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stability as I moved about.
    Kane had raised the iron outriggers until they formed a black V against the sky. The pink chafing gear designed to protect the trawl nets from wear as they dragged against the sea bottom looked like two blobs of rouge applied to wrinkled faces. I wished I knew more about the boat, but Kane always said it was a working boat, not a pleasure craft. He’d only invited me aboard for a tour one Wednesday last year—a very brief tour.
    “Want to sit in the wheel house?” He nodded toward the cabin.
    I wanted to see more of the boat, but today was no time to expect another guided tour.
    “How about sitting aft where we can catch a few rays and see the action around us. We can keep our voices low.”
    “Suits me.”
    I helped Kane pull two canvas chairs onto the deck, positioning them so we’d have an almost unobstructed view of the Gulf. The sea always makes me feel miniscule and unimportant, but it never seems to affect Kane that way. He stood for a moment looking at the horizon, completely at ease as captain of The Buccaneer. I thought and hoped he’d want to talk about Diego, but he surprised me.

Chapter 5
    (Still Sunday Morning)
    “Rafa, I’m mad as hell at the commissioners for passing legislation that forced hard-working shrimpers from what they had claimed for years as their working waters.”
    “There’s nothing anyone can do about it now. The Citizen’s printed news of that controversy for months, no, for years. Politics. But it turned out to be good news for you. You have a great boat slip right here at the harbor walk, and I guess there’s no shortage of shrimp waiting for your nets.”
    “The Citizen may have dropped the subject of working waters as they relate to Key West shrimpers, but I checked recently, and no shrimp docks remain on Stock Island, either. Not only that, but the artisans on Shrimp Road worry that they’ll be forced from that area, too. Painters, wood workers, craftsmen—their quaint shops are on the last available land near working water space in the lower keys. When the land owners decide to sell, those businesses are doomed.”
    “I read the commissioners’ thinking on the subject. Politics! They try to make the changes sound as if they’re benefiting Stock Island, but I doubt it. It’s all politics. The only good thing about proposed laws is that changes take a long time to happen in Monroe County.
    “But eventually they do happen.” Kane pounded a fist into his palm. “They happen exactly as the majority of commissioners plan for them to happen.”
    “You mean the Gang of Three? Diego was one of the commissioners.” I hoped mentioning Diego’s name would remind Kane of last night and get him off the topic of politics.
    “Don’t know about any Gang of Three, Rafa. Don’t know the insider scoop on things going on at the courthouse, but folks who ignore stuff that happened years ago may need to wake up—me included. History has a way of repeating itself.”
    “Like making the free-loading live-aboards along Houseboat Row move their boats to paying slips at Garrison Bight?” I asked.
    “Right. If we don’t remember things that happened in the past, we condemn ourselves to repeat similar things. I read that somewhere, but it’s true.” Kane brought us sodas from a cooler in the wheel house. “Old timers tell me the live-aboards fought moving for over thirty years, but a few years ago, the change took place.”
    “I think Diego lived on Houseboat Row when he first came to Key West.” My trying to get the conversation back to Diego failed.
    “Diego told me that he left Houseboat Row willingly,” Kane said, “but some of the captains left their anchorages kicking and screaming, when new laws forced them out.”
    I sipped my drink, enjoying the tingle on my tongue. “Everyone has to face change.”
    “And House Boat Row no longer exists. It’s a thing of the past. Personally, that area didn’t bother me. I was one of many who thought