Red Tide

by W. Dale Justice

  “For now, we still have a job to do. I’ll tell you how proud I am of each and every one of you when that job is done. Until then, carry on.”

  The crowd roared. From the back of the crowd, Kate and Thuy stood together. Thuy was stoic as always, and showed no emotion. Tears welled in Kate’s eyes, which she hurriedly swiped away with the back of her hand. She watched the Commander agilely jump down from the vehicle hood, and walk briskly towards the Command Center with his aides. He moved like a 20 year-old, and she thought, “Damn he’s sexy.”

  Thuy broke her wakeful daydream.

  “Come. You sleep now.”

  Kate turned, and in her best pesty little girl voice said, “You’re not the boss of me!”

  Thuy smiled, took her arm and guided them both towards the Holiday Inn Express. Not one to miss much, Thuy was well aware of the looks Kate cast towards the Commander, and the looks the Commander furtively shot back when he thought no one was watching. He approved.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tampa, Florida

  Bobby Lee drew the curtains open a few inches to peer out the motel window. The lot was empty save for the normal beat up cars and trucks one would expect from a seedy motel in a rundown Tampa neighborhood 2 miles from the waterfront. At some point last century, this establishment had served the upscale office buildings and the out-of-town business travelers calling upon their clients. Now, it served hookers and their Johns, and those particularly down on their luck, with $75 for a weekly rental, or $20 an hour if your business did not require a lengthy stay.

  “Someone should cast a blue light over this bedspread. No telling how much body fluids would light up.” Sherrod commented on their accommodations from his perch on the edge of the bed. “This is disgusting.”

  “Kinda’ big step down from Costa Rica, eh Sher? Beggars can’t be choosers.” Bobby Lee replied.

  “I’d hardly call me a beggar, Bobby Lee, not after me paying you $10 Million to get me out of the country

  “Not quite as nice as your Villa in Costooh Ricaah. Oh wait, that belongs to the Feds now, I forgot.” Booby Lee, once a bully, always a bully, loved to brutalize Sherrod every chance he got for his stupidity in being caught so easily, by an immunologist for crying out loud.

  “Sher ol’ boy, for someone with your pedigree, you couldn’t pour piss out of a boot even if the instructions was written on the heel. You know that? If you’re going to steal, you better not only have a SECRET exit plan, but also a SECRET hidey hole to climb into till the dust settles. That hacienda you built in Costa Rica was registered in your own name, for Christ’s sake. You might as well put up a giant neon sign with an arrow that says, Thief Lives Here!”

  “Look, I told you before, I was completely legit as far as law enforcement and the Feds knew. I didn’t take any taxpayer money, or donations to the Foundation, or any money that wasn’t handed to me. I accepted money from pharmaceutical companies looking to leverage their products to their fullest potential.”

  Sherrod was completely unrepentant. This at least, was something Bobby Lee could potentially respect.

  “You actually believe that shit coming out of your mouth, son? To hear you tell it, you was performing a public service. Sounds to me like you’re trying to polish a turd. I got news for ya’ Sher, no matter how hard you rub on it, it ain’t never gonna’ shine.”

  Sherrod considered himself a refined person, the type of person one might find attending the opera, or ballet, or a social gathering of the rich and famous. Bobby Lee’s crude description was both offensive to him, and accurate.

  “Fine.” Sherrod paused while he reigned in his anger. He still needed Bobby Lee, now more than ever. It had never occurred to him he would need to flee from justice like a thief in the night.

  “So how are we going to get out of the country. Since the Mexico indictments and warrants, our faces and names have decorated every newscast, paper, magazine, and social media platform. You get your $10 million when I’m untouchable on foreign soil, not before.” Sherrod wanted the upper hand in this conversation, and those to come.

  “Ain’t nobody untouchable, Sher. The place we’re going has its own rules, and opportunities. If you want the protection this place has to offer, you’re going to have to pay for it, just like I did. And, there are going to be renewal fees from time to time. Please be guided accordingly.” Booby Lee picked that up from one of his attorneys. Apparently, it was universal attorney speak for you had better listen to what I’m telling you, dummy.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Sherrod asked.

  “Nope. Not till we get there.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Well, we now know airports, bus terminals and rental cars are out. It’s a damn good thing I sent Leroy to check it out before showing my face at that little municipal airport. There was a squad car there waitin’. That leaves boats, or maybe an Uber driver to get us where we’re going. Trouble is, any Uber driver is gonna’ know exactly who we are. Sooo, I sent Leroy to buy a used van. We drive ourselves. I really don’t want Leroy or an Uber driver knowing which way we’re headed. He’s loyal, as long as I pay him. If a reward is posted for our apprehension, he’ll drop a dime on us in a heartbeat. Nope, we buy a beater van and drive ourselves, after dark.”

  “How long is the drive?” Sherrod asked.

  “Under normal conditions, bout’ 7 hours. We’ll take a full eight, but don’t plan on no potty breaks. Too much chance of being recognized. Leroy is bringin’ me a Big Slurp from the Dairy Q to sip on the trip. When I drain it, we’ll have a pretty little container so I can water my horse, and you can drain your little pony.”

