Tom Sanders

 

Operation Fishhook

They were 'too damn friendly, too damn fast.' Zeke nailed them right from the start.

~

They arrived on island, went straight to the first real estate office they saw, and introduced themselves as Carlos and Mickey. Nobody bothered much with last names in Bay Key anyway. They rented space in a rundown mini-mall on the main road onto the Island. A Laundromat was next door, and there was a Quik Stop on the corner. An apartment was available nearby. They gave it a cursory look, and rented it too.

Carlos seldom spoke. Mickey never shut up; muttering to himself, asking questions, but not waiting for answers, not really saying anything, mostly just babbling. The real estate agent didn't interrupt, and he did not ask why they had come to Bay Key.

Carlos pulled out a thick wad of bills, and peeled off enough money to pay the security deposits, and first and last months’ rent. It was the only money the real estate man had earned in several weeks, and the cash payment made it easy to keep the rentals off the books. Unreported income was what the Internal Revenue Service called it.

Bamboozles, flimflams and fiddles, such deceptions were common in Bay Key. It was a 'live and let live' kind of place, an isolated little village on Florida's Gulf Coast where the road came to an end.

Most islanders made their living from the sea, fishing and crabbing, or from tourism. At the moment, there wasn't much of either.

The news media was partially to blame. It had been almost a week since Hurricane Madge moved ashore near the mouth of the Suwanee River just north of Bay Key. As Hurricanes go, she wasn't very exciting. Madge was a weak storm with winds barely gusting to hurricane force. She got headlines anyway. There wasn't much else happening, and TV producers had newscasts to fill.

On the TV in the M&M bar, 'mean and mangy' the barflies called it, a couple of fishermen were watching the news on the cable network.

The weatherman was telling viewers, ''Bay Key, Florida, residents are bracing for the onslaught of Hurricane Madge tonight.''

Barry the bartender shook his head and laughed. "You guys BRACED enough?" he asked.

"Probably best you BRACE us again, Barry,'' one of the fishermen answered. " Dos Equis and tequila chasers this time. We want to be sure we're fully BRACED."

The fishermen got drunk, wobbled back to the docks, and slept aboard their boats to make sure their mooring lines held when the storm came through.

Madge caused only minor damage, a few trees down, a bit of flooding, and debris blown about. Everybody pitched in to make repairs and clean up. By the end of the day, there was little evidence a storm had passed through.

The harm to Bay Key was economic. The news coverage scared off the tourists. Restaurants, hotels, motels, art shops, the bait and tackle store, the corn dog stand down on the dock, all the places that survived on tourist dollars, were empty and idle in what was usually one of the busiest months of the year.

Commercial fishing was in worse shape. Fish and crabs had been declining for years, the result of over-fishing and environmental pollution of the breeding habitat, the coastal wetlands. Some days, the crabbers and fishermen didn't even catch or trap enough to pay for their ice and gasoline. When red tide bloomed near Tampa and spread north up the West Coast, they lost another source of income when state biologists quarantined Bay Key's oyster beds. Then a new state law banning net fishing went into effect. That was the end of the rope for some families who had made their living on the water for generations.

Repo men with rotweilers riding shotgun cruised the island in tow trucks looking for cars, boats, and even trailer homes whose owners had missed too many payments. Islanders were seeking solace in drink. There were a lot of fights. Tempers were short. Bar tabs were long, going unpaid, and getting cut off. Customers who drank name brand booze switched to less expensive bar brands. It was a financial barometer of sorts on an island where drinking was a serious pastime.

The islanders of Bay Key were struggling to make a buck, legally if they could, illegally if that was what it took to survive.

It was amid such hard times that the two strangers opened a video rental store.

~

"A video store?" Zeke and Rattlesnake Billy finished their drinks in the Neptune Bar at the Bay Hotel. "We already have a video store, Billy. It doesn't make sense."

"I know partner. Wait'll you meet these guys. They're your 'instant buddy for life' kind a fellas." Billy got off his barstool. "Can ya give me a ride home? Debby's running errands in the truck."

Zeke nodded.

His Harley was parked in front of the hotel, a '69 flathead, glistening chrome and black lacquer. Zeke cranked up. They waited for a moment letting the engine settle in to a rumbling purr.

Then Billy climbed aboard. "You know, I read somewheres that Harley-Davidson copyrighted the sound of their engine."

"Uh-huh.'' Zeke accelerated down Main Street, the Harley's sweet sound drowning out further conversation. He made a wide arc around an old dog sleeping in the middle of the road.

Their route took them past the new video store. Billy's pickup was in the parking lot. They doubled back and pulled into a vacant space.

Floyd Butler, without a doubt Bay Key's most incompetent handyman, balanced precariously on a stepladder attempting to mount a spotlight above the store's new sign, a big fishhook, a rod and reel, and the words 'Fishhook Video. Reel in your favorite movie'.

