Randy White - Gone

I couldn’t place the accent. It was Southern, but not Central Florida, and definitely not Deep South. One of the Western states, maybe. Something else I couldn’t put my finger on was why I felt an instant distrust for this drunken man who, so far, had been open about why he was looking for us. Unless… he was lying.

The waitress, at least, liked him. She called him by name, still ignoring Nathan and me, but soon Eugene had a beer in front of him while I sipped sugarless tea that tasted of plastic. Nate had made a safer choice ordering bottled water.

“What’s your last name again?” I interrupted when the man went right back to the subject of Meeks owing him money. The way he hesitated before responding, “Schneider… Eugene Schneider,” caused more suspicion, which must have registered on my face.

Like a curtain falling, the man’s genial manner disappeared with his smile. “You got a problem about something, darling?”

Nathan winced, but I felt right at ease. “I’m not your ‘darling.’ And you’re the one who came to find me. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Schneider pushed the cap back on his head, his expression broadcasting disbelief. “Just ’cause you’re sitting with muscle boy here doesn’t give you call to be snooty… darling. Especially to a man who’s only trying to help.” For the first time, Schneider looked up at Nate, whose face I noticed was mottling just like in school when older boys picked on him. “What about it, biggun? Your girlfriend always this ornery?”

“Always,” Nate said, “except for when she’s worse.”

“There you go!” Schneider’s smile reappeared as he toasted the ceiling with his beer. He took a sip, spread his arms to claim more table space, then returned his attention to me. “You want to find this Ricky Meeks character or not? Cops won’t listen to me because I loaned the guy five thousand cash and didn’t get a receipt. If you’ve got something in writing, though, I know where the guy is.” The man leaned closer. “Trust me, he’s not staying where some folks might have told you. I know that for a fact.”

I didn’t believe for a moment that Eugene Schneider had ever owned five thousand in cash, but his claim was worth exploring, so my brain told my mouth not to say anything else to offend the liar. Instead, I tried a lie of my own, saying, “If someone told us where to find Ricky Meeks, it’s because they trusted me and I trust them. So I don’t see how we can help each other.” I gave Nate a look to make sure he understood what I was doing. He understood.

Standing, my friend said, “Thanks for the offer, but we’ve already found out what we need to know.”

Eugene ignored the outstretched hand, preferring to keep his drunken eyes on me. “You sure you don’t want to at least listen? Might save us both some time.”

I exchanged another look with Nate, who handled it exactly right. “Wouldn’t hurt to hear what the man has to say, Hannah. Besides, if he leaves, the waitress probably won’t be back to take our order.” My friend, playing the good cop, grinned and took his seat as a way of answering for me.

Schneider rewarded Nathan with a fraternity boy cackle, then lowered his voice to stress the importance of what he was saying. “A few weeks back, some local Crackers might have seen Ricky’s boats anchored back side of East Drake Key. Sure. His Skipjack cruiser, and he’s got an over-powered little jon boat. But that was two weeks ago, and these know-it-all Crackers don’t work after sunup like me.”

A jon boat is a flat-bottomed aluminum skiff built for running fast in shallow water. This was the first I’d heard of Meeks owning anything more maneuverable than his thirty-foot cruiser and a blue dinghy, but I didn’t want Schneider to know the information was useful. “You remember Drake Keys,” I said to Nathan. “They’re south of here, part of Cape Romano.”

To Schneider my friend said, “So far, you haven’t told us anything new.”

“Biggun,” Schneider said, getting impatient, “I’m not finished yet. What I’m trying to tell you is, I fish around Cape Romano a lot. I know Drake Keys like the back of my hand, and Ricky’s not there anymore. I know where he went, though-but you’ve never heard of the place. Dismal Key. It’s southeast a few miles but hidden so far back in the islands you couldn’t find it if you tried. I’d have to take you-if we come to some agreement.”

If Uncle Jake hadn’t taken me to explore Indian mounds on Dismal Key-an island dense with cactus, mosquitoes, and heat-I would have thought Eugene had stolen the name from a movie or was making it up. Dismal Key was a real place, though, and there was never a more accurate name. Now my brain was telling my mouth Don’t say anything stupid, keep him talking.

“Interesting,” I responded as if I wanted to believe this drunk with angry pale eyes. “What you’re saying is, you expect us to pay you for your help.”

“The guy owes me five thousand cash. How else you expect me to recover what I lost? Either that or tell me the truth about why you’re looking for Ricky. If you’ve got enough dirt on him-or receipts for the money he owes you-maybe the cops will listen if we join up together.”

Schneider was still lying. If the locals had told him my name, they’d also told him we’d been asking if there was a passenger on Meeks’s boat, not looking to recover a bad loan. But why? The man wanted something-money, of course. Or maybe he was just nosy and liked being the center of attention. Ricky Meeks wasn’t the type to win loyal friends, so Schneider had no reason to put us on a false trail. But after taking our money, he could always claim that Meeks had moved to another spot when we failed to find him.

“I’m kind of fussy about who I do business with,” I said, no longer worried about making the man mad. “Nathan, instant tea is all the lunch I’ll get if we stay here. You ready to find a place that’s more particular about its customers?”

Eugene Schneider’s temper had been sparking all along. Now it flared. “You little bitch!” he snapped, pushing his chair back. “I ought to slap you across this room for that.”

Nate was instantly on his feet. “Shut… shut your mouth, mister!” he stammered, looming over the little man. “Lay a hand on Hannah and… and you’ll regret it!”

I’d never experienced such behavior from my friend before. It was so unexpected, I couldn’t speak for a moment, then had to hide a smile because of the way Schneider was cowering, looking at his dirty fingers, the table, anything but Nate’s red face.

“Now, now, boys,” I said in the tone of a grade school teacher, then waited until Nathan had taken his seat. “Eugene? You need to be careful who you taunt. Nate doesn’t get mad quick, but he’s a dangerous man when it happens.” Not making eye contact with Nathan was the only thing that kept the smile off my face.

“Smart-ass woman,” Schneider mumbled, his expression sullen. He was still inspecting his fingers.

I told him, “There’s no reason I should tolerate that sort of talk, but here’s what we’ll do. Tell me who Ricky’s got on his boat and there might be a business arrangement. But no promises.”

“Lady, you just got all the free information out of me you’re gonna get. I have things to do this afternoon, but I’ll run you down to Dismal Key after sunset. You can see for yourself-but it’ll cost you… a thousand dollars. Five hundred if his boat’s not there.”

Nathan answered for me. “We can’t. Hannah’s going to a yacht party, but maybe tomorrow-”

“Party?” Schneider interrupted. “I’d know about it if there was a party on a boat anywhere near here.”