“But look at them right now, both trying to hit on her. They stand out. Cops will pick up on them.” Marquez added, “I’ve done business for a long time by not sticking out.”
“They’re who I’ve got right now. Later, we’ll figure it out differently.”
“I’m on record about them, okay?”
“Man, you are too loud and clear on record. Chill.”
The waitress brought more drinks, and Crey bought another round for the guys at the bar. Lisa put a burger in front of Torp and spaghetti in front of Perry. She brought more bread. She gave them what they asked for and otherwise ignored them, pretending to be too busy, and Marquez kept an eye on the bar. He took the conversation at the table back to the Russians.
“So if these guys exist, have you done business with them?”
“I’ve done some. I heard about it when I was inside. I heard they were into sturgeon so I made contact when I got out. But you don’t need them, you’ve got me. I can take whatever you’ve got to sell.”
“And what do you do with it? Do you sell to them?”
“Don’t worry about who I sell to. My money is good. That’s all you need to know.”
Marquez kept drinking beer. Crey switched from hard liquor to wine, ordering another glass as Marquez looked around at what Lisa had here.
Twelve tables with wood tops, big A-frame windows looked out on the deck and the river. He’d seen Lisa on a ladder with a caulking gun a couple of times, trying to find leaks. The floor was old wood plank and worn. There were water stains and grooves worn in the flooring around the bar. Bathrooms were clean but needed to be redone, and Lisa had told him she just got by. Made just enough to justify keeping the doors open. The space was warm when sunlight came through the windows. It was a comfortable place in the good parts of the year, and the rest of the time she had to hustle more. He watched Torp and Perry follow her movements down the bar and didn’t have to guess to know what they were thinking. Crey swirled wine in his glass, trying to be something he wasn’t. Then he surprised Marquez, pulling out a two-ounce glass jar of caviar with August’s import label from his coat.
“Take a look at this. It’s some good beluga. The largest one of those ever caught ran fifty-three hundred pounds. Man, you wouldn’t know how to move something like that.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“You’d have to cut the ovaries out right there on the riverbank and kick the thing back in the water.”
“Hack off a little meat too.”
“Make you rich, wouldn’t it? How many pounds of eggs are in fifty-three hundred pounds?”
“Enough.”
“You know it.”
Crey twisted the top, broke the vacuum seal. He handed it to Marquez to taste.
“If you eat caviar the alcohol doesn’t absorb as fast,” Crey said. “That’s the God’s truth. I heard it from a Russian.”
“Okay, so where are these Russians from?”
“They put the word out about a year ago. They’ve got some guys working the middle for them, so when you sell to them you drop stuff off. You never deal direct, kind of like what I’m doing with the boys.” He used his wineglass to gesture toward the caviar. “That’s some good shit, isn’t it? It’s what the jar says that matters. The label, man. Things keep heating up with the Iranians, and Congress will be cutting off the caviar they ship here, but those fat-ass bankers in New York are still going to want caviar, and that’s where you and me make the money.”
They ate dinner and talked sturgeon haunts, different baits, the best holes for finding the big sturgies. Ghost shrimp. Grass shrimp. Eel/shrimp combos. Pile worms and eels. Crey favored grass shrimp. He liked to fish the Big Cut and would eat bass or halibut or crappie over sturgeon because he found sturgeon too oily.
“I learned to fish with my old man and Tom Beaudry. But I never liked Beaudry. He was an asshole to work for and a lying fucker. He’d look those Fish and Game people right in the eye and lie his ass off. Let me tell you, we were big time over-limit so many times I can’t remember how many. But he taught me, man, that’s the one good thing he did. Well, actually, two good things because he sold me his shop way too cheap.”
“Why’d he do that?”
“He wanted out.”
“Hey, I knew him. That’s bullshit.”
“Okay, let me put it this way. He owed money, and I was connected with the people he owed it to. They got the deal done for me, and I’m paying them a little on the side.”
“Are we talking Russians again?”
“That’s it for tonight, man.”
Crey stood and, with a long bow-legged stride, cowboy boots clicking on the flooring, left after talking to the boys. Marquez watched the backs of Torp and Perry and finished his drink, thinking over what Crey had told him. He’d said that Beaudry taught him the two big rivers and the bays, where to take the sport boat, and he still fished Cache Slough, Steamboat, and Chain and Decker Islands. The Mothball Fleet was always reliable for sturgies. Meeks Hole. Mare Island. Montezuma Slough. The PG amp;E plant, the power lines, Ryer and Sherman Islands, though not in the wind. Lots of times he’d check out sturgeonfishing.com. The whole online thing was good for fishing.
It was a short walk from here back to the room, and Marquez thought he’d call Katherine before going to sleep. The waitress cleared his table. Lisa turned a couple of the lights off when there was nobody left in the room but himself, Torp, and Perry. She came over to his table and sat down after Perry and Torp moved out onto the deck to smoke.
“One of those two came into the kitchen tonight and scared me.”
“Which one?”
“The thin one with the dark hair. I think his name is Liam.”
“What did he want in the kitchen?”
“He said he used to work as a cook and he’s looking for a job again, but when I asked him about it, it didn’t sound like he knows how to cook. He was a short-order cook or something like that in Florida for a few weeks once, and I don’t even believe that. He says he was in Sarasota but can’t remember the name of the restaurant he worked at.”
“He got Sarasota from your waterskiing photos on the wall.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at me. It makes me feel like I need to take a shower.”
Perry and Torp watched through the windows as he talked with Lisa. Then they came back inside and up to the bar. When Lisa got up to go serve them Marquez also stood.
“Last call, gentlemen,” she said.
“We’d like to buy a bottle of Jack Daniels,” Perry said, and pointed at Marquez. “Put it on his room.”
Lisa turned to Marquez. “That okay with you?”
“No.”
“Thought you were going to buy us a drink,” Perry said.
“Sure, give them a last drink on me.”
“And one for him too,” Perry said.
“I’m done.”
“Stick around because we’ve got something to say to you.”
“Say it now.”
“It’s got to wait for outside.”
Lisa poured two Jack Daniels and turned the bar lights off.
“Take them out on the deck,” she said. “I’m going upstairs.”
Marquez led the way out to the deck. It was late but cold and clear. The deck chairs had dew on them. Cigarette smell lingered from when Torp and Perry had been out here earlier.
“Richie is a real good friend of mine so I didn’t get into it with you earlier, but you treat me like that ever again I’ll kill you,” Perry said.
Marquez waited. Nothing more came.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“You wouldn’t be the first either.”
“I’ll remember that. Enjoy your drink. It’s the last one I’ll ever buy you.”
27
Marquez woke to footsteps on the gravel, soft steps stopping near his truck before moving on. After whoever was there moved away he eased out of bed and very slowly clicked the deadbolt back and opened the door. Cold flooded in. A white moon was out over the water. He read the roofline of the marina building and saw part of the deck, but no one on the road. Another night he might have gone back to bed. He looked toward Perry and Torp’s room, then dressed and slipped on his shoulder harness, felt the cold gun against his chest.