Floyd dropped the bit he was trying to fit into a power drill. Billy picked it up, and handed it back.

"Floyd, Your stepladder's crooked, and you' re stoned. Come down before you hurt yourself. I'll finish that."

"Na, thanks Billy. I got it. Great sign, huh."

''Well, It ain't exactly Shakespeare." Billy said.

" Shakespeare?" Zeke asked. "You read Shakespeare?"

"Saw the movie. Let's go see what Debby's up to?"

Their path was blocked by the island psychopath. Bobby Palmer was sprawled in the doorway drinking beer from a bottle in a paper bag. When he was five years old, he doused his mother with lighter fluid at a community barbecue and set her on fire. Bobby was laughing as a neighbour rolled his mother on the ground to smother the flames.

Bobby's brain was fried from booze, uppers, downers, speed, cocaine; anything that crossed his path that he could snort, smoke, or swallow. He had been in trouble all his life, was a regular in the county jail, and had done hard time at Raiford prison.

Bobby gulped steroids like candy and pumped a lot of iron. He dressed to show of his muscles and tattoos, wore a bandanna for a headband, and army camouflage pants. He took pleasure in bullying and intimidating people. Bobby had never had the courage to take on Zeke, but one of these days, maybe.

He moved aside with as much of a 'fuck you' look as he thought he could get away with, and let Zeke and Billy pass. Bobby tossed the beer bottle into the parking lot where it shattered near Zeke's Harley.

"A real choice clientele they're …." Billy paused in mid-sentence.

''What tha…that son-of-a-bitch is trying to hit on my old lady." He stomped across the store to where Debby was trapped at the end of an aisle by a tall longhaired fellow with a moustache and goatee.

"You give all your customers personal service, or just my wife?” There was an edge in Billy's voice.

"Oh hi. It's Billy, Rattlesnake Billy, isn't it? Mickey's my name. Yeah, met you in the M&M the other night. Just showing your Missus here the latest movies. Didja see the new sign? Fishhook video, reel in your movie. I thought it up." Mickey laughed. He didn't miss a beat.

''And you," Mickey spun around on his heel. "We haven't met, but hey man, I’ve heard a lot about you you're 'ZEKE, THE MAN!"

Zeke hated bullshit. Mickey held out his hand. Zeke ignored it.

"What have you heard?'' Zeke's voice was not friendly.

''Ah, you know, you drive the… You're a, what do they call it?"

"EMT, emergency medical technician". Zeke answered.

"Yeah, yeah. That's it."

Zeke wondered if Mickey was on cocaine or speed, or maybe it was all an act.

The door behind the counter opened, and Carlos emerged. The smell of marijuana wafted through the store. Zeke noticed Daryl, Mullet Mike and some other locals passing a joint in the back room before the spring pulled the door closed. Carlos gave Zeke a hard look as if he was sizing him up. Zeke stared back.

Carlos started to say something when the front window exploded, the stepladder toppling through the glass. Floyd lay on the ground outside holding his elbow and groaning in pain.

"I think your medical skills are needed partner." Billy said to Zeke.

" I'm off duty."

"Remember your hypocritical oath, Zeke."

" Billy, what the Hell are you talking about?"

"You know the hypo, hippo, the words on the plaque with the snakes."

"Jesus, Billy. I'm an EMT, not a doctor. I go around scraping people off the pavement and," Zeke paused and broke into a grin. He had found Billy's humour in it. "And take them to the people with the hippocritical oath."

Zeke didn't panic in difficult situations, a survival skill he learned as an army medic in Vietnam. Nevertheless, Bay Key often tested his medical skills. There was no doctor on the island, and the closest trauma hospital was an hour away.

As he examined Floyd's arm, Zeke remembered the numerous times he had tended Floyd's injuries. That was true of most of the people standing around watching him work. He and Billy met when a dead rattlesnake bit Billy. There was the time he rushed Debby to the hospital with an ovarian cyst that could have killed her if it burst. He kept her calm by swapping dirty jokes along the way. And there was Daryl. Poor Daryl was losing body parts at an alarming rate; a thumb to a chain saw, part of an earlobe to a friend's bulldog. He achieved a notoriety of sorts at his 30th birthday party when he accidentally shot his own balls off with a pistol.

Zeke helped Floyd to his feet. A fool's luck saved him from falling through the window. He had a bad bruise from the fall but no broken bones.

Zeke put on his leather jacket, and started to leave. He saw the zig zag scratch across his gas tank when he went to get on his Harley, eight inches or so, slashed deep into the black lacquer paint finish. Bobby was standing near the doorway, watching. He looked away, but not quick enough to hide the sneer on his face. Zeke was off his bike in a second.

