Randy White - Shark River

He was suddenly concerned. “I didn’t hurt the fish, did I? Like drain it or something?”

I began to lift the ray by the tail-it couldn’t shock from the tail. “No, it’s fine. They spend all day cruising the bottom, shocking sand worms, then sucking them out whole. Long pink worms almost exclusively, I can’t remember the Latin name. Shocking things is what they do.”

“You’re going to release it? Doc, why don’t we keep it? You study the fish, then I’ll drop by every now and again and I’ll let the fish do little experiments on me. When I was touching it? I could feel every part of my body come to life. Every part of my body-if you catch my drift.”

I lowered the electric ray into the water, skated it back and forth a few times to make certain it was healthy, then watched it flap away with birdlike grace. “He’s always joking around, Ransom.”

He threw his hands up-the ray was gone. “Man, I wasn’t joking!”

The woman was kicking dead turtle grass and goop toward the stern, cleaning up to go. Same as with calculating the clipboards-she knew what to do without having to be told. I was already starting to like her despite the fact I didn’t know her and had been convinced I didn’t want to know her.

“You two coconut-headed men, it gonna be fun going with you and getting daddy’s money.”

She’d asked and asked, but I’d yet to give her an answer.

“We’ll talk about it,” I said. “I’ll look at the things Tucker sent you, then come up with a solution that’s acceptable. Something to make you happy.”

“Uh-huh, that good, man. What I want right now, though, is to get myself cleaned up. Gonna bathe myself, put on my little black skirt, and let you buy me that expensive lunch just to celebrate.”

I told her, okay, but first I had a phone call to make.

C alling from the portable phone in the master bedroom of my cottage, I listened to the fourth ring, hoping no one would answer. I felt like some guilt-ridden adolescent schoolboy who’d been caught misbehaving and who dreaded a confrontation with the principal.

I was on the verge of hanging up, when a man’s voice said without hesitating, “Okay, so we finally get a chance to talk, Dr. Ford. And if I sound a little agitated, it’s because I’ve been waiting all morning for your call. I asked them to make it clear the message was urgent. The woman at the desk didn’t tell you that? Do the lady a favor and say she told you it was urgent. I’m on the island’s corporate board.”

Caller ID is one of the minor irritants of this digital society.

He sounded middle-aged, no older. He had a very deep voice, lots of testosterone, just a hint of southern accent but an articulate airiness that told me this was a man who was used to giving orders, not taking them, a man accustomed to sitting back and listening, an intellectual counterpuncher. Oddly, his bullying threat- I could have the lady fired -seemed forced, overly theatrical. Something about it didn’t ring true.

When I didn’t respond immediately, he said, “This is Doctor Marion Ford, isn’t it?”

I answered, “There-that’s maybe not a polite way to begin a phone conversation, but it’s at least acceptable. Yes, my name is Ford. Thanks for asking. And you’re Hal Harrington.”

“Of course!”

“I wasn’t sure. Last night an FBI agent told me that you’re a diplomat. I guess I expected you to be diplomatic.”

Which caused him to stumble, interrupted his timing, and he became momentarily formal. “You’re right. You’re exactly right. Especially when the first point of business should be to thank you for saving my daughter yesterday. I mean it. Thank you very much, Doctor Ford.”

“No need.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there is. The people who tried to abduct her are of the very slimiest variety. Lowlife opportunists. Small-time drug people who hate my stand on a particular issue, and’re looking to make a big jump in the cartel community. No one else would have tried anything so risky. They’d love to have a major bargaining chip, and I don’t doubt for a moment that they’d have killed Lindsey if they’d succeeded. Bargaining wouldn’t have saved her. I’m very thankful you were there and decided to get involved.”

“Read the reports, Mister Harrington. I didn’t save your daughter. She saved herself.”

“Nonsense. You mentioned my occupation? In my line of work, an important job skill is… well, let’s put it this way. I deal with liars and equivocators on a daily basis. If I couldn’t get a little edge here and there by recognizing what’s true and what isn’t, I wouldn’t be very effective.”

I told him, “Okay, we’re both glad your daughter didn’t get hurt. Let’s leave it at that. But there’s nothing urgent about calling to say thanks. So something else is on your mind.”

“Yes, very true. You’re an insightful man. There is another subject I’d like to discuss. Actually, what I’d like to do is share some information, then ask a favor. You’ll find it interesting; probably find it informative. The subject has to do with your past, Doctor Ford. And your future.”

With the phone wedged between shoulder and ear, I moved out onto the veranda. Through the palms, the swimming pool was a Caribbean jade. There were four or five women in lounge chairs, baking themselves black. Overhead, circling in a pale winter sky, was a pair of osprey hawks, screaming their ascending whistling call as if outraged by the intrusion of these dozing women. I watched the osprey as I said, “My future? I thought the reason you called would have something to do with your daughter.”

Harrington’s tone became both amused and accusatory. “Oh, it does, it does. This has a lot to do with her-and I find it odd, by the way, that you should refer to her as ‘my daughter’ instead of ‘Lindsey.’ Maybe one of those Freudian things, huh? You two had yourselves quite a time last night. A girl nearly young enough to be your own daughter.”

“Mister Harrington, if you surprise loved ones by spying on them, shouldn’t you expect to be the one who’s surprised? The way you spend your nights, your private time, how’d you like her to know every detail?”

“I do whatever it takes to keep track of her, and I don’t apologize a damn minute for that! I stay informed. I’ve got to, her recovery requires it. Don’t try to turn it around, Ford. You two sitting around chatting away like adults, then on the couch. I’ve got the entire transcript on the desk in front of me. Playing astronauts, for Christ’s sake! Every word you two said, at least every word before you hauled her upstairs to the bedroom.”

I’m not always conversational, but I am seldom at a complete loss for words. I now was.

“Are you still there, Doctor Ford?”

I finally found voice. “Yes. I’m listening.”

“Know what I find most offensive? The way you manipulated her. That pious act of yours: ‘Lindsey, Go home because it’s the right thing to do.’ Here, let me read a sentence or two back-”

I said quickly, “Nope, we’re not going to do that. I choose not to listen to a review of our private conversations.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you for not wanting to hear it. The girl’s a drug addict, Doctor Ford. She’s emotionally unstable. She’s spoiled, immature, and, let’s face it, Lindsey’s not extremely bright either. Two generations ago, back in Houston, my grandfather would’ve shot you down like a dog for doing what you did.”

A father ridiculing his daughter-how do you react to something like that? True, I hadn’t been on my best behavior with Lindsey. True, it was understandable the man was furious. If Harrington wanted to vent, okay. I’d stand there and take it. But I was quickly becoming irritated by the man’s cruel characterizations of the girl.