Surrounded by Sharks Page 9

  “Not very helpful, Marco, my man,” said the deputy. “I’ll tell you what, though. Why don’t you run down there and tell Zeke I need a word with him. Next boat’s got to be getting in soon. Maybe he’s got a little better memory of things.”

  Marco doubted it. “Sure,” he said, pushing out of his chair and standing up.

  He headed toward the dock, but right away he ran into a little line of people heading up the walkway, luggage in hand. The boat was already here. Brando watched him break into a jog.

  “Should we go with him?” said Tam. “It looks like the boat is already here.”

  “Well, hopefully Marco can lasso Zeke before it leaves,” said the deputy. “Boat won’t go anywhere without him. Meantime, let me just clear up a few other possibilities.”

  “What do you mean?” said Pamela.

  “Just want to cross a few things off my list.”

  “Fire away,” said Tam.

  “All right, first of all, have you seen anyone weird hanging around since you’ve been here? Maybe someone Davey might’ve talked to?”

  No one asked what he meant by weird. They all knew what he was getting at. Tam and Pamela looked at each other.

  “No,” said Pamela. “I keep an eye out for … people like that. We got in late: last boat. I don’t even think it was this Zeke guy anymore, just some little boat. The lady checked us in, and we went straight to our room.”

  “We ordered room service,” added Tam. “Guy didn’t even come all the way into the room with the cart.”

  “Okay,” said the deputy. “No red flags there. And this next one, it’s not so much a vacation question, but it’s standard. What do you do, you know, professionally?”

  “We work together,” said Pamela. “We run a business.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “We import arts and crafts from Tibet,” said Tam.

  “Are you from there?”

  “My family is,” said Tam. “Originally.”

  “All right, so what kind of arts and crafts?”

  “Handmade stuff,” said Tam. “It’s nice. A lot of religious-type stuff.”

  “How’s business?”

  Tam and Pamela both made faces.

  “Not great,” said Tam with a little shrug. “When we started out, we were just about the only people doing this. Now, well, we’re not.”

  “So you have competitors.”

  “We do now,” said Pamela.

  “Any of them might have a grudge against you, anything like that?”

  “I think most of them just … If anything, they probably feel a little sorry for us at the moment,” said Tam.

  Brando’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t know it was that bad.

  “But you’re here,” said the deputy. “You can afford a nice vacation.”

  “We got a great deal,” said Tam.

  “And we needed a vacation,” said Pamela. “The idea was some time with the family, some time to think about the business.”

  “Like how to fix it — the business, I mean,” said the deputy.

  Pamela looked at him, deciding how much to tell him. “Yes,” she said. “I mean, like my husband said, a lot of what we sell is religious in nature, and we need to respect that. We can’t just think of it as ‘religious-type stuff.’”

  “My bad,” said Tam.

  The deputy looked at him and then back at her. “So you think you’re too, like, commercial?”

  “And I think we’re not commercial enough — it’s still a business,” said Tam. “She’s the true believer. I’m the guy who left.”

  “Got it,” said Fulgham. He paused to jot something down, and then looked up. “Ever argue about it?”

  The table was quiet for a few moments. Finally, Pamela looked over toward the pool. “We just did, didn’t we?”

  The deputy looked over at Brando. Now he wanted his input. Brando gave him one small nod. The deputy nodded back and wrote a few quick words in his notebook.

  “All right, that’s enough of that,” he said. “One last question.”

  “Yes?” said Pamela.

  “I hate to even bring it up, but, well, we are on an island….”

  “What about it?” said Tam.

  Now the deputy looked over toward the pool. Specifically, he looked at the little girl splashing around the shallow end in her water wings. “No chance your son would go swimming?”

  “No!” said Pamela. “No, our boy, Davey, he’s not a reckless …”

  “He’s not that outdoorsy these days,” agreed Tam. “He used to go to the lake when he was younger, but not so much anymore.”

