Page 22 of On the Line

“So did I,” I said, biting my lip. “But he’ll get out of it, right?” George was bigger than life. He had to be, to run as much grass as he had over the years.

“Course he will. He’s paid off just about everyone down here at one time or another.” Waylan was right. Everyone was on George’s payroll.

“Alright,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get the hell out of here then. You follow me?”

“Yeah. I got your back, Slick. No running lights.”

I navigated around Indian Key and through the Lignumvitae channel. Stark’s fish camp was dark when we passed. No sign of heat. Maybe this plan would work. A couple of minutes later, we putted into the inlet. I nudged the bow of the Mako up into the mangroves and looped a dock line around a branch. Waylan did the same just behind me.

“How many lines you got on the Mako?” he asked, digging through the anchor locker on the fast boat. “All I’ve got is two dock lines and the anchor line.”

“Same here. It’ll have to do,” I said, unclipping the carabiner to detach the anchor chain. After we secured the boats as best we could, I scratched my head. “How the hell are we gonna get to the fish camp?” Normally, the fisherman had another boat follow them, to leave on, when they left their boats for a storm.

“Only one way I can think of.”

“Fuck,” I grumbled. Swim it was. I pulled the duffel bag out from under the seat and fastened two orange life jackets around it to help it float so it wouldn’t drown me. “Bring me your shoes,” I called over to Waylan. “I’ll put them in the bag.”

“More smart thinking, Slick.” Waylan unlaced his Converse, holding them overhead as he slipped in from the swim platform on the stern. He swam up to the Mako, handing me his Converse.

“Yeah, Einstein here,” I said, shoving our shoes into the duffel bag. I adjusted the lifejackets before lowering the bag down to Waylan. Calling myself every name in the book in my head, I slipped into the water. If I was smart, I wouldn’t have done this last job. I couldn’t wait to put this behind me.

We swam along the edge of the mangroves, pushing the duffel bag ahead of us. I kicked as hard as I could, trying not to swallow sea water. It felt like forever but was probably only twenty minutes to make our way to the other side of the island.

Waylan hoisted himself up onto the fish camp dock, and looked around. “Alright, you push, I’ll pull,” he said, bending over to reach for the strap of the bag. Once on the dock, we shook the water off ourselves and put on our damp shoes.

Not a soul stirred at the fish camp, thank goodness. But there was also no sign of Mateo. “Now what?” I asked, scanning the darkness.

“If Mateo doesn’t show soon,” Waylan said, looking as worried as I felt, “I guess we walk.”

“With the money?” I asked, as emphatically as I could while trying to keep my voice low. No fucking way was I walking on the only goddamn road in the Keys with a dripping bag of cash while cops were busting George.

Waylan ran his hands through his wet hair. “Wait here while I go look for a spot we might be able to stash it.”

A couple minutes later, Mateo glided up silently in Doreen’s Jeep, headlights off. “Anyone need a ride?”

“Boy am I glad to see you,” I said, unhooking the lifejackets from the duffel. I heaved the duffel bag into the back of the Jeep, chucking the lifejackets into the bushes before I jumped into the passenger seat. Waylan came running and hopped in the back beside the bag.

Mateo drove us through the fish camp, and switched the headlights on when he got to US-1, turning north toward Upper Matecumbe.

I finally broke the silence. “What the fuck, Matty?”

He glanced over with worried eyes. “They got George.”

I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat. “Shit. What now?”

“You need to find a place to stash the drop.”

“Me?!” I shouted, the wind blowing my words back in my face. “That’s on you. He’s your uncle.”

Mateo turned to stare me in the eye, shouting. “That’s exactly why I can’t be anywhere near it.” His gaze turned back to the road, fingers gripping the wheel tight. “Take it with you for now. Put it somewhere safe. We’ll figure it out later.”

“No fucking way,” I said. We were on a tiny island crawling with law enforcement. I was not going to be caught holding the money.

“Yesfucking way, Slick,” Mateo said definitively.

“Where the hell am I supposed to put it?” I shot back.

Mateo’s anxious voice escalated. “I don’t know and I don’t care, but they’re coming after my family. You’re not related, so they won’t look for you. Stash it until George gets out. Shouldn’t be long. He’s got good lawyers.”

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