The left side of his head was streaked with blood and his eye was black and nearly swollen closed. The back of his head had a knot the size of a baseball poking through his hair. Remington’s mouth was also swollen and bruised, and he looked like he’d had a ridiculous plastic surgical lip plumping to match the girls down on South Beach. In his lap, of all things, lay a skunk. And in his arms, he clutched a doll, and Brant recognized it as the doll his son had bought for his Gram when she’d been in the hospital. It was then he realized the pain his son had been holding onto for all those years. The suffering he’d experienced when losing his grandmother had only been multiplied when he’d lost his dad… when Brant had sent him away.
Brant raced to his side. “I’m here, Remi,” he said, touching his son’s arm.
“Dad?” Remington groaned. “What took you so long?” Remington’s face curled into what might’ve been a smile. Brant crouched down and gently hugged his son. Even so, Remington winced in pain.
“We have to get you to a hospital,” Brant said, pulling out his phone.
“No,” Remington said, “there’s no time. I can feel it.”
“Feel what?” Brant continued dialing 9-1-1.
Remington grabbed the phone from his father’s hand and slung it across the room.
“It’s too late, Dad.” Remington wheezed and a trickle of blood ran down his chin. “Something inside my skull is broken. I can feel it ripping apart.”
“Son, if we get you to the hosp—”
“Dad, stop,” Remington said, interrupting him. “Just be with me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Brant reached down and stroked the hair on the Gram doll. He could see his mother, Remington’s grandmother, lying in the hospital bed… slipping away.
“She loved you so much, Remi,” Brant said softly. “Those Sunday afternoons with you were her favorite.”
Tears began to stream from his son’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” he said. “I miss her so much… and… I miss you, too.”
“Son, what happened with her wasn’t your fault,” Brant said. “She had lived her life. Even the doctors said that the fall shouldn’t have hurt her that much.”
“But, I—”
“Shhh,” Brant said. “I should never have turned you away. I was hurt and angry and sad and all of that clouded my judgment.”
“You were always judging me,” Remington said.
“The log in my own eyes,” Brant quoted, “I was wrong. I knew I was wrong the minute you left.”
Brant knelt beside him. “You are my son. You are the person God made you to be, and that is why I love you so much.”
He put Remington’s hand in his and prayed. He knew another miracle was too much to hope for… too much to ask. Brant felt as if God was leveling his final punishment against him. Job had lost everything, and this was his last real possession… his son.
Remington closed his eyes. Brant felt his hand go limp. Behind him, he heard the door of the apartment slam open and someone shouted, “Paramedic! Call out!”
“We’re in here,” Brant yelled back.
Two men ran into the room and immediately began to work on Remington. When they were sure he was breathing and had enough of a pulse, they hauled him onto a stretcher and wheeled him out.
Brant grabbed a nearby messenger bag. He tucked the doll into it and gently lifted the anxious skunk into it as well. They all piled into the back of the ambulance and squealed out of the parking lot.
Two days later, Remington woke up. His doctor was checking his vital signs and shaking his head.
“I have no idea how you made it, Mr. Reginald,” the doctor said as he laid a chart down on the bed at his feet and began listening to his heart. “You should’ve died. The trauma to your head should’ve given you severe brain damage and maybe even spinal cord damage.”
Remington smiled and looked at his dad. Brant winked at him.
“How you managed to drive that boat onto the beach is a miracle,” the doctor said. “You should be really glad that bartender found you there. What was his name?”
“Gino,” Remington said through a throat that felt like sandpaper, “I think he said his name was Gino. Pretty good looking.”
He looked up at his dad, whose eyebrows rose, and then settled down above a broad smile.
“Well,” —the doctor wrapped his stethoscope around his neck and picked up his clipboard— “if you get a chance, you really should thank him.”
“I will,” Remington said as the doctor walked out.
“Good looking, eh?” Brant asked.
“Just giving you a hard time, Dad.”
