http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00M6J47KW

Key West Takedown

By

Al Lamanda

Copyright by Al Lamanda

Prologue

What went through his mind during the three seconds it took from the time he heard the sound of the bullet to the time it entered his left hip was, not like this. Not after all the war zones, the hundreds of interrogations, the close calls during in-fighting, the car bombs, suicide bombers and the like.

Home from the Middle East for two weeks, he went for a morning jog along the back roads in Frederick County. The surrounding woods were deep and thick and even on a bright, sunny day if you walked just a few hundred feet in, sunlight barely penetrated the treetops.

It was hunting season and rifle fire was not an uncommon sound to hear on a jog or walk, so there was no reason to think that a stray bullet would strike him down.

Yet, at the sound of the crack he knew he was about to be shot.

He’d interviewed many a combat veteran and many said the same thing, that at the sound of a bullet they knew they were about to get hit.

Maybe it was the direction of the report of the round, or some kind of sixth sense, he didn’t really know or understand.

Until it happened to him.

A shot fired in the woods and even though it could have been fired in any direction, he knew it would strike him somewhere on his body.

Later, as he reflected on the moment, he thought about how many wounded soldiers he’d interviewed who said they didn’t even know they had been shot until later on when things quieted down and the adrenaline wore off.

That wasn’t the case with him. The moment the bullet struck the bone of his left hip, he fell to the ground in encrusting pain. It occurred to him much later that most of the soldiers he’d interviewed who claimed they didn’t know they had been shot were wounded in flesh, either muscle or fat.

He had the misfortune to be struck by the 7MM hunting round on the left hip where there wasn’t any meat at all. Just bone and nerves.

He was just shy of forty-four years old at the time.

What followed was six months at Bethesda, a total hip replacement and months of rehab before he was discharged.

And retired from the FBI on a disability pension.

He walked with the aid of a cane the first few weeks after he returned home. After a while he felt stronger and stopped using the cane. He hated sitting around the house, but wasn’t much for hobbies or television and there were just so many books a man could read in a given week. He was used to seventy hour work weeks and the toll of nothing to do all but drive him crazy.

He had earned a black belt in Kung Fu, but hadn’t practiced in many years. He found a school in Baltimore and enrolled, figuring the exercise would return flexibility to the replaced left hip.

It did. After several months of three-times per week workouts, he was as strong and flexible as he was at the age of twenty-five.

On the one-year anniversary of being shot, he returned to the very road where the incident happened and went jogging again.

The hip didn’t bother him in the least.

And nobody shot at him.

He ran six miles along a loop in the road and when he returned to his car that he’d parked along the soft shoulder, two unmarked SUV vehicles had wedged him in. He recognized the vehicles immediately as FBI.

Four agents wearing the standard dark-colored suits emerged from the vehicles.

“Agent Wyatt?” a man he didn’t recognize said.

“Retired,” he said.

The man flashed his ATF identification. “Not anymore,” he said.

One

Jack Wolfe Jr. steered the deep-sea fishing boat southwest off the coast of Key West at a moderate speed of twelve knots. He stood six-foot-four inches tall and was built like a linebacker the way his daddy was before he grew the beer gut. His dark hair was long and shaggy. Behind the dark sunglasses, his eyes were gray, a trait he got from his mother. At twenty-four, he was the oldest of the three Wolfe brothers.

Jack Jr. turned and looked at the deck where his brothers were horsing around, as usual and said, “Cut the bullshit you assholes. Lonnie, go get my smokes.”

Lonnie, fourteen-years-old, in a choke hold being administered by his older brother JD, said, “Where are they?”

“Below deck, and JD, let him go or I’ll come down there and kick your ass good for you,” Jack Jr. said.

JD, twenty-three and nearly as tall and heavy as Jack Jr. released his hold on Lonnie. “Lighten up, big bro,” he said. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull asshole.”

“I’ll lighten the boat and toss your useless ass overboard,” Jack Jr. said. “Lonnie, my cigarettes.”

Lonnie snapped to attention, saluted and then dashed below deck.

JD took the steps and stood next to Jack Jr. at the wheel.

“How far?” JD asked.

“Hour,” Jack Jr. said as he glanced at the GPS unit mounted below the wheel.

Lonnie appeared with a package of unfiltered cigarettes and a Zippo lighter and gave them to Jack Jr.

“I want one,” Lonnie said.

“Go ahead, but if you tell Kate, I’ll put my foot up your scrawny ass,” Jack Jr. said.

“Why would I tell Kate?” Lonnie said as he removed three cigarettes. He lit them with the Zippo and passed one each to his brothers.

JD tapped Jack Jr. on the shoulder and said, “Company.”

Jack Jr. looked at the Coast Guard Cutter quickly approaching from the east.

“Fuck do they want now?” he said.

“Looks like a sixty-five footer,” JD said.

“Good thing it’s Saturday,” Lonnie said. “They’d be saying, why ain’t I in school?”

The cutter’s horn blew several times and Jack Jr. shut down the engine.

“Son of a bitch,” he said.

“Doing twenty-five knots,” JD said.

“Think they’ll come aboard?” Lonnie asked.

“Why you think they’re flagging us, they out of sugar and want to borrow a cup?” Jack Jr. said. “Well, let’s go greet our uninvited guests.”

They filed down to the deck and waited for the cutter to arrive. It pulled alongside and two seaman tossed ropes to the brothers.

The captain of the cutter said, “Prepare to board.”

Three petty officers armed with sidearms stood by the rails.

“Coming aboard,” the captain said.

He and the three petty officers boarded the charter boat.

“Captain,” Jack Jr. said.

“This is a routine inspection,” the captain said.

“Sure,” Jack Jr. said. “No problem.”

“Go ahead, men,” the captain said.

The three petty officers split up to search the boat.

“What’s your business on the water today?” the captain asked Jack Jr.

“Scouting locations for a fishing party for tomorrow,” Jack Jr. said.

“Who is the Katherine One registered to?” the captain asked.

“My mother owns the boat,” Jack Jr. said. “Her name is Katherine.”

The captain nodded. “What kind of fishing is your party interested in?”

“Swordfish,” Jack Jr. said. “They’re deep in calm water this time of year. Maybe forty miles out to the southwest.”

“They all want to find the mythical  ten footer, huh?” the captain.

“Yes sir, they do,” Jack Jr. said. “I’ve never seen one past eight feet and seven hundred pounds, but you never know.”

“World record is nine feet, eight inches,” Lonnie said. “And something like eleven hundred pounds.”

The three petty officers returned to the captain.

“Clean, sir,” one of them said.

“Enjoy your hunt,” the captain said.

“We will,” Jack Jr. said.

The brothers watched the captain and three petty officers return to the cutter and cast off.

“Assholes,” JD said.

“Don’t just stand there, go start the engine,” Jack Jr. said.

“What are you gonna do?” JD said.

“I’m going below to take a shit,” Jack Jr. said.