There was no talking, no cussing, or name-calling, no pushing and shoving. This was a street fight and there were no preliminaries. Zeke feinted with his right. Up came Bobby's left. Zeke kicked him hard in the balls. It caught Bobby completely off-guard. He groaned and started to double up. Zeke finished him off with a left upper-cut that smashed Bobby's nose, a blow so hard it lifted him off his feet and onto the sidewalk.

Carlos ran out the door, and started to intervene, saw the look on Zeke's face and changed his mind. Rattlesnake Billy was covering Zeke's back in case Mickey was dumber than his partner.

“Eight seconds in round one.” Zeke said as he walked over to his motorcycle and took an old towel from a saddlebag.

Bobby was dazed, but conscious. Blood gushed from his nose. Zeke held the towel against Bobby's face and stanched the blood flow. He lifted Bobby to his feet, took Bobby's wallet from his pants pocket, and counted out five twenty-dollar bills.

"That ought to pay for the paint job. Don’t ever fuck with me or my bike again." He tossed the wallet at Bobby.

Zeke turned to Carlos. "Your doorman here could do with some medical attention. His nose is broken."

~

Zeke and Rattlesnake Billy shared a passion for bass fishing, although Billy's angling skills, and knowledge of the Suwannee River were far superior to Zeke's. Billy's goal was to set a new Florida record, to catch a bigger black bass than the 17 pound, 4 ounce fish caught in 1986. He fished alone in fishing holes and cut-offs along the river where patience and experience taught him big bass lurked. He wouldn't tell anyone where he fished. There had only been one exception.

When he was snakebit and partially sedated, Zeke duped him into revealing one of his favourite spots. He fished there while Billy was recovering in the hospital, and caught a 12-pound bass. Zeke had it mounted on a walnut plaque that he hung in his cottage, or as Billy called it, 'my damn fish hanging in your damn house.' It pissed him off every time he saw it.

Spying on Billy is what Zeke was doing when he discovered Bay Key's police chief in a clandestine rendezvous with Carlos and Mickey. It was a quiet day, no emergency calls, and Zeke was cruising the back roads along the Suwannee looking for Billy's pickup. When he drove past Billy's house that morning, Zeke noticed Billy's aluminium skiff wasn't in the storage shed, which meant he was likely fishing the river. Zeke was hoping to find out where.

As Zeke passed a turnoff to a logging road leading into the woods, he glimpsed the sun flash off the rear end of Woody Waller's patrol car. A beat up old grey Chevrolet biscayne was parked beside it. He had seen the Chevy the night before in the parking lot at the video store.

Zeke parked the ambulance down the next logging road, took his binoculars and a camera with a telephoto lens from a bag he kept under the seat, and walked into the woods.

Waller was a pot-bellied parody of a small town cop, a pompous, dim-witted man with a badge and a gun. His patrol car was loaded with every radio, gadget, and doodad known to modern law enforcement. He did not know how to operate some of the equipment, especially the new digital stuff, but he sure was impressed with how it all beeped, blinked and scrolled in multi-colours.

It had all been paid for by Florida's asset seizure law that gave police the right to confiscate and sell the property of suspected drug dealers and to use the profit pretty much as they saw fit. It was intended as a weapon in Florida's war on drugs. The reality was that some police abused the Orwellian power the law gave them. The key word was 'suspected'. There was no legal requirement that police present evidence to ensure arrest or conviction, just police suspicion, and the cops could confiscate most anything they wanted. Some of them used the law to settle old scores, some to supplement their income.

Quite a few good ole boys with a couple of stalks of home grown in the back yard found themselves promoted to the status of major drug trafficker, stripped of everything they owned, cars, trucks, boats, and even their houses. And there would be Woody's picture in the paper, standing around with other members of the Tri-county Police Anti-drug Task Force, holding uprooted marijuana plants up to the camera in a stranglehold, and grinning like idiots.

Zeke made his way carefully through the pinewoods, got close enough to take a few photographs, but far enough away so that the click of the camera shutter wouldn't betray his presence. He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but could see they had a marine chart spread out on the hood of the Chevy. Mickey and Carlos seemed to be doing most of the talking. Bobby Palmer was sitting in the Chevy, door open, listening to the radio. Zeke noted with satisfaction, the white surgical tape criss-crossed over his swollen nose.

After he got off shift, Zeke took the film to a 1-hour developer and faxed the prints to a friend in Coral Gables. Then he took his Harley out to JJ's auto repair on the highway to Gainesville. He was sanding the gas tank so that JJ could repaint it when Woody Waller pulled up, got out of his cruiser, and walked over to where Zeke and JJ were working.

"Mind coming out back with me so's we can talk in private?" Waller asked.

