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“I did.” The new Maker’s arrived and Hunter took a drink, “He wasn’t the same man after his wife died.”
Jason’s eyes grew wide, “And there was a recent terrorist attack out there, too, right? Chlorine gas? It was all over the news.” He looked at Hunter and continued, “You sure live in a dangerous place. Have you had to shoot anyone?”
The other Miami detective, a handsome, silver-haired man named Jesse Coda, said, “You’ll have to forgive Jason. He’s dying to get in a shootout. Thinks it will be exciting and fun.”
The other detectives said, almost in unison, “It’s not.”
Hunter said, “I think I’ll take a short walk. Be back in a minute.”
She left the unfinished Maker’s and started to pay when Jason said, “We’ve got the table. Our treat.”
“Thanks.” Hunter crossed Ocean Drive to the beach, skirting the photo shoot and going to the water line. She walked beside the foot-high surf lapping the sand. The salt air smelled fresh, with a hint of fish and seaweed, and the clear green water made soothing sounds as the small waves broke and hissed on the sand. Not many people were around once she moved beyond the models. While she walked, Hunter thought about the ISIS terrorist, Asadullah, and the terrible, roaring flash flood in Auras Canyon that cost the life of Miguel Luna and almost her life as well. Her mind drifted back as she walked, and the memories stretched to a year ago, and Sheriff Wayne Rockman, of him saving her and the others, and later, of having to shoot him to death near Outlaw Road. She scuffed wet sand with her shoe and sighed, feeling like an invisible weight was driving her to her knees as it sucked the vitality out of her.
A voice came from Ocean Drive, “Hey, are you ready to put that ling on a grill?”
She looked at Randall’s grinning face as he slow-drove in his pickup, keeping pace with her. John was in the passenger seat and yelled, “Come on, I’m hungry!” She trotted to the street and got in behind John. Randall said, “We figured we introduced them, now they can continue their date.”
John said over his shoulder, “You okay?”
She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Yeah, no worries.”
John said, “I talked to a psychologist for a good while after our Conan thing. It helped, Hunter. It didn’t fix everything, but I was better after it. I’m not saying you should or you shouldn’t, just don’t dismiss it out of hand.”
She patted his shoulder twice and withdrew her hand, “I’m fine, really.”
Randall said, “Good, because I’m tired of you white-eyes whining all the time because your chi-chi is out of whack.”
“It’s chi, you goof,” Hunter said. Randall turned his head and winked at her. She said, “Dang, let’s eat before I pass out from hunger.”
“On our way.” Randall said.
They sat in Randall’s back yard by the small pool and ate the grilled ling fillets with sides of black beans, salad, fried plantains, and Dos Equis beer. Randall picked ripe mangoes off his trees and served them as dessert. Hunter said, “One of these days I’m going to buy a bar and have Dos Equis on draft at my disposal.”
“I’m ready to move in with you, soon as you do. I won’t take up much space in that mansion you have.” Randall said. “I’m surprised the Ewings in Dallas haven’t moved to another state in shame since your house is bigger and nicer.”
“Har-har.”
The good friends relaxed as they faced east and watched distant storm clouds pulse with heat lightning. Hunter said, “Andre told me the Haitians are landing more often. What’s changed in their country?”
John said, “The big earthquake is part of it. They still have areas that haven’t recovered.”
Randall said, “And the normal things: poverty, deforestation, government oppression, criminal activity, too many children being born to poor families. That right there sort of crowds people out of the house.”
Hunter said, “But landing here?”
“That’s odd, but not rare,” John said. “If their ship has power, they can put ashore anywhere, but if they use sails, then it is usually farther north. West Palm Beach is a regular landing place, for both Haitians and Cubans, but sometimes they land further north than there, too. The Gulf Stream current is strong and pushes ships up the coastline.”
“They never land in Miami or the Keys?”
“Sure, smugglers love going up the Miami River because there’s so may places to dock and offload. They also use Haulover, and have since the cocaine smugglers used that place in the early eighties. Really, though, it depends on the ship. If it has a good engine, then it can fight the current. They like to land in those locations, plus the people can disappear very fast if the boat gets into Miami.”
“Andre said this was the fourth in the last month for here and Miami.”
Randall said, “And all four were smuggling vessels, if I remember right.”
Hunter nodded, “Something to think about.”
“You need to think about it, since you’ll be working down here.”
