by Matthew Rief
“They came at me with broken bottles, brass knuckles, and a revolver. They were trying to kill me, and they would have without hesitation if given the chance. You can’t give mercy to guys like that because that’s how you end up dead.”
“It’s all true,” Pete said, stepping in and vouching for me. “Everyone here saw it. Logan here saved us all from a shitty and dangerous situation.”
Blake the drummer stepped over to us at the edge of the stage. He was holding an ice pack up to his nose. Patting me on the back, he thanked me for stepping in. “What kind of martial arts was that anyway?” he asked.
“It’s a combination of a lot of styles I’ve picked up over the years,” I told him, then turned back to the sheriff. “Look, I only did what anyone with my training should do. As far as statements go, I’m sure you’ll want one and I’ll be happy to give it.” I lied, of course, about being happy to do it. I hated dealing with authorities and I hated giving statements.
Before the sheriff could reply, Cole, the lead guitarist, grabbed the microphone and said, “Let’s give a round of applause for Logan Dodge, ladies and gentleman,” he said, his voice booming over the speakers. “This last song is for you, brother.”
The three members of the band gathered on stage, fired up their instruments and played one final song, ending the evening on a good note.
“Obviously you were in the right here,” sheriff Wilkes said finally. “I apologize. But I still need you to stop by the station tomorrow.”
I nodded at him and told him I’d be there. Walking back over to the bar, a few people patted me on the back as I sat on a barstool. Looking across the patio, I saw Sam walking over to me.
“Are you okay,” she asked, looking me over from head to toe.
“My hands are a little worse for wear,” I replied, looking at my beat-up knuckles. “And my shoulder bruised a little, but other than that, not a scratch.”
She grabbed my hands, examined them and shook her head. “Let’s get you home and take care of this.”
A few guys offered to buy me a beer, but I had to respectfully refuse. After their final song, Sam and I walked through the double doors, headed down the stairs and out the front door. Parked just outside were four classic Harleys being loaded up onto a tow truck. I smiled as I climbed into my Tacoma, started up the engine and drove us back to the house.
CHAPTER
SIX
“You haven’t said two words since we left Pete’s place,” I said, glancing at Sam who was sitting on the couch, typing something on her laptop. “Is everything okay?”
I thought about her mom and how she’d been sick lately. I knew that it was hard for Sam to be away from her so much. Grabbing an ice pack from the freezer, I pressed it against my left shoulder. After sliding out of my tee shirt and examining the wound I’d found a dark blackish, purple bruise leaving the imprint of the brass knuckles on my skin from where blondie had hit me. Sam stopped typing and looked up at me as I filled a US Navy glass with ice water and took a few swigs. Though we’d only been together for a few months, I’d felt like I’d known her pretty well and she was the type of person who, when having trouble, liked to lose herself in her work.
“I’m fine. I just really need to get this done.”
She went back to typing and I moved to the other side of the room, opened the sliding glass door and breathed in the fresh, Caribbean air. I loved living so close to the ocean with its crashing waves, soaring birds, and spectacular sunsets.
“Something you need to get done before your visit tomorrow?” I said, moving over to her. “Maybe I can help.”
She stopped typing, sighed and drew her gaze to meet mine.
“I’m not visiting, Logan,” she said. “I’m moving back.”
“Moving back?” I said, unable to stop my mouth from dropping open. “Why?”
She took in a deep breath and shut her laptop. “Because it’s my home. I have a career there and… I have family there.”
“I’ve told you before that your mom is welcome here if you need to take care of her. A woman like you would have no trouble getting work here if you really wanted. Hell, you remember meeting the owner of the Dolphin Research Center in the Middle Keys? That guy practically offered you a job right there on the spot. Plus, with the reward money we got, you…”
“Don’t say it,” she raised her hand, stopping me. “I love my work and you know that. And it’s not just my mom.”
