Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series) Read Online Free

of commercial fishermen have done the same thing. Hell, if it weren’t for my inheritance seven years ago from my grandpa, I might have been tempted.
    “So, why are you telling me all this?” I asked.
    Jimmy answered, “Carl needs help, man. He doesn’t have any family left here, besides Angie and the little kids. He respects you, man. I think you might be able to help him out, somehow.”
    “He respects me?” I asked. “We’ve barely nodded to one another over a beer at the Anchor . He doesn’t even know me.”
    “Jesse,” Angie said, “you could probably count the number of close friends you have on your fingers, but everyone knows you and knows you’re a stand-up guy. Can you at least talk to him?” Her eyes started to well with tears.
    “Does he know you came out here to see me?” I asked.
    Jimmy started to fidget on the bench, a sure sign that he was nervous about something. “Not exactly, man,” he said. “Truth is, Carl’s a proud dude and will probably try to handle this himself. I’m, er, that is, we’re worried he might get himself hurt, or worse.”
    “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go talk to him. Maybe we can come up with a way to get him off the hook with this guy without anyone getting hurt.”
    Angie hugged me around the neck and said, “Oh, thank you Jesse. You have no idea what this means to me.”
    “I can’t promise anything, Angie. He might not even cop to what he’s doing. And if he does, we might not be able to come up with an answer. I’ll go talk to him. Where’s he live?”
    She got a piece of paper and a pen from her purse and wrote down an address on Stock Island, the last island before Key West. I knew that most of the people that lived there were working stiffs. A lot of trailer parks. She said he’d be home for a couple days, before going back out. I agreed that I’d go down there tomorrow and asked Angie if there was a dock near his house. She gave me the name of a marina, just a couple blocks from his house. We talked about other things for a few more minutes, then Jimmy said they had to get back because Angie had to work. Once they left, I walked back and sat down on the bench. Pescador looked up at me, expectantly.
    “What do you think, Pescador?” I said. He looked across the clearing, toward the bunkhouses and the dock beyond and barked once, then looked back up at me.
    “I agree. Let’s go catch some more.”

3
Friday morning
    Civil War History
     
    I woke up the next morning, well before sunrise. As usual, Pescador was awake and laying on his old poncho liner when I walked into the living room. I walked over to the door and opened it. He waited until I nodded at him, then he was off like a shot, bounding down the steps at the back of the house to relieve himself on a banyan tree. I did likewise over the side of the deck. I went back inside and put on a pair of cargo shorts, a denim shirt and topsiders. Then grabbed my 'go bag' from the closet by the door. It's a small duffle that held all kinds of things that a boater might need if stranded, including a small case that held my Sig Sauer P226 nine millimeter semiautomatic pistols, and three magazines loaded with Parabellums.
    I wanted to stop by Big Pine Key Fishing Lodge to get a breakfast sandwich and catch up on the coconut telegraph with some fishing guides that were always there early in the morning. I’d been away from civilization long enough. After that, I planned to run on the outside, following the reef line down to Stock Island in the Grady White.
    I locked up the house and carried the bag down to the docks, along with a cooler full of ice, bottled water, and beer. I put them on the boat and untied her, then opened the door behind the Grady White and the skiffs. It was a tight squeeze getting all four boats under the house. The Revenge was nestled in the west side, with its own door. Alex's skiff was docked crossways in the back of the east side, with my skiff and the Grady in front of it. I