Stuart Woods: Choke

They all shook hands, then adjourned to the water cooler.

“Chuck, that was a good game,” Harry said. “We’ll take you next time.”

“I’ll watch out, Harry.”

“Why don’t you join us for dinner this evening? We’ll officially welcome you to Key West. Victor, you too?”

Both pros accepted.

“Good. Eight o’clock at Louie’s Backyard.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Chuck said. He glanced at Clare. “I’ll look forward to it.”

There was a tiny curl to Clare’s red lip. Chuck took it for a smile.

Chuck found Louie’s Backyard on the second try. Key West was only one mile by four, but he needed a map, and still it was tricky. There were only two or three streets that ran the length of the island; the rest were narrow and crowded with frame dwellings called Conch houses. Louie’s was on one of these little streets, a good-sized Victorian place that looked more like somebody’s home than a restaurant.

“Mr. Carras hasn’t arrived yet,” the headwaiter said, “but the other member of your party is waiting at the bar outside. Just walk straight through.”

Chuck emerged from the rear of the house onto a three-tiered deck filled with tables; the bar was on the lower level and nearly in the water. The sea lapped at the deck, and a rising moon illuminated the diners, mostly tourists, Chuck figured, come south for some sun.

Victor waved at him from the bar, and Chuck slid onto an adjacent barstool. “Where are our hosts?” he asked.

“Harry and Clare are not great at on-time performance,” Victor replied. “Buy you a drink?”

“Thanks. I’ll have a vodka gimlet, straight up, very cold,” he said to the bartender.

The two clinked glasses. “Welcome to paradise,” Victor said.

“That’s what you said this morning. Is it really?”

“Can be. Depends on your attitude.”

“My attitude’s pretty good.”

“Then you’ll like it. There are a lot of very strange people in this town,” Victor said. “It’s the end of the road, figuratively, for a lot of them. They couldn’t make it anywhere else, so they decided to come down here and not make it. Not making it is what folks do here.”

“My attitude’s not that good,” Chuck said, laughing. “I gotta make a living.”

“Found a place to live yet?”

“I brought it with me.”

“Trailer?”

“I haven’t sunk that low; it’s a little motor yacht. I found a berth at Key West Bight.”

“That’s where it’s all happening, boatwise,” Victor said. “Say, is the yellow Speedster yours?”

“Yep. I restored the thing from scratch when I was living in Palm Beach.”

“I guess Merk told you, this isn’t Palm Beach.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Listen, Chuck, you and I don’t know each other very well, but I’ve got to ask you…”

“Yep, I choked.”

“Not about that.”

“About what, then?”

“About Palm Beach. We got a whiff of the rumor down here. Did you really get the club president’s wife pregnant?”

Chuck shook his head.

“I didn’t really believe it,” Victor said.

“It was the chairman’s wife. And it was a hysterical pregnancy.”

“A hysterical pregnancy?”

“Hysterical, isn’t it? She actually missed two periods.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Neither did her husband. Of course, by the time she was running on schedule again, I was out of the club.” Chuck looked out over the moonlit water. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Victor agreed.

Chuck watched as a boatload of people left a good-sized motor yacht anchored offshore and made their way to Louie’s aboard a Boston Whaler. The skipper tied up the boat, and a party of six scrambled ashore.

Chuck glanced at his watch. “Our hosts are twenty minutes late,” he said. “You may have to buy me dinner.”

“They’ll show,” Victor said. “Harry’s the type to keep his promises.”

Another half hour passed before the Carrases turned up, and the whole restaurant turned to watch their entrance-or rather, Clare’s entrance. She came down the stairs in a white strapless dress that Nature held up, and for a brief moment, not a word was spoken within sight of her.

Chuck stood up and watched her walk toward the bar. “Hello, Harry,” he said, shaking the husband’s hand first. “And Clare.”

Her cool hand squeezed his again. He stopped himself from fantasizing.

“Sorry we’re late,” Harry said, “but our table’s ready, so let’s sit down and have a drink there.”

Chuck and Victor followed the couple to a well-placed table and ordered another round. Harry ordered scotch; Clare ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc.

Harry raised his glass. “Welcome to Key West,” he said.

“Thank you, Harry,” Chuck replied. “I think I’m going to like it here.” He tried not to look at Clare as he said it.

“So you’re down from Palm Beach,” Harry said. “Are the rumors true?”

“No, they’re not,” Victor said. “It was a hysterical pregnancy.”

They all burst out laughing, and Chuck joined them.

“Chuck,” Harry said when they had stopped laughing, “do you make a specialty of other men’s wives?”

“No, Harry,” Chuck replied. “But from time to time, they seem to make a specialty of me.”

Everybody laughed again.

Clare put a hand on Chuck’s arm. “Who could blame them?” she said, and there was just a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“You’re too kind, Clare,” Chuck replied.

The talk turned to tennis as the menus arrived, and they stayed on that subject through two courses, until Harry changed it.

“You do any diving, Chuck?” Harry asked.

“I do. I live on my boat, over at Key West Bight, and I’ll be happy to take you out sometime.”

“We’ll take you,” Harry said.

“I’d love to.”

At that moment a gust of wind struck, so sharp and so sudden it knocked over a wineglass, and a split second later a roar filled the air. Suddenly everyone in the restaurant was standing, looking in the same direction.

Chuck followed their gaze. A column of yellow fire rose into the sky, and debris was falling into the water in a large circle. The motor yacht Chuck had noticed earlier had now become a flaming hulk.

“Holy shit,” Victor murmured.

“Gas,” Harry said. “Gotta be gas.”

“Gas and gasoline,” Chuck replied. “Diesel wouldn’t blow like that.”

“Do you suppose anyone was hurt?” Clare asked.

“I don’t think so,” Chuck replied. “We saw a large party leave the boat and come ashore here a little while ago.”

As if on cue, a woman screamed.

Chuck looked toward the bar. The woman had now covered her mouth with her hand and was pointing toward the fire. Tears streamed down her face.

“What’s she bitching about?” Harry asked. “She’s alive, isn’t she?”

Tommy Sculley was on his feet with the rest of the diners, gawking at the explosion. Then he got hold of himself, reached for his pocket cell-phone, and dialed 911.

“I knew it,” Rose said. “I knew you’d do something to fuck up this dinner, but I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected anything quite so elaborate.”

“Rosie, shut up and eat your dessert,” Tommy said.

“Key West Police Department,” a woman’s voice said.

“This is Detective Sculley. A boat has exploded a hundred and fifty yards off the east end of the island, and there may be fatalities. I want you to…”

“Who did you say this is?” the woman asked.

“Detective Thomas Sculley of the Key West Police Department,” he replied.