the next hour at one of the bistro tables on the boardwalk. O’Dell sipped raspberry tea and listened to Howard Johnson tell her what he knew. It was hard to believe that this mild-mannered gentleman had once been a top drug dealer for the Gulf cartel back in the 1990s. When Senator Delanor had asked O’Dell to talk to Howard, she said that he knew more about George Ramos than anyone. The two had been best friends twenty years ago, before they both decided to go straight and clean. Only, Howard didn’t realize at the time that George wasn’t serious, never even attempted it.

“George was convinced,” Howard said, “that I had kept millions of dollars of the cartel’s money. He even told the DEA. I had one agent hounding me for years. The guy started out in immigration as an ICE agent. That’s how George got his ear in the first place. Tried hard to destroy me. I always figured he tried to destroy George, too.”

“And Senator Delanor?”

“Oh jeez, we were all in love with Ellie. But she chose George.” He looked at O’Dell, waited for her eyes. “And now George is going to destroy her completely, isn’t he?”