The words cut deep. Somehow, I knew what she was trying to tell me. I guess I just didn’t want to believe it. I hadn’t had feelings like the ones I had for Sam in a long time, maybe ever and I didn’t want to imagine that it could be over or maybe that it wasn’t ever as good as I’d thought it was. But as she sat in front of me, saying it, it all made sense.
“I’m engaged, Logan.”
The words hurt much more than I thought they would. I got a tight, tingling feeling in my gut and my head was in disarray. The idea that, after the past four months we’d spent together she’d been engaged the whole time, was tough to take in.
She shook her head and looked down at the ground. “We’d been taking a break. Cold feet. Whatever. But we’ve been talking and we want to go through with the marriage. We’ve been together almost ten years, Logan.”
I really didn’t care to hear any more. It was clear that she didn’t want to be with me and I’d only wished that she’d made up her mind sooner. The weight of her words hit me, and I dropped down into the recliner, set my glass on the coffee table and stared up at the ceiling.
She stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Logan.” She took in a deep breath then let it out, having a hard time finding the right words to say. “Look, I really loved…” But her words trailed off in my mind and I didn’t hear a thing after that. I didn’t need words. I needed to be away from her.
Walking for the door, I threw my ice pack into the sink, grabbed my wallet and keys which were in a glass dish by the rain slicker rack, then opened the front door. Sam walked towards me and tried to say something but I cut her off.
“Shut the door on your way out,” I said, my voice lifeless and stern. Thumping down the stairs, I opened my truck, jumped inside and started the engine. After taking a few deep breaths and, realizing that Sam wasn’t coming after me, I backed out of the driveway and pulled onto Palmetto Street.
The next morning, I woke up unable to feel anything except throbbing pain radiating from deep within my skull. Bright light blinded my eyes as I tried to open them, trying to figure out where in the hell I was. I was lying on my back on a hard, wooden surface and as the blurry room around me came into focus, I realized I was in a bar.
I rolled onto my side and had a strong desire to find a glass of water. My mouth was as dry as a desert and my stomach churned like it was trying to fight me. As I cleared the cloud of haze from my brain I realized that I was at Pete’s, on the first floor, lying on the bar with empty bottles of Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels all around me and blinding sunlight blaring in between the curtains.
“What in the hell did you do to yourself last night, Logan?” I said to myself as I tried my best to sit up. Then I remembered Sam and bits and pieces of the conversation we’d had.
“Funny, I was just about to ask the same thing,” I heard a voice say from across the room. Looking in the direction of the sound, I saw Pete standing in the doorway, holding a cleaning rag.
Glancing around at the empty bottles, I sighed and said, “I’m sorry about the mess. And I’ll pay for the alcohol.” I reached for my wallet but it wasn’t in my pocket where I thought I’d left it.
Pete stepped towards me and waved me off. “Forget about it, mate. This place would still be a run-down shanty and I’d be struggling just to pay the bills if it wasn’t for you.”
“Thanks,” I said while heaving myself off the counter and balancing on the ground as best as I could.
“I’m curious though, what made you come back here?”
&
nbsp; “I didn’t want to be home and my boat doesn’t have enough liquor aboard.”
Pete walked over and set a glass on the counter beside me. It was full of a green and orange liquid and it looked disgusting. I gagged a little just looking at it.
“What is that?”
“Best remedy for a hangover,” he said, sliding it closer to me. “And by the looks of things, you drank more than I sell sometimes in an entire evening. Just down it nice and fast and you won’t taste it too much.”
I was skeptical but willing to do anything to get rid of my headache. Grabbing the glass, I brought it up to my mouth and chugged all of it in a few seconds. Wiping my mouth with the top of my hand, I set the empty glass back onto the counter. It tasted like tomato, carrots and cucumber juice.
“How in the hell did you get past the security system anyway?” Pete asked after I’d let the drink sit in my stomach for a moment.
“I installed the security system,” I reminded him. “And you gave me a key anyway, remember?”
He smiled, and as he nodded I walked for the door. “Thanks for the drink, but I gotta go.”
