Mr. Bobby's is a fisherman's bar. It never closes. Located on the waterfront inside the protected bay of Marsh Harbor, the bar has a three hundred foot long pier that runs straight out into the water. Fishing boats, charter boats, sailboats, and visiting yachts use the docking facilities.
We walked into the dark, cool bar with its low ceilings and full-length doors on three sides, soon after sunrise. Aged fans turned slowly moving stale air. The bar was empty except for a lone female swaying and weaving in front of the old jukebox to 'Yellow Bird,' the Bahamian national anthem. Oblivious to the world, her bare feet, slim legs, and short skirt seemed to move of their own free will, revealing the panties she did not wear, the bra she never owned. She was made for smoky bars, cocaine highs, and ten-minute trips to the men's room.
A giant of a man stepped out of the storeroom carrying a case of beer. "What'll it be, gents?" he asked, without looking at us.
"How about better service to start with?" Dave growled.
The big man, putting the beer into the cooler had his back to us. He stiffened, remained motionless. Straightening up, he did not turn around, but bellowed a booming laugh that shook his entire body. Cocking a massive head to one side, he turned and looked through narrowed eyes.
"I'd know that voice in hell. Mr. Dave, what you doing on the
…Well, I'll be, it's Cop'um Jay, too. What a pleasant surprise for this glorious morning. It's shore good to see you both. Mr. Bobby, he be out in a minute. He be glad to see you, also."
The big man, whose name was Skinner, came over and shook hands. We'd known him for years. Standing six feet five inches and well over three hundred pounds, he was a massive and powerful man. No one knew his exact origin, but rumor had it that his mother was from Cuba and his father a black Bahamian fisherman. He'd been orphaned as a child, and cared for by a local whore until he was ten years old. The whore died, and Skinner lived on the streets and around the waterfront until Mr. Bobby caught him stealing beer off his loading dock. Soon after that, Bobby adopted him. They've been together ever since, except for a short time when Skinner tried out with the Pittsburgh Pirates baseball team after being noticed by Roberto Clemente, who was on the island fishing for the giant tuna. A knee injury in the minor league ended the baseball and Skinner returned to Marsh Harbor.
"Bring us a bottle of cognac and a couple of those Cuban cigars Bobby keeps hidden away behind the bar."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Dave. I might even join you for a drink being as I'm so glad to see you."
He brought the cognac and cigars, and poured us each two fingers in short whisky shot glasses. Skinner made a toast, and we drank the hot, alcoholic brandy like ice water. He poured another two fingers, but none for himself.
Dave eyed the woman at the jukebox. "Would you see that we're not disturbed for a few minutes. We have some important business to discuss."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Dave. Don't worry about her, she belongs to the 'Sisterhood of the eternally medicated.' You can rest assured no one will bother you till you tell me otherwise." He walked over and said something to the woman who quickly left the bar, throwing hateful looks at us.
Dave bit the end off his cigar, picked up a kitchen match from the small holder on the table, struck it with his thumbnail, and slowly lit the aged tobacco. He looked at me with dark, serious eyes. "How are you going to handle this Renoir thing?"
"I haven't had time to think it through. The first thing is to call Glossman. I'll know more after that. Do you think we can believe Barrel-chest?"
"Dying men don't lie." He blew smoke up toward one of the ceiling fans, watching it disappear in a swirl.
"Yeah."
"Let's have a few drinks, then get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll help you make some plans." He poured more cognac. "Of course, I'll have to bill you at the usual rate."
"Of course."
An hour and a half bottle of cognac later we heard a loud commotion from the back of the bar.
"What's all the racket out here, Skinner? I thought I told you to keep the drunks quiet in the mornings?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Bobby, but these drunks, they be a different breed."
Bobby appeared hitching up his britches, kept tied with a length of half-inch sisal rope run around the outside of the belt loops. Looking over at us with a frown, he said, "Well I'll be keel-hauled, look what the sharks dragged ashore. What are you two doing on the island?"
