Convict Island

by Mark Mosley

“Zigor’s a monster. Before he took my spot, there was this guy that upset Mason somehow. Mason wanted him silenced. Told me to really work him over as a final warning.”

  He cried. Not weeping like a baby with tears raining onto his lap, but his shoulders shrugged as he remembered the details. Another deep breath. “The guy didn’t want to go down without fighting. He attacked me, actually got some good hits in. Then I fought. He started mentioning stuff about drugs and Mason and The Splinters. Mason yelled to knock him out. So I did.”

  Xavier paused and twirled the flowers, the red and yellow and white blending into a flow of color as he spun them fast and faster. “On my last swing, he ducked. Instead of hitting his jaw, my fist hit his temple. He dropped like a bag of rocks. Just laid there face down on the ground. His arm was twisted behind him.”

  People outside talked as they moved to their working station after their lunch break. I guessed Mason decided to be kind and give me the day off. The sun must’ve slipped behind a giant cloud because the room became a bit darker. A bit colder. I wasn’t sure if Xavier was going to speak anymore. I let the silence speak for a minute, then shared my story.

  “My family got me here too. My brother, Chris, is a gambler. We were out and got jumped by the collectors. Chris thought they were gonna hurt me to make a point. He pulled out a gun and popped one of the guys.”

  He squinted. “You took the fall for him.”

  I nodded. “We could be twins. And we both had on black gym shorts and a plain white tee. My brother didn’t want me to do it, but he’s got a kid. Was gonna marry the momma in another year, and they already got another one on the way. I wanted to give his family a chance. So I confessed.”

  Slowly, I stood and walked to the window, grabbing the sill to hold me up. The sun poked out again from behind the fat clouds. I shook my head. “Never knew I’d be sent here. Never even heard of this place.”

  Xavier furrowed his brows. “How old are you? Can’t be much older than twenty.”

  “I’ve told everyone I’m twenty-one. But I’m seventeen.”

  His jaw dropped. “A minor? Why ain’t you in juvie?”

  “Well, fun fact: seventeen is considered an adult in the New York court system. Aren’t I lucky? I was sent to hang out with the big boys after being convicted for murder in the first degree.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “What got you to the island?”

  “I’m not sure,” I confessed. “Why’d you get sent here?”

  He shrugged. “I assume because of my other small stints in lockup. You’re a good man, Jhalon, doing that for your brother.”

  Looking into his eyes, I said, “You, too. And because you’re a good man, I think I can share something with you.”

  I spent the next several minutes revealing Robbie’s hidden box and writings. When I showed Xavier the notes, he stopped at the one about X marking the spot. He chuckled.

  “What’s funny?” I asked. “Why you laughin’ at a guy you beat to a pulp? That’s not nice.”

  “Because, Jhalon. You’re blind.”

  “That’s because a giant pounded me, so my eye is swollen. And throbbing, by the way.”

  “Before I swelled up your eye, sir. You were blind.”

  I tried piecing together what I could’ve missed. I grabbed the note he was holding:

  Xs marks the spot. X has always marked the spots.

  It was like any cliché line from a story dealing with treasure and secrets. But then I realized two things. First, Robbie never used commas or apostrophes. If there was an apostrophe, it would suggest possession by X. Also, for the note to make grammatical sense, it’d have to take the s from mark and put it at the end of spot if it were to read how I’d assumed. And then there was the second part about X always marking the spots, which reading it again made me realize how superfluous it was to say the same thing twice—especially for a guy that was succinct in his notes.

  Then it hit me. “Holy crap. It’s two messages. I’m a freakin’ moron. ‘X’s marks the spot’.” I took my eyes off the note and looked at Xavier, who was smiling. “You’re X. Xavier’s marks the spot. Your cabin marks the spot!” I laughed. “Robbie was telling me all along to hook up with you.”

  “Seems like it.”

  “What’s marked at your spot? And if X always marks the spots, that means you’ve marked something?”

  “Well,” he said, still chuckling at my stupidity, “I know what I’ve marked in the past, but I don’t know what I show. But I can show you what I’ve marked and shown.”