“You know,” Pete said, raising his voice so I could hear him. “Things like this happen sometimes. I’ve owned this restaurant for thirty years. You see a lot of things in that time. But seeing you in here really surprised me. I never thought you to be the type.” I stopped for a moment then opened the front door. “How are you and Sam doing? She seemed a little distant last night.”
I took in a deep breath then let it all out and said, “She left.”
Shutting the door, I labored into my truck and headed back to my house. Part of me hoped I’d still see her white Fiesta in the driveway, that maybe she’d come to her senses and changed her mind, deciding to stay here with me in Key West. Another part of me hoped she wouldn’t be there, not wanting to ever see her face again. Driving into the parking lot, I saw that the space beneath my house was empty of cars. Parking my truck, I headed inside to gather some supplies.
Most everything I needed was already on the Baia, but I also wanted to check up on the house and make sure it was all locked up. The front door was unlocked and she’d left the porch light on. Moving into the master bedroom, I opened my safe and grabbed my 338 Lapua sniper rifle which had a Nightforce NXS scope attached to it. Then, after locking it back up, I threw a sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and my Exped Mira two-person tent into a sack. In the pantry, I grabbed a few MREs, two extra waterproof lighters, and three small propane tanks for my portable stove which I kept on the boat. Loading everything over my shoulder and carrying my rifle in my hand, I grabbed the package Gus had given me then turned out the lights, locked up the house and loaded everything into the bed of my Tacoma.
I started up the engine and backed out of the driveway. Cruising onto Roosevelt Boulevard and over the Palm Avenue Causeway, I rolled down the windows, allowing the fresh morning breeze to blow through my hair as I cracked open a Sunset Paradise beer and took a few long pulls. Though it was barely ten, the day was already hot and the sky bright as hell, forcing me to wear a pair of black rimmed Oakleys I kept in the center console. Pulling into the parking lot of the Conch Marina, I parked the truck, grabbed my gear and headed down the mahogany steps to the dock. It was pretty quiet, which was typical for a Friday morning and as I walked I only saw a few people hanging out on their boats.
When I reached the Baia at slip twenty-four, I stepped over the transom and set all of my gear on the half-moon table. Stepping down into the galley, I grabbed a bag of extra shorts and tee shirts, along with a towel and set them beside the rest of my gear. Then I grabbed all of my spearfishing and lobster diving gear, including my mask, free diving fins, and snorkel. I also grabbed the package Gus had given me the previous day. Cutting into it using my dive knife, I pulled out a brand new, top of the line spear gun that had thick rubber bands with over eighty pounds of draw strength. After looking it over for a moment, I set it on the table along with three metal spears and my old spear gun that I’d used for the past few months.
Tied off onto the port side of the Baia was my fifteen-foot red Zodiac which had a seventy horsepower Yamaha engine clamped onto its stern. Handful by handful, I loaded all of my gear onto the inflatable boat, including my Subgear Prolight Flashlight, a Condor machete, a compass, an insect repellent device, a portable stove with a canister of extra propane, a cooler, a five-gallon plastic container of freshwater and my black Camelbak with some of my necessities inside of it. I only took enough to live comfortably for a couple of days, not wanting to weigh my Zodiac down too much. I had a good distance to travel and didn’t want it to take all day.
Reminding myself that it had been over ten years since I’d gone where I was planning to go, I stepped back down into the salon and grabbed my dad’s old map of the Lower Keys. Looking Northwest of Dry Tortugas National Park, I spotted a blotch of blue ink my dad had used to mark an island.
My head was still spinning, partly from the disgusting amount of alcohol and partly because I couldn’t get Sam’s face out of my mind. I guess everyone handles bad news differently, and I’d do what I usually do. I’d get away from the world for a few days, maybe more, and just keep to myself as I wrapped my head around what had happened. The day I found out my dad had died I took my old sailboat out to Catalina Island, a tropical paradise twenty miles west of Los Angeles, and spent two weeks moored in one of the less popular areas of the island. I spent my afternoon's freediving, spearfishing, hiking and thinking about all of the times my dad and I had spent together. And that’s what I had to do then, I said to myself as I grabbed another beer from my fridge for the road, still unable to comprehend what had happened the night before.