  “Okay, so you don’t think he would, but he’d know how to swim if he did?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Tam.

  “Exactly,” said Pamela. “So it’s not that.”

  Brando thought about it. He remembered asking Davey to go to the lake so many times the summer before, and Davey saying no way. “I don’t think he’d go in,” he said. But then he remembered Davey before that, Davey diving off the big raft. “I don’t think he’d go in far,” he added.

  The deputy nodded. Brando liked him better now that he was listening to him.

  “I think I’ve heard enough,” said the deputy. “I’ve seen this before. A kid, a teenager, gets to an island like this. Quiet little place. He’s going to want some space, and he’s going to want something to do. He’s going to look to do something. What’s he find? Nothing. There’s nothing to do here that early. But there’s a boat, and he can get on it for five bucks.”

  That still didn’t sound like Davey to Brando, but his parents were nodding and the deputy had just said he’d seen it before. And Brando liked the idea that Davey could just come back on his own, show up on the next boat. He’d be in some trouble, but he’d be safe.

  Marco came pounding over from the walkway. His dress shoes slapped loudly against the concrete as he jogged past the pool.

  “Missed it,” he said in between huffs and puffs.

  “Can you call him?” said Pamela.

  “Not on the water. Left a message at the marina. Hopefully he’ll get it. Otherwise” — he paused to get more air — “have to wait for the next boat.”

  “Forget it,” said the deputy, standing up. “I’ll go run him down.”

  Brando remembered the sight of the powerful police launch knifing through the water.

  “We’re going with you,” said Pamela.

  Tam nodded.

  Fulgham considered it. This wasn’t even an official missing person case yet. The boy had only been gone for half a day. But it was a good lead, and it didn’t seem like there was much more they could do on the island. “Sure,” he said. “Boat can take me plus four.”

  Four? thought Brando. Sweet!

  “Marco, man, you stay here, all right?” said the deputy.

  “No problem,” said Marco. His relief at being let off the hook took the form of a dorky thumbs-up.

  “Get me the room number of that English dude. You got my number. And have someone put together a list of this morning’s checkouts.”

  “You need phone numbers for them?”

  “If you got ’em.”

  “Sure.”

  “And Marco?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If the boy shows, don’t let him go anywhere.”

  There were more sharks now. The blue, yes, but two more, as well. The newcomers cruised by in tandem, passing slowly underneath Davey’s feet. He watched them closely and followed their progress.

  Their fins had black edges and tips. They were blacktip sharks. Davey had seen the little blacktip reef sharks at the aquariums, but he could tell this was a different species, a whole different animal. Each one was as heavy and muscular as an NFL defensive back.

  Davey examined their markings with a mix of fascination and horror. They were pure black — as black as their eyes — but uneven, as if each fin had been lightly dipped in ink. The blacktips passed no more than seven or
eight feet beneath him. If he hadn’t seen them and tucked his legs up, it would’ve been even closer. Too close, thought Davey. Another deep shudder ran through him.

  And here came the blue. It hadn’t adjusted its course enough, and now it was heading for the same patch of water as the blacktips. Davey watched, the sharks getting fuzzier with distance. He squinted and stared, coaxing his weak eyes to follow them. Something was going to happen down there. Would they bump into one another? Would they fight?

  At the last second, the blue veered off. It shot quickly away, vanishing into the distance. The blacktips continued on, crossing the empty patch of water unconcerned. Davey wasn’t surprised. It was small, and they were big. It worked the same way on land. He hoped the blacktips would vanish now, too.

  They didn’t. They continued on for another dozen feet or so, until they were just a black-and-gray blob in his vision. Then they turned and slowly came back into focus. He pulled up his legs again. In a sense, they’d done him a favor with the blue: a circling shark is never a good sign. It was hard for him to feel too grateful, though, as they passed underneath him again. Closer this time. Not much closer, it’s true, but they were in no hurry.

