Country reached down in a fit of adrenalized strength and picked up one of the crates. He heaved it over the edge of the boat with a big splash. He reached down to grab another crate and Troy saw him come back up with one of the AK-47’s. He raised it skyward and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Troy wondered what the heck he was doing, until he picked up a second gun. He clicked something on the side and pointed it up. The familiar chug of automatic gunfire sent chills up Troy’s spine. It was a sound he knew too well from his tour in Afghanistan.
Country was jumping up and down in a joyous romp, firing bullets everywhere. And suddenly, he stopped. He ran to the bow of his boat and shook his fist at Troy. Time slowed down as Troy realized what was about to happen. Country’s rifle swung upward, making the slow arc to point at them. Without thinking, Troy raised his flare gun and fired. The bright orange light burned his eyes as the flare shot out. It whined and whistled and shockingly, flew true. The fireball slammed into Country’s crotch and he screamed, falling backward. The shots from his rifle flew harmlessly into the sky above them. Country tried to stand and get away from the flare, but it was somehow tangled in the man’s shorts. He dropped his rifle and began beating at the magnesium burning on his groin as he tried to run backward away from it.
And then he fell. In trying to escape, he had inadvertently backed into the stairway down into the boat. As the man disappeared down into the cabin, Ronnie slid their boat alongside his. Troy grabbed a rope and threw it down to T.J. He wrapped his arm around Prosperity, and Troy pulled them toward the back of the boat. T.J. climbed in first and then reached back to help the girl.
When they were all safely aboard, Troy heard Ronnie shout.
“He’s on fire.”
Troy turned to see a heavy smoke billowing out of the boat drifting inches away from them.
“Go, go, go!” Ronnie and Troy both turned to see Prosperity waving at them. “Dynamite. There’s dynamite in there.”
“Hang on,” Ronnie said.
“Wait!” T.J. yelled. “The old guy’s in there!”
But it was too late, Ronnie had hit the throttle. Troy fell back and grabbed hold of the chair. The sudden rush of speed was shocking and they were a hundred feet away from the burning boat in seconds.
“Gotta go back,” Troy yelled to Ronnie. “It’s Michael.”
The big man started a wide turn to take them back, but before they could get around, the other boat exploded. A massive fireball shot up from Country’s boat. The shock wave from the explosion buffeted them with waves and threatened to capsize their own boat as well. Debris rained down, and a huge cloud of smoke billowed up from the empty spot where Country’s boat had been just seconds ago.
“Oh, damn,” said Ronnie. “I’m sorry, Troy. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. If we had gone back to get him, it would’ve killed us all.”
Ronnie slowed the boat and cruised toward the floating, smoldering mess.
39
Campaign Stop
Troy was shocked at how much damage the dynamite had done. The boat was not only blown up, it had disintegrated. The biggest pieces of the hull that survived were only a few feet long. There was no sign of Country’s body or Michael’s either. Troy was sure they were blown to bits. He felt a pang of regret for the old man. He had liked him a lot and was sure they would have become lifelong friends.
Likewise, there was no sign of the guns or of the drugs. Obviously, they were sitting at the bottom of Nantucket Sound. Troy made a note of their coordinates for the dive team that the authorities would surely send out.
“Hey,” Ronnie said. He pointed his finger out in the distance. “Who’s that?”
A boat idled out on the horizon. Troy thought he recognized it as Clarice’s boat. He reached down and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Looking through them, he could see someone standing on the deck, looking through a pair of binoculars back at him. It’s her. She lowered her binoculars and blew him a kiss. He watched as she disappeared into the cabin. Her boat swung around and sped away.
Troy wasn’t sure if he felt betrayed, surprised, sad, or happy as he watched her go. He opened his mouth to say maybe they should follow her, but before he could say anything, he heard a groan.
He looked around to see who was in pain, but it wasn’t coming from anyone on the boat.
“There,” T.J. said, his arm extended.
Troy ran to the side of the boat. An intact wooden crate bobbed up and down in the gentle, rolling waves of the ocean. A man with a white beard covered in soot had two arms stretched over the crate.
“You guys just gonna stand there watching me drown, or can I get a little help here?”
Troy and T.J. hit the water at the same time. When they reached Michael, Troy hooked his hands under the older man’s arms. As he tugged him away from the crate, Michael pointed at the box.
“Bring that, too.”
T.J. pushed it along, and after Troy helped Michael onto the boat, he and Ronnie pulled the crate aboard. Michael was just as shocked as they were that he had survived. He had woken to hear the gunfight and then saw Country come flying down the stairs on fire. He rushed past him, climbed the stairs, and dove into the water just as the boat exploded. The shock wave from it shoved him down under the water, and for a few seconds he was disoriented and thought he might drown. But after it was over, he found himself floating toward the surface, and luckily found the crate to latch onto.
“What’s in there?” asked Prosperity.
“The woman who’s going to take down Frank McCorker,” Michael said, tapping the top of the crate.
