The Heat Islands: A Doc Ford Novel by Randy Wayne White

after midnight? Somebody out fishing late, or just coming in from dinner at Cabbage Key. Got caught in the Heineken trap at the bar."
    Ford turned and said, "Let's walk over to the docks."
    "Sure. You want a beer for the road?"
    "Grab three. I think that's Jeth's boat."
     
    Stepping out into the summer night was like stepping into warm water, but with sounds and odors. Fragrance of night flowers. Thunk-whap of jumping mullet. Sulfuric gas oozing from the mangrove muck like a long, hot breath; the moon sinking in the west and so bright the two men threw shadows as they stepped off the boardwalk onto the path that led to the marina parking lot.
    "Somebody's been here smoking cigarettes, man. Smell it? Still strong."
    "Where was that car parked?"
    "Just over there. Probably those kids. They must have just left, but I didn't hear the engine start."
    "I did. You were talking."
    "Kids out here parking and smoking. Probably doing heavy petting while we're in there talking about the end of the world. I like that."
    Ford said, "Me, too."
    "I don't think I even know anybody who smokes anymore, do you?"
    "A couple of the guides, no one else."
    "High school. I didn't do anything. Young Democrats and baseball, that's all. College, though, man. Like someone plucked my brain out and said. 'Hoo, this thing could use a little color.' "
    Looking, Ford said, "Yeah, that's Jeth's boat. I can see the lines." They ducked under mangrove limbs, then zigzagged between boats on trailers that showed in the marina's high, bright mercury lights. When they got to the docks, Ford stopped at the bait tanks, suddenly feeling as if he might be intruding.
    "Let's just stand here and see if Jeth wants to talk."
    "Gotcha; know exactly what you mean. Guy's been gone two days, maybe the reason's personal. And it's not like we're the only ones up."
    From the rows of darkened boats came the low whisper of night voices ... muted laughter ... live-aboards awake in the moonlight. Ford watched Jeth Nicholes idle his old blue Suncoast skiff through the entrance of the marina basin, then dock it smartly with a brief sternward burst of throttle, reaching out to take the dock lines. He looked toward the bait tanks, looked again, then called softly. "That you. Doc?"
    "Hey. Jeth."
    Tomlinson said, "We got a little welcome-home present for you. Got a dear little beer for you." Waving the bottle at him. "Where the hell you been, man?"
    Ford cringed.
    "What?" Jeth was pulling the scupper plugs, tilting his engine, not paying a lot of attention.
    "Something cold. Drink it right down."
    Not even listening, he said, "I know you're different and all, Tomlinson, but don't be calling me dear." Nicholes took the key from the ignition and looked up. "I don't go for that stuff."
    "We've got a beer for you."
    Jeth said. "O-o-o-h. that's better. Ran out of ice on the way back this morning, then ran out of warm ones 'bout noon." He was talking as he climbed stiffly out of his boat, clomping toward them, waving shyly, big thigh muscles knotting with each step beneath his shorts: man in his late twenties with straight black hair, all shoulders and narrow hips, and the kind of loyal face found on linebackers in high school yearbooks.
    He took the bottle and tossed the cap into the water, saying, "We meet again," as he drank off half the beer, wobbling as he tilted his head back, and Ford wondered if he was already drunk.
    "Must have been kind of a long trip, huh?"
    Jeth said. "What makes you think that. Doc?"
    "You said you ran out of ice this morning, so you had to be someplace you couldn't buy it. Way offshore, or way south. Ten Thousand Islands, maybe? You grew up in Everglades City, so I thought maybe you made a trip home."
    "Yeah, down to the islands, but I didn't stop in Everglades. Kept going south. Get down around Cape Sable, not many marinas where you can stop and buy ice. That's smart. Doc."
    Cape Sable was the southwesternmost point of mainland Florida, all raw mangrove islands and