Contraband (Stone Barrington #50) - Stuart Woods Page 0,2
and Viv were nowhere to be seen.
“I guess Dino and Viv are freshening up,” he said.
“I could use some freshening, too,” Max replied. “May I borrow a shower?”
“Let’s find you a cabin,” Stone said. “Four to choose from.” He led her down the companionway and opened the door to a cabin.
“Wow,” Max said, “this is bigger than my bedroom at home.”
Stone showed her where the towels were. “Come on upstairs when you’re ready.”
“Where is your cabin?” she asked.
“Right next door.” He closed the door behind him, went into the owner’s cabin, shaved, showered, and put on some white trousers, a white T-shirt, and a blue blazer, then went up to the saloon. Dino and Viv were tucking into vodka gimlets.
“So, where’s the angel?” Dino asked.
“Showering, etcetera, etcetera.”
Before he could pour himself a drink, Max came up into the saloon, wearing tight white jeans, a red shirt tied above her navel, and sandals. There was a gold badge affixed to her white belt. “Yes, thank you,” she said. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Stone went to the bar, took a frosty bottle from the freezer, and poured them each a drink.
“Mmmm,” she said, “breathtaking! What is it?”
“A vodka gimlet,” Stone replied. “Have a seat and tell us about being in the Coast Guard.”
“I’m not in the Coast Guard,” she replied. “I’m a Key West police detective. We’ve been doing chopper training with the Coast Guard. I’m Max Crowley.”
“Well, you’re among friends, Max,” Stone said. “I’m a retired cop, and so is Viv. Dino, I should warn you, suffers from the delusion that he is the police commissioner of New York City, so humor him.”
“Bacchetti? Is that your last name?” Max asked.
“It is,” Dino said.
“Mine, too,” Viv said.
“I’ve read a couple of law enforcement magazine pieces you’ve written, Commissioner. They were very good.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Dino replied.
“What happened with the airplane?” Max asked Stone.
“Two things, apparently,” Stone replied. “He had a damaged portside float, and he was out of fuel. The airplane is on the bottom about thirty yards that way.” He pointed.
“No other passengers?”
“None. Just some luggage secured with a cargo net in the rear compartment.”
“In Key West we call that salvage,” she said. “Can we have a look at it tomorrow?”
“Sure, we’ve got SCUBA equipment.”
A crew came in and served a tray of canapés, and Stone got up to refresh their drinks.
“I warn you,” Viv said to Max, “the first gimlet is delicious. The second is dangerous.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a hollow leg,” Max replied.
“Is ‘Max’ short for something?”
“Maxine, a name I despise. I was named after a rich aunt, in the hope that she’d leave me some money.”
“Did she?”
“Not yet. We’re still waiting for her to fall off the twig.”
“How old is she?” Dino asked.
“Ninety-something, I think. She won’t tell us.”
“How long have you been on the Key West force?” Dino asked.
“Nearly ten years. I was a Monroe County deputy sheriff for two years before that.”
“What’s your current assignment?”
“Whatever I catch,” Max replied. “Burglary, homicide, sex crimes, domestic abuse. We’re a small force.”
* * *
—
They sat down to a dinner of Caesar salad, porterhouse steak, baked potatoes, and green peas. Stone poured from a bottle of cabernet. Between courses, Max got a phone call and excused herself from the table to answer it. She spoke for a moment, then came back to her seat. “That was my boss,” she said, “Captain Taylor. He wants to know how long I’ll be, ah, at sea.”
“We’ll be here two nights,” Stone said. “Is that long enough?”
“I told him that was my best guess. Oh, and he said the pilot made it to Key West Hospital okay, and after emergency room treatment, he’s resting comfortably.”
“Is he talking?” Stone asked. “I’d like to know what he was doing when everything went to hell, especially how he managed to run out of fuel.”
“When I said he is resting comfortably,” Max said, “I should have said sedated, to keep him from moving around too much with three broken ribs.”
“Three?” Stone asked. “Our crew said two.”
“The X-rays say three. Turns out I know the guy from around town: I didn’t recognize him when we loaded him into the basket. His name is Al Dix, aka Dixie. He hangs out at the Lame Duck, a music bar in town, and he gives flying lessons and does ferry flights for a living. He’s thought to be a good pilot, with several type ratings.”
“He did as good a job on the landing as anyone could have, under the circumstances,” Stone said.