Two

Katherine Wolfe used her key to enter the rear door of the bar that her late husband named the Wolfe’s Lair. She flicked on the wall switch to turn on a light, and then punched in the six digit code to turn off the alarm.

She went to her office beside the storeroom, turned on the lights and tossed her handbag on the desk. She took her cigarettes out, lit one and went into the bar and put on a pot of coffee.

A month ago, she celebrated birthday number forty-four. She didn’t mind the number so much as she didn’t feel any different than a decade ago. What she minded was seeing the tiny lines and wrinkles forming under and around her eyes. She wasn’t much for heavy makeup or Botox, so she would just have to learn to live with them, or to just ignore them as they were here to stay.

By the time she finished the cigarette, the coffee was ready and she took a mug back to her office.

Just short of ten in the morning and already she could feel the heat. She turned the air conditioner to low and took a seat behind her cluttered desk.

She did the books last night, but always reviewed them in the morning for mistakes. She also needed to order liquor, something she did once a month.

Business had been good lately and she toyed with the idea of ordering twice a month for a while.

She sipped her coffee and lit another cigarette.

As she rifled through purchase orders and bills, a pick-up truck arrived outside the rear door of the bar. She glanced at her watch. It was exactly eleven AM. The door opened and a moment later, Walter appeared in her office doorway.

“Morning, Kate,” he said.

“Hey, Walter,” she said. “Bar’s low. I checked when I made coffee.”

“I’ll stock it,” Walter said. “The boys back yet?”

“Not yet, thankfully,” Kate said. “I need the peace and quiet to get this paperwork done.”

“I’ll go stock the bar,” Walter said.

Alone, Kate dug into the paperwork and by eleven forty-five it was nearly complete.

Just in time for her Neanderthals to come bouncing in the back door as if the circus had arrived in town.

They stopped at her office door.

“Hey, Kate,” Jack Jr. said with his big, goofy grin.

He was just like his father, except maybe a little dumber.

“Any problems?” Kate asked.

“A sixty-five footer came aboard for a look see,” JD said.

“And?” Kate said.

“And nothing,” Jack Jr. said. “They snooped around, came up empty and left.”

“You’re sure?” Kate said.

“Yes, goddammit, Kate, we’re sure,” Jack Jr. said.

Kate looked at Lonnie. “Is that how it was?”

“I don’t lie to my own mother,” Jack Jr. said.

“That’s how it was,” Lonnie said. “They snooped around a bit and then left.”

“Alright then,” Kate said. “Go help Walter with stocking. He’s getting too old for heavy lifting.”

“That old man’s a bull,” Jack Jr. said.

“I’ll help him,” Lonnie said.

“Come on, JD, play you a game,” Jack Jr. said.

“Turn the air on in the bar so it’s cool by one,” Kate said.

Jack Jr. whacked Lonnie on the head. “You heard Kate, go turn on the air,” he said.

“The three of you leave me in peace,” Kate said. “JD, bring me another cup of coffee.”

Kate worked on her list of restock and finished up around twelve forty-five.

She could hear her two oldest Neanderthals engaged in a game of pool. Calling each other names, mock fighting and picking on the squirt.

The noise suddenly stopped.

Jack Jr. said, “Bar opens at one.”

And a voice from her past said, “Hello, Walter. I see you’ve prospered in my absence.”

Three

Wyatt sat with two ATF agents in a hotel room just across the border in Virginia. They offered him coffee, tea or anything he wanted. He took a coffee. Otherwise they didn’t say a word except to thank room service.

They just sat around in a nice hotel room for forty-five minutes drinking coffee little to no conversation exchanged.

Until a knock on the door brought Morgan from CID, the Criminal Investigative Division into the room and Wyatt knew, to coin a phrase, that some serious shit was about to go down.

Wyatt stood and shook Morgan’s hand.

“You’re looking good, Wyatt,” Morgan said. “Real good. How is the hip?”

“I was about to end a six mile run when your boys picked me up,” Wyatt said.

“They didn’t pick you up, Wyatt,” Morgan said. “You could have refused.”

“If it’s about my department issued Glock, I believe I turned it in when I was shit-canned,” Wyatt said.

“It’s not … you weren’t, as you put it, shit-canned,” Morgan said. “You were retired due to a disability.”

“I ran six miles this morning,” Wyatt said. “Can you?”

“That’s not the point,” Morgan said. “At the time you were shot, the Bureau …”

“What is the point then, that I can run six miles and you can’t, or that I was shot and you weren’t?” Wyatt asked.

“I see you’re the same old pain in the ass that you always were,” Morgan said.

“It’s been working for me so far, I figure why change,” Wyatt said. “So why don’t you tell me why I’ve been kidnapped.”

“That’s classified,” Morgan said.

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, of course not.”

“In that case, I’m leaving.”

“Wyatt, sit the hell down.” Morgan said.

“Can I get more coffee first?”

“Sure.”

Wyatt went to the serving trolley brought in by room service and filled his cup.

“So who are we waiting on?” Wyatt said. “Someone from ATF?”

“We’ll talk about it when …”

“It’s not exactly a secret, Morgan. The guy practically yelled ATF in my face,” Wyatt said. “And these two mummy’s here on the sofa, they’re ATF.”

Morgan sighed. “We’re waiting on …”

And there was a knock on the door.

One of the ATF agents got up to let in three men.

One of them was a decade older than Wyatt.

He carried a briefcase.

“Wyatt, this is Michael Jonas,” Morgan said. “He supervises the IOI for ATF. That’s Industry Operations Investigator.”

“I know what it is,” Wyatt said.

Wyatt looked at the man. Jonas made no effort to shake hands.

“IOI for ATF,” Wyatt said. “Wants what with me?”

There was a circular conference table in the room and Jonas placed his case on it and looked at Wyatt. “Let’s talk,” he said.

Wyatt and Morgan went to the table.

“I’ll have a coffee,” Jonas said.

Wyatt pulled out a chair, sat and sipped his. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Were you giving me an order?”

“No, I’m giving you a badge if you’ll take it,” Jonas said.

An ATF agent brought Jonas a cup of coffee and then vanished into the background.

“I’m on disability, didn’t you know?” Wyatt said.

“Yes, I do know,” Jonas said. “Do you know Katherine Wolfe, maiden name Vieira? Since you went to high school with her and she married your best high school bud, I believe you do.”

Wyatt was stunned for a moment. Katherine Vieira Wolfe was a name from the past he wasn’t prepared to hear.

“What about her?” Wyatt asked.

“Got your attention now, huh?” Jonas said.

“What about her?” Wyatt asked again.

“Tell you what,” Jonas said. “Read the file and then we’ll talk.”

Jonas slid the case to Wyatt, and then he and Morgan left the table.

Wyatt stared at the case for a moment. Then he reached for it, opened the snaps and removed a thick file.

The filed was headed ATF Special Investigation Katherine Wolfe/Xavier Estes.

