The sputtering and growling of the outboard on the back of the boat drowned out the sounds from the surrounding jungle of mangroves and cypress. Raul drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally moaning softly as Clara attempted to soothe him. I held on to the shotgun I had taken from the guards and kept my eyes open, scanning the darkness ahead. Bertie guided the skiff slowly and expertly through the black water, maneuvering around the unseen obstacles beneath the surface. Above us, through the patchy canopy, we could see the stars and a sliver of moon. The glowing jellies danced underneath the skiff again, casting their blue lights about like a distortion of the sky above.

The corridors of trees finally opened up to the small Bay, and the lights of Tampa twinkled across the small waves. To the west, the smaller, sleepier St. Petersburg glowed with its own, less presumptuous luminescence. A few night fishing boats motored by as we crossed Tampa Bay, making our little craft wobble in their wake. A distant ship’s horn wailed.

Clara finally spoke. “So, where are we going to take him, Eddie? He needs the hospital.”

“If we take him there, they’ll have to call the cops. And word will get back to Andrade before we are ready, and then we’ll be dead.”

“And we can’t take him to his house,” she pointed out. “I’m sure they’re already watching it.”

“No doubt. I just hope Marjorie got out of here safely.”

“Take him to Dr. Garza,” said Bertie. “He helps a lot of us who need it.”

“Who’s Dr. Garza?” asked Clara. “And more importantly, where is he?”

“Runs a clinic on the south side. Lots of folks who can’t afford the hospital. Or don’t want a lot of questions.”

“You trust him?” I asked.

Bertie shrugged. “Never given me reason not to. Always fair. Does good work. Clean spot. And will keep your secrets.”

“And where can we find Dr. Garza? It’s three in the morning.” Clara looked down at the unconscious man at the bottom of the boat. “Raul’s going to need immediate help.”

“He’ll be there. Clinic is his home.”

“Then it’s settled.” I nodded at Clara. “You want me to drop you off at home first? I assume you’ve got to be in the office soon.”

She nodded. “Some of us have real jobs, Eddie.” She gave me that teasing grin, and I huffed at her with my most curmudgeonly scoff, then threw her a wink.

“Some of us had real jobs, and they didn’t take,” I replied.

“Touche.” She tipped an imaginary hat to me.

We approached the dock finally, and Bertie brought us up alongside the pier, tying us off expertly and helping Clara out first. He then helped me heft Raul up and onto the old wooden planks, Clara gently protecting his head. The wounded man groaned and sobbed softly. My egress from the skiff to the dock was slightly less embarrassing than my original boarding, and with Bertie’s help again, we transported the wounded man to my car, where we laid him in the back seat. I fished a spare blanket out of the trunk and used it to cushion Raul’s head. He muttered something in Spanish that I could not make out, then fell back into unconsciousness.

After making sure the passenger was secure, I turned to our nighttime guide. “I can’t thank you enough, Bertie. You probably saved that man’s life.”

Clara stepped up behind me and joined us. “It really was kind of you, Bertie.”

The old Cubano waved off the praise. “Just the right thing. Make sure it matters. Keep him safe, and make Andrade pay. I don’t like bullies and criminals in my waters. Tell Dr. Garza I send my regards. Here is his address.” He handed Clara an old, beat-up business card, and without another word, he spryly hopped back into the skiff and motored off into the early morning.

“Curious one, that Bertie,” I muttered.

“As my mother would say, he’s a good egg,” replied Clara.

“Él es un buen huevo,” I laughed. “That’s how my mother would have said it.”

“Shall we get on with it, then?”

“Let me get you home, doll. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Clara’s house was not exactly on the way to Dr. Garza’s, but we both figured Raul would be alright with the slight detour. I promised to keep her updated, and she insisted on giving me a small wad of cash to cover the expenses. When I protested, she gave me a frank look. “Eddie, I make more money than you do. A lot more. Take it and give Dr. Garza whatever he needs.” I accepted with a grumble and tucked the cash into my pocket. “I’m serious, Eddie! If you need more, call me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Way to make a man feel small, doll.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I’m just smarter, prettier, and more successful than you are.” She winked at me and flashed her most disarming smile. I honestly could not argue.

“Take care, doll,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll check in in the morning once I get all this squared away. Get some rest.” I made sure she got inside, then put the car in gear and headed south.

Moving towards the bottom tip of the Pinellas County peninsula, housing got more sparse, roads tended to turn to dirt, and there were still groves of untouched trees. I knew it from my days on the force, as well as my youth when we’d go fishing and build tree forts in the woods. Riding bikes down that way on the unpaved pathways that changed from hard-packed dirt to sticky mud was a rite of passage in those days.

Dr. Garza’s clinic turned out to be more of a small farm. He had close to a full acre of property, with a two-story white house tucked among the trees, and several outlying buildings that looked like barns or stables. The headlights from my car revealed post-and-rail fencing around the perimeter, and in the dawning light, a low fog hung over the green, grass-covered paddocks. The gate sat open, a dirt driveway leading to the house. A single, electric light flickered above the front door and illuminated the wooden porch in its yellow light.

I pulled in slowly, aware that I was essentially trespassing and not wanting to alarm anyone. According to Bertie, this Dr. Garza associated with some folks who might not be entirely welcoming to a stranger showing up at the crack of dawn. Raul groaned from the back seat as I pulled up to the house and turned off the engine.

“Hang in there, pal. We’re here.” I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side rear door. As I opened it, I heard the front door of the house open and the unmistakable sound of a shotgun shell being chambered.

“Turn around real slowly, friend,” said a soft voice. The Mexican Spanish accent was thick. “I do not want to kill you, but I will not hesitate.” I slowly put my hands up and turned to face the armed man.

Dr. Garza was a small man - barely five foot three if I were to guess - and looked to be in his mid to late sixties. Short-trimmed white-grey hair, mildly disheveled, framed his brown, sun-wrinkled face. A full, white moustache hid much of his frowning mouth. Round bifocals perched slightly crooked on the tip of his nose, and he wore striped boxer shorts, a white undershirt, and stood in a pair of black sandals. He held a half-empty bottle of Mezcal in one hand and in the other was a worn 12-gauge shotgun pointed at my chest.

“Dr. Garza, I presume.”

“Why are you here?”

“My name is…”

“I didn’t ask who you were. I don’t care who you are, and I don’t want to know who you are.” Raul groaned from the back seat. Garza leaned to look past me. “He need help?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

He looked me up and down and nodded towards the house. “Bring him inside.”

Buy Me Some Mezcal