  “You’re gonna have to help me out here, Xavier. My head is pounding and I’m having trouble focusing—what you just said makes so little sense that I feel like you’ve been hanging out with Adam too much.”

  He laughed more. “I’ve marked some things on the map before—Mason used to have me go with him on the felony drop-offs. When we’d get back, he’d talk to the new guys and I’d mark an X and the date on the map. He hoped to see a pattern and get the jump on the drops.”

  “Where were they?”

  “On the left of the map—the west. And North.”

  “In the water?”

  “Sometimes. Or on the beach nearby when the recruits told me where they got on the island.”

  I visualized the map in Mason’s hut. “You never put anything on the east—the right side of the map?”

  “No, sir.”

  I remembered seeing them on that side. “Those were put on after you worked for Mason, then. There were three on the eastern side of the map. Has there ever been a drop on that side of the island?”

  “No, sir. It’s always on the north and west—going around to the other side would be pointless for the ships—a waste of time and fuel.”

  “Any idea what those other three could represent?”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. We’ll need to figure that out together. But we gotta make sure Mason’s not around. If he sees us snooping, he’ll kill us both. We need to get to his map in his room.”

  “We also need to research your hut.”

  He looked at me, confused. I explained, “Robbie’s note said Xavier’s marks the spot. There must be something at your place. Maybe he put something there without you knowing.”

  “You may be right, sir.” Xavier read the notes again as if Robbie’s handwriting would bring him back. I thought he was about to cry, and then he put the notes back in the chest and placed the chest in the ground. He covered it up with the rug.

  “Let’s go check out your sweet pad, Xavier,” I said. The pounding in my head faded, overcome with the excitement of getting some answers.

  Xavier’s bungalow wasn’t much different than mine. No hammock though—he’d probably break it with his two-ton body. The only unique thing about Xavier’s place was the flowers—dozens of the flowers he smelled and twirled hung around the inside of his room.

  I carefully took one from a vine. “What’s up with your obsession with these? Are they like Lotus Flowers that you eat to forget your sorrows? Because if you’re looking for that kind of effect, Adam’s got some stuff that’ll probably do the trick.” I mimicked smoking a joint.

  He pulled one off the wall and spun it between his fingers, observing the petals. “Robbie said they’re frangipani.” He stared as if transported to another time. I let him remain in his flashback—I was normally the one that was taken away from reality.

  There was no rug like at my place, so Robbie couldn’t have hidden anything under floor boards. We snooped around. There wasn’t a lot of space to search, but we wanted to be diligent. We had no luck.

  Frustrated, I sat down. “Did you or Mason ever find a pattern with the drops?”

  “I thought we did, but then your group was dumped at a new location, time, and day from anything I’d ever marked.”

  “Sorry to ruin it.”

  “Mason started marking locations on his own if there are ones on the eastern side. And they’re not drops.”

  Sitting, I scrutinized the room
. “Robbie and Mason got close, and then things turned sour? Any clue what happened?”

  He shook his head. “Not really, sir. But Robbie got fidgety. Started looking behind him a lot. It was like we were in real prison again and he expected a gang to shank him.”

  “You never asked?”

  “I wish I had, but no. But I think he was about to tell me.”

  I tilted my head. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well,” he palmed the back of his neck as if he had an itch, “Robbie said that during the next fight, he wanted to tell me somethin’ while everyone was distracted. He mentioned Adam and pot.”

  “Well those go together like peanut butter and jelly.” I lay down and looked at the under-workings of the hut roof. Where each wall met the roof, there was a horizontal bamboo pole like an indoor gutter system.

  “What’s up with the bamboo poles around the ceiling?” I asked.

  He gave me another confused look.

  “Below the ceiling and at the top of the vertical poles? Like crown molding. I don’t have that.”

  He looked up. “Oh yea. Robbie put those in after a bad storm and roofs came off some of the cabins. Said it’d make the ceiling sturdier.” Widening his eyes as if just realizing something, he said, “Holy crap, I’m as blind as you.”

