Free Tampa Star (Blackfox Chronicles Book 1) by T.S. O'Neil

half-full beer can nestled against his crotch.  It was Saturday afternoon and he figured Tommy would be tying one on and Char wanted some company.
    “Hey, Char, what the hell are you doing here?” Tommy asked as he reclined on a weathered aluminum chaise lounge that sat out in front of his apartment.
    “Drinking,” said Char. “And since I did not want to do it alone, I figured I’d come over here and we would kill a few brain cells together.”
    “Sounds like a plan,” said Tommy.  He looked at Char for a minute and then a sly grin came across his face; he jumped up from the lounge chair and ran inside, returning a minute later with a bottle of A. H. Hirsch Reserve Straight Bourbon Whiskey and a package wrapped in butcher paper.
    “Look what I got here, old son! I did some work on that Bertram over there, unofficially, of course as the guy was taking some buddies out fishing and his engine crapped out before he even left the dock.  I worked a little magic and lo and behold, we have a bottle of A.H. Hirsch, which is one of the smoothest whiskeys out there, by the way, and two nice Ahi tuna steaks!”
    “Nicely done, Tommy,” replied Char. 
    Tommy built a charcoal fire on the brick barbeque grill that the old man had installed to host employee gatherings. He threw a couple of aluminum foil clad potatoes into the coals and waited for them to cook, opened up a can of Del Monte French cut string beans and placed the can on the grill. Finally, he placed the tuna steaks on top for a short braising. They ate off old porcelain plates that came with Tommy’s apartment. 
    Char took a bite of the rare Ahi, smiled and clicked his beer bottle with Tommy’s.
    “High living,” he toasted. Tommy smiled and nodded his head in agreement.    
    They finished eating and then got down to serious drinking as the sun cast long shadows over the parking lot in front of Tommy’s apartment. They both smoked; Tommy a Winston and Char, a Lucky Strike, non-filter.   
    Char took a drink of whiskey from a plastic glass, took a drag on his smoke, looked at Tommy, and said “I’m in.”
    “You’re in?” Questioned Tommy, as a smile spread slowly across his face.
    “Yeah, fuck that asshole and the ship he rode in on,” replied Char.  He went on to explain seeing Carla leaving for her tennis game and how she had all but admitted she was seeing Block.
    “Why that Aussie cocksucker!” replied Tommy.     
    They drank into the night, too drunk to seriously plan any details, but Tommy figured Char would not back out, not with the real motivation of wanting revenge for getting his girl stolen. Tommy would have just stabbed the guy!
    Char slept in the chaise lounge and woke up with a hangover. Tommy was already in the kitchen brewing coffee and pulling packages out of the refrigerator. Char smelled bacon frying and figured some grease might quiet his sour stomach.  Tommy fried up a dozen eggs, added a pound of bacon, and half a loaf of French bread Tommy bought at the brokerage’s grocery store.
    The place was a wonder, run by an old Frenchman, who had sailed around the world until he tired and then decided to own one of the best equipped marina groceries around.  The fact that he was able to shoehorn a fully equipped grocery, bakery and liquor store into the space of a one car garage was a testament to his ingenuity, pride, but mostly a near fanatical desire to keep his customers from going to the Publix Supermarket located a mere half mile away.    
    They ate ravenously, but in silence, trying to staunch the queasy feeling in their stomachs and the pounding in their heads by shoveling the breakfast fare in and washing it all down with strong black coffee. Breakfast finished, Tommy suggested they move inside to discuss things in private as customers were starting to drift into the yard.
    Tommy instinctively figured that Char would change his mind now that he was sober and was surprised when he said, “Gold is about