Chapter Seventeen
Pete Oliver’s boat had a pair of bellowing twelve cylinder diesels and ran like a train on the trip south. He put the throttles down and set her on course about a mile offshore to keep out of the strongest part of the Gulf Stream, which flowed against them at two knots. The boat was a real pleasure. She was a big, broad shouldered b***h, and howled across the calm summer sea like a thoroughbred on a race track.
The only place you could hear yourself think with the engines spooled up like that was on the fly bridge. Nadine Olson and Motýl Falk got down to bikinis pretty early, and took possession of the two fighting chairs on the boat’s back deck, slathering each other with suntan lotion every once in a while.
Mickey watched them out of the corner of his eye, noticing t
