by J. M. LeDuc
It was late afternoon of the second day when Sin reached the Lower Keys, the area from Marathon to Key West. Tumbleboat was about half way in between. Just before the boat launch to Tumbleboat, she pulled her bike up to the Lower Keys Saloon, a ramshackle, broken down bar that sat off U.S. 1, a popular hangout with the locals.
She shut off her Harley and shook out her long, braided hair. Stepping off her bike, she heard a familiar voice.
“Damn, I would know that ass anywhere.”
Sin’s curves had always been a cursed blessing.
The voice made her cringe.
“Well, looky here boys, it looks like the prodigal bitch has returned home.”
She turned to see Billy Bob Miller, better known as Bubba, standing next to a beat up Ford F150 pick-up truck with three of his cronies.
“You tapped her before, didn’t ya, Bubba?” said one of them.
Sin lit a cigarette and walked toward the foursome. She stood close enough to blow smoke in their faces. With her free hand, she slapped her own ass. “He’s never tapped this and he never will.” She looked at Bubba with disgust. “The only thing Bubba, here, has ever tapped is a keg.” She eyed the four of them before settling on Bubba. She reached out and poked him in the belly. “By the looks of things, you’ve tapped quite a few since I’ve been gone.”
By now, a group of locals had gathered around to watch. She could hear muffled, nervous laughter when she insulted Bubba.
His round face, which sat on three chins, looked like a storm cloud when he heard the chatter.
He spit as she retracted her hand. Without further provocation, he swung at her, meaning to backhand her across her face. Sin was faster than he was. She grabbed his wrist and bent it backward. The pain dropped the big boy to his knees.
“Get the bitch,” he grunted as he hit the ground.
The other three closed ranks. One pulled a rubber club—a black jack—out of his back pocket while the other two clenched their hands into fists ready to strike. Without letting go of Bubba’s wrist, Sin twirled and side-kicked the closest one in the crotch. With her free hand, she drove the butt of her palm into the throat of the second. That left the one with the rubber club. He lifted his arm back and went in for the strike. With a jerking motion, she lifted Bubba off the ground causing the club to strike him on the top of the head.
The crack of the club smacking his head caused a collective ‘ooh’ from the crowd that had gathered. She dropped his wrist and bent forward slightly to help catch her breath.
Composed, Sin turned to walk inside the saloon. The man still standing reached behind him and pulled a semi-automatic from his waistband. Before he could level the gun, Sin spun and held the 1911 directly at his head.
A voice rang out from behind Sin. “I don’t think that would be a smart move, Joey.”
Joey’s gun hand shook as he looked past Sin and smiled. “You saw everything, didn’t you, Deputy? She pulled a gun on all of us and pistol whipped Bubba and the boys.”
Sin knew the voice and sighed in disgust, knowing it belonged to another of the good ‘ole boys from high school.
“Yep, saw the whole thing,” he said.
Sin could hear his boots making a crunching sound in the shell-rock parking lot.
She could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he spoke.
“What I saw, was this young lady ride up, get off her bike, and get attacked by four grown men. Then I watched her take you apart like you were a bunch of pussies.”
The gun in Joey’s hand became very unsteady.
“What you assholes don’t know is that Sinclair O’Malley is now known as Sergeant O’Malley. She is a Special Forces, decorated soldier who has seen action in both Iraq and Afghanistan.”
Sin was stunned at the words she was hearing.
The deputy walked forward and stood between her and Joey. “I’m pretty sure she has a right to carry a concealed weapon, so I’m not going to bother to ask her to show me the proper credentials. You on the other hand,” he eyed Joey, “I’m pretty sure are carrying an illegal weapon, so if you don’t lower it, I might just let her shoot you.”
Joey lowered his weapon and made a motion to place it back in the waistband of his jeans.
