Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island by H. Terrell Griffin Read Free Book Online Page B

also
told her about Peggy.
    Cracker Dix came in as I was finishing my burger and onion rings.
"Hey, Matt," he said. "Heard you found that body down at Pelican Man's
the other day."
    "Yeah. Great way to start the day," I said.
    Cracker was an expatriate Englishman who had lived on the key for
many years. He was about fifty, medium height, and bald as a billiard ball.
He sported a close-cropped beard, a Hawaiian shirt, beige shorts, and flipflops. A small gold stud was planted in his right earlobe, a thin gold chain
around his neck. He ordered a beer and took the stool beside me.
    "You catching any fish?" he asked.
    "No. I haven't even been out this week. Too much wind."
    Debbie was back with a glass of dark beer. She set it in front of
Cracker and put her elbows on the bar, leaning into it, joining the conversation.
    We were alone in the lounge, but I could hear low voices coming from
the dining room, the clanging of utensils on plates punctuating the conversation. Stone crabs were in season, and the snowbirds were taking their
fill of them before going home for the summer. Somewhere in the back of
the restaurant, a plate fell and shattered on the tile floor.
    The bay outside the large windows was rippled by the northerly wind blowing down the channel. Two sailboats were anchored in the cove,
swinging gently on their anchor lines. The sun was high, still hanging in
the southern sky, waiting for summer before it angled directly overhead
and heated the island, bringing our annual bath of humidity.

    A waitress came to the service bar and called a drink order to
Debbie. She left to fill it.
    "Cracker," I said, placing the picture of Varn on the bar, "you get
around a lot. Did you ever see this guy?"
    Cracker looked closely at it for a moment, chewing on his lower lip
in concentration. "Yeah," he said, finally. "I've seen him a couple of times
with Wayne Lee, over at Hutch's on Cortez Road."
    I frowned. "Wayne Lee," I said. "Where do I know that name from?"
    "You've met him at Tiny's. He comes in now and then. He works the
boats out of Cortez when he's sober."
    "Right. Comes in some with Nestor Cobol."
    "That's him."
    "Where can I find Lee?"
    "I don't know, but Fats Monahan, the bartender at Hutch's, probably knows."
    Hutch's had been there as long as I'd been coming to the key. It hunkered
down next to Cortez Road, just over the bridge that spanned the Intracoastal between the mainland and Anna Maria Island. Because of its proximity to the fish houses and commercial docks, it had a rowdy reputation,
fueled by the men who fished the sea for a living. I'd never visited the
place.
    The building was concrete block covered by a layer of stucco, some
of it sloughing off. I could see bare blocks under the beige exterior. A glass
door gave entrance to a dim recess of ugliness and body odors, tinged with
the smell of fish, cigarette smoke, and stale beer. A bar took up one wall,
with tables situated about a small linoleum-covered floor. Bare concrete
showed in the spots where the covering had been ripped up. No sunlight
penetrated this dark space. A fat man in a white T-shirt with no sleeves
leaned on the bar, talking to the lone customer. It was two in the afternoon.

    I'd brought Cracker with me. He knew this world and I didn't. The
regulars whispered secrets to each other that they would never divulge to
an outsider.
    We walked in. The bartender gave me a bored look through hooded
eyes. He saw Cracker, and his mouth turned up in what could be taken
for a smile. I wasn't sure.
    "Hey, Cracker," the bartender said. "Beer?"
    "Sure," said Cracker. I'd never known Cracker to turn down a beer,
no matter the time of day.
    "Fats," said Cracker, "this is a friend of mine, Matt Royal."
    "Beer?" asked Fats, looking at me. I assumed that was his idea of a
pleasantry.
    "Miller Lite, if you have it."
    He bent to the cooler behind the bar and came up with a can of Budweiser for Cracker and a bottle of Miller Lite for