"'Sure.'' Zeke shut down the electric sander. They walked into the lot behind JJ's garage.

''I hear you and Bobby Palmer got into it last night." Waller reached down and slapped his pant leg. "You got no business taking the law into your own hands, Zeke.''

"Somebody's got to. You sure as hell don't. Bobby's a goddamn psychopath. ''

Woody started to speak, but Zeke cut him off. " Nobody fucks with my motorcycle. Nobody.''

"Now Zeke. Hold on there. Don't cha go getting all stroppy with me."

"Now Zeke, MY ASS, Woody. What's he doing hanging out with those guys that opened the video store? What are they doing here anyway?"

"I don't know. Damn! Ouch!" Waller slapped at his pants and scratched his groin. "I guess they're here same reason as you and me. Maybe they like it here." Waller slapped both legs this time. ''I haven't met them.''

''You haven't met em? Don't know anything about them?''

''Nope.''

''Woody"

''Yeah?''

"You're standing on an ant hill.”

"Oh? Oh Yeah!"

"Red ants, Woody. Those are RED ants."

~

When Zeke got home that night, Daryl's wife Ellie was sitting on his doorstep. She looked scared.

Zeke had a lot of time for Ellie. She was dirt poor, but proud. She worked hard waitressing, housekeeping, and dishwashing, whatever work she could get. She and Daryl had a little boy named Danny, conceived, of course, before Daryl shot his balls off. Their marriage had its ups and downs, but the one thing solid throughout was their love for their child.

"You look like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.'' Zeke said. The old saying drew a smile from Ellie. "Come on in, and I'll make us some coffee." Zeke went into the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with two steaming cups.

He took a bottle of Pussers dark rum and poured a dollop into his coffee. Ellie declined the offer.

"So, tell me what's got you so worried?"

"It's Daryl, Zeke. He's hanging out with Bobby Palmer again, and those creeps at the Video store. The finance company is threatening to repossess the pickup, and we're two months behind in payments on the boat. Every time I try to talk about it, Daryl says don't worry. We'll have plenty of money in a few weeks. 'Don't worry. Be Happy.' He keeps singing that damn Bobby McFerrin song."

"Drugs?" Zeke asked.

"Yep."

"Shit!"

"Zeke, you know Daryl's no drug dealer. Aw, he smokes a little pot now and then, but not around the kid. I think he's into something way over his head. If he gets busted and sent to jail…" Ellie was fighting to hold back the tears. ''Don't know what I'd do.".

"Anything else?"

"Well, he and Bobby used the boat yesterday. Mickey and Carlos went along and paid for the gas….said they were fishing, but didn't bring back anything."

"Where is the boat? I haven't seen it at the marina lately.''

''Daryl's worried it's gonna get repoed. He's been hiding it round back of Shell Mound, in that little inlet. Will you talk to him? Please Zeke".

''For you, Ellie, I'll talk to Daryl.''

"For Danny, Zeke".

"and for Danny".

~

Tui was relaxing in the poolside Jacuzzi when he glanced through the window of his office and noticed a message coming in on the fax. He had designed the office at his home in Coral Gables with plenty of glass so that he could keep an eye on the kids playing in the pool when he was working. Only now, there were no children to watch. His seven-year-old daughter and five-year-old son were with his wife, Mercedes, and his wife was living with her parents in their mansion on Star Island, Miami Beach. From the day they were married, her parents had tried to split them up, and it looked as if they had finally succeeded.

Mercedes’ father was a big shot, a very prominent and wealthy Cuban exile, and a virulent spokesman for the militant anti-Castro group Alpha 66. The money came from the family rum business, a considerable chunk of which had been lost when Castro won the revolution.

Tui was a California surfer, black belt sensei in several martial arts, who moved to Florida and made his fortune as a drug dealer in Coconut Grove. He married Mercedes the day she told him she was pregnant. Mercedes father and mother tried to talk her into getting an annulment and an abortion. When that failed, they tried to buy Tui off. When that failed, they dedicated themselves to destroying the marriage.

The thought of becoming a father prompted Tui to do what a lot of people in the drug trade talk about but seldom accomplish. He took his profits and got out clean. He invested in the stock market, bought a foreign car dealership, and a started a chain of martial arts centers. He was a hands-on manager. He got friends to go into his dealership and pose as prospective buyers to see how his sales staff would handle them. Anyone hired to teach at his martial arts schools sparred a few rounds with Tui as part of their job interview. He learned how to make money legally, and he was good at it.

At first, Tui tried to establish a friendly relationship with Mercedes' parents. They were openly hostile. He took lessons to improve his Spanish. They insulted and embarrassed him by correcting his pronunciation in front of others. Instead of improving, the relationship deteriorated.

''My gringo, drug dealing, son-of-a-bitch, son-in-law'', Mercedes father called Tui one night after too many drinks in a Little Havana restaurant.

