Whatever it was, he needed to find that marked boat.
Jake was jamming hot and heavy on his porch swing when Fay and Britt pulled into the drive. He thumped the canister on his lap in half-time with the creak of his joints. The squeak of unoiled hinges blended to produce what he thought to be an interesting rhythm.
Fay came up the steps first. “Do you think you should be flashing that head around the neighborhood, Jake?”
“Is that ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’?” Britt asked. Fay snorted.
Jake stared at Britt and straightened his legs to halt the music.
“We need to take this thing to a safe place,” Fay said. “Jake could be in danger.”
Britt looked inside the screen door. “Never mind. His place is perfect. Anybody who comes here will figure it was already ransacked.”
“That’s what I like about you, Britt,” Jake said.
Fay picked up the canister. “I know where you can put it—my friend Ramona’s. She has snakes and iguanas. It’s very secure, and she’s a nurse, not a bit squeamish.”
Britt put up her little finger and got Jake’s attention. “What you like about me, Jake, is that I’m attractive, intelligent, kind, humorous, employed, and have female organs,” she said. “I can cook too. I just don’t.” She punched him in the upper arm.
He grabbed his shoulder and moaned. “Damn, Britt.” He moaned again. “This joint’s been dislocated eight times.”
“Ramona lives on the water,” said Fay. “We can take the boat. It’s the fastest, and maybe we’ll see Booger. I feel in the mood for a swim.”
“Yeah. Good idea,” said Jake. A flash of Fay clad only in moonlight flickered through his brain. He’d like to take a gander at her in sunshine. She was getting even hotter with age. He massaged his joint. It was aching. “I think this is beginning to swell,” he said.
“Surely you have ice,” said Britt.
The women waited on the porch while Jake went inside. He took a leak, swallowed some aspirin, then grabbed a Grolsch out of the refrigerator. He rolled it over the inflamed area. Sometimes he wondered whatever had made him play football. Then he remembered—it was the money and the women.
Britt asked to use the bathroom and he directed her around cardboard boxes of briefs, then stepped back onto the porch with Fay. “You’re looking lovely today,” he said, and his hand reached to touch the soft tan skin of her throat.
Fay stiffened. “I’ve been practicing my Tae Kwon Do, Jake. When I see aggressive movement, like hands on my neck, I get nervous.” She took her stance. “Ke-hap!” Her foot whipped out and stopped a half-inch from his left jaw. “I can break rocks with this.”
Jake flinched. “Impressive. I was wondering if we could get together for a drink this evening. Maybe try one of those new clubs on the beach.”
“I don’t think so, Jake—although I’d like to see those sharks I heard about. I have too much on the brain with my Granny and all. And I’m worried sick about Phil.”
There was a crash and whoosh inside the house. Britt came walking out at a fast clip. “Sorry, Jake. I touched something and started an avalanche. I hope nothing got mixed up.”
Jake struggled into the back of Britt’s T-Bird with the canister and popped open his beer for the short drive to Fay’s boat. The traffic was heavy. They could have walked in less time. He drank the beer, and next thing he knew, Britt was slapping his cheek to wake him up.
He clomped down the dock following Fay and Britt.
“Wonder where that horny manatee is. Doesn’t he usually hang out by your boat, Fay?”
“Horny?” Fay said. “Booger? Are you projecting, Jake?”
The women looked at each other. “He’s so rude,” Britt said. “Somebody ought to give him a well-placed kick.”
Fay stepped into the boat. “Not me. It’s too easy.” She turned the key to start the engine, and switched on the VHP radio. Britt untied the bow line and hopped aboard.
“Jake, grab the stern and push us off, will you?” said Fay.
He handed the canister to Fay and she stowed it in the starboard locker. He unwrapped the line from the cleat and put a foot on the gunwale. The boat moved out fast, until his legs couldn’t split any farther. He splashed face first into the oily bay water, got a noseful, and came up coughing. Time to cut back on the Grolsch, he thought. A plastic Winn-Dixie bag was plastered over his forehead and ear.