“I don’t think so,” the deputy said. He held out his hand so Joey could hand it to him. When he did, the officer pulled out a set of handcuffs and cuffed him to the door handle of the F150. He then did the same thing to the other two. He let Bubba, who was out cold and bleeding, lay on the ground and radioed in for a paddy wagon and an ambulance.
“You know we’ll be out of jail before we’re ever charged,” Joey laughed.
“Yep, I know.”
The deputy then turned toward Sin. She un-cocked her gun and returned it to her waist holster that sat under her tight tee-shirt.
“Now, I would appreciate it if you showed me your credentials that allow you to carry a military issued gun while off duty,” he said.
Sin smirked, walked toward her bike, and pulled her identification out of her saddlebag.
“I’m still on active duty and have the right to defend myself from jack-offs whether they are in the desert on the other side of the world or right here in my own backyard,” she said.
He glanced at her creds, smiled, and handed them back to her. “Nice homecoming, Sin. Mind if I ask why you came back to a place you swore you never would return to?”
“I just came to see my father. I understand he’s dying. Once I do and get his affairs in order, I’ll be on my way.”
The deputy started walking into the bar. “Come on and I’ll buy you a drink.”
They sat at the bar as some of the older locals came up and thanked her for her service. The younger ones just glared at her.
He ordered water and she ordered a shot of bourbon.
She stared straight ahead as she put the glass to her mouth and shot down two fingers of Jack Daniels without as much as a flinch. “I didn’t need your help back there,” she said.
“Who said I was helping you. Those boys were in way over their heads. I was helping them.”
She twisted on her barstool and looked him in the eye for the first time. “So has the biggest asshole of them all finally made something of himself?”
The deputy took a sip of his water and rose from his stool. “Some of us can change, Sin.” He looked her straight in the eye. “And some of us are still the same bitter, nasty-mouthed, bitch they were seven years ago.”
She tipped her shot glass towards him. “It’s nice to see you too, Troy.”
6
Sin rode into the makeshift garage, a converted shed that sat beside the home she shared with her father growing up. Using the key that was under the flowerpot on the front stoop, she unlocked the door and made her way into the home she had sworn she would never step inside of again. Thoughts of the argument she had had with her father when he found out she had enlisted filled her head as the screen door squeaked open.
The house was musty and filled with dust as she made her way through it. It wasn’t like her father to have any dust in the house. As a teenager, she would spend the entire weekend—the time not spent in church—dusting and vacuuming. On Sundays, before they would leave for evening service, her father would inspect her work. He had been a Chaplin in the Marines before settling in the Keys and becoming the pastor of the United Fundamentalist Church of the Lower Keys.
Sin sat in the den of the house and held a picture of her mother. The picture was taken when she was in her mid-twenties. She was sitting on a blanket at the beach. Sin’s fingers traced her mom’s features, shocked at how much she looked like her at that age. She passed away when Sin was nine, so her memories were faint.
“You look so much like her.”
Sin knew who belonged to the Spanish accented voice before even seeing her. Sin lifted her head and her eyes sparkled with love and affection. Carmelita’s heavy square heels struck the floor in a comforting tap as the woman approached. Sin
stood up and practically threw herself at the older woman, hugging her with more joy than she ever thought imaginable. Taking a deep breath, Sin could smell Carmelita’s shampoo. “It’s so good to see you,” she whispered.
“It’s good to have you home,” Carmelita said. “This place missed you.”
Sin relaxed her embrace and stared at the older woman. “You’re still as beautiful as I remember.”
Carmelita blushed. “Come and sit, Ms. O’Malley and I will make us some espresso.” Sin went to speak, but Carmelita held up a finger, a finger with a well-manicured red nail. As hard as Carmelita worked, she always looked like a lady. She lowered her hand and said, “First the espresso and then we talk. We have much to discuss.”
Sin acquiesced and bowed her head with respect. “Si, Madre.”