She married Jack Wolfe when she was seventeen and he a year older. She gave birth to her first son, Jack Jr. one year later. Jason Donald, called JD, was born one year after that. Youngest son, Lonnie came later and he is now fourteen. Just months after Lonnie was born, Jack Wolfe was gunned down in Miami one night and his killers were never apprehended.

Jack Wolf, owner of a charter fishing boat and a small bar on Big Pine Key, was long suspected of running guns out of Key West, but evidence was never gathered to make an arrest. Suspicions first came to the attention of ATF when he was seen in the company of Xavier Estes, a Miami Beach businessman suspected of smuggling weapons to Mexico. When questioned by agents, Jack Wolfe claimed he met with Estes about expanding his charter fishing business into Miami Beach, but Jack was later murdered and the deal never materialized.

It was strongly suspected that Katherine Wolfe had taken over the gun running business from her late husband. After years of surveillance on the Wolfe family the investigation had stalled.

Wyatt looked at a recent photograph of Kate, as he always called her when they dated the one year in high school before she dumped him for Jack. She was as stunning as ever. Her dirty blonde hair was shoulder length, her features fine and chiseled, but what got him now was what got him then, one green eye and one gray.

Wyatt looked at the photos of her three sons. Jack Jr. and JD were linebackers like their father and appeared just as dumb. Lonnie, on the other hand, was much shorter and wiry like a welterweight boxer, and had intelligence in his blue eyes.

There were dates and times listed for a hundred or more surveillances on the family owned bar, the Wolfe’s Lair and their home and charter fishing boat.

Wyatt closed the file and Jonas and Morgan returned to the table.

“So Jack Wolfe and now his widow Kate has been the target of surveillance by ATF for a decade without fruition and now you want what from me?” Wyatt asked.

“We and by we I mean ATF and the FBI would like to reinstate you as an ATF agent and have you work undercover in the Keys to gather enough evidence against Katherine Wolfe and her family to arrest and convict for gun smuggling,” Jonas said. “That said, the bigger target is Xavier Estes and we believe Katherine Wolfe would roll over on him to spare her sons twenty-five hard ones in a federal pen.”

Wyatt looked at Jonas. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” he said.

“Wyatt, this is that go out with a bang case every agent dreams of before retirement,” Morgan said.

“Except I’m already retired, remember,” Wyatt said.

“And you’re gonna do what for the next three decades, go jogging?” Jonas said.

“Katherine knows I joined the FBI,” Wyatt said. “She’ll suspect I’m there to keep an eye on her. It won’t work. She’s too smart for that.”

“What makes you think she’s so smart?” Jonas said.

“You’re here asking me to do your dirty work,” Wyatt said.

“Wyatt, you were born and raised in the Keys,” Morgan said. “You know them and you know Katherine Wolfe. That’s why you’re being asked to run surveillance on this. And there’s a bonus. Her bartender is Walter.”

Wyatt looked at Morgan. “Walter, as in my father Walter?” he said.

“None other.”

“Ain’t this fun,” Wyatt said. “You do understand that Walter hates my guts and would just as soon shoot me on sight as take a piss.”

“Like I said, it’s a bonus,” Morgan said. “Estes is the target, Katherine Wolfe and company are the means.”

“Any idea why Jack Wolfe was murdered?” Wyatt asked.

“It’s suspected a shipment of AK-47 rifles destined for Afghanistan rebels was in dispute with the buyers,” Jonas said.

“But you have no evidence or proof of that,” Wyatt said.

“Would I be here talking to you if I could prove any of what we just talked about?” Jonas said. “All we have and ever have had on Estes is his political affiliation to an organization known for being sympathetic to Cuban rebels who want to oust the Castro family from power, and even that is a paper tiger.”

“So what’s my deal?” Wyatt asked.

“Deal?” Jonas said.

“You swear me in as ATF for how long, for what pay grade, with what authority and what if I decide to stay on afterward?” Wyatt said.

“Stay on?” Morgan said.

“You said I was too young to spend my life jogging?” Wyatt said.

“The deal is this,” Jonas said. “You’re sworn in until the case is terminated. You act undercover on your own and report only to me. You’ll be paid the going rate for a high-ranking field agent and continue to collect your pension. The assignment is classified and will never be spoken about by you after its conclusion. Expense money will be fronted prior to your arrival in the Keys.”

“Weapon?” Wyatt asked.

“Non-issue from ATF or FBI, otherwise anything you want to carry,” Jonas said.

“I haven’t been to the Keys since I left for colleges,” Wyatt said.

“It’s about time you went back for a visit then,” Jonas said.

Four

And a voice from her past said, “Hello, Walter. I see you’ve prospered in my absence.”

Kate’s neck stiffened at the sound of Wyatt’s voice. It was a voice she would never forget no matter how many years passed since she’d last heard it.

She took her coffee mug to the edge of the hallway where she could see the bar. Jack Jr. held a pool stick in his hands and pointed it at Wyatt.

“You fucking deaf?” he said.

JD stood beside Jack Jr. and held a cue ball in his right hand.

Wyatt stood about six feet from the bar and maybe twelve feet from the pool table.

Walter aimed the shotgun he kept under the bar at Wyatt.

Lonnie sat at the bar and the little shit was smoking a cigarette.

“I aught to shoot you where you stand,” Walter said to Wyatt.

“Take your shot then,” Wyatt said.

Jack Jr. took a step forward and Wyatt pointed at him without looking at him.

“Move again and you’ll have that stick up your ass,” Wyatt said.

Kate felt her heart rate quicken as she looked at Wyatt. He stood around six-foot-one or two and went around two hundred pounds of hard lean muscle. His dark hair was worn short and his black eyes were as dark as she remembered them.

“I’m warning you, Duncan,” Walter said. “Turn around and leave or I’ll pull the trigger on you.”

Wyatt strolled to the bar and stood next to Lonnie. “Do it,” he said.

Walter glared at Wyatt.

Wyatt looked at Lonnie. “I’d move if I was you, son, just in case he’s stupid enough to pull the trigger.”

Lonnie stood up and backed away.

Wyatt looked at Walter.

Then, with cat-like reflexes, Wyatt snatched the shotgun from Walter with his left hand. “You aught to know better than to play with loaded weapons, Walter,” he said.

“Fuck you, boy,” Walter said.

Jack Jr. moved again and as cool as you please and without looking at him, Wyatt turned the shotgun so that it was aimed at Jack Jr. and JD.

“I thought I told you not to move,” Wyatt said.

“Well, what is it you want?” Jack Jr. asked.

“I went to high school with the owner of this establishment Katherine Wolfe,” Wyatt said. “I’m passing through and I thought I’d say hello.”

Kate strolled out from the hallway and walked to the bar and stood next to Lonnie. “Hello, Wyatt,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hello, Kat,” Wyatt said. “You need to hire a better class of bartender.”

