XIX
I was about to turn onto my street when I noticed the white unmarked car parked across and a few doors up from the Larsen place. The thunderheads had cast an early dusk over the street, but I could still make out two shadowy figures sitting in the front seat. I just kept driving right into the cul-de-sac, where the street dead-ended at the New River. I parked the Jeep and climbed over the wood fence around the Martinez place. The fences on these riverfront properties, when there were any, ran only to the seawall.
The Larsens’ yard was clear. I didn’t even see B.J. around. I had hoped he might be on the Gorda piecing that head back together, but no such luck. Once inside my cottage, I knew I had to do something about food. It was already past four and I hadn’t eaten a thing since the quick meal I’d grabbed from Burger King the night before. I rummaged through my cupboards, finally coming up with the last dented can of Campbell’s bean-with-bacon soup. While it cooked in the microwave, I tried Jeannie’s number again, and amazingly, she picked up on the second ring.
“Jeannie, it’s Seychelle.”
“Oh, thank God. I was just about ready to call the police and report you as a missing person. Honey, you’ve got to stop worrying me like this. You’ve got to check in
more often. These are not nice people you’re playing around with.”
“This is not something you need to tell me, trust me, Jeannie. I’ll tell you all about that in a bit, but first, have you found out anything sure about the owners yet?”
“Okay, well, here’s the deal. Everywhere I turned, I kept getting the door slammed in my face. Finally, I decided the only way I was going to get through was to use a little deceit. I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say I could get disbarred over this one. Anyway, I was right, it’s Benjamin Crystal still . . . he never really sold the boat. Well, I mean, he sold it, but he sold it to himself. The company that owns the boat is located in the Caymans and it goes through subsidiaries of larger corporations, but it all comes back to Mr. Benjamin Crystal.”
“That son of a bitch.”
“He is that.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Neal had known all along. He had to have known, he was captain of the boat. All that bullshit he’d given me about how it would be different once the boat was sold. Lies. All lies. “What does this mean to us, Jeannie? To my salvage claim?”
“Well, it’s not going to be easy. I couldn’t exactly explain to a court of law the way I found out. I think we should continue dealing with Burns. I’ll fire him another counteroffer and let’s keep our knowledge of the real owner as our trump card.”
“Okay, that sounds good.”
Suddenly someone started pounding on the front door. My heart felt like it was trying to leap out of my chest. Abaco began to bark.
“Seychelle, open the goddamn door.”
Abaco stopped barking, and she was wagging her tail. We both recognized that voice. “Honey,” Jeannie said, “what is going on over there?”
“I thought for a second it was the cops, but it’s my brother, Maddy. I’ve got to go, Jeannie. Call Burns and then call me back. Talk to you later.”
Maddy strode in with his face looking like a bruised, overripe peach. One eye was covered with gauze and bandages, his lip was swollen and split with black knotted thread holding the two halves together and the swellings on his cheek and forehead were that greenish purple color of day-old bruises and bottle flies. Metal splints like birdcages surrounded the index and middle fingers of his right hand. He headed straight for the fridge, opened the door, and helped himself to a beer. Popping the top one-handedly, he settled on the low couch with a loud exhale.
“We gotta talk.” He gulped the beer.
“You really look awful. What are you doing out of bed?”
“I’ve got a business to run. Family to support. You don’t look so good yourself.”
I rubbed the bruise on my temple. “Yeah, well, long story.”
“I need the money. Now, Seychelle.”
“Maddy, I’ve got the cops sitting out front watching for me—they’re probably on their way back here right now. I don’t have time for this. You’ve got to get out of here.” Standing over him, I tried to pull him up off the couch.
“I came here to say something and I’m gonna say it. Settle this salvage business and sell the boat. That’s it.”
“Maddy, what the hell is happening with you? You know I’ll fight you any way I can on this—that boat’s my life.”
He lowered his face into his hands. He was still for the longest time.
I sat down next to him and put my arm around him. He shook me off, irritated.
Sinking back into the far corner of the couch, I tried breathing slowly. Stop reacting like a twelve-year-old, I told myself. Calm down, relax. “Maddy,” I said in a soft voice, “can you tell me what this is really all about? What have you got yourself into?”
At first he didn’t say anything. I was tense, poised for flight, not sure what my volatile big brother might burst out with.
“They sent me over here, Sey.” He spoke quietly, his hands on his knees, and then he stuck out his chin, letting me get a good look. “See my face? The people who did this to me—they sent me over here to talk to you. I owe ’em . . . shit, I don’t even want to tell you how much. I know it was stupid, but like every other goddamn sucker out there, I thought I would win.” He shook his head and sighed. “Anyways, they’re threatening to take my boat. I got a family, Seychelle. There ain’t squat I can do besides take assholes out fishing. I know you can always go back to lifeguarding or something. Hell, you’re really smart, you could go back to college and get out of boats for good. You and Pit, you were always the smart ones—you could do anything. Not me. I can’t lose that boat. They told me to make you settle with them—to call in the debt on the Gorda, to put the screws on you so you’d see things their way. They said if you don’t help them out, they’re gonna hurt you, bad.”
“What are you talking about, Maddy? Who are these people you keep referring to as ‘they’?”
“See, that’s just it, Seychelle. You ask too many questions. I’m at the track and I’m losing, and some guy tells me that if I call this other guy, he can loan me some money. I don’t ask for no references. I don’t really want to know who the guy is. The point is, I owe these guys a lot of money. And now they’re sending some dude about as wide as he is tall to play basketball with my head in the track parking lot. He’s saying, ‘Shut your sister up, we want her out of the salvage business for good.’ They beat the crap out of me because I can’t make you cooperate, and they’re going after you next. Only next time it won’t just be a beating.”
“It doesn’t make sense, Maddy. What do loan sharks at the track have to do with what happened on the Top Ten?”
“Like I said, Sey, you ask too many questions. If you want to save both our boats, and butts, then just shut the fuck up, take their money, tell them whatever they want to know, and count yourself lucky.”
Maddy stood and crushed the beer can in his good fist as though to punctuate his sentiments. He walked over to the counter and lifted the photo of me and Neal I had found on the Top Ten. He squinted as though trying to recognize the people in the picture. “What do you reckon happened to Neal?”
“I don’t have any idea, Maddy.” I snatched the photo from his hands and slid it out of sight into the zippered side pocket of my shoulder bag along with the photo of my mother and us kids I’d rescued from my trashed cottage.
“If he was still alive,” he said, “I suppose he’d probably contact you—if he contacted anybody. These guys I’ve been talking about, they’d pay a lot of money to know where Neal is—enough money to get me out of debt for good.”