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Back Loitering With Intent Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Stuart Woods
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  64. AUTHOR’ S NOTE

There were dozens of boats of every type anchored outside Key West Bight, and their search of those yielded nothing. “All right,” Stone said, “Garrison Bight it is.”

They followed the boat renter’s instructions and slowed for a no wake sign along the row of houses, then turned through a narrow channel into the bight. The houseboats lay dead ahead. Stone throttled back to idle speed as they drove slowly along the row of moored boats. They were pretty, most of them, with window boxes and potted palms on the decks. A man of about thirty with a full, dark beard sat on the rear deck of one, fi shing. Stone cut the engine and drifted. “Good morning,” he said to the man.

“If you say so.”

“You know a guy named Charley Boggs?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Barrington; I just want to talk to him.”

“You a cop?”

“Nope, just looking for some information.”

“What kind of information?”

“You’re Charley, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m looking for a guy named Evan Keating.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Funny, you were arrested with him the other night in the municipal parking lot.”

“Was that his name? I didn’t know the guy.”

“You sure about that?”

“You sure about not being a cop?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m sure, too. Never set eyes on the guy before that night.”

“Okay, Charley, thanks,” Stone said. He started the engine, turned and started out of Garrison Bight. “That guy looks like the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski.”

“Everybody in Key West looks like Ted Kaczynski,” Dino pointed out.

“Where’s the Key West Yacht Club?” Stone asked. Dino was looking at the chart, and he pointed to the east. “It’s way down there in the corner of the bight.”

“Nice to know that,” Stone said.

“Yeah, but we don’t know much else, do we?”

8

8

THE PROPERTY OF the Key West Yacht Club was entered from busy Roosevelt Boulevard, and the clubhouse was an unassuming 1950s-era building, surrounded by a large parking lot and a good-sized marina. There was a party going aboard a traditional motor yacht moored near the entrance to the driveway. Stone found a parking place, and they walked into the club, taking a left into a roomy bar sheltering a crowd of happy-sounding people. Tommy Sculley waved them over to a corner of the bar, where he introduced them to a couple.

“Stone Barrington, Dino Bacchetti, this is Jack Spottswood and his wife, Terry, local lawyer and real estate broker, respectively.”

Hands were shaken.

“Jack, I think we met in Atlanta a few years ago,” Stone said. “A real estate closing, as I remember.”

“That’s right, we did,” Spottswood said. “Nice to see you again. I hear you and Dino used to practice the police arts in New York with Tommy.”