Kate smiled. “Those two apes at the pool table are Jack Jr. and JD, my oldest boys. This squirt is my youngest, Lonnie, and if I catch him smoking again I’ll show him he’s not too old to feel a belt.”

“Aw, Kate,” Lonnie said.

Wyatt set the shotgun against a bar stool.

“Boys, this is Duncan Wyatt,” Kate said. “I went to high school with him. He played football with your daddy. He left us to become an agent for the FBI, ain’t that right, Wyatt?”

“Everybody has got to do something,” Wyatt said. “Besides, I retired last year.”

“Come on over and talk to me,” Kate said.

She went to the end of the bar and took a seat. “Boys, go about your business.”

Wyatt went to Kate and took the stool next to her.

“Want a beer?” Kate said.

“Too early for me,” Wyatt said.

“Walter, bring us each a fresh coffee,” Kate said.

Walter glared at Wyatt as he set out two mugs and poured.

“I hate you like mortal sin, boy,” Walter said as he turned away.

“That’s enough, Walter,” Kate said.

Wyatt took a sip from his mug. “So you took over for Jack, huh?”

“I did, and you already knew that or you wouldn’t have asked for me instead of him,” Kate said.

“They ever find who killed him?” Wyatt asked.

“No.”

“Too bad.”

“So why did you retire? You’re no older than Jack.”

“Got shot about a year ago,” Wyatt said. “I figured twenty-three years was enough, so I took a disability pension.”

“Disability?” Kate said. “You don’t look none too disabled to me.”

“I live a clean life,” Wyatt said.

“Where did you get shot?”

“Left hip. Fractured it beyond repair, so they replaced it.”

“And you it seems.”

“Seems so.”

“And you’re in the Keys because?”

“I haven’t been back in a long time,” Wyatt said. “I sold my house in Virginia for a fair profit. I thought I might check things out, do some fishing, and maybe stay over the winter. I noticed last winter the cold bothered my hip.”

Kate sipped her coffee.

“That’s it? That’s all you got?”

“Afraid so. Thought I’d drive down to Key West and watch the sun go down over a steak.”

“Want some company?”

“Meaning you?”

“Meaning me.”

“Why not?”

“Can you pick me up at four?”

“Here?”

“Right here.”

“Sure.”

“And Wyatt, this is just dinner. No ideas, okay.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I got a mountain of paperwork to do,” Kate said. “See you at four.”

Wyatt nodded to Walter on the other end of the bar.

“Thanks for the coffee, Walter,” he said.

“Go fuck yourself you rat bastard,” Walter said.

“You have a nice day, Walter,” Wyatt said as he slid off the stool and walked past the vacant pool table and out of the bar.

The three amigos were standing out front, each of them smoking a cigarette.

“Some time I’d like to see you do that stick up my ass trick you spoke about,” Jack Jr. said.

Wyatt kicked Jack Jr. in the balls, and then spun in a circle and kicked JD in the face with his right foot.

Both men went down to the ground.

Wyatt looked at Lonnie and winked.

“Best get some ice,” Wyatt said. “For both of them.”

Five

Walter walked into Kate’s office with a mad on fit to kill a bear. He folded his arms and glared at her and demanded to know if she was really going to dinner with his asshole rat bastard of a son.

“Yes, Walter, I am,” Kate said.

“Why?” Walter demanded.

“Because I don’t trust him,” Kate said. “That’s why. I think he’s up to something and I’d like to get a feel for it.”

“No good son of a bitch is a family traitor,” Walter said.

“Well, whatever he is I’m not going to find out what he’s up to by alienating him,” Kate said.

“How come I never heard him being shot?” Walter said.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Kate said.

“The day after he graduated college and told me on the phone he was joining the FBI,” Walter said.

“Twenty-four years.”

“About.”

“And you’re wondering why you don’t know?” Kate said.

From the bar, JD said, “Help me get him on the pool table and then get some ice, Lonnie. For both of us.”

“Now what?” Kate said.

“Goddammit, Lonnie, get the fucking ice,” Jack Jr. yelled.

Kate and Walter walked out to the bar.

Jack Jr. was sprawled out on the pool table with both hands holding his crotch. JD was sitting on the edge of the table holding his nose as blood streamed down onto his hands and shirt.

“Jesus Christ,” Kate said.

“What happened?” Walter said.

“He kicked me in the Goddamm balls is what happened,” Jack Jr. said.

“And my nose,” JD said.

“Why?” Kate asked.

“How the hell do I know why?” Jack Jr. said.

“We didn’t do nothing, Kate. Honest,” JD said.

Lonnie returned with a plastic bag of ice and a towel wrapped around ice cubes. He gave the bag to Jack Jr. and the towel to JD.

“He broke my fucking nose,” JD said.

Lonnie, go to the office,” Kate said.

“I didn’t do nothing,” Lonnie said.

“Did I say that you did?” Kate said. “Office. Now.”

Lonnie turned and walked away.

“Let me see that nose,” Kate said to JD.

JD removed his hands.

“It’s broken,” Kate said. “Walter, take JD to the hospital. I’ll watch the bar.”

“What about me?” Jack Jr. said.

“You want to show me your balls?” Kate said.

“Goddammit, Kate,” Jack Jr. said.

“Walter, take Jack Jr. with you,” Kate said.

“Come on you heroes, I’ll drive you to the hospital,” Walter said.

Kate returned to the office where Lonnie was standing with his face in the small air conditioning, window unit.

“It’s hot,” he said.

“Lonnie, sit down,” Kate said as she took her chair behind the desk.

Lonnie turned away from the AC unit and took the chair facing the desk.

“What happened out there?” Kate asked. “No bullshit.”

“He kicked Jack in the …” Lonnie said.

“I know what he did,” Kate said. “Why did he do it?”

Lonnie looked at the floor.

“Look at me when I address you,” Kate said. “Boys look at the floor. Men look you in the eye.”

Slowly, Lonnie looked up and at Kate.

“Now tell me why Wyatt did what he did,” Kate said.

“We were out front and he came out,” Lonnie said. “Jack said something like he’d like to see him do that pool stick up his ass thing, something like that.”

“Jack Jr. said that to Wyatt?” Kate said.

Lonnie nodded.

“And then?” Kate said.

“Then he kicked Jack in the balls and kicked JD in the face,” Lonnie said. “Then he winked at me and said I better get them some ice.”

“Lonnie, remember that time was you were seven and I told you to leave the baby gator alone and you stuck your finger in his mouth, what happened?” Kate said.

Lonnie held up his left thumb where a slight scar was visible. “He bit me.”

“That’s right, he bit you,” Kate said. “You think on that for a while as you wipe glasses at the bar.”

Lonnie nodded, stood up and left the office.

Kate lit a cigarette, sat back in her chair and despite herself felt a smile cross her lips. “Fucking Wyatt,” she said aloud.