''My Batista ass-kissing father-in-law,' Tui shot back, the retort a reference to his father-in-law's chummy relationship with the bloody dictator overthrown by Castro. Mercedes father threw the first and only punch. Tui easily blocked the blow, but did not retaliate. He walked out of the restaurant ignoring the obscenities shouted at his back.

They had not spoken since. When Mercedes’ father threatened to cut her out of the will, she had gone home to Daddy.

''He means it this time.” she said over her shoulder as she walked out the door. “ It's a considerable inheritance,"

The message from Zeke arrived at just the right time. It was the perfect antidote to Tui's depression.

One reason Tui never got busted was because he made it a top priority to know who he was up against. He kept files on the police, federal, state, and local cops involved in the so-called war against drugs. After he quit dealing, he continued to keep the files current. It was a hobby of sorts.

He turned on the computer. A few hours later, he telephoned Zeke.

"Your guess was right. They're narcs, and, from the information I found, I'd say they're not very bright."

"For example?" Zeke asked.

"Miguel Rodriquez, the one you know as Carlos, kicked down the wrong door in a drug raid in Jacksonville last year and shot an 80-year-old man to death. Rodriquez said he thought the man had a weapon. It was his walking cane for Christ's sake!"

"And Mickey?"

"Mickey's his real name, probably because he doesn't have the brains to remember an alias. A real asshole. Worked vice in Orlando, had a reputation for beating up gays. Anyway, you are dealing with two bona fide flakes. Sting operation?"

"Yep."

"'Gonna bust it up?"

''Something like that…throw in a wrench somewhere. Try to save some friends from their own stupidity.''

"Need help?"

"You still race boats?''

"Yes."

''Cigarettes?"

"Of course.

"Depending on what happens, a fast boat might come in handy."

"You're in luck. The boat's over in New Port Ritchey at the moment. I'm entered in some West Coast races later this month. It's a quick run up the coast to Bay Key."

"That's a pretty good distance, Tui."

''It's a very fast boat, Zeke."

"You sure you want to get involved?"

"'Why are you doing it?''

"To help a scrawny little redneck boy named Danny."

"That's good enough for me. Just tell me where and when. I'll be there."

''Thanks Tui''.

''Oh yeah. One thing more. I checked out this Bobby Palmer. A real piece of work this guy. He was busted for selling methamphetemines in some town near Bay Key, Bronson, I think, couple of months ago. My source tells me the State Attorney hasn't prosecuted because of a legal technicality. You know what that means."

"Yeah. It's what I figured. Thanks Tui". Zeke hung up the phone.

"We need a third musketeer,’’ he said aloud. Zeke dialled Rattlesnake Billy.

~

By the time Zeke reached Shell Mound, he was covered in mud and cussing a blue streak. The Harley wasn’t a trail bike, and the road to Shell mound wasn't a road. It had gone from asphalt to gravel, finally to a muddy track through the mangroves. It was like running an obstacle course. The only way to get through some places was to make a running start and power through the mud.

Darryl heard him coming and was waiting at the end of what was left of an old dock, a few pilings and warped and weathered boards leading out to Darryl's boat, the 'Danny Boy'. Zeke took a few beers out of his saddlebags, and they went aboard in an effort to escape the mosquitoes and deer flies.

Zeke was in no mood for bullshit, and Darryl gave it to him straight. It was pretty much what Zeke had figured. Carlos and Mickey claimed to be Miami drug dealers. There was, they said, a Coast Guard and DEA crackdown on drug running in South Florida and along the East coast. They were looking for a back door route via the Gulf of Mexico, and the remote, sparsely populated coastline around Bay Key was ideal. They'd hired Bobby Palmer to recruit locals to help. A coastal freighter from somewhere in Central America carrying cocaine and marijuana was due to arrive in the next couple of days. A convoy of boats would rendezvous with the freighter, and take the drugs ashore. Carlos and Mickey would be waiting to offload the boats and move the drugs inland.

"Only this once, Zeke. They'll be paying me a lot a money, five-thousand for me and ten-thousand to use my boat."

"Daryl, it's a set-up. They're narcs and…"

Daryl interrupted. "Bobby said you'd say that. He says we can trust them. Bobby met them when he did time at Raiford."

"You wanna be a fucking idiot Daryl. Go ahead!'' He stood up, took the photos, and tossed them on the deck. You got any idea what Carlos and Mickey are doing talking to Woody Waller? That's Bobby in the Chevy. I'm sure he can explain that too."

''Bobby says Waller's been paid to look the other way. He says…"

Zeke stepped onto the dock. "Enough of this shit. I'm out a here."

"Are you sure, Zeke?"