Brant lifted the bag to the bed and opened the flap. The skunk jumped out, and crawled immediately onto Remington’s lap. He curled up into a ball and promptly went to sleep.
“How did you come by this little fella?” Brant asked.
“He found me,” Remington said. “I call him Pepe.”
Brant nodded. “I had to bring him along. I was afraid he would spray me if I didn’t.”
Remington laughed and then coughed a few times.
“Easy son, you’ve got a long recovery ahead of you.” Brant rested his hand on his son’s arm.
“I’m just glad you’re here, Dad.”
“Me too.”
Remington inhaled slowly. “So, what’s next for you, Dad? I know you’ve got a lot of choices for your next preaching job.”
Brant shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m not sure that’s what God wants for me. I might try to find a little place to rent and just have a few small group meetings. You know, just take it slow.”
“That sounds good,” Remington said. “Where are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” Brant said, “maybe something down in Coral Gables or over in Doral. They have great golf out there, ya know?”
“High dollar places, Dad.” Remington sucked his teeth.
“Yeah,” Brant said, “I may have to start small, but I might be able get an investor or backer.”
Remington appeared to consider this. “How much are you looking for?”
“Not sure,” Brant said, “maybe a hundred grand?”
“Remington smiled. “I think I know where we can get that.”
Brant arched an eyebrow.
“It’s good to see you back, Dad,” Remington said.
“It’s good to be back, son.” Brant touched the medallion on his chest with the engraving of St. Christopher. “And it feels like I’ve finally made it home.”
31
Throw Down
Troy knew Taz would’ve heard the helicopter and would know he was coming. And to get into the lighthouse, there was only one way… up the stairs and through the hatch. He stepped as lightly as he could, but the metal spiral staircase seemed to ring out loudly, with every single footfall echoing throughout the structure.
On his way to the top, Troy tried desperately to figure out some kind of plan. He’d been so quick to get up here that he’d forgotten to grab his gun. He also thought that he might wait for the Coast Guard to arrive… but he gave up on that thought quickly. Taz had to know they were closing in on him, and in his desperation, he might do something stupid… if he hadn’t already.
Troy reached the top step and saw that the hatch had been unlocked and hung open.
“I hear ya, Mista Bodean,” Taz’s voice echoed through the opening, “so ya might as well come on up.”
Troy poked his head slowly into the room. There was a smoldering pile of ashes in the center of the room and the air was heavy with smoke. Through the haze, he could barely make out Taz’s shape, holding Mindy by the hair. He didn’t see a gun or a knife… that was good.
As if reading his mind, Taz said, “I’ve gotta gun. I grabbed it off ya friend back in Stiltsville.”
Dangit, thought Troy. He raised his hands as he climbed all the way up into the lighthouse’s upper room.
“I’m unarmed, friend,” Troy said, “s
o just let the girl go and we’ll all walk away.”
Taz laughed a wheezing, hacking laugh. Sounded like the smoke had gotten to him.
“Yeah,” he said, “that ain’t happenin’.”
He tugged on Mindy’s hair, and she cried out in pain. Troy took a couple of slow, steady steps toward him.
“Easy, friend,” he said, “let’s just not do anything stup—”
“Shut the fook up,” Taz growled. “Here’s the deal. Me and chicky here are walkin’ outta here tagethah. We’re gonna get on that choppah, and you’re gonna take us down to Cuba.”
“Taz,” Troy protested, “you know I can’t do that. The Coast Guard will be here any second and—”
“I said,” —Taz pulled his other hand up, revealing a small pistol— “shut the fook up.”
Troy halted, and held his hands higher.
“Okay, okay,” he said, “how ‘bout we just calm down first and make a plan.”
“I gotta plan, fool,” Taz said. “Ah’m gonna disappeyah down south o’ the border.”
“Okay,” Troy said, “then what? You got no money, you got no place to stay, whatchu gonna do then?”
