Dagger Key and Other Stories

A little after nine, a taxi stops in front of the bank, and Klose climbs out. He disappears inside the stucco building. Less than an hour later, he emerges from the bank and waits, nervously pacing, until a second taxi arrives to collect him. Fredo bids so long to Garnett and John Wayne, and begins the long walk home. Satisfied that things appear to be going the way he wants, he’s anxious for the same reason. Annie has come to him three times before, none of which he recalls after a certain point. The first two occasions yielded neither profit nor loss, but the third time, after making a small profit from the sale of some coins, he had the idea that something bad happened. When he checked on the buyer the next morning, the man, a college professor from New Mexico, locked the door of his bungalow, refusing to admit him, and fled the island at the earliest opportunity. Now, with so much more at stake, dealing with untrustworthy people, he knows there’s a potential for serious trouble.

“When Annie come, never try and thwart her,” his father advised him. “You don’t want her mad at you. She got your interests at heart, and ’cept you a big fool, like some of us has been, she bound to keep you safe. Whatever she do, that’s on her, so don’t wreck your soul worrying about it.”

Sound advice, but Fredo is a less pragmatic soul than was his father and, since the old man died, he has learned he can’t equate absence of guilt with innocence. He dreads these days when Annie’s morality is imposed upon him, when he is at the disposition of a three hundred-year old spirit who, driven by a freakish sliver of blood loyalty, will go to any extreme on his behalf. As he walks the beach toward the café, he mutters prayers for himself and Emily, for Klose and Selkie, for anyone who may become involved. The words occupy his mind, but give him no comfort.

That afternoon, in the cool shade of the café, Fredo mopes about the place, drinking coffee and treating his customers dismissively. To avoid conversation, he takes a portable TV/VCR from beneath the counter, parks it at the end of the bar, and plays an old cassette of Miami Vice episodes, losing himself in gun battles and explosions, beautiful women, neon gleaming on the metal skins of expensive cars. Captivated by these images, three men join him at the bar and, when the tape ends, one of them, Philby Davis, says, “How about you put on some Baywatch, mon?,” a notion seconded by the other customers. Fredo complies, and soon the women of Baywatch are jogging down the beach in their red Speedos, breasts asway in slow motion, while the ragged men of Dagger Key hoot and offer risqué comment.

“Look like that brown-haired gal going to catch ol’ Pamela,” says Philby. “But Pamela always edge her out by a nipple.”

The others laugh and slap Philby’s palm.

Fredo goes outside and sits on the palm trunk, wishing that he remembered to buy cigarettes. The sun is declining in the west, the light going orange. Waves pile in—the same wave, it appears, a low roller thinning to a frothy edge of water that races up the slope of the island to be absorbed by the sand. Shadows blur on the beach. Sand crabs burrow into silt at the tidal margin, leaving tiny airholes. Fredo imagines his thoughts are similar to theirs, a quiet, fretful paranoia.

Emily joins him on the palm trunk, places a hand on his back. “Why don’t you go on up to the house?” she says. “You can send the boys down after dinner. They help me close.”

Fredo nods. “Okay.”

“What time you leaving?”

“I might go in tonight. These people got a boat. Little cabin cruiser. I need to make sure they don’t go nowhere.”

“How you going to do that?”

“Battery acid in they fuel. That way, if they want to test the motor, it going to start right up. But if they go to running, they won’t run far. I slip out early in the morning and take care of it.”

“You coming back home after that?”

“Maybe not. Maybe I find a spot up in the hills and sleep.” Emily looks doubtful.

“Don’t worry. Nothing going to trouble me with Annie around.”

She idly rubs his shoulder, appearing distant.

“What you thinking?” he asks.

“I’m hoping that Jenry and Palace don’t have to bear this burden.”

Resentment sparks in him, and he shifts away from her touch.

“Something wrong?” she asks.

“I wish you spare some of that hope for me.”

“What you talking about?”

“You always thinking about the children. Seem like you got nothing left over.”

She gapes at him, gets up and walks off a couple of paces, then turns back. “You must be crazy! I your wife, Fredo. I with you ’til the end. But I’m their mother, too. And you they father. You want them to have Annie with them all their days? Is that what you saying?”

Fredo says, “I expect Annie going to be with them one way or the other.”

“Not and you sell these three pieces! Once the treasure gone, she gone.”

“That’s just what my daddy say.”

“And his daddy before him, and his daddy’s daddy. They all been saying that from the back time ’til now.”