Page 6 of On the Line

I motioned for Ellie to turn left down the gravel driveway marked by an old ship anchor. “This is it.”

We wound through the mangroves to my family’s modest concrete house. “My keys are inside.” I twisted the rusty knob on the downstairs door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

She scanned the small living room with the mini-kitchen along one wall. “Nothing humble about having your own apartment,” she said, impressed.

“Technically, it’s my parents’ apartment. They let me move down here after graduation.” I went to grab my keys from the nightstand in the bedroom.

Ellie peered out the small window to the dock. “Where are your folks now?”

“I guess they already took off to my Uncle Charlie’s down in Marathon. I’m supposed to meet them for supper.” I fantasized, briefly, that she wanted to know if we were alone so that we could make out. Ellie wasn’t that kind of girl, but a guy could dream.

She blinked through the blinds out toward the dock. “Is that your Whaler?”

“Yep.’73 Montauk,” I beamed. “She’s a beauty but too small for big-money charters.”

Ellie’s lips pursed to one side. “Living at home and not paying for dockage, you should be able to save up for a bigger boat in no time as long as you can get enough small trips. That just requires proper marketing though.”

“That’s the plan.” I grinned, not really having a plan. Ellie seemed to know a lot more about how I should go aboutbuilding my dream business than I did. “I can drop you at the van if you want.” I said, jingling the truck keys in my hand.

“Yes, please,” Ellie said, more enthusiastic to get away from me than I would have liked.

“Watch your step,” I said, swinging open the passenger door of my old Ford before I held out my hand for Ellie to climb in. It was less then ten years old but the ‘72 F100 was already a relic. The beast of a machine had seen better days, but it still held onto its rugged charm. The body was a deep, weathered green, with patches of rust creeping along the edges like old scars. But she was all mine, handed down from my dad last year.

Ellie tugged her dress down over her knees, and I realized with a sheepish grin that I’d been staring.

The further south we got toward George’s neighborhood, the more nervous I got. I had no idea what we were driving into. My sweaty palms gripped the wheel as we turned off the highway down the street that had recently become known as Smuggler’s Row. Drug runners like George had bought half the lots in the new development. No one could prove they were smugglers since they all had legitimate businesses, like car dealerships, but everyone knew. Okay,almosteveryone knew, including the police who were on his payroll. My heart beat faster in my chest as George’s house came into view.

The Coral Grill van was the lone vehicle in the empty lot beside the deserted house. The perimeter of the house was roped off by yellow and black police tape. High ball glasses and champagne flutes strewn about the tables around the pool created an eerie scene. It was almost as if the party guests had vanished in an apocalyptic event, right out of aStephen King book, if you hadn’t seen the blue lights the night before.

Ellie stepped down out of the truck, turning her head slowly to take it all in. “Where is everyone?”

“I guess the cops broke the party up.” I tried to sound like it was normal that there wasn’t a soul to be seen, but I was as confused as she was, and probably a lot more scared of what this meant. “Probably noise complaints or something,” I said half-heartedly.

“It was pretty loud.” She looked toward the house, obviously uneasy. “I guess I’ll have to come back for my aunt’s steam trays.”

I stepped closer, wishing I could put my arm around her petite shoulders and tell her I’d take care of it for her if she’d let me. “I’ll get them from George. I can call you when I have them, if you give me your number.”

Her worried brow relaxed as a smile spread across her lips. “Nice move there. I suppose they don’t call you Slick for nothing.”

I rested my hand on the hood of the truck, leaning in like I was telling her a secret. “It’s only a slick move if it works.”

She unzipped the small purse that hung on her hip, grinning as she pulled out a pen. My eyes fixed on her mouth when she bit the cap off the pen, holding it between her teeth while she scrawled seven digits that tickled my palm. “That’s my aunt’s house up in Tavernier. I’m living there since it’s closer to school.”

My hand lingered in the air after she released it, wishing she hadn’t. I repeated the numbers back to her, to be sure I didn't screw it up.

“That’s right. Call me when you can get the trays and the rest of our stuff. Or just drop it by the restaurant.”

“I’ll call you.” I stared down at the numbers and thought I might never wash my hand again. I wasn’t going to miss the chance to see her again. Or to steal a kiss. I leaned in to plant a peck on her cheek. “Happy New Year, Ellie. Sorry it turned out like it did.”

“We don’t know how it turned out yet, now, do we?” She smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss me right back, her lips planting soft on my cheek.

I touched my face where her lips had been as I watched her walk to the van. The sweet ending to a night that had gone sour.

Ellie drove away, the Coral Grill van leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. I contemplated crossing the police line to see if there were any clues to what had happened last night, but thought better of it. Someone might be watching. Besides, Mateo would know.

He’d been inside the party before the raid. As George’s nephew, he was there as a guest, not hired help like Waylan and me. I hopped back in the truck and sped south toward Mateo’s mom’s place in Layton. The limo was parked outside.

“Great place to stash the getaway car,” I muttered, shaking my head, not knowing where a better place might’ve been but pretty darned sure the drug smuggler’s sister’s house wasn’t the best choice.

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