Sunny looked tired, but she still radiated that focused intelligence, and the tight jeans shouted sheer sexuality. I hugged her as she stepped onto the cockpit. It seemed to revive her a bit. She pressed her breasts against my chest and let out a warm breath that I took as a promise.
“Reading essays all afternoon. Choose the most effective psychotherapist and explain the reasons for your choice. A lot of them love Carl Rogers, but Glasser and Jourard have their fans. Even good old Albert Ellis got a couple of votes. It’s damned exhausting. My eyes are on fire and my head is spinning like a merry-go-round on meth.”
I silently ran my memories of the classroom and shuddered. I understood all too well. I offered a heaping glass of Cab, but Sunny insisted on something stronger. I poured a generous dollop of Evan Williams on top of two ice cubes and whispered water over it. Then I duplicated the potent concoction for myself.
“Okay, I said I’d tell you later. Here it is. Pam is a terrific student. She’s probably older than you think, comes by the office for help and sometimes just to talk. She and Shorty hang wallpaper during the day and HIGH FLYER is the house band at the hotel Wednesday through Saturday. In late September she came in bubbling like tonic on steroids. They had caught the eye of a recording agent. He wanted a quick signature. Then he’d arrange a tour an opening act for a big name, maybe even the latest incarnation of AC/DC. Lots of promotion, the whole gig. She wanted my opinion. I made some calls, checked some credentials and IDs. It all looked legit. That’s when the tall slick dude showed up. He’s president of Talent Pro, LTD, another agency. He had an offer that looked even better. I was still trying to help. I’ve gotten pretty chummy with the wife of a detective on the Norfolk PD. She’s on the faculty. Sara O’Mara and he’s Bill. Nice folks. You’ll meet them. Anyway, I’ve got an edge. Sara won’t hear it from me, but I think Bill likes my boobs.”
“Yeah, well I can’t say I blame him.”
“Okay smartass, enough.” She took a slug of the Evan and faked a hearty frown of disapproval.
“Anyway, I asked our lecherous friend a few questions, found out Talent Pro is tied to the local mob. I told Pam and she refused to sign with them. Then it got interesting. Pam has a twin brother, Paul. But now I think it’s time for me to shut up. Let her give you her story. When you hear it, you might want to help.”
“Damnit Sunny, what did you say to her? I left that stuff in Key West. It’s time for me to go back to being a gentleman boat bum and work on the Great American Novel.”
“I didn’t tell her much of anything, but she’s not stupid. That Ghostcatcher shit is all over Google. You should never have written those books. Anybody with a decent laptop can find out damned near anything about anyone these days. And you, my love, are an easy mark.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. I told myself to count to ten and take a deep breath. It was time to reassess my priorities and focus on the problems at hand. Cook the steaks and coax my lovely lady into the v berth. I am happy to say I succeeded at both, but not before I agreed, under copious duress, to listen to the sad tale of Pam and Shorty. Sunny told me to check by her office at three. Then we got on with other business. Within an hour we were moaning and sweating like two thoroughbreds in season. Life does have it’s compensations.
She left about eleven with a not too thinly veiled warning, “Don’t forget. My office at three.”
The next day was kind of strange. New digs, new people on the dock, a chill in the air you didn’t find in Key West. I wasn’t quite ready for it. I dug out my old space heater, plugged it in, and turned the knob. It roared to life with just a little clatter from the dusty blades. Then it settled into a nice warm breeze. That would do for the time being.
I brewed a cup of hot coffee and spiked it with a healthy hint of Jameson . . . just for medicinal purposes, you understand. The morning was magnificent. The salt air filled my nostrils and infused my lungs with a satisfaction I hadn’t felt since Sunny had left on that dark day in the Keys. The sun was high in the sky and brilliant. I found a couple of slices of stale bread and ate them without butter or jam. KAMALA looked good and proud from yesterday’s cleaning. Hey, what’s not to like? I didn’t know it then, but there was plenty. It was just a matter of time.
As I sat in the cockpit sipping the warm brew, my mind began to spar with the Pam and Shorty thing. Sunny, my loving companion and a perennially devoted crusader, had adopted this talented child. That was obvious. She and her husband were in some kind of trouble. Mr. Black Silk, his personal fireplug, and Lurch were involved. Sunny thought I could help, but help with what? I’d sailed a thousand miles to leave the Ghostcatcher. I thought I’d dumped the sonovabitch overboard somewhere off of Islamoroda. Maybe he was still swimming after me. I thought of Satchel Paige, the refugee from the old Negro Leagues. He’d finally pitched in the majors, the oldest man ever to start a major league game. “Don’t look back, “he said, “something might be gaining on you.” Yeah.