A woman's voice said, "Good afternoon, operator."
"Operator, I'm at a pay phone. Someone just tried to call here from Central America, probably Masagua. I need the number they called from. It's important."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I have no way of getting that information."
"Yes you do. You're in an office, right? One of the operators there had to work the call. Ask around. She can call the operator in Central America; the number had to come up on her equipment—"
"I'm very sorry, sir, we don't provide that service."
"You can try, though—"
"I'm sorry, sir."
Ford slammed the phone down, patting the pockets of his shirt absently, looking for his glasses. Then remembered he'd lost them back on the dock. The adrenaline was still pumping through him; his ribs hurt, and he could feel the raw burn of the scratches on his face. His stomach was grumbling; maybe he was going to throw up. He walked back to the basin where the junior executives, all soaking, had just fished Willis out of the water. His bathrobe was open, showing the big hairy belly, and his face was bleeding, split from nose to left eye. MacKinley moved to Ford's side and said quietly, "He's already talking lawsuit. I think he means it, too.
From the near distance came the sound of sirens.
Ford stepped over and kicked Willis on the sole of his sandal. "I hear you're thinking about pressing charges, fat man."
Willis looked up groggily, pressing a towel against the flaps of split skin. He slid back slightly when he saw Ford. "You just wait . . . just wait till my lawyers get through with you. You and this crummy marina and that idiot fishing guide—he's guided his last trip. You have no idea who you're dealing with, buster. No fucking clue."
Nicholes was glaring at him. "Don't worry about it, Doc. He started it. We all saw. They can't ta-ta-ta-touch my license for this."
Ford said, "You go right ahead, fat man. Stir up a lot of trouble. If you do, I may just have to call your wife. Your number won't be hard to get. The marina has the name of your motel, and the motel will have your address back in Ohio."
"My wife . . . ?" He struggled to his feet. "Now just what in the hell does my wife have to do with—"
"Remember the waitress you made a fool of yourself over the other night? Or was it last night? Well, she's a friend of mine, Willis. If your wife doesn't believe me, I'll have my friend tell her. What was it you said to that waitress again?"
"You son of a bitch—"
"Let's go, Mr. Willis." One of the junior execs had him by the arm, trying to steer him away. "I think we ought to go before the cops get here. And you're going to need some stitches."
Willis jerked his arm away. "He's bluffing. Can't you see that? He doesn't know the waitress."
"Then how did he find out? Come on, Mr. Willis. I think everyone here agrees we should go."
"Bullshit! You think I'm going to let this creep suckerpunch me and get away with it! I'm staying right here—"
The junior executive took him by the arm again, but much harder. "Willis, for once in your life, just shut that big mouth of yours and do what you're told. I'm not going to stand around and let you embarrass us more than you already have. "
One of the other men took the other arm. "He's right, Mr. Willis. I'm getting a little sick of it myself. Let's go."
They half walked, half pushed Willis to the parking lot. The police pulled in just as they started their car.
Watching, MacKinley said, "I think it's time for Mr. Willis to think about a career move. Those men are never going to look at him the same again. And word spreads fast in a corporation."
"Damn, Da-da-doc, damn ..." Nicholes was back in his skiff, moving things that didn't need to be moved, burning nervous energy. "We lucked out. That bastard woulda had us in court all year, and I ca-can't afford no lawyer. It's a good thing you know that waitress."
Ford was rubbing his ribs. "I don't know the waitress."
"What? You're ka-ka-kiddin'?"
MacKinley studied Ford for a moment; reappraisal time. "I'm surprised you'd take a risk like that"—he looked at Nicholes—"being the nice, quiet soul you are."
Ford said, "With a guy like Willis, there was bound to be an offended waitress somewhere on the island. It wasn't much of a risk."
"And honest, too. Not the least bit sneaky or shifty."
Ford said, "If you guys don't mind, maybe you could help me find my glasses?"
Ford was lying on his bed in the stilt house. He wanted a beer, but his ribs hurt too badly to get up, and there was a fly buzzing around and he didn't want to deal with that either. His elbow hurt and his knees ached from the fall he had taken. His hands were fine, though. He'd learned a long time ago never to hit anyone with his hands unless he absolutely had to. Ford looked at his fingers without moving his head, wiggling them. Yep, they were fine.
The door of the next room banged shut and a man pressed his face against the screen. "All done, Dr. Ford."
"That's good."
"Nice black phone, just like you asked for. Desk model. I put it on your desk."
"Ah, the desk."
"Sure you don't want a call-on-hold model? Or maybe redial? Push a button, redials last number you called. Now the cable's in, I can do anything you want. We got all kinds of models. Mavbe match the decor."
Still not moving his head, Ford considered the ceiling and the walls. They had gray phones? There was no decor to match. "No, thanks. Black's just fine."
"Dr. Ford, you don't mind some advice. Well, I saw you lay it on that guy with the big mouth. Best thing to do after something like that is make sure you keep moving, get some kind of exercise, maybe do some work. You don't, you're not gonna be able to get outta bed tomorrow."
Ford shifted his eyes enough to see the man standing at the screen. "You really think so?"
"Absolutely. I saw the spill you took. Made me hurt from where I was standing. But I'll tell you, that guy didn't have much experience to take a swing at you. Those wire-kinda glasses you wear and those baggy clothes might fool some people, but me, I take a look at a man's shoulders and his wrists. Guy your size, the asshole was just plain nuts."
Ford was wondering how the telephone man would react if he asked him to get him a beer.
"Anything else I can do for you, Dr. Ford?"
"Ah . . . no, nope, not a thing. I'm going to get up and do some work here pretty quick. Maybe go for a run."
"Best thing in the world for you. Well, enjoy. Your phone works fine. Have a nice day."
Ford closed his eyes. "That's nice."
FIVE
Bernstein called at dusk, just as Ford finished dissecting ten of the twenty-eight small sharks he needed to fill the order from Minneapolis Public Schools. He'd taken the phone man's advice and gone to work. Why not? Phone men met knowledgeable people every day, and probably gleaned all sorts of useful information while buckled onto those poles, listening in on private conversations. He'd forced himself out of bed, did sdme pull-ups, dove off the dock and swam for twenty minutes, out to the first spoil island and back. Halfway in, he felt something brush past; something big and mobile, in the water right there beside him. Ford stopped, his heart pounding, but then this huge creature ascended, exhaling foul breath, looking him right in the eye. It was a manatee, about half the size of a Volkswagen, and Ford began to laugh, spitting water.
"If you're looking for romance, you're blinder than I am."
The sea cow submerged, rubbed past again, then came up behind him whoofing warm air.
Ford swam the rest of the way with the manatee following, goosing him along. He got out, changed clothes, began to ready the dye and dissecting instruments, and the manatee was still there, hanging around the stilt house, stirring the water with its huge fluke tail. He'd had manatee come up to his boat and rub themselves before, but never anything like this—of course, he hadn't swum with many sea cows.