  Twenty minutes later, the blue was back. It stayed down deeper, out of the way of the others. Davey could just make it out down there, its penknife body giving it away. It wasn’t circling now, just lurking, waiting for the bigger sharks to do the work.

  The blacktips passed by again. They were far enough to the side this time that he didn’t pull up his feet. He was too tired anyway. The adrenaline that had flooded his system was mostly gone now, and he was crashing. It had been a fight-or-flight response, but he had no way to do either.

  The blacktips headed away from him for now, and the blue was almost out of sight. Davey scanned the horizon and then the sky. Still nothing. He wanted to believe they would find him. It was a bright and nearly cloudless day. The burn on his shoulders was plenty of proof of that. He was a dark dot on a clear sea. A boat wouldn’t even have to be that close to see him. A plane wouldn’t have to be close at all.

  Yes, he told himself, they’ll find me.

  Six feet down, the blacktips arced gracefully and headed back his way.

  If there’s anything left to find.

  Davey’s aquarium was growing rapidly. The three sharks moved lazily around it, just like the ones back in Cincinnati. And now that Davey was mostly still, the four little fish barely budged from under the water bottle. Even the bright blue fish was back.

  And now another one was headed his way. This one was bigger. If Davey had held his hand out flat, with all the fingers extended and together, it would have been the size, and almost the shape, of this new fish. But there was something wrong with it. It was just a few inches below the surface of the water, and Davey didn’t even need to look through the water cooler bottle to see that it wasn’t swimming right. It flicked its tail in spastic jerks that sent it almost as far sideways as forward.

  As it got closer, Davey saw that it never fully straightened out. It always stayed a little curled up, like a dried-out flower petal on a windowsill. He couldn’t tell if it was injured or sick or what, but he didn’t want it near him.

  “Get away,” he said.

  He didn’t even know why at first, and then he did. The sharks … He looked at this new fish, struggling its way toward shelter, and all he saw was bait.

  “Getawaygetawaygetaway!”

  The injured fish kept coming, determined to reach the little island of shade and shelter. Davey scanned the water underneath him. He didn’t see the sharks. Where were they? He leaned back, pulling the bottle with him. Slowly, he began to kick.

  The other fish came with him. The new fish swam harder, flapping its tail, trying its hardest to go straight. Davey kicked harder. “No! Go away!”

  And he was right to be worried. Davey felt the blacktip before he saw it.

  A pressure wave of water pushed up against his feet and legs. The shark shot up out of the deep and bit the injured fish cleanly in half. Its momentum carried it up and out of the water, and for a split second Davey saw it there. Half of its thick body was above the water, its wet skin reflecting the sunlight. The rest was still below. Then it tipped and fell back. Water splashed across Davey’s face, shoulders, and back.

  He swore so loud that he owed the swear jar back in Ohio at least ten bucks.

  As the surface of the water began to smooth out, Davey saw the tail of the little fish. Just the tail, still curled, leaking blood and little bits of flesh into the water. The muscles gave one last reflexive flick as it began to sink. Then a shadow, then a shape: The other blacktip surged to the surface. It snatched the scraps. The splash was smaller this time.

  Davey kicked harder as the second shark disappeared from view. He hugged the bottle tight to his chest and backed away as fast as he could. He was twelve feet away by the time the blue shark arrived. He saw it thrash back and forth. Its fins broke the surface as it pushed through the bloody water, searching for food that wasn’t there.

  After a few more thrashes, it gave up. It had been right to stay near the blacktips, but it had been too slow to take advantage. It was too late to get its share. As it left the surface and descended, its primitive brain formed one simple thought.

  It needed to be more aggressive.

  Brando was enjoying the ride despite himself. Back on land, he’d felt angry and sad and guilty all at once. But out here, he could just watch the boat cut the water in half, leaving a wake of white spray.