"Nah, Daryl. I just came out here because I like running the Harley through the mud.” Zeke slapped at a deer fly. “Ellie a good cook?"

"She's a great cook. Why’re you…"

"Better get her to fix your favourites, cause you're gonna find the grub at Raiford sucks."

Darryl followed Zeke to his motorcycle.

''Sorry, Zeke. Maybe you're right.”

“No ‘maybe’ about it Daryl.”

“I pull out now, they're gonna be pissed. What do I tell Bobby?"

"Tell him to kiss your ass if you've got the balls''. Zeke realized what he had said. "Tell him to kiss your ass anyway."

They both laughed, and Zeke was off, the Harley's back tire spraying mud as he headed down the trail.

~

A few days later, Zeke and Billy were comparing notes over breakfast in the Bay Hotel.

"It's kinda weird, Zeke. They know damn well that I'm telling them the truth. But they're so blinded by the thought of all that money that they're probably gonna do it anyway. So goddamn stubborn….hoping me and you are wrong.''

''Even Mullet Mike?"

"Fraid so. Floyd too. How'd you do with Daryl?"

"Ellie and me double-teamed him. She threatened to leave him and take the kid if he had anything else to do with it. She called me last night, said he was staying at home to avoid Bobby.''

"So?"

"So, we're out of it. The end. We did what we could. It's over."

Just then the waitress handed Zeke the phone. "It's Ellie, Zeke. She's been calling all around trying to find you…sounds upset."

Zeke listened for a moment.

"Try to calm down Ellie."

He turned to Billy. "Debby at home?''

Billy nodded.

"Go over to Debby's. Stay there until you hear from us. We'll send somebody out to fix the door. Call the police. Make a report, and file a complaint. Don't expect them to do anything about it. Be sure and get a copy of everything. We may need it later."

He hung up, and dialled a number.

"Tui, where are you?"

He talked for a minute, hung up, and put some money on the table.

" Lets go Billy. I was wrong. It ain't over''.

''Where we going?"

''For a ride in one of the fastest boats in Florida. I'll explain on the way."

~

Zeke was running flat-out, heading south down highway 19, throttle wide-open. It was a Zen kind a thing, the Harley's speed, the noise, the vibration, and the on-edge concentration having a calming effect as he manoeuvred around slower traffic. Billy was trailing along behind in his pickup.

Zeke was angry with himself for not anticipating and preventing what had gone down that morning at Daryl and Ellie's house trailer.

Daryl had kept his word. Bobby had been calling the house for two days. Ellie would answer, refuse to put Darryl on, and hang up. The calls became more frequent and more abusive. When he threatened Ellie and the baby, Daryl took the receiver and followed Zeke's advice to the letter.

A half hour after he told Bobby to 'kiss his ass', Bobby came skidding into the yard in the Chevy, took a crowbar from the trunk, and started prying the house trailer door of its hinges.

He beat Daryl up, threw him in the Chevy, floored the accelerator from a standing start, and ploughed through Ellie's flowerbeds swerving and slewing , almost flipping over, onto the gravel road that ran in front of their house trailer.

~

Tui's silver Porsche sped west along Alligator Alley across the Everglades.

The sun was shining. The top was down. John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers blasted out of Blaupunkt speakers. It was a beautiful day, and Tui was in a good mood.

Zeke's call came as he was leaving the courthouse where he had filed for divorce on grounds his wife had abandoned the marriage. He accepted that Mercedes was history, a closed chapter in his life. However, his lawyer made it clear that Tui intended to take an active role in raising his children. He had plenty of money to finance a legal battle if that's what it took to be with his kids.

It was time to get on with life, and Tui looked forward to seeing Zeke.

They agreed to rendezvous at the Pelican Marina in Tarpon Springs. Tui called ahead and told his crew to have his boat the Mercedes in the water, serviced and ready to go when he arrived. They wanted to be anchored in the channel off Waccassassa Bay when the sun set.

Zeke and Billy got to the marina first. They were standing on the dock admiring Tui's boat, a 36-foot Gladiator Cigarette, when Tui pulled into the parking lot.

''Did somebody round here yell Geronimo?'' Tui jumped
out of the Porsche.

''Good to see you my brother." Zeke gripped Tui in a bear hug.
''This is my friend Billy Joe Kitchens, better known in these parts as Rattlesnake Billy."

 

"Good to meet cha, Tui.'' Billy said. "That's some boat…looks like it's gonna sprout wings and fly."

''Just about." Tui stepped off the dock onto the rubber step pad. ''Come on aboard.''