Six

Wyatt drove east on Route One to Islamorada where they rented a bungalow at a motel that had a water view. Of course, it was close to impossible not have a water view just about anywhere in the Keys, but he understood marketing.

The car they leased for him in his name was a one-year-old dark blue Taurus equipped with every option available. New, the car cost over forty thousand and was a comfortable, powerful ride.

Traffic was heavy in both directions. He ran the AC on high. A few blocks past the Theatre of the Sea, he turned right down a side street to the motel and parked in the gravel-topped parking lot. There were twenty-four bungalows in a horseshoe shape and separated by about eight feet.

His was number seven.

The pool was enclosed inside a chain-link fence and a woman in a yellow bikini was sunbathing as he walked past to number seven. She looked at him and waved. He waved back.

Number seven was a twelve by sixteen room, with a double bed, sofa, television, bathroom and tiny area for cooking. The four burner oven, mini-fridge and sink was enough to get by on, although there was no real place to sit and eat except the picnic table around back.

Except for the pool, there was no water view to be had.

The closet and dresser barely held the two suitcases of clothes he brought, but he wasn’t here to work on expanding his wardrobe.

Earlier he stopped at a Winn Dixie supermarket for a six-pack of beer and soda and some basics, coffee, milk and a few other things.

The window AC unit was good enough to chill the room and he left it running before he went out and the room was a comfortable sixty-eight degrees.

“Hey number seven, why don’t you come out and have a beer with me?” the woman at the pool shouted.

Wyatt looked out the window. The woman was holding up a six-pack of beer, minus two cans.

He looked at his watch. There was time to kill.

He went out to the pool and said, “One’s my limit.”

“I doubt that, cowboy,” the woman said.

She was a curvy redhead with piercing blue eyes, around forty or so and had been working on her tan for quite some time.

“I saw you check in this morning,” she said. “Im in twenty-three.”

“Well, twenty-three, one is all I have time for,” Wyatt said.

He sat in the lounge chair next to her.

“Got a name, cowboy?” she said.

“Wyatt. Duncan Wyatt.”

“Nice name.”

“What do I call you besides twenty-three?”

She sipped her open beer.

“Lo-Lo Del Ray,” she said, and held out a beer to Wyatt.

He popped the tab and took a small sip.

“So what do you do Wyatt Duncan Wyatt?” Lo-Lo said.

“Retired.”

“From what? You can’t be more than forty-two.”

“Forty-five and the FBI.”

“Kind of young, ain’t you? For retirement.”

“Twenty-three years on the job is enough,” Wyatt said. “What do you do, Lo-Lo?”

“Exotic dancer at the Aces and Eights. I specialize in acrobatic pole dancing.”

“Acrobatic pole dancing,” Wyatt said. “Don’t believe I know what that is.”

“Do you know what acrobatics is?”

“I do.”

“Same thing, only I do it on a pole and I’m naked except for a G-string.”

“Sounds like quite an extravaganza.”

Lo-Lo chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it. Can you reach my cigarettes there on the table?”

Wyatt picked up the pack of cigarettes, removed on and gave it to Lo-Lo. There was a book of matches and he struck one to lite her cigarette.

“I won pole dancer of the year in Miami in 2006,” she said.

“They have contests for that?” Wyatt said.

“For a while there I was pretty hot,” Lo-Lo said. “A listed all the major clubs in Miami, Jacksonville and even Atlanta.”

“So why are you here?” Wyatt said.

“I turned thirty-five and suddenly was a B lister,” Lo-Lo said. “Now I’m lucky to work the biker clubs and occasionally a bachelor party.”

Wyatt sipped his beer.

“Give any thought to what you’re going to do when you can’t … acrobatic pole dance anymore?” he said.

“I save my money, or most of it, plus I get five hundred a month from my ex,” Lo-Lo said. “In two years I’ll have enough saved to open my own agency.”

“Agency?”

“For exotic dancers. Like an agent. I take a small commission for placing girls into clubs,” Lo-Lo said.

“I’m learning all kinds of new things,” Wyatt said.

“Okay, cowboy, you’re turn. Why are you here?”

“I was born here,” Wyatt said. “I’m just visiting old friends and family.”

“Gonna stay?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where do you live?”

“I did live right outside DC in a Maryland suburb, but I sold my house, so I’m undecided.”

“Traveling man,” Lo-Lo said. “No wife?”

“I was never in one place long enough to meet the right woman,” Wyatt said.

“But plenty of one night stands, though,” Lo-Lo said. “Huh?”

“I’ve enjoyed our conversation, but I have to meet an old friend for dinner,” Wyatt said.

“My last set in at one,” Lo-Lo said. “I’m back at the pool with a glass of wine at one-thirty if you want to join me. Right now I’m drinking beer because I sweat out every last ounce of carbs in my body last night and this is the quickest way to replace them. Otherwise I’ll get cramps in my legs.”

“I’ll be sound asleep at one-thirty in the morning,” Wyatt said.

“Well, if you are awake, I could use the company,” Lo-Lo said.

“If I’m awake,” Wyatt said.

Wyatt returned to his bungalow to take a shower and change. When he reemerged forty-five minutes later, Lo-Lo had vacated the pool.

Seven

“Lonnie, bring me some fresh coffee,” Kate said.

A minute or so passed and Lonnie appeared with the pot. He filled her mug and said, “Almost twelve-thirty, Kate.”

“I know,” Kate said. “I’ll be out to open and then you scoot back here. They shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I was thinking on what you said about the baby gator,” Lonnie said.

“And?”

“I think what you were saying is that Jack Jr. stuck his hand in the gator’s mouth and got bit even though he knew he shouldn’t.”

“Remember that the next time you think about picking a fight with a stranger,” Kate said. “A garden snake could turn out to be a Diamondback.”

“I will.”

After Lonnie left her office, Kate lit a cigarette, sipped her coffee and thought for a few minutes. Then she turned to her computer and did a search on Duncan Wyatt, FBI agent news stories.

The search brought up dozens of stories. One in the Washington Post detailed how Wyatt was jogging on a path around the woodlands in a Maryland suburb when a stray bullet from a deer hunter struck him in the left hip.

Several paragraphs detailed Wyatt’s career with the FBI. He traveled the world to interrogate and investigate terrorist activity and was one of the bureau’s most successful counterterrorism agents, responsible for thwarting dozens of plots and saving countless lives, home and abroad.

A follow up story stated how Wyatt called 911 on his cell phone after he’d been shot, but it took nearly forty-five minutes for an ambulance to arrive and the lack of response time caused the hip bone to die. He received a hip transplant and was retired from active duty from the FBI. After a year he was officially retired from the bureau active or otherwise.

The hunter responsible for the stray bullet was never located or identified.

Kate heard the back door open and a moment later, Jack Jr., Walter and JD walked into her office.

JD had a large bandage on his nose.

“It’s broken,” Walter said. “They set it at the hospital and gave him some pain killers. About now he’s feeling no pain.”