Sin spent the next few minutes in front of the full-length mirror trying to make herself look presentable. Carmelita was the only person for whom she ever felt the need to look ‘put together.’
“You are stunning just the way you are,” Carmelita said, reentering the den.
Sin quickly took the sterling silver tray from her hands and placed it on the coffee table. Carmelita placed two sugar cubes in her cup and handed the other to Sin.
“Do you still drink it black and unsweetened?”
Sin nodded and took the cup from her hands. They drank in silence for a few minutes before Carmelita opened the conversation. “I must apologize for the condition of your home. Your father made me promise not to touch it until he returned.” Sin gave her a confused look. “He has been in the Naval Hospital in Key West for the last three weeks receiving chemotherapy treatment.”
“I didn’t know,” Sin said. “I didn’t know anything until four days ago when I received a letter telling me that he was sick.” She took another sip of espresso and continued. “After mom died, he swore he would never undergo radiation or chemo if he became sick. What made him change his mind?”
“You.”
“Me?”
Carmelita nodded. “He was told that he had two months to live if he refused treatment. Since you could not be found, he decided to undergo the treatment so he could live long enough to see you.”
Sin put her cup back on the tray, puffed out her cheeks, and slowly exhaled. “After my last conversation with my father, the one where he told me I was no longer his daughter, I’m a little confused why he would care if he ever saw me again.”
Carmelita reached out and held both of Sin’s hands in hers. “Things change, mi hija. People change.”
Sin’s insides heated up hearing Carmelita calling her ‘my daughter,’ but the warm fuzzies soon departed.
“I was reminded of that just a little while ago,” she said thinking of Troy, “but Thomas—my father—I don’t know. He was a head strong, egotistical bastard, and . . .”
“Stop!” Carmelita’s expression hardened with her words. “How dare you come back into his home and say these things without knowing the truth. You speak of your father in the same way all those boys spoke of you when you were in high school.” Carmelita rose and placed her hands on her hips. “They called you a whore and made up stories about you. They drove you from your home.”
Sin percolated with rage. She stood toe to toe with the only person she still loved and seethed, “And my father chose to believe them and not his own daughter! You want to know what drove me from my home. It wasn’t those losers, it was the loser who lived in this house with me, the loser who would rather believe others instead of his own daughter. The loser who cared more about his congregation than his own flesh and blood.”
Carmelita picked up her purse and kissed Sin goodnight. “Like I said, people change. I just hope you too can change, mi hija.”
Not knowing what else to do, Sin spent a good part of the evening cleaning the house. When she was done, she performed her own white glove inspection and went back over spots that didn’t pass.
It was just after eleven p.m. when she got out of the shower and settled down with a cup of coffee and a cigarette. As she settled in on the couch that looked out onto the waterfront, she couldn’t help but be surprised to see two large fishing boats about a hundred yards out, along the innermost reef. What caught her eye was the fact that the boats running lights turned on and off in a repetitive fashion. It was if they were communicating with each other. She went to her duffle bag and grabbed the binoculars that were near the bottom. She tried in vain to focus on the boats, unable to see them clearly as an evening fog settled over the bay.
She knew they must belong to locals because no one else would be able to navigate the reefs and swirling waters. She made a mental snapshot of what she had witnessed. This mission was so full of non-information, she needed a clear picture of everything she saw. She had no idea what was important and what wasn’t. She curled her bare legs up under her and thought about her next move. Her concentration was broken by the squeaking of the front door.
Who would be coming here this late at night?
Her heart raced. She slid her fingers down her side until they rested on top of her service pistol. Her pulse slowed as she heard Carmelita’s heels on the hardwood floors.
Sin was surprised to see a young girl standing next to the older woman.
Carmelita smiled. “Allow me to introduce Maria.”
The little girl seemed fragile, almost malnourished. She had long black hair and angular features. She pressed closer to the older woman when Sin approached as if trying to melt into the older woman for protection.
“Why are you here so late?” Sin asked.
