“You ever think of doing a turtle?” Glen asked, thoughtful.
“I have thought about it,” I said, topping off two Stellas for the couple from Cleveland at the end of the bar. “Undersea creatures aren’t my specialty though.”
“Well, you know what they say… practice makes perfect.”
“You’re right, Glen, I should get back to my sea life sketches. Thanks.” I tried to smile as I scooped up the glasses. They rattled faintly in my grip, betraying me. A little beer sloshed onto the floor.
“Happy to help,” he said proudly as I delivered the beers to the couple.
I scanned the room, nerves prickling. Somewhere in this mix of tourists and fishermen, there had to be someone who knew where to score cocaine. The thought alone made my stomach knot tighter. The jukebox blared Jimmy Buffett while dartsclinked against cork. Laughter rose and fell in waves, and underneath it all, I hunted for danger in every face.
At the dartboard, four fishermen were deep into a rowdy and heated match of doubles cricket. Hunter stood out—a burly guy with a beard, often wired at closing time. He also went to the bathroom a lot, now that I thought about it. It wouldn't surprise me one bit that he disappeared to go do a bump every half hour. Maybe he knew something.
I glanced at their beers. Their Bud Lights were running low.
“Hey Hunter,” I called over the jukebox. “You guys need another round?”
He lifted his bottle, eyed the dregs, and grinned. “Sure. Thanks, Jaz.” He lumbered up to the bar.
I uncapped four bottles while he chugged his last. When he set the empty down, I crooked a finger, leaning across the bar. My throat was dry, palm damp on the mat. “What’s up, Jaz?”
Trying to sound casual, I dropped it. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my buddy can get some blow, would you?”
His eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening them. “Which buddy?”
I wiped my palms on the bar mat, swallowing the lump in my throat. “A good friend of mine down in Key West. He lost his source in Miami. Counts on it for income, so he’s scrambling to find a kilo.”
Hunter’s brows rose. “Oh. Quantity.” He stroked his beard, studying me. “The guys I know deal in eightballs. I could ask around, I guess." He paused, and his look made me feel like he was checking if I'd flinch. "How well do you know this guy?”
Somehow I switched into actress mode, conjuring what I remembered from high school drama club. “I met him a few years back during spring break. Been in touch ever since. He’s legit.” The lie slipped out smooth, terrifyingly easy. My fingers clutched the bar mat like a lifeline.It scared me how natural I sounded.
“Alright," he finally relented. "I’ll put some feelers out.”
“Thanks, Hunter. That round’s on me.” I forced brightness into my voice, sliding the beers toward him.
“You’re the best, Jaz.”
My stomach twisted. If he only knew I was playing bait for creepy cartel thugs, he wouldn’t say that. If he knew, he’d probably back away like I was contagious. Hell, maybe I was. Danger clung to me now, invisible but toxic.
The clock said it was only nine. This was harder than I thought it would be. I'd hopedwork would be a distraction. Trying to hold myself together was more like torture.
The door swung open, bell jangling, and relief cut through my dread. Jess. A ray of light.
“Islamorada stopover night!” I squealed before she even reached the bar.
Her grin spread wide. “My favorite night of our trips.”
Her presence lifted me immediately. Jess lived in Key West but worked on a live-aboard dive boat that ran trips up and down the Keys. We’d met on my first shift at the Whistle, and we clicked fast. Every other Wednesday she stopped in, and those visits had turned into little anchor points in my new life here. Seeing herwas like spotting land after days at sea—something solid, steady, and familiar.
“How’s it going?” I pulled a cold Stella from the cooler, popped the top, and motioned for her to slide down to the end of the bar where it was quieter. “How’s the dive life treating you?”
Her head shook while she swallowed a swig of Stella. “Just taking its toll, you know? As much as I love getting paid to scuba dive, I don’t know how much longer I can do these trips.”
I couldn’t imagine being trapped on a boat for a week at a time with customers. “I could see it getting old, for sure.”
“I miss Blaze,” she said with a sigh before another long swig of beer. “We make up for lost time on my week off in between trips, but yeah, it’s getting old.”
“I bet it’s hard on a relationship.” I said, sympathetic.