The Cigarette is a marine sculpture of a boat designed to do one thing; go fast. This was no joy ride they were taking, and Tui gave Zeke and Billy a thorough briefing before casting off lines. Zeke took the wheel as they navigated past the boat slips, out the channel and into the open Gulf. After a while, he and Billy traded places, making turns, gradually pushing the throttle forward, going faster and faster as they became comfortable with the Cigarette's handling. Billy and Zeke were good boatmen, but neither had ever piloted anything near as fast and powerful as the Cigarette. Tui would be at the helm when they encountered the opposition, but he wanted Zeke and Billy able to take the wheel in an emergency.

When he was satisfied with their performance, Tui took his binoculars, scanned the horizon to the west, winked at Zeke who was at the wheel, gave a thumbs up, and yelled, ''Let her rip!"

The boat seemed to lift out of the water, the twin Merc engines quickly bringing the deep V-hull on to a plane, the phat-phat cadence of the hull skimming the wave tops as the Cigarette streaked across the water. Zeke felt the adrenalin rush, and advanced the throttle, the Cigarette surging forward. After a few minutes, Tui signalled for a wide turn. Billy took the helm and brought her back in.

The sun was still well above the horizon when they dropped anchor. Tui got sandwiches and soft drinks from the cooler. They relaxed and waited. After a while, Tui went below and came back with a couple of spinning rods. He and Billy were casting for cobia near the channel buoy when the radio started to crackle.

Zeke grabbed the mike.

''This is the ‘Mercedes’. Go ahead Birdman.''

"That fishing party you asked about just now passing the marina heading out the channel. Couple a more boats as well."

"Got it. Thanks."

Zeke had given Ben the Birdman a tenner and his marine radio with instructions to let him know when the 'Danny Boy' passed by. Billy and Tui were reeling in. Zeke went forward and started hauling anchor.

Zeke's plan was simple, his objective equally so, to save Daryl's ass. He figured the narcotics agents would wait for the drugs to be offloaded from the mother ship onto the boats before making the bust. The cops needed to show intent to break the law for the arrests to stand up in court. The fact that Bobby had stolen Daryl's boat and forced him to go would be a difficult defense to prove. Once they cast the net, Daryl would be caught in it along with everybody else. They had to rescue Daryl from the ‘Danny Boy' before it reached the freighter.

They set a course to the northwest that Zeke knew would intersect with the big channel that ran out from Bay Key. He and Billy had fished for sea trout on the shallow grassy sandbars in the area and were familiar with the cuts that crisscrossed these waters. Tui was at the helm. Zeke and Billy scanned the horizon with binoculars, Billy watching for sandbars and shallows, shouting instructions and warnings to Tui, and Zeke looking for the convoy. They were soon working smoothly together, confident in each other’s ability to cope with whatever came their way.

There was still plenty of daylight. Visibility was excellent, and the ‘Mercedes’ moved along at a good pace. The vibration dislodged a leather pouch from the shelf next to the wheel. Tui pushed it back and secured it. Inside were metal discs with sharp pointed tips. They were ninja stars, and Tui was an expert in their use.

They entered the main channel and came up on the convoy from behind. Zeke spotted the ‘Danny Boy’ by its blue and white color scheme midway in the pack. There were more boats than Zeke had expected, most of them from Bay Key, a few from Horseshoe Beach in Dixie County. These fellas were Florida’s missing link, an especially mean and ornery bunch, even by Bay Key standards.

The waterway had been dredged through a shallow area dotted with sandbars that ran for several miles. If they strayed out of the channel, they would be aground immediately on the mud and sand bottom.

The fishing boats moved to starboard to give the faster boat room to overtake. As they came alongside the ‘Danny Boy’ , a bruised and battered Daryl sitting in the stern recognized Zeke and Billy. He got to his feet, anxiety and disbelief obvious in his expression.

Tui backed off the throttle to match the Danny Boys’ speed, and steered to run alongside the other boat. Suddenly, Bobby Palmer turned the Danny Boy hard to port, forcing Tui to slam his engines in reverse to avoid a collision. Bobby was trying to ram the Mercedes and force it aground. Zeke could hear Bobby on the radio urging the other boats to join the attack. One of the Dixie County fishing boats was already advancing on the Mercedes from behind. They were getting boxed in.

A fellow in the bow of the Danny Boy slid a double barrel shotgun from its sheath, opened the breach and inserted two shells. Tui palmed a ninja star and nudged the Mercedes closer to get within throwing range.

Bobby motioned for someone to take the helm. He was holding a spear gun as he made his way toward Daryl.

Zeke grabbed a megaphone from its holder on the bulkhead.

“Let Daryl go, Bobby. That’s all, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Fuck you, Zeke. Daryl ain’t goin nowhere.’’ Bobby shouted and fired a spear into Daryl’s foot pinning him to the deck. He was starting to re-load when a ninja star struck him in the forehead. He was stunned, collapsed to his knees, reached up and pulled the metal out of his head. The fellow in the bow was lifting the shotgun to his shoulder when Tui’s second ninja star thunked into his throat. The man pulled the trigger as he toppled backwards. Tui ducked. He was fast, but not fast enough. The thick plastic windscreen absorbed most of the blast, and saved his life. However, buckshot and shards of plastic struck him in the face.