  Sherrod’s lips compressed at the latest crude insult, but continued. “What about renting a boat. Won’t that be a risk as well? He was nervous.

  “Nope, we have a boat. My boat. I had it moved four days ago when all this shit started. Had Leroy pay a fella at the marina to sail it there cause’ I needed some renovations and upgrades I could only get there. That’s total bullshit, and he knows it, which is why I paid him $10,000 cash in advance for a $2,000 job. Makes him look guilty as hell if he rolls on us. I told him to leave it at some remote dockyard I found, and gave him a plane ticket home. First class.”

  A knock at the door made Sherrod jump. Bobby Lee peered out the window, and opened the door. Leroy Budrow entered with a large cardboard box. Leroy looked exactly as his name implied, a cracker from some backwater swamp town in central Florida. His stained dark gray coveralls were raggedly sleeveless, as if they had been removed with a dull pocket knife. His hands and sinewy lower arms were permanently stained with automotive grease from working in the country garage Booby Lee inherited from his father, and still owned.

  The stains partially obscured the prison tats that disappeared under the coveralls at his shoulders, and re-emerged at his neck up to his jawline and his patchy attempt at a beard. Although he was rail thin, thick veins protruded up his arms and neck, hinting at a strength many had overlooked, much to their regret. Leroy never met a law he wasn’t ready to break if there was money in it, and it didn’t have to be a lot of money. To Bobby Lee, these traits were very useful from time to time. Like now. To Leroy, Bobby Lee was his partner in crime from their days of stealing palm trees and poaching gators, and was his employer now.

  “Hey Bobby Lee. Who’s the suit?” Leroy asked, looking Sherrod over suspiciously.

  “Just some shithead Yankee with a lot of money.”

  Leroy smiled as he looked Sherrod up and down with cold eyes. Yankees in trouble who had lots of money always caught his interest.

  “How ya’ll doin’ Yankee Boy? You look like you’re gonna’ piss your britches.” he said brightly. Bobby Lee burst out laughing. Sherrod clutched his suitcase tighter to his chest.

  “Leroy, you’re a caution, you know that?” Bobby Lee took the box from his hands, removed his 60 oz. Big Slurp, and a stained coverall he tossed towards Sherrod. A larger coverall would be his
.

  “What’s this for? It smells like a wet dog.” Sherrod said.

  “Ya’ll hear that, Leroy. That there coverall is one of yours, if I ain’t mistaken. Says so right on the front…L-E-R-O-Y. He thinks you smell like a wet dog.” Bobby Lee happily fanned the flames. Leroy, a look of murder on his face, started for Sherrod.

  Sherrod back peddled as fast as he could, until his back hit the wall next to the bed. Trapped and terrified, a wee bit of urine involuntarily escaped into his pants.

  “Not now, Leroy. I still have business with this fella’. Maybe some other time.” Bobby Lee’s words stopped Leroy in his tracks. His murderous face slowly relaxed into a predatory smile as his eyes locked with Sherrod’s.

  “Sherrod, I never realized until today how much of a dumbass you are. We are going to deal with a rough crowd until we get where we’re going. If you want to live long enough to get there, I suggest you shut the hell up an’ do what you’re told. Now, strip outa’ that suit an’ put on them coveralls. Ridin’ down the highway in a rust bucket van wearing an Armani suit is likely gonna’ attract attention. It’ll be dusk in 20 minutes. Time to hit the road, so get a move on.”

  Holiday Inn Express, Galveston, Texas

  Kate was rudely awakened from a sound sleep by pounding on her door. She was one of the few members of Operation Gulf Storm with a private room. As she sat up, she could see it was still dark outside. The pounding continued.

  “All right, all right. Give me a second!” she shouted.

  Through the door, her visitor responded. “Rise and shine, Sweet Pea! The early bird gets the worm!”

  Damn. Jimmy Falcone. How in God’s name had he weaseled his way past the Marines to get access to what had become a military base.

  “I’m coming, Jimmy. Let me put some pants on.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s just me.”

  Great. A weasel and a letch. Perfect, she thought. Unable to locate her pants in the dark, Kate sleep-stomped to the door, unlatched the privacy lock and threw it open. Jimmy was right on her heels, admiring her ass as she stomped towards the bathroom. She grabbed her pants along the way, as Jimmy flipped on the lights. “Stop looking at my ass, Jimmy.”

  “Nope. Can’t help it. That’s the way I roll.” He replied.

  Safely behind the bathroom door, she pulled on her sweat pants, noticing she was braless in a white cotton tank top. Screw it, her bra was in the other room, and she wasn’t about to ask Jimmy to hand it to her. Crossing her arms to shield her breasts from Jimmy’s roving eyes, she exited.

  Jimmy was seated on the unslept-in bed, playing slingshot with her bra.

  “C-cup, just as I suspected.” His final sling sent the bra aimed at Kate, who caught it in one hand.

  “Besides Kate, you have nothing to worry about with me. I have a beautiful wife, and three daughters. Daughters. Ha! Never could wait for those X chromosomes to build up enough to have sons. Daughters are the curse of frequent sex, you know. I told my wife early in our relationship I live by a simple code… It ain’t going to hurt you a bit, but it’s going to do me a world of good, so give it up.”