  Xavier walked over to one of the boards and ripped it off. Nothing behind it or inside the pole. He pulled off another while I worked on the opposite walls. A thin rope from inside the bamboo fell out. It was somehow attached, so the bamboo dangled outside of the pole—I felt like I was holding a giant tampon.

  “Xavier.” He stopped and walked over. “Robbie meant this for you. I think you should be the one to reveal what it is.”

  He pulled the string. At the end of it was a bundle of three sticks of dynamite. The bundle had another thin rope, and behind it was a second bundle of dynamite. It kept going like one of those clowns with their never-ending handkerchiefs. We ended up with fifteen sticks of dynamite.

  “Why would Robbie have dynamite?” I asked. “And where’d he get it from?”

  Xavier shrugged. “I think our next step is going into the heart of the lion’s den.”

  I shuddered. “Mason’s hut?”

  He got way too happy of a grin. “Hell yeah, sir. Mason’s hut. Tomorrow.”

  The following day—January 3rd—I was back at work with Adam and the water crew. “Daaaaaang, buddy!” Adam crowed when I approached. “Looks like you tussled with a gorilla.”

  “That’s not that far off,” I said through my still-busted lip.

  “Props, man. Mad props for callin’ out X. You got some coconuts.”

  “Sorry for missing time yesterday. I was a bit…well…unconscious. Won’t happen again.”

  He smiled. “Jhalon, my friend, there’s no need to apologize. This is life, ya know what I mean?”

  Nodding, I got in line with the other workers. The water was refreshing and I dunked my head in, relieving my throbbing skull.

  As I knelt with water dripping down my face, Adam talked from behind me. “Did you learn what you hoped about Mason and the other gangs?” His tone was colder than I was used to with him.

  I turned to face him. “I learned some things, yeah. Put my mind at ease. I’m more comfortable with everything now,” I lied.

  “Excellent, my friend.” He was blocking the path. “Be careful out there, man. Some people don’t like questions. And some people don’t like some answers.”

  “That why you’re not in Masonville? Did you ask the wrong questions?” I feared I sounded sassier than I meant to.

  Adam looked up like he was considering. “I found the right answers.” He moved to the side and let me pass.

  When the water-gathering was complete, I rushed back to camp. Xavier was supposed to snoop around Mason’s hut, but I found him lying prostrate across a huge log like he was taking a nap, his arms hanging to either side. Some flowers were beneath him as if he’d dropped them after falling asleep. I rushed to him and whispered harshly, “Xavier! What are you doing?”

  He jerked up from his position.

  “I thought you’d be investigating Mason’s cabin, and instead I see you taking a cat nap.”

  “Sorry, but I—”

  “Sorry ain’t gonna help us, Xavier! Now what are we gonna do? Do we have time to get in there now?”

  He looked at me with the eyes of an injured puppy. “I done it already.”

  Guilt coursed through me. The stress and pounding headache must’ve been getting to me. “Man, I’m sorry. I just saw you laying there like—Jesus, I’m sorry man.”

  He nodded without saying anything. I moved on. “What’d you find?”

  Closing his eyes as if picturing the map, he described, “There are seven I marked. They’re all along beaches and rock on the edge of the island. There are three on the eastern side like you said, in a vertical line, close to the beach. And there are dates—each X has a few dates, and the northernmost was first, then the middle, then the southernmost, then it starts over again.” He opened his eyes and looked at me.

  “Which one is next in line for a new date?” I asked.

  He shut his eyes again and licked his lips. “The middle—it’s at a spot where two creeks join.”

  “I guess we know where we need to be. Great job, X.” I slapped his shoulder and he smiled. “Any idea what the dates mean?”

  Xavier shook his head.

  “That’s alright,” I encouraged. “I’m sure I can get away from water duty, and you can probably be there whenever, right?” He nodded. “That’s good, Xavier. Real good. Find anything else in Mason’s hut?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Actually yeah. A walkie-talkie.”

  “A walkie-talkie?”

  “Yeah. A freakin’ walkie-talkie. Or maybe a satellite phone.”

