“This gravy’s no fucking good,” Bib said, making a gelatinous snowball out of the gravy and throwing it at a pelican. The pelicans also rejected the coleslaw, rolls, mashed potatoes, and chicken bones. “I’ve brought you here for a reason,” Bib said, wiping his mouth with an oily rag. “An ancient gold coin from the wreck these guys are diving on. Your little woman will just cream her drawers under the Christmas tree when you spring this one on her. The coin is dated and has a certificate of authenticity from authorities. It’s worth a grand but I’ll let you have it for eight hundred because I like you. Why else would I be burning up expensive gas in the middle of the goddamn ocean if I didn’t like you?”

Warlock bought the questionable coin after eliciting a promise that they would return immediately to Key West. He had to throw in an extra hundred to have the coin mounted and a gold chain attached. By then the northeaster had increased to the point that he was struggling to keep the chicken down. Why was the food of Key West backing up on him? He held on with prayer during the long, slamming, jarring ride back to town.

At the marina there was a crazed Russian urge to kiss the greasy boards of the dock. Through the sting of the dried salt spray around his eyes he saw a young guide spraying down his boat at the next slip. Warlock borrowed the hose to rinse his face. The sign of the neighboring boat read THE LOON—CAPT. TED RABUN. Oh my god. He returned the hose with a sly smile.

“Like to book you. I’ve heard about you.”

“Got a free day on Saturday. You got tackle?”

“No. I’ll be here at eight. You want a deposit?” The young man shook his head. Warlock’s heart swelled temporarily, but then he thought, could there be two Ted Rabuns? Not likely, but he didn’t want to chance another day on the high seas.

Chapter 41