Fay pulled it off and put it in the bucket she had for such purposes. “Good thing you found this bag. It might have gotten wrapped around the prop.” She grinned. “You need to step decisively when getting into a boat, Jake.”
Jake smoothed his hair back and looked up into her green eyes. The bay paled and grayed in comparison.
“There’s a ladder on the stern,” she said.
“Listen to this,” said Britt. She was pointing at the VHF. “There’s a wounded manatee.”
Fay got on the radio and requested further information. The captain came back with a description of a long jagged scar across the upper back.
“It’s Booger!” said Fay. “We have to find him fast.” Jake moved around toward the stern. He heard the location—north of Mattheson Hammock.
“Thanks, Captain. I’ll take care of it. Let’s go!” yelled Fay. She hit the throttle as Jake took the first step up the ladder. His foot slipped off the stainless-steel rung, and his 225 pounds dragged by one arm, on the side with the bad shoulder. The prop was churning a few feet from his dangling legs. He tried to yell above the engine. “Fay, stop. FAY!” he screamed. Neither she nor Britt heard.
Jake let go and fell backward, tried to yell an obscenity, but a wave choked him off. He sculled in place with one hand while he watched the boat speed away in the distance.
Jake started the short swim back to the dock. He figured he’d wait there. Fay would turn the boat around as soon as she noticed he was gone. She would feel terrible. Maybe he could convince her to go out for a drink to make up for it.
Fay headed toward Mattheson Hammock at top speed. The outlandish thought that Booger’s injury had something to do with Granny’s death hovered in her mind. It was more a feeling than a thought, like the sixth sense Granny had always talked about. It was beyond logic. Fay had always believed the minds of animals were badly underestimated. Someday the true potentials would be revealed, and humans would feel ashamed of their ignorant practices of slavery and butchery.
Fay slowed the boat as she neared the location. “I’ll watch starboard. Britt, take port.” She cut the engine to an idle and they drifted.
“Look,” Britt hollered. She pointed at a half-moon shadow just visible under the edge of a dock. “There he is, just behind that black Cigarette boat.” Britt blew out some air. “That’s Joey G.’s dock. I don’t think we should get any closer.”
Fay turned to ask Jake. “Where’s Jake?” “Probably stopped off for another beer.” Fay didn’t take time to ask what she meant. Booger moved out from under the dock. He raised his head. His round black eyes stared into Fay’s. He did a couple slow logrolls on the surface between them and the Cigarette.
“What’s the matter with him?” asked Britt.
“Must be his equilibrium is off. There’s a gash in his jowl. It looks like a bullet wound, for heaven’s sake.”
Booger started smashing his tail flat on the surface of the water and angling his body toward the Cigarette. He smashed and angled, smashed and angled.
“I don’t know what he’s doing,” Fay said. She pulled the boat closer and idled. “Somebody really tore up the hull of that boat. I hope they didn’t kill any coral.”
Booger smashed the water hard. Spray flew into the boat and drenched Britt from the shoulders down. “Damn!” she yelled. “Booger is going nuts. What’s his problem?”
“I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling.”
Britt heard a sound and turned. Fay looked at her face and did likewise. On the dock behind them was a pudgy, balding man and a muscular, dark-haired man with a scorpion tattoo on his arm. She recognized him. “Hector,” she said.
“Joey G.,” said Britt, waving a hand at the fat one. “I thought you were in Fiji.”
Hector lifted his other arm from his side and pointed an Uzi their way.
“Damn,” said Britt. “Double damn.”
“Pull your boat up to the dock, ladies,” said Joey G. “We need to talk.”