  “Where the hell would he get one of those? And why? Does anybody else have one around here?”

  Xavier put his arms up. “Not that I know of, sir. I never had one.”

  “Then who’s he talking to?”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders, just as confused as me.

  “Well, that’s alright. You did good, my giant ninja investigator.”

  We split up the rest of the day because I was paranoid and didn’t want to be seen scheming. The following day, Xavier and I snuck away to check one of the locations on the map, hoping it’d give us an indication of what to expect at the other locations. We went to the one that had the last date. We passed an area I’d never explored. I never would’ve made it on my own. Had it not been for the sasquatch accompanying me, I would’ve turned tail. I’m no coward, but I’m also no bushman, and the noises and enclosing surroundings had me flipping out. I kept waiting for a big cat to pounce onto my back.

  We didn’t have an exact location—the map didn’t have coordinates. Eventually, we reached a point where Xavier saw a large clearing. After navigating through the brush, we got to the opening of a vast field. It was bare, but raised dirt and small holes made it obvious that there had been rows of something planted here. I bent down and picked up a small, three-pointed leaf.

  “Damn,” Xavier said quietly.

  I stood, and together, we looked around at the acres of recently uprooted marijuana.

  Chapter 18

  I’ve never been a pot expert. That being said, I knew there was no way Adam—in all of his high glory—could consume the acreage of marijuana plants that had once been there. Because of my ignorance in not only the consumption of pot but also the distribution and cultivating of it, I wondered if it was done by hand. Were machines used like for wheat and corn? I didn’t see any tire treads, and I’d never heard any loud machines on the island.

  Xavier and I walked up and down trampled lanes between upturned earth. Adam was the only guy I could think of that enjoyed the not-so-occasional blunt. There was no group at Masonville handling all of this, which left The Solos and The Splinters. I brought this up to Xavier.

 
; “I dunno, sir,” he said. “It doesn’t sit right with me that they’d just sit around smoking pot all day.”

  “The Solos? Like some kind of hippie commune or somethin’?”

  “Maybe. I dunno. There’s gotta be a different explanation—especially if the other two locations on the map are pot fields.”

  He was right. There was more to this than just a gang on this island growing it and smoking it.

  “Maybe it’d be best to head back to camp and let it stew there instead of here,” Xavier suggested. “I’m not sure who’s in charge of this, but it’s best they don’t know we came across it.”

  “Good call. Let’s make like a joint and roll.” I looked at Xavier for a reaction—even a forced laugh would do. “Get it?” I asked. “It’s a pun. Because you roll pot and smoke it.”

  Xavier finally smiled. Then laughing, he said, “Jokes are always funnier when you have to explain them.” Thunder crashed and Xavier looked to the horizon. “Island storm coming up fast. We better head back.”

  We got to the camp and the skies opened up, dropping sheets of thick rain. I made it into my hut and closed the door, the raindrops pummeling the large jungle leaves outside. The storm ended in about twenty minutes. I headed outside and sat on a little chair on the porch, observing people milling about as the increased humidity made me feel like I was in a sauna.

  Mason came out of the jungle with Zigor and Devin. Smiley emerged opposite of them, racing up and speaking to them. After he finished, Mason made eye contact with me. He turned away, acting like he wasn’t just looking for me.

  When I walked into my hut. My death basket—aka the hammock—sat in limbo, unmoved and untouched, waiting for me to attempt to die—aka to lay down in its spider web trap of death. I took a nap. Don’t judge me. My face still hurt from the beating—aka the single punch that turned my head into applesauce.

  I woke up to a cliché movie scene—the one where the hero discovers the villain’s goons have been creepily watching him sleep, and the creepy goon says, “Good morning, sunshine” (Devin provided this dialogue), and then the other goon abuses the hero (in this version, rather than the hero getting beaten, the hero was flipped out of his banana peel bed and landed flat on his already bruised face; this portion of the scene was brought to you by Smiley, who reminds you that ten out of ten dentists agree that brushing your teeth with anything—anything at all—is better than doing absolutely nothing).