Geek Mafia: Mile Zero, Rick Dakan [reading an ebook .TXT] 📗

“HEY, Cassie,” Chloe said in a loud voice, struggling to be heard over the band that was blaring Credence Clearwater Revival covers from the stage at Schooner’s Wharf Bar and Grille behind her. Cassie, wearing nothing but a pair of stained khaki shorts and a faded blue sports bra, was grooving to the band from her place on the docks (out of the glaring bouncer’s jurisdiction). She wheeled around with a dramatic flourish and took Chloe’s hand in hers, trying to draw Chloe into her dance.

“Hi!” she said, “Isn’t this band great?”

“No, not really,” Chloe said with a smile, swaying a bit in the hips in spite of herself. “Are you ready to take me to my guy?”

“Am I!” Cassie shouted, spinning away from Chloe and waving her arms in the air. “Ready when you are!”

“I’m actually ready right now,” said Chloe.

“Really?” said Cassie, pausing midspin. “Are you sure?” Then she was spinning again.

Then Chloe understood. Cassie may be crazy. But then again, maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it was just her shtick. But even if she was nuts, she was also homeless and wise in the ways of scrounging. Chloe pulled out the wad of bills she’d brought and held it out to Cassie, who plucked it from her hand as she spun. The money disappeared into Cassie’s sports bra.

“Let’s go!” she said, taking Chloe’s hand once more and pulling her at a run along the dock.

“You said he’s out on Christmas Tree Island?” asked Chloe as they ran.

“Yep!”

“So we need a boat. I’ve got a friend who could…”

“Here!” said Cassie, stopping all of a sudden and bracing herself against Chloe, who collided into her. They were standing in front of a beat-up and patched gray Zodiac with an equally junky looking outboard engine attached to it.

“Whose boat is that?” Chloe asked. They were in a section of the docks where people could rent small boat slips for $30 a month. Most were used by folks who lived out on their sailboats full time and wanted a reliable parking space when they came ashore. But Chloe knew that at least some of them belonged to homeless people who lived out on one of the nearby islands and maybe made a few extra bucks fishing.

“It belongs to a friend of mine,” said Cassie as she clambered down onto the boat. Chloe noticed about an inch of stagnant water sitting in the bottom of the craft and wondered if it was rain water or from a leak. She couldn’t quite remember when it had last rained. Four days ago? Six? “Come on, we’ve got to go!”

“Ok, ok,” Chloe said. Cassie gave her a hand down into the boat, and her shoes were instantly soaked. So too was the rest of her as Cassie untied the boat from the dock, started up the engine and hit full reverse, jolting Chloe off her seat and down into the briny puddle. It was definitely salt water. She clung to the side as Cassie ignored the posted “No Wake” signs and roared out of the marina and into the channel, headed for Christmas Tree Island.

Key West is surrounded by several smaller keys, two of which form a kind of natural harbor for the island city. Low lying, and covered with windswept pine trees, the festively named Christmas Tree Island is one of these. The other nearby island was once known as Tank Island because the Navy used to have a fuel depot there. It had since been bought by developers and converted from diesel depot to ultra-expensive condos and renamed Sunset Key. The contrast between the two couldn’t have been greater. With its multimillion-dollar residence, state-of-the-art amenities and private ferry service, Sunset Key was the most exclusive address around. With its lack of fresh water, let alone real shelter, the homeless enclave that was Christmas Tree Island was at the exact opposite end of the spectrum. But in a small town already overflowing with the indigent, the local authorities were perfectly content to let the homeless have the place, knowing that at least it kept them out of sight.

Since the island was only about a quarter-mile away, the trip took only a few minutes, especially at the speed Cassie was going. Chloe was afraid that she was going to run them straight up onto the shore, but at the last second Cassie swerved the boat hard to port, sending a wave of spray into the pine trees and stalling out the engine. This may or may not have been her plan, but the crazy girl went with it, jumping over the side into waist deep water and starting to pull the craft up onto the small spit of beach. Already soaked, Chloe decided to get out and help her. They got the boat halfway onto the island before Cassie gave up and then tied the rope from the bow around the trunk of a nearby tree.

Chloe took a moment to look at the island around her, but there wasn’t much to see. It was dark and quiet. Over the surf and wind she heard what might have been voices but what could have just been crowd noise carrying over from some loud bar across the water. She turned to Cassie and whispered, “Which way?”

Cassie put a finger to her lips and, louder than Chloe had just whispered, said “SHHHHHH!” Then she started forward into the trees, and Chloe followed close behind. They crept through the dark, their footfalls muffled by the carpet of pine needles that covered the sandy ground. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Chloe realized that they were far from alone on the island. She picked out huddled forms sleeping under moldy blankets and pine needles. At least she hoped they were sleeping. To her right she saw two figures leaning against a tree, one bent over, the other behind, his hips moving back and forth in an unmistakable motion.

A sudden splash and hiss from off to her left forced Chloe to bite back a startled cry. They’d just come upon a fat, stinking man who was pissing like a racehorse against a tree. He hadn’t noticed them, or if he had he didn’t seem to care. Cassie held her nose between two fingers and led them away from the urinating man. The man belched as they moved by.

Up ahead, Chloe saw a faint glow through the trees and heard soft voices over the wind. Cassie stopped behind a tree and motioned for Chloe to come up along side her. She pointed through the trees to what might charitably be called a clearing, although really it was more of an area where the trees were a little thinner, mostly because two of them had been cut down at some point in the past. She saw about a dozen figures huddled around a fire pit that was dug deep into the sand. A length of chain link fence supported on rusted iron rebars covered the pit, providing a surface for those around to fire to cook cans of soup and hotdogs on.

From her hidden spot in the shadows, Chloe scanned the homeless men and women, looking for the killer’s face among them. At first she just saw a crowd of dirty, disheveled bums, but then she looked past the surface and started taking in details. See with your eyes, not your prejudices, Chloe told herself. Most of the men had beards, but none of them looked like her killer. But of course if this guy was as good as she feared he was, shaving the beard would’ve been the first thing he did once Eddie or Raff or whoever warned him that there was a hunt on for him. Assuming, of course, that it had been a real beard in the first place.

There were only three beardless men by the fire, one of whom had his back to Chloe. She decided to circle around the perimeter to get a better view. Cassie tried to stop her, but she shrugged the crazy woman’s hand off her shoulder and moved into the