Page 2 of On the Line

“I’d rather sit up front with y’all,” Ellie said. I’d sure rather be in the back with her. But she was right, we couldn’t do that to Waylan.

Ellie scooted across the black leather seat, stopping on my side of the middle. When I pulled the heavy door closed and settled in beside her, our shoulders brushed, sending an electric jolt through me. I caught a faint whiff of her perfume, or maybe it was the scent of shampoo in that ponytail that drove me mad. Waylan fumbled to pull the Lennon cassette tape out of the sound system, switching it for another. He popped in the new cassette as we headed toward the highway, cranking up the volume. Wind whipped the blonde strands of Ellie’s ponytail, her smile wide as she sang along to Bob Marley’sNo Woman No Cryon the bench seat between us.

We started over the Channel 5 Bridge, the sea stretching dark as night in all directions. I mused, “It’s weird cruising the Keys in a limo. Feels like we should be staring up at skyscrapers and city lights somewhere.”

Waylan chuckled. “I bet Miami’s wild tonight. Can you imagine South Beach on New Year’s Eve?”

Ellie’s nose crinkled. “I’d rather not. Miami’s turning into a war zone. The narcos are ruining it.”

Waylan let out a chuckle, but I just shrugged, hoping to divert the conversation away from the drug trade, since I wasn’t exactly proud of my small role in it. “I never liked the big city anyway.”

Ellie wasn’t wrong, though. Miami was worse than ever. The rise in homicides was all over the news. And everyone knew the Colombian drug lords were the culprits. At least everyone I knew, knew. And apparently Ellie did too.

George’s marijuana operation had made him millions over the years, but the cocaine cartels were another level. They were bringing in literaltonsof pure powder on every flight, each shipment worth more than the amount of reefer that George would run in a year. He claimed the rise of cocaine was good for guys like him—a distraction for the authorities. Weed runners would be much less of a priority if they were chasing the cocaine cartels, he said.

But the new cocaine cowboys were ruthless enough to get President Reagan’s attention. And his War on Drugs got mine. Coast Guard patrols had doubled in the past six months. It was a lot more dangerous out there for everyone in our line of work now.

Waylan killed the lights on the limo when he turned onto the short gravel driveway on Grassy Key. “Just wait here,” he said, hopping down to greet a bearded old man who’d come out the front door of the small block house. Waylan exchanged a few words with him before they went into the detached garage. Ellie watched intently as they carried several cardboard boxes around to the trunk. “French champagne?” She asked while Waylan passed with a box bearing vibrant red letters I couldn’t read. “I guess 1981’s been a good year for used cars.”

I chuckled under my breath, amused that someone I knew to be smart as a whip could be so innocently naïve. But it helped explain why she was hanging around us in the first place. She had no idea who George really was. As long as she didn’t, I still had a chance with her.

After Waylan settled back behind the wheel, I noted the time: 9:19. “We’ve got time to spare. Let’s stop off at Long Key on the way back, take a little dip.”

Waylan hesitated. “I dunno. George’ll be pissed if they’re out of bubbly already.”

“C’mon. Twenty minutes,” I chided.

The look he shot me told me I owed him one. “Twenty minutes. Tops.”

Ellie slipped off her sandals while Waylan and I rolled up our pants legs. Together, we waded into knee-deep water, passing the bottle of rum between us. Ellie’s face twisted in a grimace when she took a swig. I grinned, taking the bottle from her hands. “Way better than studying?”

“My mother keeps telling me I need to get out more,” Ellie said, snatching the bottle to take another sip. She pushed the bottle back into my hand before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a huff of sweet rum breath mixing with the ocean air as she said, “I think she’s right.”

“It’s good to meet new people and let loose a little,” I encouraged, though I doubted we were the kind of fellows her mother hoped she’d let loose with, but at least Waylan was going off to get an education. I guess I thought bringing that up would make me seem smarter by association. “Come August, that’ll be you, Waylan. Nights spent studying.”

Waylan laughed, swaying a little on his feet. “I think finding time to study between all the parties in Tallahassee will be the hard part.” He’d have no trouble finding a good time at FSU, no doubt. I still thought he was crazy to walk away from the money we were making working for George though.

Ellie cocked her head, curious. “What are you going to study?”

He shrugged. “Maybe business.”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s what I’m studying.”

I regretted immediately bringing up Waylan’s plans that she seemed so interested in, and for a second I was glad he was leaving. Waylan flashed a grin but deflected her attention. “Truth is, I don’t know what I’m going to study. I’m just going because my dad’s making me. I’d rather stay here and fish with Slick.”

I patted him on the back. “You gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

“Slick, huh?” Ellie asked, taking the rum bottle from Waylan. “Is that what your friends call you?”

“Sometimes…” I stammered. The ability to talk my way out of any situation wasn’t exactly a selling point with the girl I’d been crushing on since puberty hit.

Fortunately, Waylan’s impatience saved me. “I don’t want to be a party pooper, but what we’ve gotta do right now is get back to George’s,” he said, twisting the cap back onto the rum bottle in Ellie’s hand. “Now.”

I looked back at the crescent moon over Ellie’s head, reflecting with the million stars in the calm flats, and hoped it wouldn’t be the last time I’d see her like that.

CHAPTER 2

It was after eleven when we turned at the entrance of Port Antigua. George’s house was at the end of the street, the corner lot flanked by water on two sides. It was a good half-mile down, but we weren’t a hundred yards off the highway before the blue lights ahead came into view. Waylan lifted his foot off the accelerator, fingers gripping the wheel as his head slowly turned, eyes asking if I’d seen what he had. And if I had, what the hell should we do about it.

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