Kate looked at JD and he was definitely looped.

“And you?”

Walter shook his head and chuckled softly.

“What?” Kate asked.

“Swollen, purple and tender is what the doctor wrote on the report,” Walter said.

“Swollen, purple and tender,” Kate said. “You have a run tomorrow, are you going to make it?”

“I’ll make it,” Jack Jr. said.

“Walter, can you go in place of JD?” Kate said.

“Guess I’ll have to,” Walter said.

“I’ll drive JD and Lonnie home,” Kate said. “Then I’ll come back and stay until four when the second shift arrives.”

“Why can’t I stay?” Lonnie said.

“Because you’re underage, that’s why,” Kate said. “Let’s go.”

*****

Kate was back in the bar by ten past two. Already the regulars were in place at the bar and the jukebox was playing country tunes. A few were playing pool. If they noticed JD’s blood on the felt they ignored it or didn’t care.

She took a seat at the bar near Walter. He filled a mug with coffee and set it in front of her.

“The run is for ten to two, isn’t it?” Walter said.

Kate sipped and nodded.

“Best get the on-call people in early then,” Walter said. “JD will be out of commission for several days.”

“Apparently Wyatt hasn’t slowed down any,” Kate said.

“I hate the son of a bitch like poison, but I have to admit he always was a fine athlete,” Walter said.

“I’ll make those calls and then help you out at the bar,” Kate said.

*****

By four o’clock the Saturday afternoon crowd was in full gear. Two-fisted drinkers lined the bar while others played pool and darts. The jukebox played one country tune after another without a break. A few couples were dancing on the floor reserved for a band.

And despite herself, Kate felt a bit flustered when the clock behind the bar showed three minutes past four and Wyatt hadn’t showed yet.

She hoped Walter didn’t notice her slight anxiety. She glanced his way and he was busy with customers.

Then Wyatt walked in and she walked down the bar to Walter.

“Be back around nine I suppose,” she said.

Walter glared at Wyatt.

“If he gets out of line, shoot the bastard’s nuts off,” Walter said.

Eight

Kate met Wyatt at the door and when they walked to his Taurus, he opened the passenger door for her they way he used to when they were in high school and he would borrow Walter’s Oldsmobile on Saturday nights.

When he got behind the wheel, Kate said, “Still a polite, gentleman I see, Wyatt.”

“I do my best,” Wyatt said. “Go ahead and smoke you want to. It won’t bother me none.”

Wyatt pulled out of the lot and turned west on Route One.

Kate obliged him by lighting up a cigarette.

“Any place in particular you want to eat?” Kate asked.

“Not really,” Wyatt said. “I thought we’d park and wander until a place struck your fancy.”

Kate looked at Wyatt. Struck your fancy. Good God, he was still a dork.

“Speaking of finding a place, did you?” Kate asked.

“To stay? Yes I did. A little bungalow motel by the water, or so it says. I haven’t seen any water so far except for the pool.”

“Marathon?”

“Islamorada.”

“A lot of changes in twenty years.”

“Route One is wider, the old bridge is falling apart, more tourist spots to get ripped off in, but it’s not as bad as I thought,” Wyatt said.

Kate smoked her cigarette and felt the cool air-conditioning on her face and it was almost like entering a time warp to her past.

Their past, really.

She fifteen, he a year older, riding along One in Walter’s Olds on a Saturday afternoon with the air on high and the glaring sun on their faces. Going nowhere, really, just being young with nothing else to do and no where to do it.

She was, as the cliché goes, head over heels for him back then.

There was little doubt in her mind he would be her husband.

And then she turned sixteen.

And Jack Wolfe entered her life.

And turned it upside down.

In their junior year at high school, Wyatt was the star quarterback and Jack was the starting running back. Wyatt was a good six-foot-one, but Jack towered over him. Jack reeked with arrogance while Wyatt possessed a quiet confidence. On the field they were an unbeatable combination and won the state championship two years in their junior and senior years. The school hadn’t won a championship since.

It was off the field where their differences were most apparent. Wyatt was a straight A student. Jack was more the C minus type. Wyatt was quiet and reserved, but had a dry sense of humor that was lost on most people. Jack was a runaway freight train, unafraid to say or do anything at any given time.

Soon after her sixteenth birthday, Kate found herself less attracted to Wyatt and more and more drawn to bad-boy Jack Wolfe.

Wyatt never took her past the kissing stage, even at the drive-in.

Jack, on their first date just plowed right into her and in the back seat of his father’s Chevy he made her no longer a virgin.

After that she broke it off with Wyatt and became Jack Wolfe’s girl. And dropped out of school at seventeen to give birth to Jack Jr.

A year later, Wyatt moved away to college and she married Jack.

“Awful quiet,” Wyatt said.

Kate lowered the window and flicked out the spent cigarette. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

“We’re here. Let me find a place to park and we’ll walk around a bit,” Wyatt said.

“The lot near the movie theatre is the best bet,” Kate said.

Wyatt found the lot and parked and they walked to the main drag of Key West. On Mallory Square, the masses were already gathering for the evening event, the sunset, even though it was a good three hours away.

The Square was filled with street performers, shirtless men on skates, women in bikinis on skates and tourists enjoying the outdoor bars where it was legal to stroll in public while consuming alcohol.

“Do you want to eat in the place with the wild cats or the place with the wild chickens?” Kate asked.

“The cats is Mexican if I remember right,” Wyatt said. “Cats all right?”

“Good by me,” Kate said.

They walked several blocks to the restaurant where, even at five in the afternoon, the wait time was thirty minutes.

“Cold drink?” Wyatt said.

They waited at the bar.

Wyatt had a dark, Mexican beer. Kate went with a cold glass of white wine.

“How did Jack come by the bar?” Wyatt asked.

“Luck, mostly,” Kate said. “The DEA busted the place for drugs I think it was seventeen years ago. The place went up for auction and Jack had a great year charter fishing. He put in a high bid and won at auction.”

“I can’t see Jack trapped behind a bar every night,” Wyatt said. “But I can’t see him charter fishing, either.”

“He settled down some, but I can’t disagree with you, Jack was a restless one to the bone,” Kate said.

“They never arrested anybody for his murder,” Wyatt said.

“No.”

“Suspects?”

“You know all this, Wyatt. Don’t bullshit me. What’s on your mind?”

“I may be retired, but I still have all my contacts at the Bureau,” Wyatt said. “I can have them do some poking around for you if you’d like?”

“It’s fourteen years plus years ago, Wyatt,” Kate said. “Leave it alone.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it, okay? No arguments?”

“Why would I argue?” Wyatt said. “It was just a thought is all.”

“Well, leave it alone,” Kate said. “We got over not having Jack around a long time ago.”

“Sure.”

The hostess came to the bar and told them a table was ready.

Jack ordered the chef’s steak. Kate went with chicken.

“Would you mind a question about Walter?” Wyatt said.