Taz seemed to falter at this. It was obvious he hadn’t given it any thought.
“Yer right,” he said, shoving the pistol into Mindy’s cheek, “I’ll get daddy dearest to cash me out, or I’ll blow her fookin’ head off.”
Okay, Troy thought, that didn’t turn out exactly how I planned.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy,” Troy said, and took another step toward them. “That ain’t gonna work, as they’ll just trace the serial numbers and find you that way. No, what you need is a contact.”
“A contact?”
Troy didn’t know what the hell he was saying, he just let it flow, trying his best to keep Taz distracted until the cavalry rode in and saved the day. “Yeah, bro.” Troy eased closer.
As Taz began to consider this, his focus on Mindy seemed to drift.
“I know a guy with a plane down in Key West who can hook you up,” Troy continued.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, man,” Troy said, and stepped to within four feet of Taz and Mindy, “they don’t give a rat’s ass down there, bro.” He tried to sound like a co-conspirator, a buddy, a confidant. And Taz seemed to be buying it.
“Sweet,” Taz said, “that’s exactly what ah need.”
Troy was able to make eye contact with Mindy for a flash of a second and tried to telepathically get her to understand what he was doing. He thought he saw the slightest, most imperceptible nod of her head.
And then she moved. She slowly reached up with her left hand. Taz didn’t notice. Troy couldn’t tell what she was doing, but he jumped back into the conversation to give her cover.
“Yeah, dude,” he said loudly and with a chuckle. “We once spent a whole month down in Cabo at Sammy Hagar’s bar drinkin’ tequila and moonshine. Dang bartender thought I was Sammy. Can you believe that?”
Taz laughed slightly with his brow furrowed. Troy wondered if the guy even knew who Sammy Hagar was… but his story was enough to give Mindy time to act. She got her hand up under Taz’s, and flicked a lighter. The flame jumped suddenly and burned the hand Taz was holding the gun in. He yelped and dropped it, the gun clattering to the ground.
Mindy rolled away from him and Troy pounced. He’d never played football, but he tried to tackle Taz. He grabbed him around the waist and slammed him back against the wall, though the kid was young and strong, and he drove his knee into Troy’s chest and he felt the air whoosh out of his lungs. He stumbled back and almost fell.
Taz took the opportunity and leapt on top of him. He raised his hands and brought them down hard. Troy was barely able to move his head to the side and his hat went flying as Taz struck his shoulder. Pain flared through his arm and Troy wondered if Taz had broken his clavicle.
He brought his knee up under Taz and heaved. The kid flew backward, but didn’t lose his feet. He took two steps and swung wildly at Troy. Troy ducked, but he swung again and caught Troy on the left ear. The pain was intense and Troy lost his balance. He rolled through the embers and felt his shirt start to burn. He jerked it off and slung it at Taz, who just grabbed it and threw it aside.
He lunged forward at Troy and tried to kick him, but Troy fell backward, dodging his foot. Unfortunately, his own feet fell through the hatch that still lay open.
He’d gone through the hatch on the opposite side of the steps and his feet dangled above the rail of the stairway, over a one-hundred foot drop to the bottom of the lighthouse.
His fingers scraped for purchase, but there wasn’t much to hang onto. Taz realized what was happening and started laughing. He walked toward Troy and raised his foot above his clutching fingers. Troy noted that he had on the same brand of shoe they’d found with Caroline’s blood on it. Taz had killed her, and now he was going to kill Mindy.
“Ya know,” Troy shouted desperately, “she likes me better!”
Taz froze. “What the fook are you talkin’ about, mate?”
“Mindy,” Troy continued. “Doesn’t matter what you do, she’ll always like me more than you.”
Taz’s smile turned into a frown.
“Hell,” Troy said as he felt his fingers slipping, “she’ll probably even call out my name when she’s makin’ love to you.”
