Robert B. Parker’s Someone to Watch Over Me

51

Hawk had taken the rental car to do whatever Hawk does. And I’d been left on Cat Island in a small bungalow facing a private beach. The house was small, stucco, with jalousie windows and exposed wooden beams. As promised, Hawk’s friend had left a key under a certain rock, and we made ourselves at home. I was delighted to learn the refrigerator was stocked with not only bread, eggs, and milk, but a six-pack of Kalik beer. I helped myself.

We’d been traveling for most of the day and I didn’t unpack, as I wasn’t sure what the night or the next day would hold. Instead, I changed into a pair of swim trunks and walked the short distance from the back porch to the beach. I stood at the water’s edge, waves lapping on my feet, taking in the sunset. It might have been relaxing if we didn’t have an ugly job to perform.

The island was narrow and unspoiled, without all-inclusive resorts and tacky mansions. No cruise ships or yachts, just small crafts, fishing boats, and cottages. A one-lane road encircled the entire island. There was a lot of pine and sea grape, and coconut trees swayed in the wind. Hawk told me he’d been on the island many times as a guest and had made certain friends. We hoped those friends might arrange transportation to Steiner’s private island across the channel and perhaps loan us some guns.

We could show up on Steiner’s island with knives in our teeth, flying the Jolly Roger. But guns would get the message across much better.

I walked north along the beach, seeing similarly built houses and colorful cottages that looked as if they’d been there for years. On the flight in, the pilot told us the highest point in all of the Bahamas was on Cat Island and on top you’d find the relics of an old monastery.

The beach was still and quiet. Farther north I watched the shadows of paddleboarders off the coast, a hard gold light shining off the water. There was the faintest ripple of wind across the surface.

The three plane rides hadn’t been kind to me. I could feel every old break, bruise, and irregularity in my body. It had been eight years since I’d first met Mattie. Now she was a grown, successful person. And I was still doing what I do, none the wiser, not finding a better line of work. Maybe someday I’d retire to a place like this.

The idea that Hawk found solace on this island and had returned many times wasn’t lost on me. Few get out of our livelihood by being politely asked. One day all the push-ups, wind sprints, and sparring wouldn’t save us. At this point in my life, I’d been doing this for many more years than I had not.

I stretched my arms over my head and could feel where the Gray Man had shot me. I recalled some of that day. The pieces of ice floating in the river, the skies spitting snow, the way he coolly raised the gun and shot me three times. Lately I’d been revisiting that time way too often. Hawk pushing me up that hill, me dragging my leg, by mind willing but my body failing me.

Somewhere, roughly forty miles away, was Steiner’s island, Bonnet’s Cut.

We would need to plan, we would need to reconnoiter, and we would need to execute our plan faster than Speedy Gonzales after two espressos.

“Something on your mind?” Hawk said.

I hadn’t heard him. And I didn’t turn around.

“Reconnoitering,” I said.

“Anything else?”

“That I like Bahamian beer,” I said.

“Welcome to my home away from home.”

“You told me,” I said. “Would’ve been easier back in Boston.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hawk said. “Found us a boat. Maybe some guns.”

“That fast?”

“Place belongs to an old friend from my days in the Legion.”

“You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.”

“French Foreign Legion,” Hawk said. “Not British Army.”

“Excuse moi.”

“Name’s Godfrey,” Hawk said. “Grew up here. He’s good. One of the best I’ve ever known.”

“Better than me?” I said.

Hawk waffled his hand.

“My Man Godfrey,” I said. I couldn’t resist.

“Godfrey’s his own man,” Hawk said. “And he’ll see to it we get on and off that goddamn island.”

“I like him already.”