Shark's Tooth

“I told you I didn’t remember.  And I don’t.”

The sheriff looked at Blackbeard.  “Donnie, we’re taking this one.  Bay County told us a warrant’s coming.  We’ll hold things until it gets here.”  He paused.  “Hope to hell you know what you’re doing.”

“Me, too,” said Blackbeard.  “Me, too.”

#

Terry and Blackbeard sat in their car at Pier Park, sitting in the same spot they had started out in yesterday morning, sipping coffee and waiting for the boy to show up.  It was an hour or so before dawn, false dawn when the sky is light without any sign of the coming sun.  The waves were gentle, a few lines of white foam glowing in the light, the white sand of the beach glowing, everything else black and shadows.

“This place really is beautiful,” said Terry.  “I used to come down here as a boy.  No place like it.  White, white sand and water you can stand chest deep in and still see your toes.  Good people, friendly, real.  You know where people are coming from, down here.  Except for the real estate guys.  Debbie was so happy when I took early retirement from Chicago PD and took the job down here two years ago.  You boys that have been here your whole lives don’t know how good you’ve got it.”

“We know,” said Blackbeard, sipping his coffee.  “Even with all the changes.  I can remember when all this was scrub oak, and a beach house was a shack you didn’t put more than a thousand dollars in because you knew it was going to blow away someday.  The only thing that doesn’t change is the water.  My daddy was a waterman.  Used to go out with him to bring in crabs.  Still rather be out by the reefs, or on the river up by Wewahitchka, than anywhere that has a condo.”





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