  As soon as the boat began slowing down, his thoughts crept back in. He looked up at row after row of boats tied to a network of floating docks. He’d overheard enough to know that this was the marina and that they were here to look for the captain of the boat that took people to and from Aszure Island. He’d overheard most of what was said on the trip, in fact, because everyone had been shouting over the noise of the engine.

  Deputy Fulgham cut the engine and eased the police launch in toward an empty slip. As he did, Brando leaned over the edge and looked down into the vanishing sliver of water between boat and dock. He saw a flash of something on the bottom. It might have been a coin catching the light or a piece of metal that had snapped off the last boat to dock here. Brando would need a closer look to know for sure.

  And just like that, he knew what Marco had meant when he said, “No divers. Please. Not yet.” It was so horrible, but so obvious. They would bring in divers to look for his brother’s body on the bottom of the sea.

  They were talking all around him. His parents were talking to each other. The deputy was talking to someone on the dock. The words were still loud enough for Brando to hear, but his head could no longer hold them. The five words he already had in there were taking up all the space. What did he mean, “not yet”?

  Everyone got off the boat and headed down the dock, and he followed them. The concrete-topped dock floated serenely on the water, designed to rise and fall with the tide. They reached another dock that ran parallel to the shore and took a left. Brando finally looked up and saw Key West. The waterfront was bustling with activity. It was the early afternoon, and everyone was on the move.

  Brando wasn’t even really on Key West yet, but he could hear it clearly. A road ran along the shore. Cars and scooters honked, and bicyclists shouted. And behind that rose the muffled roar of thousands of people on vacation, drunk with sun and possibilities. A loud laugh cut through it all briefly, like a goose honking.

  “No way,” he said. No one heard him, but he knew it in his heart now. There was no way his older brother would want any part of this. He took a step toward his mom. She didn’t have sleeves on, so he tapped her wrist. She turned toward him and leaned down.

  “What is it, B?”

  “Davey would hate this,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said. “Now be quiet for a second. The policeman is talking.”

  The deputy was talking to a very short man in very long shorts. “Hey, Victor.
You seen Zeke?”

  “The Captain? Yeah, of course. He’s made a few trips out to Aszure already.”

  “You been here all morning?”

  “Yeah, and I’ll be here all day, too.”

  The deputy took the flyer out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Seen this kid?”

  Victor looked at the flyer carefully.

  Tam and Pamela leaned in, waiting for his answer. Victor gave them a quick glance before answering. “Don’t think so. Tough to say. Lot of kids running around the docks all day.”

  “Look again.”

  This time he took the flyer in his hands, but the answer was the same. “Don’t think so. Something happen to him? He do something?”

  “Just looking for him, that’s all,” said the deputy.

  Victor glanced over at Tam and Pamela again and put it together. “Bad deal,” he said to Fulgham. “Hope you find him.”

  Hope you find him “soon,” thought Brando. He should’ve said “soon.” But Victor had said what he said. It was another “not yet” for Brando’s list.

  “We will,” said the deputy. Brando nodded in approval. “Where’s Zeke now?”

  “Probably still eating lunch.”

  “Yeah, you want to narrow that down for me a little?”

  “Oh, sorry. He’s at Mary’s. Pretty sure, ’cause he asked me if I wanted anything from there.”

  “Okay, thanks, man.”

  “No problem. If you got another one of them flyers, I’ll take it. Ask around for you, just the people who come and go, you know?”

  “Yes, please,” said Pamela, stepping forward and handing him a flyer. “We’d really appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” said Victor, taking it in his child-sized hands. “It’s a bad deal.”

  The Tserings followed the deputy to shore like a row of ducklings. He walked them straight off the docks and across the road. He even waved a car to a halt so they wouldn’t have to wait for the light. He started up the walkway toward a small, one-story restaurant that seemed to be leaning ever so slightly to the left. The paint was weathered and peeling, hovering somewhere between the dark red it had once been and the washed-out red it was becoming.