“Logan,” a voice said. It came from the dock and as I looked through the haze of my vision. I saw Jack standing just aft of the stern. We made eye contact for a second, then I locked up the Baia shuffled over to the port side. Jack sighed and said, “Pete told me what happened. Are you gonna be okay, bro?”
I stepped over the side and landed on my Zodiac. Turning around, I reached for the line tied to the Baia.
“Look, you’re my friend and I hate to say this but it’s true,” he said, stepping to the edge of the dock. “These things happen all the time down here. Women get swooped off their feet, caught up in the beauty of the islands, the crystal-clear water, the warm blue sky and the laid-back lifestyle. Then, eventually, they realize they have to go back to where they came from. I’m sorry, bro.” He glanced away, shaking his head. “Damn, and I really liked her too.” There was a brief silence as I coiled up the rope then scooted onto the cushioned bench seat just aft of the helm. Jack examined all of my gear then said, “Where are you going?”
“Look, I need to get away,” I snapped. “I need to be alone for a little while.”
“Damn, Logan you can’t go out in this little skiff with a tropical storm barreling this way.” He sighed then continued, “It’s turned north and it’s seventy miles per hour winds are pummeling through the DR as we speak, and there are predictions it’ll head this way. If it does, you’re looking at probably no more than a couple of days until it makes landfall. I know you’re well-traveled, but I’ve experienced hundreds of Florida storms in my life. You don’t want to mess with them, Logan. Especially a big one like Fay.”
I took in a deep breath then let it out. Jack was right. It was a stupid thing to do but I had to leave. Just the way that I am. “I’ll only be gone a few days,” I said. “If Fay swirls near then I’ll head back. This isn’t my first storm either, man.”
In an instant, Jack leapt over the transom and stormed down into the salon. A moment later, he re-appeared carrying my portable satellite phone.
“Here,” he said, tossing it to me. I caught it with one hand and he continued, “Because I’m sure you’re stubborn ass didn’t grab one.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I stowed the satellite phone in the small compartment next to the helm, then inserted th
e key and started up the Yamaha. Then, grabbing my Keys Disease beer and taking two more swigs, I wiped the foam from my lips and eased the Zodiac out of the marina. Cruising out between Fleming Key and Wisteria Island, I punched the throttles, sending the inflatable boat cruising through the ocean at over thirty knots.
There were a few other boats out on the water, but as I cruised past the Marquesas Keys I had most of the horizon to myself in all directions. It’s sixty-seven miles from Key West to Dry Tortugas National Park and after a little over two hours of cruising west, I passed the red brick walls of Fort Jefferson. Rising forty-two feet above the water below, the old fort’s walls form a hexagon that encloses sixteen acres, surrounding most of the island. On the Southern end of the island, there was a small pier with a white ferry moored against it, shuttling tourists back and forth between there and Key West.
As I cruised beyond Fort Jefferson, I pass by Brilliant Shoal, White Shoal, and Loggerhead Key, with its old white and black striped lighthouse in the distance. Then it was mostly open ocean for another fifteen miles until I saw my destination, the island of Monte Cristo, peaking over the horizon. Monte Cristo was only about two acres at high tide, but unlike most every other island off the southern tip of Florida, it had pretty good elevation. The highest point, a jutting cliff rising into the tropical air, was about sixty feet above sea level. The cliffs provided sufficient cover from tropical winds but had turned off most everyone from exploring it. From a distance, the island looked like nothing more than a useless pile of rocks and nothing like any other island I’d seen in the Keys.
Fortunately, my dad had explored it and had found a narrow channel between the cliffs that lead to a cove and a small sandy beach. The island was also surrounded by a shallow reef, making it accessible only by boats with less than a few feet of draft, even at high tide. This was the main reason I’d decided on the Zodiac instead of the Baia. If I’d brought the Baia, I’d of had to anchor her almost a quarter of a mile from the island.