  “Charming. Didn’t you tell me you were divorced.”

  “I am. Had to. Irreconcilable differences. She’s a woman, and I’m a man. In my line of work, I piss off a lot of people. A lawsuit is never far away. Had to put all my property and assets in my wife’s maiden name and divorce her to protect it. I don’t have a penny. Here, let me show you a picture.”

  Jimmy stood and fumbled for his wallet, and produced a folded photograph. “Taken this past summer.” He belly-flopped down next to Kate seated on her bed to show her his family.

  The image was of Jimmy, and a beautiful woman in her early forties hugging three darling girls, all piled together on a hammock next to a gorgeous lake. Their expressions of happiness and love radiated from the creased image.

  “What the hell, Jimmy? All this time I pictured you as a smarmy, amoral ass who spent all day drinking in sleazy bars when you weren’t snooping around trying to catch politicians betraying the public trust.”

  “Well, you got the last part right, but not the first. I don’t drink, and I’m a committed family man. I have created a despicable persona as an investigative reporter sleaze ball who will stop at nothing to get the story. My readers love it, my targets have something to hate, and fear.”

  “What about the three or four martini’s lined up in front of you whenever we meet?” Kate questioned.

  “Club soda, with an olive for authenticity purposes. Have you actually ever smelled alcohol on my breath?” Jimmy leaned in close so Kate could smell his breath. Kate leaned away to maintain her comfort zone, which was already under assault.

  “See? No booze breath.”

  “How did you get on this base and into the hotel? I thought the Commander quarantined you from all operations after your sensationalized story broke.”

  “He did indeed, publicly. After the Admiral had me locked up, and you guys left, he came to see me in the brig.” Jimmy rolled sideways to the foot of the bed, and jumped to his feet. Pretty agile for a forty something, Kate mused.

  “We had a nice ‘come to Jesus’ conversation. Essentially, if I didn’t stop being an asshole he would make me walk the plank, or something like that. Then he offered to allow me back into the cool kid’s club if I would agree to do a job for him, and report to him. Real hush, hush. That’s what I’ve been doing the last couple days while you guys played in the surf.”

  “And he trusted you to keep anything hush, hush?”

  “Yep. I may be a big mouthed reporter now, but in a former life, I was a United States Marine. OOH RAH!” he exclaimed.

  “You? A Marine?”

  “Yesirybob. A decorated one, too. Wasn’t in long, just long enough to hit the beaches in Operation Desert Storm. Marines had to create a “demonstration” to focus Saddam’s attention elsewhere while Stormin’ Norman Swartzkauf and the Army did this end around sweep out in the desert. It was a big fake out, but the Marine’s had to sell it to look like the main assault. Selling it meant selling our lives.”

  “So you are a hero. I freaking can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it sister. Bronze Star for bravery under fire, Purple Heart for getting’ shot in the ass. Ya’ want to see my scar?” Jimmy started fiddling with his belt buckle.

  “Oh, hell no!”

  “Come on, you’re a doctor. Probably seen lots of hairy asses. The Admiral liked it.”

  Kate had about all she could take from Jimmy, realizing the more she engaged in this line of conversation, the more Jimmy would perform his act. Time to change the subject.

  “So what was your big hush, hush assignment from the Commander?” Kate asked.

  Jimmy stopped his belt buckle antics, dropping his arms to his sides. No humor crossed his face, and his eyes locked onto Kate’s like laser beams. Smartass Jimmy disappeared. In his place standing before her was someone else entirely. Perfectly still, shoulders back, straighter, he spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the menace in his voice.

  “Sherrod Simpson and Bobby Lee Swagart are both in the wind. I’m going to find them and bring them to justice, whatever it takes. I need your help.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  USCGC Bertholf, Gulf of Mexico

  Commander Phillips sat at his desk in his cabin, and wept silently. Two more pilots were dead. He had been in the command center of the ship when the radio call came in. A plane in formation experienced a catastrophic mechanical failure, and suddenly veered up and to the right, clipping another plane. They both went nose into the algae. At 100 miles per hour, hitting water was like slamming into concrete. Perhaps a rudder cable snapped. No one would ever know.

  Anyone who chose career military as their calling understood the risks in placing themselves in harm’s way. They anticipated, but never expected the occasional empty chair in the mess hall. He had lost his first crewman in a storm during a rescue attempt of a crab trawler off Ala
ska’s Aleutian Islands eleven years ago. The kid was a newbee, just 18 years old on his first voyage. The young coasty forgot the first rule of seamanship: one hand for the boat, one hand for yourself. One second he was on the forward deck pulling himself towards the bow along a safety line. The next second, a freak wave broke over the bow, and he was gone. The kid would have been 29 years old by now, most likely out of the service, married, with children.

  “Damn it all to hell. This will all be over in 24 hours. Please Lord, protect these men and women. Bring them all safely through. Let them all come home.” He rose, entered the head to splash water on his face, and compose himself. People were depending on him to complete the mission. He would mourn their losses later. As he exited the cramped bathroom, there was a brisk knock on the cabin door.