The McCorker campaign headquarters was a flurry of activity that Troy hadn’t seen there before. It made sense, though. The election was tonight. The interns were all frantically dialing numbers reminding people to get to the polls and cast their votes. Frank was counting on them. Troy pushed open the door and strolled in with Michael right behind him.
He saw Frank—or rather Buff Summerton—at the back of the room, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, standing over a desk like a general planning an invasion. He stood up when he saw the two men walk in.
“Can I help you?” he said through gritted teeth.
“It’s over, Buff,” Troy said. “It’s time to end the charade.”
For a second, a flash of fear raced over the man’s face, but then he caught himself and put on a stone face.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Country and Jed are gone,” Troy continued. “The guns, the drugs, everything … It’s all gone.”
Buff looked over their shoulder and yelled, “Security. Let’s get these two bums out of here, please. I have a campaign to run.”
Michael stepped forward. “You don’t know me, sir, but I knew your wife. She and I went to school together. She wasn’t exactly the most kindly woman I ever knew, but I’m sure she didn’t deserve what you did to her.”
Buff shoved a finger into Michael’s chest, “Listen, old man. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. That bitch got what was coming to her.”
Troy was surprised he was talking like this in front of his staff, but then again, they loved him unconditionally. Buff crossed his arms.
“Now, I have no idea what may or may not have happened to Florence. I’m still in mourning over my loss, of course. She’s gone without a trace and that’s the end of it.” Buff sneered at them.
“We have her, Buff,” Michael said. “We have her body.”
Buff’s face froze in a stoic expression. He blinked a few times.
“Doesn’t prove a damn thing.”
“Actually, it does,” a voice called from behind Troy.
They all turned to see a man walking through the door wearing a black suit and tie. He pulled his sunglasses off his face and tucked them into his jacket pocket. Everything about the man screamed Fed.
“Hello, Troy,” he said as he reached out and shook Troy’s hand.
“Howdy, Chris. Good to see you.”
“Likewise. And you must be Michael?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“A pleasure to meet you. Chris Collins, CIA. Thank you for your service.”
Michael nodded and ducked out of the way as more men in suits crowded past them. They grabbed Buff’s arms and escorted him out. He was babbling about how nothing could be pinned on him, but Chris assured them between the DNA evidence at their pool and the evidence on Florence herself, there was more than enough to build a case against him. He also thanked Troy for detailing everything he saw at the Airbnb, and added that T.J.’s and Prosperity’s testimony about the abandoned prison would end the cartel activities for good.
“We’ve been trying to figure out who was running this operation for years now. You broke it wide open for us. Winchester Boonesborough is already in custody and singing like a bird. With all that we have on these two, they’re going to be going to prison for a long, long time.”
“Just glad Prosperity wasn’t hurt. Wish we could’ve stopped them before the other maid and Buff’s wife were killed,” Troy said.
“You did as much as you could,” Chris said, putting his sunglasses back on. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. Stay in touch. We’ll need statements and all that stuff.”
Troy nodded and tipped his hat as the man walked away.
“You hungry, Michael?”
“Starved.”
40
Moving On
Troy shoved the empty plate back on the table and took a sip of his Corona. The conversation around him was light and happy, considering all they had been through in the past week. Prosperity sat across from him, leaning close to T.J. He was smiling and looked happier than Troy could remember. He had to admit, they were a match made in heaven.
Michael sat next to him, clearing his second plate.
“Dang, this place is good,” he said. “We gotta come here more often.”
Troy nodded but didn’t say anything. Michael looked at him.
“But that ain’t gonna happen, is it?”
“Not likely.”
“You can’t ramble forever, Troy,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I do. And I don’t plan to. But it’s clear this place ain’t for me.”
“How will you know the right place?”
“I’ll know.”
Prosperity interrupted them. “Hey, what do you guys think about us calling our new cleaning business A Guy, A Girl, And a Broom?”
Troy laughed. “Well, it is to the point.”
“I like it,” Michael said.
Prosperity clapped her hands. “Yay! That means I don’t have to go back to the funeral classes.
She slid out of the booth and pulled T.J. along with her.
“We’ll catch up with you guys later. We’ve got some planning to do.”
As they walked away, Troy thought about how much he liked the kid. He was basically a younger version of himself, but only the good parts.
“He’s a good kid,” Michael said, echoing his thoughts. “Reminds me of me when I was that age.”
“I was thinking that, too.”
“Ya know,” Michael slapped Troy on the back, “you remind me of me when I was your age, too.”
Troy laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Michael clinked his beer bottle on Troy’s and took a sip.
“So, what’s next for you, Michael?”
“Well, if my doctor will clear it, I’m gonna take my bike down the coast for a vacation. I was thinking of somewhere in South Carolina. Pawleys Island, I think it’s called. Ever heard of it?”
Troy arched his eyebrow. “I have. Nice place.”
“You could ride along if you want.”
“Absolutely not,” Troy said, sliding his empty beer bottle across the table. “Ain’t never goin’ back that way again.”
