Free Wood's Reach by Steven Becker Page B

He’d already caught him pilfering pills and had removed everything except the generic aspirin from the bathroom.
    “I can’t find shit in there,” Ironhead said, standing in the doorway. “I’m out of here.”
    “Do what you must, but I’ll have no part in it,” Hawk said.
    “Whatever.” Ironhead walked to the walkway.
     
    ***
     
    His head throbbed in rhythm with every step he took. There was nothing Hawk was going to do for him. Cursing himself as he walked, he hoped he hadn’t screwed up the relationship. The guy wasn’t fun, but the work was interesting—and it paid. Where else could he go and be allowed to dive as well as break heads? All bosses were assholes; the only real problem was the pills—and he needed some now.
    He looked straight ahead as he crossed over the bridge he had just smashed the boat into, not wanting to see the damage, or the condescending look he knew would come from Hawk, who was sitting on the deck of the trawler. He followed the golf course around a bend, passing a row of boats moored against the seawall, then a resort, an apartment building, and an empty marina. Reaching the first cross street, he continued straight for another block until it dead-ended into Sombrero Beach Road, where he turned left. On his right was the small strip mall that held the Brass Monkey. If there were pills to be found on this blasted island, they would be here.
    He crossed the street and entered through the blacked-out door. Music greeted him, and although there were laws against smoking in bars, the place reeked of it. Searching through the sea of bobbing heads and loud voices, he saw an empty seat on the far side of the bar. He worked his way around the room, dodging bodies until he reached the vacant stool.
    “Hey, Mike, you’re not looking so hot,” the bartender said.
    “I got trouble. You got something that can help?”
    The bartender shook his head. “You know you got some credit issues.”
    Ironhead reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenties. It was all he had left, and he wondered if payday would even come this week after he’d wrecked the boat. He placed the bills on the bar.
    The bartender eyed the bills before grabbing them from the scarred copper bar top. “Should leave enough for a chaser. Want a beer?” A minute later he placed a beer on a cocktail napkin and with a practiced hand slid two pills underneath it.
    Ironhead grabbed the bottle and took a long swig. With his other hand, he snagged the napkin and extracted the pills. Feeling better at the sight of them, he slammed the oxycodone in his mouth and finished the beer. That would take care of things tonight, but tomorrow morning the ordeal that had become his life would resume.
    He saw Wallace coming towards him and put his head down. It was one thing to be reprimanded by Hawk, but he was not about to take any crap from the failed and disbarred lawyer. It was bad enough he was forced to spend most of his days with him.
    “Thought I’d find you here. Boss is pissed,” Wallace said.
    “Whatever,” Ironhead said, hoping the pills would take effect quickly.
    “If you don’t have any other offers, I’d be thinking about making amends,” Wallace said.
    The bartender made a move toward them, but Ironhead waved him away. He turned to Wallace. “What do you have in mind?” He hated groveling.
    “They thought they were slick, but I watched them,” Wallace said.
    “You want a pat on the back or what?”
    “Travis got the girl, and they went back to the house where we had the Cajun in the floor.”
    Ironhead was focused on him now. “And?”
    “I saw the three of them get back on the boat and start to pull away. It was then I noticed the bike.”
    “What bike?” Ironhead asked.
    “Remember, we never saw a car, you know, how they got to the house in the first place.”
    Ironhead realized he was right. That was how this whole mess had started. If they’d known the couple was in the house, they would never