Taz’s face twisted in rage. “Shut it!” he yelled, and raised his foot again. “Ah’ll kill ya, you mother—”
Taz’s left eye exploded as Troy heard the bang. The kid slumped to the ground and didn’t move. He looked past Taz’s fallen body to see Mindy, holding up the .22. She’d shot him. A dang good shot too… it wouldn’t have done much damage if she’d have hit him anywhere else. When she saw that she’d made the shot, she passed out, slumping to the floor.
Troy kicked his legs and tried to reach the stairs. He missed and his left hand lost its grip. He lurched downward.
“I got you,” a voice called up.
Troy felt strong arms wrap around his waist, pulling him toward the stairs. Next he felt his feet hit the steps, and turned to look at his rescuer.
The man in front of him stuck out his hand. Troy took it and shook it hard.
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
“Call me Jack.”
Joe Bond and the rest of the Coast Guard guys were right behind him, running up the steps of the Cape Florida lighthouse.
“You bet, Jack,” Troy said, turning to run up the steps. “Now, let’s go get your daughter.”
32
A New Hope
Remington Hoyt Reginald sat in the first row of the New Hope church in Doral, Florida. He’d received the wire transfer from Jack Colpiller for the remainder of his payment for finding his twin daughters, Caroline and Mindy. Sadly, Caroline had been killed, but Mindy had been rescued. Remington tried to turn down the payment, but Jack insisted that since the P.I. had been willing to almost give up his life to rescue Mindy, he deserved at least that much.
Since leaving the hospital, he had made a remarkable recovery. He had some blurriness in his left eye, but it seemed to get better with every passing day.
The church wasn’t in a standalone building, at least not yet. They had rented a small studio in a shopping center between Milo’s Cigars and Utah Bill’s Golf Shop. It only held thirty people, who sat on folding chairs, but they filled each and every chair, every Saturday night and Sunday morning.
Remington listened intently as his father addressed the modest congregation. He didn’t perform any miracles. He didn’t take any offerings. He just spoke about the Bible. And that was what his people wanted to hear most of all.
Remington looked over at the girl sitting next to him. Since meeting her, she’d been a huge part of his recovery. She understood more than most, because she’d been through a similar traumatic experience too.
“Thanks for coming,” he said and smiled at her.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” replied Jackie Ranch
ero-Doral, who smiled back at him.
Hanging on the edge of Remington’s chair was a simple burlap messenger bag. He’d long since gotten rid of the expensive leather one. The flap popped open a little and a tiny black nose poked out.
Remington lifted the flap a little to see Pepe, his pet skunk, holding the Gram doll tight to his chest and sniffing the air.
“Almost done, little fella,” Remington said, and petted his head.
Pepe made two small circles around the bottom of the bag and curled up and went back to sleep.
Jackie smiled and shook her head. “What am I gonna do with you two?”
“Live happily ever after?” Remington asked.
“Sounds like a good plan,” she said, and pecked him on the cheek.
Brant smiled at them from the pulpit and winked at his son.
New hope indeed.
Epilogue
Savannah Smiles
Troy Clint Bodean pushed his Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat back on his head. The sun was hot and the sand was even hotter. He jogged up the steps to the Sonesta hotel and trotted over to the bar.
“Hey, hey, amigo!” Gino shouted over the music blaring from the radio. “What are we drinking? Pina Colada?”
Troy held up his hand. “Wish I could, brother. But I gotta bus to catch.”
A girl at the end of the bar turned around and smiled. “Can’t I at least get you a beer?”
Troy smiled at Mindy. She looked good. A couple of days of bed rest and hydration and she was as good as new.
“Maybe just one,” he said, tossing his duffle bag down under a nearby stool.
“What’ll it be?” she asked.
Gino looked at him expectantly.
“How about a couple of Coronas,” Troy said, “with oranges.”
Gino nodded and stomped away, thumping his chest and singing along with the music.
“You could stay, ya know,” Mindy said, fiddling with a paper coaster.
The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset Page 62