“That’s a trick question,” Kate said. “How do I know if I mind the question if I don’t know what you’re going to ask me.”

“Is this a Pulp Fiction moment?” Wyatt said.

Kate grinned. “I guess it is. What’s your question?”

“You and Walter, how did that come about?”

“Don’t you know?” Kate said, somewhat surprised.

“No. I’ve been away a long time.”

Kate paused for a moment to gather her words.

“You broke Walter’s heart, Wyatt,” she said. “He was devastated for a long time. He took Jack under his wing and after a few years, Jack became like a son to him.”

“The son he wished he had,” Wyatt said.

“Well, yes.”

“Walter was angry because I chose a path in law enforcement rather than stay here and become a small time criminal like him,” Wyatt said. “Growing up, he was always into some small-time scheme of some sort. Stolen TV’s, VCR’s, even women’s dresses. I was not about to follow him to prison, Kate.”

“I understand all that,” Kate said. “Walter doesn’t.”

“So after Jack died, you became what, the daughter Walter always wanted?”

“More or less.”

“And all he does is tend bar for you, nothing else?”

“Like what?” Kate said. “Walter’s an old man now, Wyatt. He’s tired. Every once in a while he’ll go out on a charter, but that’s about all.”

“He still hates me, though,” Wyatt said.

Kate grinned. “He does that.”

“So how’s the dessert in this place?” Wyatt said.

*****

Wyatt and Kate took their place among a crowd of a thousand or more to watch the sunset. Everything and everybody seemed to just freeze in place fifteen minutes prior to the sun going down. Even conversations stopped.

The sky was a deep orange color, glowing. A few sailboats caught in the glory appeared as dark silhouettes on the water. Then the sun touched the horizon and there was an explosion of orange and gold across the sky that lasted a full five minutes or more.

Then, as the sun slowly sank below the horizon the colors dimmed and faded until the sky was caught in twilight and finally darkness.

The crowd became animated and quickly dispersed along Mallory Square.

“I haven’t seen that in a long time,” Wyatt said.

“Feel like walking a bit?” Kate said.

“Sure.”

They walked away from the crowd and wandered aimlessly for a while and somehow wound up on Whitehead and South Street, the southernmost point in the continental United States.

They stood in front of the giant buoy that served as a marker.

“I almost forgot about this,” Wyatt said as he read the plaque.

“Just ninety miles to Cuba,” Kate said.

“I’ve been there,” Wyatt said. “Dozens of times.”

“For the FBI?”

Wyatt nodded. “Interrogate prisoners at Gitmo.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Not so much,” Wyatt said. “Want to walk back?”

“I told Walter I’d be back by nine.”

They returned to the parking lot and again, Wyatt opened Kate’s door before opening his.

Traffic was much lighter on the return trip.

“So, what do you think?” Kate said as she lit a cigarette.

“About?”

“Sticking around?”

“Debating,” Wyatt said. “It’s not a bad place to sit out winter while I figure things out. How often do you charter fish?”

“Four or five runs a week,” Kate said. “Party of four or more only. One hundred and fifty per person for a four hour block. You want more time it’s extra. You thinking of doing some fishing?”

“I’m thinking why not?” Wyatt said. “Last time I fished was … hell, I don’t remember it’s been so long. High school, maybe.”

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea to use my boat,” Kate said. “Walter would have a fit and you didn’t exactly endear yourself to my boys, Neanderthals as they may be.”

“No problem,” Wyatt said. “There must be a dozen charter boats in Key West alone.”

“At least that many,” Kate agreed.

“What do you think it would cost to rent or lease a boat for the season?” Wyatt said.

“A lot more than it’s worth.”

“You’re probably right, but I would like to try my hand at a swordfish.”

“Enough with the fish,” Kate said. “Mind a personal question?”

“How do I know if I mind if I don’t know what the question is?” Wyatt said.

Kate grinned. “Touché.”

“What’s your question?”

“How come, back when we were dating you never tried to put the moves on me?” Kate said.

“I wasn’t ready and neither were you,” Wyatt said.

Kate nodded. “True.”

“That didn’t stop Jack though, did it?”

Kate laughed. “No it did not. Bing, bang, boom, de-flowered.”

Wyatt turned into the parking lot of the Wolfe’s Lair. It was nearly full.

“Business is good,” he said.

“Want to come in for a drink?” Kate asked.

“I don’t think Walter would appreciate my company,” Wyatt said.

“Probably not. Goodnight then,” Kate said and opened her door.

She didn’t look back as Wyatt drove off the lot onto One, and entered the Lair and went straight to the bar where Walter was on duty. She grabbed a vacant stool.

Walter came over and stood in front of her.

“I don’t trust him,” she said.

Nine

Driving back to Islamorada, Wyatt stopped at the big liquor store and purchased a bottle of Black Maple Hill, sixteen-year-old bourbon. Back in Maryland, a bottle, when he could find one went for around ninety dollars. For some reason the store charged one hundred and five.

The night was still fairly young and he wasn’t tired and he drove to Big Pine to Walter’s house, the house he grew up in.

The place hadn’t changed much at all. It was a one-story home made to appear larger by the hurricane stilts it rested upon. In dire need of paint and repair to the storm shutters, it was obvious even in the dark that Walter let the place go to hell.

What little patch of lawn there was needed mowing and weeding.

An old rusting F-150 truck was parked or abandoned under the overhang between the stilts.

It must be twenty-five years old or older. He wondered why Walter kept such an old vehicle that obviously belonged in a junkyard.

When he was a kid there was a Jamaican hammock and some patio furniture.

But that was when his mother was still around. She left when he was ten and not he, Walter or anybody else as far as he knew ever heard a word from her again.

He never asked Walter why she left and Walter never volunteered the information. By the time he was in high school it was if he’d never even had a mother at all she was so far removed from his memory.

Away from the house, on the sand he had set up a tire suspended between two poles. He used to practice throwing a football through the hole in the tire the way he saw Joe Namath do in old training camp videos. His final year in high school he could make nine out of ten throws from twenty yards.

He left the Taurus and walked to the sand where he remembered the tire had hung. He wondered if he could still make a toss through the hole.

It was a long time ago. He hadn’t held a football since that final championship game in his senior year.

He returned to the Taurus and found himself driving to Cudjoe and didn’t know why until he found himself on a dark, side road in front of Jack’s old home, the home where Kate and her sons now lived.

He parked in the shadows on the opposite side of the street and watched the two-story home. Every light was lit on both floors. Loud rock music blared some heavy metal song from the eighties.

He remembered the first time he drove into the driveway on a Saturday night in Walter’s Olds to take Kate to the drive-in. It was hot and she wore shorts and a tank-top. Her blonde hair was pinned up off her neck. She smiled at him as she got into the Olds. He looked at her one green eye and one gray eye and went speechless the entire drive to the theatre.

She mistook his silence for shyness.