“Maria couldn’t sleep and was asking questions about you, so I told her we would come say hello.”
“At this hour?”
Carmelita waved her off with a curl of her wrist. “You were always a night owl.” She then wrapped a loving, protective arm around the girl’s tiny frame. “It is okay,” she said in Spanish. “This is the lady I spoke of. You are safe with her.”
Sin squatted in front of the girl with a look of tenderness. She reached out and lightly took the girl’s hands. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Maria.”
Maria looked up at Carmelita with her big, vacant, brown eyes.
“She doesn’t speak English,” Carmelita said.
Sin repeated her words in Spanish.
Maria responded with a faint nod. Sin stood and looked at Carmelita for explanation.
“Maria was one of the girls who lived in the orphanage. She is now my foster child.”
“Orphanage? What orphanage?” Sin asked.
Carmelita took Maria by the hand and led her to the couch. “As I said earlier, my child, things change. We need to talk.”
Maria sat and ate the cookies that Sin brought out from the kitchen while she and Carmelita drank a cup of coffee and talked.
“Our home, Tumbleboat Key, is now owned by Reverend Jeremiah Heap and the Church of the New Son.”
Sin leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Questions buzzed her brain like a drone flying low over Kabul. “Who is Jeremiah Heap and when did a new church come to Tumbleboat? What do you mean, he owns the island? And . . .”
“Slow down, child,” Carmelita interjected. “One question at a time. I am old and get confused easily.”
Sin knew Carmelita was still as sharp as ever. She used the expression whenever she wanted her to calm down. Sin sipped her coffee and nodded.
Carmelita explained how Reverend Heap had come to the island four years ago with a small group of followers and ingratiated himself to the locals. He preached messages of love and told of a time when prosperity would come to Tumbleboat Key.
“At first, the people were skeptical but soon after he preached, money started to pour into the island. Someone bought out the ownership of the fishing company and began paying triple the market value for the fishermen’s catch. Heap preached that God had given him a vision and unless the people followed him, the company would leave. Your father stood against him and told the peo
ple that this man was speaking falsehoods. The men of the island respected your father and believed him. Soon after, the company closed its doors, and no one bought their fish.”
“How is that possible?” Sin asked. “All of the local restaurants and those on the big Key make a living off of Tumbleboat’s fishermen.”
Carmelita shrugged. “All I know is what I know. Soon after, the men and their families began to attend services at the home of Reverend Heap. It wasn’t long after that the company returned and prosperity came back to the island.”
Sin sat back and pondered what Carmelita had said.
“The elders of your father’s congregation took a vote and decided that Jeremiah Heap should lead them. Your father stood tough and told them if that was their decision, they would have to gather elsewhere. He told them that the church he built would not be desecrated with false teachings. The next Sunday, your father’s church was empty. Everyone left to follow Prophet Heap.”
Sin knew her father must have been crushed. The church and what it stood for meant everything to him.
“You called Heap, Prophet, why?”
Carmelita’s eyes grew sad as she spoke. “That was the title he gave himself, stating that God spoke through him. He said that he was a prophet of God and that was what he was to be called.”
“And my father?”
Carmelita shook her head. “He does not believe this man is a prophet. He told the people that he was a false prophet, the worse kind of man, but the people did not believe him. They were caught up in the money they were receiving from the Tumbleboat Fishing Company.”
Sin stood and paced the small room. “You said Heap owned the island, how is that possible?”
“I don’t know. I just know that one Sunday, he stood on the pulpit and showed everyone a charter: a charter that said that the island was now property of the Church of the New Son and the Tumbleboat Fishing Company.”
Sin lit a cigarette. She noticed Maria flinch at the sight of it and gaze from Sin to the back porch.
The two women walked outside and stood on the porch, staring out at the vast waters. Sin brought the cigarette to lips and drew in deep. Exhaling, the smoke swirled with the pervasive winds.