Free Stick by Elmore Leonard Page A

“No, I think it’s time to check out.” He hesitated and said, “I’m going to see my little girl.”
    Bobbi said, “Oh?” and sounded surprised. “How old is she?”
    â€œShe’s fourteen now,” Stick said. “You remind me of her. You sort of look alike.”
    He walked out feeling absolved, almost proud of himself. Though he couldn’t help catching another glimpse of her taking off that pink shirt in amber candlelight, the waves breaking outside in the dark . . .
    Barry came off the Seaweed with its port side still three feet from the dock, engines rumbling low, inching the fifty-eight-foot Hatteras gently into berth.
    Chucky and a girl named Pam and Barry’s friend Aurora stood by the deck chairs in the stern watchingBarry, wanting to stop him. Not wringing their hands exactly, but caught in a tableau of surprise: Chucky in a striped red-white-and-blue T-shirt down over his hips, the two girls in skimpy little nothing bikinis.
    Chucky said, “You coming back, what?”
    Aurora, dark hair shining, voice whining, said, “Bar- ry ! Will you wait, please !”
    Barry was pointing to the stern line his deckhand had thrown onto the dock, Barry gesturing, saying something to Lionel, who stood there in his light blue suit and didn’t seem to know what to do. Barry’s captain sat up on the flying bridge of the Seaweed observing, unconcerned behind his sunglasses, as the deckhand ran forward and jumped dockside with the bowline.
    Barry looked up, squinting. He said to the boat, “Rorie? Chucky’s going to run you home, babe. Okay? I gotta run.”
    Chucky said, “I am?”
    Aurora, pouting, said, “You promised we’re going to have dinner.”
    â€œI got a call,” Barry said. “Didn’t I get a call? I was on the goddamn phone—how long? You saw me.”
    Aurora said, “You’re always on the goddamn phone.”
    Barry said, “Call you later, babe.”
    Aurora tried once more to stop him. “Bar- ry !”
    But he was gone.
    Bobbi’s face brightened, broke into a big smile as she saw him coming. Then tried to turn it off but couldn’t and a small grin lingered as Barry came over to the bar, his expression blank. Not grim, not serious; blank.
    He made a gun of his right hand, index finger extended, and cocked it at Bobbi’s face.
    â€œWhat’s the last thing that goes through a bug’s mind as it hits the windshield?”
    Bobbi said, “I don’t know, what?”
    â€œIts asshole . . .  Where’re the keys?”
    â€œWhat keys?”
    â€œThe car keys. Cecil was here, right? Tell me he was here.”
    â€œHe was here.”
    â€œAnd he gave you the keys to the Rolls.”
    â€œUh-unh. He tried to give me a hard time though.”
    Barry put the palm of his hand to his forehead, said, “Oh, Christ,” and did a half turn before looking at Bobbi again. “He was drinking?”
    â€œI don’t know why you ever hired him in the first place,” Bobbi said, serious, with innocent eyes.
    Barry said, “Hey.” He paused for emphasis. “I’ll take care of Cecil. Okay? You say he was drinking?”
    â€œHe had a few.”
    Barry shook his head, then leaned on the bar, weary. “He leave the Rolls? I don’t know what good it’d do me, but tell me at least he left the car.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know,” Bobbi said. “He came in, sat down right there. Didn’t have his uniform on . . .”
    â€œIt’s his day off.”
    â€œHad four Chivas with a couple of beers and left, pissed.”
    â€œPissed off.”
    â€œThat’s what I said.”
    â€œThere’s a difference,” Barry said. He slapped the bar and said, “Shit.” Then glanced toward the terrace at the sound of Chucky’s voice—Chucky coming in with the two girls. They