He came over and shook hands with a big, meaty paw as powerful as a vise. A stocky man about six feet in height, he had huge arms developed from years of fishing and diving commercially for crawfish. He was one of the strongest men I have ever known. Skinner was the only one ever to beat him arm wrestling, and Bobby would not speak to him for a week. He possessed a pair of eyes that could freeze your heart, and let you know he would back up what he said.
Bobby built this bar twenty years ago. It was soon after he'd survived a near drowning during a hurricane that sank the crawfish boat he was working on. He vowed never to go to sea again. He never has. Now, he is an alcoholic who drinks all day, every day, though I have never seen him drunk.
Sitting down with us, he motioned for Skinner to bring him a glass. He sipped slowly on the cognac. I could see it rise in him then, from somewhere in his stomach, that tyrannical craving for alcohol, hot and satiny and sedating. It made him lick his lips and squeeze his hands. He felt that something was expected of him, that our eyes were on him, measuring him, that here now was the chance to win back the respect lost that horrible day to the sea. We both loved this old man, but would never try to change him.
Half an hour later, Dave excused himself, saying he needed to talk to Karl Strange about his son, Will. I'd make the call to Glossman, and we would meet back here, then we'd get some sleep.
After Dave left, Skinner came over and sat with Bobby and me. Skinner said he knew Will, and that he was a good boy. All boys go through that wild stage. He knew that the boy was messing with some bad people, but he didn't realize it was the dopers. If he had, he would have put a stop to it.
Bobby said that they tried to set up shop in his bar when they first started operating in the islands, but he wouldn't put up with it and ran them out. They did most of their business up at Treasure Cay anyway so it did not turn into a war. He said that they would keep an eye on the two from up at Walker's Cay that tried to steal back the cocaine.
The wind picked up outside and a salt-filled breeze wafted through the tall doors. Waves showed whitecaps in the harbor, appearing like fields of diamonds. The cognac began to act as a sedative; it had been a long night. Tension washed away like the waves beyond the door, and I began to feel like a human being again. If I was going to call Glossman, it had better be now.
"Do you still have to make calls to the states from the telephone office?"
"Yeah, up the road about half a mile. You remember?"
"If Dave returns before I get back, tell him I won't be long."
The bright sunshine hurt my eyes. My legs felt leaden and rubbery. The coral cuts were sore and oozing blood. Kathy's bandages needed changing. A quarter mile up the dusty road, a black sedan almost ran over me. Sitting on the passenger side was Lynn Renoir. The cognac numbed my senses, but it was Lynn. I could not see who else was in the car.
At the telephone office the operator assigned me a phone and put my call through to Glossman. His secretary seemed anxious to hear from me. Glossman came on the line immediately.
"Jay, we were worried. Is everything okay?"
I filled him in on all the information we learned from Barrel-chest. He listened quietly, making no comments. Ending the conversation, I related seeing Lynn headed for the airport only minutes ago.
He offered to send a plane down this afternoon, but I asked to wait until tomorrow so that we could get some rest and clear up a couple of things. Kathy Peirce was on my mind. He agreed and said that the plane would land around two p.m. the next day.
The walk back to Bobby's Bar took me past the big grocery store where the young children begged for money from the tourists. The goodhearted mainlanders who yielded to their pleas were doing a great injustice to them. A new hotel was being built on the east side of the road to attract more unneeded visitors to this quiet island village.
Dave was waiting for me. He looked as bad as I felt. We had one more drink while I filled him in on the conversation with Glossman. Bobby said if we'd show up at the bar around noon tomorrow that he would prepare a big seafood lunch for us. We appreciated the gesture and assured him we would be there.
I asked if he'd send Skinner down to B.J.'s house and invite Kathy to join us. He said he might go himself, being as she was so pretty.
We took one of the cigarette boats back to American Harbor at Man-O-War Cay. We boarded the sailboat, Dave took the Vee-birth, and I fell into the portside bunk. We were asleep instantly.