“Come on now, partner.” Michael slid out of the booth and put his arm across Troy’s shoulder. “Never say never.”
They walked out of the Black Dog Tavern and into the late afternoon sun. The breeze was warm and the boats were jostling for position to get out of the dock. Gonna miss this place, Troy thought.
He shook hands with Michael and watched him get on his bike as another man walked up. Ronnie “Wayfarer” Hobgood smiled broadly as he grabbed Troy and wrapped him in a bear hug.
“Easy, Ronnie,” Troy said. “You’re gonna break my ribs.”
“Haha, sorry my friend. So, you’re sure about this? The bus station is where you want to go? We can take one of my brother-in-law’s limos, and I can drive you as far as you like.”
“Nah.” Troy shook his head. “I’m more of a Greyhound bus kind of guy.”
Ronnie nudged him on the shoulder. “What about a Merrymobile?”
Troy laughed. “Absolutely not.”
“Okay, then,” Ronnie said. “To the bus station it is. Where are you headed?”
“Haven’t made up my mind. But I’ll figure it out on the way.”
“Godspeed to you, my friend.”
“Thanks, Ronnie.”
Epilogue
As Ronnie and Troy pulled out of the parking lot, they didn’t pay attention to the other car pulling in carrying two blonde women with bright pink and purple, skin-tight sequined dresses on.
“I think we done missed it all,” Daisy Mae said.
“Well, how in the hell would you know that?” Ellie Mae asked.
“Ain’t nobody here.”
“Maybe they ain’t got here yet.”
“I’m sure they’ve done and gone. If’n you hadn’t spent so much time teasin’ yer hair, we coulda been here faster.”
Ellie Mae smacked her twin sister on the back of the head. “I don’t go nowhere without teasin’ my hair.”
Daisy Mae was about to reply when Ellie Mae interrupted her. “Hey, ain’t that Jed’s car over there?”
“Which one?”
“That cruiser. I recognize it from the club.”
“I reckon it might be.”
They got out of their car and walked over to the empty police car. Daisy Mae reached down and opened the door.
“Hey, stop that!” Ellie Mae hissed. “What do you think yer doin’?”
Daisy Mae ignored her. She reached down into the floorboard and pulled out a black canvas duffle bag. She sat it on the hood of the car and unzipped it. Her eyes went wide and she zipped it shut.
“Ellie Mae,” she whispered, “There’s money in here.”
“Money?”
“Yeah. Lots and lots of money.”
Ellie Mae looked up at the sky. “Praise Jesus. Looks like we can finally buy that business we been talkin’ about.”
“Hell, yeah!” Daisy Mae whooped. “Looks like the Tail Spinner’s got new management!”
THE END
CONTINUE THE ADVENTURE
Prosperity Spartanburg has lost her spot in the Funeral Services department at school, but it seems something much more interesting is open…
Check in with Prosperity in the thrilling prequel to the bestselling Prosperity Spartanburg Files series called Finding Prosperity.
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FINDING PROSPERITY
Hmmm, Chris Collins popped up again… There’s a whole lot more to his story.
He seems like he’s got it all together, but it isn’t long before he’s gone rogue. Follow Chris in the thrilling prequel to his bestselling Chris Collins CIA Thriller series called Rogue Enemy.
CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD
ROGUE ENEMY
Conch Wave
A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Short Story #7
This short story first appeared in an anthology for the Christmas holidays called, “Dead of Winter.” We meet a killer who you might want to remember… I have a feeling we’ll meet him again (hint: Gator Wave)
1
A Conch Life for Me
On the last day of No
vember, the sun beamed vehemently in protest to the colder-than-a-brass-toilet-seat wind blasting in from the Northwest. However, Troy Clint Bodean did not feel it from the comfort of his sticky, stale window seat on the rickety red, white, and blue Greyhound bus carrying him south toward Key West. He was currently enjoying what he didn’t know was the end of his most vivid recurring Paulina Porizkova dream. It was the one in which she had fired the lecherous Sports Illustrated photographer and hired him on the spot to shoot her newest layout for the swimsuit issue. He was loading his camera with film—an act that should have clued him into the fact that this was only a dream—when a loud bang preceded a sudden jerk and lurch of the bus. He was thrown forward into the seat-back in front of him, his moist cheek squeaking across the glass. His seatbelt kept him from ejecting from his own seat and burned what he was sure would be long, angry red scrapes into his hips.
“Dangit,” he muttered, readjusting his Outback, tea-stained, straw cowboy hat back to its proper position on top of his head.
The bus was still rolling, but it sounded, and felt less than happy to be doing so. Every few seconds it lurched again giving Troy the sensation that he was riding on a seasick rodeo bull. Or maybe he was feeling seasick, he couldn’t tell which. The left side of the bus faced the coast, and though they were creeping along a boring, barren stretch of highway through—heck, he had no idea where they were—Troy was happy to see that the glittering blue and green Atlantic Ocean was still visible in the distance. He pressed his hand against his window and felt the icy chill seep through the glass.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 129