Daryl jerked his foot free from the harpoon, let out a howl, and leaped overboard, leaving his severed big toe on the deck. Mullet Mike made a running dive behind Daryl. Both men were struggling to swim to the Mercedes. The Dixie County boat was now only a few yards away, and Billy realized it was going to run down the swimmers. Daryl panicked, and swallowed some water. He was choking and struggling to keep his head above water when Billy grabbed a line secured to a stern cleat and jumped in.

Zeke started forward to take the helm, and to see how bad Tui was hurt. Tui pushed off the deck, raised his bloody face, grinned, and jumped to his feet.

“I’m okay. I got it, Zeke. Help them.” He motioned toward the stern where Mullet Mike was trying to crawl on board. Billy had Daryl in a rescue carry and was kicking hard, and trying to fend off the Dixie County boat.

Zeke grabbed Mike by his belt and flipped him in. They had just pulled Daryl and Billy out of the water when Tui made his move.

What happened next is still the subject of debate in Bay Key. Even those who were there disagree about what they saw. Some say the Mercedes was airborne for a time. What everyone agrees is that Tui performed an incredible feat of boat handling.

It all happened so quickly that didn’t think about it. He just did it. He saw a gap between two converging fishing boats, and slammed the engines to full throttle. With everybody else in the stern, the weight distribution caused the Mercedes bow to lift high out of the water clearing the gap between the oncoming boats by inches As the boat leaped forward, the momentum carried it over the sandbar and back into deep water. Whether it went through the air or water didn’t much matter to Tui. The end result was what counted.

They went far out into the Gulf passing at some distance the freighter anchored in the channel waiting for the suckers. They had accomplished what they set out to do. Best to get as far away as quickly as possible. They set a course for Cabbage Key. There was a restaurant there that served the best soft-shell crabs in Florida, and a place to tie up and spend a few days before returning to Bay Key.

Zeke took the first aid kit from a storage locker, and tended to Daryl’s foot. Then Billy took the helm while Zeke picked buckshot and plastic slivers from Tui’s face.

“You look like forty miles of bad road, Tui. You’ll need to see a doctor, and you’re probably gonna have a few scars.’’ Tui winced as Zeke probed a wound with forceps.

“A few scars will add character to my looks.” Tui laughed.

Daryl and Mullet Mike went below climbed into bunks and were soon fast asleep. Tui, Billy, and Zeke remained topside, spelling each other at the helm, seldom speaking, enjoying being at sea. The lights from the gauges bathed the cockpit in a soft glow. The big Merc engines rumbling along in a steady purr. The Cigarette cruised along through the Gulf night.

~

Tui’s daughter Nicola sat on the dock, her feet dangling over the side. She was holding a long thin cane pole and watching a porcupine quill bobber floating in the dark tea coloured water of the Suwannee River. She was tired from holding the pole, but was determined not to show it. Her brother and their new friend Danny were fishing a few feet away.

The dock led up to an A-frame cottage where Tui, Billy, and Zeke sat at a picnic table on the grass sharing a bottle of Havana Club rum. Tui had leased the place for a year with an option to buy. The kids loved it, and Tui came up often from Coral Gables. Daryl was barbecuing on a Texas barrel grill the size of a small locomotive. Debby and Ellie were going back and forth to the kitchen bringing out lunch and setting the table.

It had been six months since the drug bust. Thirty-two residents of Bay Key and Horseshoe Beach were doing time in Raiford prison.

Bobby Parker had been arrested along with everybody else. He did a month in the county jail. The ruse fooled no one. He disappeared a few days after his release. A month later, a hunter came across his burned out truck deep in the Dixie County woods. Bobby’s charred body was in the cab, handcuffed to the steering wheel. The coroner said he was burned alive. Nobody was looking very hard for whoever was responsible.

Carlos and Mickey were commended for Operation Fishhook, and hired by the feds as ATF (Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms) officers. They would later make headlines at a place called Waco.

Daryl’s boat was confiscated in the drug bust. Tui’s lawyer was trying to get it back. Meanwhile, Daryl was caretaking Tui’s a-frame and working as Billy’s assistant in his new business venture, ‘Rattlesnake Billy’s Suwannee River Bass Fishing Guide Services’.

Nicky was hungry. She glanced up at the picnic table, and when she looked back at the water her bobber wasn’t there. A second later it popped back to the surface and then disappeared again. She could see it moving away just beneath the surface, and feel the tug as the fish pulled the tip of the fishing pole down toward the water. The little girl squealed with delight.