“Okay,” Hooker said, taking my hand. “Let’s go for a stroll and look around.”
We got to the last pier and Hooker stopped in front of a medium-size cabin cruiser. Dark inside. Nobody home.
“I know the guy who owns this boat,” Hooker said. “He’s only here weekends. And he keeps a dingy tied to the back. It should be easy to borrow.”
We climbed onto the boat and made our way to the back where the dingy was tied, just as Hooker had predicted. We scrambled into the boat, Hooker released the rope and turned the key. The motor hummed to life and Hooker pushed off.
“Keep your eyes open,” Hooker said. “I don’t want to run into anything.”
There was just a sliver of moon in the sky. The piers were lit and some of the boats had their running lights on. A few boats had interior lights on, as well, but not much light reflected onto the black water. The air was still. No wind. Not a lot of tide running.
Boats occasionally came and went at night here, but none was currently under way. Only us. We came abreast of the Huevo boat and sat at a distance, watching. Not much was happening. Windows and doors were closed and sound wasn’t carrying.
“Huh,” I said. “Disappointing.”
Hooker was fidgeting around in the dingy. He’d turned to the back and was poking through a watertight chest. “I might be able to produce some action. At least get everyone on deck so we can take a head count.”
I looked over his shoulder, into the chest. “What did you have in mind?”
Hooker pulled a snub-nosed, fat-barreled gun out of the chest. “Flare gun. I could lob a flare over the boat and maybe draw them out.” He two-handed the gun, holding it at arm’s length, raised the barrel so the flare would arc high, and pulled the trigger. A flare went off with a loud phunnf and sailed into the night sky. The flare gracefully curved up and away from us, reached its zenith, fell on a sloping downward trajectory toward the Huevo yacht…and crashed through a window on the first deck.
“Oops,” Hooker said.
The flare exploded with a burst of light that danced around the main salon like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Sound carried out through the gaping hole in the tinted window, and we could hear the hiss of the flare and the panicked voices of the people inside.
Hooker and I sat in stupefied, bug-eyed silence. There was a small explosion, and then the crackle of fire, and a yellow flame licked up the side of the salon.
“Oh shit,” Hooker whispered. “If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”
“You have some good luck. You have me.”
“I don’t have you. You won’t even sleep with me.”
“That’s true, but I’m here with you now.”
Hooker got that look in his eyes.
“No,” I said.
“How about you tie the anchor to my ankle and throw it overboard.”
“I have a better idea. How about we sneak away before someone sees us sitting out here.”
Five minutes later, we eased up behind the cabin cruiser, secured the line, and scrambled out of the dingy. Emergency vehicles were on the scene four piers down. Fire and rescue. Police. Lots of people. Strobes flashing. The unintelligible chatter of police band. No one paying attention to Hooker or me. And thank goodness, no smoke or flames shooting out of the Huevo boat.
Hooker stayed back in the shadows, but I edged closer to the pier. One of the three men who’d flown in earlier stood off to the side on the cement walkway, watching the activity. I moved next to him and gestured to the boat.
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “Something came through the window and started a fire. It didn’t burn much. Everything on the boat is fire resistant.”
I was thrown for a moment. I’d expected a foreign accent. Russian maybe. His accent was New Jersey. “Wow,” I said. “Was it a firebomb?”
“I don’t know. They’re investigating. I was below in a stateroom when it happened. I didn’t actually see anything.”
I was scanning the crowd as I was talking, looking for Ray Huevo. “I can’t help noticing, you’re not wearing Miami clothes. Did you just arrive in Florida?”
He looked down at his wool suit slacks. “I flew in earlier. It’s been a long day.”