But he wasn’t shy. He was having a silent debate with his conscience on if it was the right thing to do to have sex with her in the back seat of Walter’s Olds. Good God he wanted to more than anything, and he could tell that she did, too.

His conscience talked him down, told him what the right thing to do was, and then he’d steal a glance at Kate’s tan, muscular legs and the argument would start right up again.

In the end his conscience won out and he was a prefect gentleman. They ate burgers and fries, popcorn and drank soda and hugged as they watched the double feature.

God, what were the movies, Wyatt thought?

All he could remember was the first one was something terrible, almost painful to watch it was so bad.

Afterward he drove her home.

From inside the house, he could hear someone yelling. It sounded like Jack Jr., but he wasn’t sure.

Wyatt started the engine and drove straight to the motel. The pool was dark and deserted. He took a cool shower to wash the stinking heat off his skin and then opened the bottle of Black Maple Hill. He poured about an ounce into a water glass and sat naked in front of the window AC unit and let the cold air basically air dry his body.

He took small sips of the smooth bourbon and thought about Jack.

Even after Jack stole Kate from him they remained best friends right up until graduation. It was impossible to stay mad at Jack for any length of time. He’d grin and rub your head, say something stupid and you’d cave in to his boyish charms.

Just like Kate did.

The son of a bitch could play ball, too.

In the senior championship game, Jack ran for two hundred yards, scored two touchdowns, and caught eight passes for another two.

Wyatt had the game of his life, throwing thirty completions out of forty passes for three hundred yards and four touchdowns, but all anybody wanted to talk about was Jack Wolfe.

The thing was he didn’t mind one bit. He knew he was leaving the Keys to pursue something outside of himself and that Jack was destined to stay and be a good-ole-boy the rest of his days.

Except that Jack’s days were cut way short. Murdered in Miami in an unsolved case that was now fifteen years old.

Wyatt made a few mental notes, finished off the ounce of bourbon and tucked in between the sheets with the AC on high.

Jack wasn’t the victim of a random killing, of that he was sure.

Wyatt made some mental notes as he tossed and turned in bed.

In the morning he hoped to get some answers to some old questions.

Answers that may shed some light on Kate’s activities.

The lights of a car briefly came through the window and turned off. He glanced at the digital clock on the tiny nightstand. One thirty in the morning.

He heard footsteps on the cement path. A door opened and closed.

A few minutes later a door opened and closed again and softer footsteps followed and the gate to the pool opened.

There was a splash.

Wyatt, still wide awake got out of bed and went to the window. Lo-Lo was swimming a lap, touched the side of the pool, reversed and swam back to the other side.

The moon was nearly full and high and he could see well enough so that when she climbed out of the pool using the shallow end steps, he could see that she was completely nude.

She didn’t bother with a towel and picked up her bikini and put it on. Then she lifted a bottle of wine, poured a glass, toasted the moon and sat in a recliner.

“Well how about that,” Wyatt said aloud and then returned to bed.

Ten

Wyatt was up early and started the morning by brewing coffee in the four-cup pot on the small, kitchen counter.

While the coffee brewed, he got down on the rug and did one hundred push-ups without stopping, then switched over to sit-ups and did one hundred of those, switched back and did another fifty of each.

He took a five minute rest.

Then he placed his feet on the bed and did fifty inclined push-ups and on the last rep, he went into a plank position and held it motionless for a silent count of one hundred and eighty seconds.

He changed into sweat pants and tee-shirt, filled a cup with coffee and went out to the pool to drink it in the cool morning air. His watch read seven-fifteen. The cup was empty by seven-twenty and he got up to start his run.

Wyatt didn’t clock distance, but the time. He ran for one hour. Depending upon where he was the distance always varied. If he was in a place that was all hills the distance in an hour would be shorter than the very flat, Florida Keys.

He ran to the main drag of Route One and then turned down a side street and ran loops around neighborhoods and back. As he ran he could feel the heat begin to set in and by the thirty-minute-mark, his tee-shirt was soaked through.

Wyatt used the daily run, as he used to call it, as his office time. As he ran he entered a zone and his thoughts ran free and oftentimes he thought more clearly about a case or suspect.

With ten minutes left in the run, Wyatt returned to Route One and headed down the back roads to the motel. He coffee cup sat undisturbed where he set it and he grabbed it on the way in.

He was absolutely drenched in sweat by the time he put the key into his bungalow door. The room was chilled from the AC unit that he left running.

He took a cool shower and dressed casually in jeans and teal Polo shirt and took a second cup of coffee out to the pool and sat in the shade.

Wyatt turned and looked at Bungalow twenty-three when the door opened and Lo-Lo emerged with a large mug of coffee in her hand. She was covered up in a beach wrap. She smiled at him as she opened the gate to the pool area.

“Morning,” she said as she took the chair next to Wyatt’s.

“Morning,” Wyatt said.

“Do you know anything about car brakes?” Lo-Lo asked.

“I know when I press on them the car is supposed to stop,” Wyatt said. “You having a problem?”

“I noticed last night when I step on the brake it makes a grinding noise.”

“There’s a place about a mile from here that will fix them,” Wyatt said. “Sounds like you need pads and maybe rotors.”

Lo-Lo sipped her coffee, and then said, “Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“I hate sitting around a repair shop. Want to have breakfast with me?”

“I have some errands to run, how about I pick you up at the shop in about an hour?” Wyatt said.

Lo-Lo smiled. “That would be great.”

*****

Wyatt drove to the cookie-cutter office supply store on One. At the copy center he wrote down their fax machine number. Then he purchased a disposable cell phone and returned to the Taurus, activated the phone and called Jonas at his ATF office in Washington.

After three transfers and twice being put of hold, Jonas came on the line.

“Jonas, it’s Wyatt,” Wyatt said.

“How’s it going?” Jonas said.

“I need you to do something for me,” Wyatt said. “Get copies of the Miami PD reports on the murder of Jack Wolfe. Every scrap of paper on record.”

“Why?”

“We both believe that Jack’s murder wasn’t random, but have no evidence that says otherwise,” Wyatt said. “I think his death had something to do with gun smuggling and may tell me a little something more about Katherine’s activities in the Keys.”

“That could take a day or more,” Jonas said.

“I’m in no hurry,” Wyatt said. “No secondary reports like I’ve already read. The actual reports to the last crossed T and dotted I.”

“And send them where?”

“Write down this fax number,” Wyatt said and read off the number. “Call me one hour before you fax them so I’ll be at the machine.”

“Anything else?”

“How am I on expense money?”

“Whatever you need to get the job done is available.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“Why?”

“This could take a while.”

*****

Wyatt found Lo-Lo in the waiting room at the repair shop. She was dressed in jeans, a white blouse and wore black jogging shoes. Her hair was pulled back away from her neck. She was reading a copy of People magazine.

She smiled when she spotted Wyatt, tossed the People and stood up.

“I’m thinking strawberry pancakes,” she said.