“Stuff was so bad he had to give away a free glass of beer with every bowl. Course that was before that boy dressed up like a manatee got famous. Got his start right here, playing guitar and singing for tips and chowder.” I realized I was in the presence of a genuine Key West barstool-historian.
“Sounds like you been coming in here a while then, Fish Daddy.”
“Shit. I come in here times when I didn’t have much money, which was most of the time. Had me a good thing going for a while though, running pot back in the 70’s. When that all went to hell, I worked nights for a while getting lobsters outta traps so them boys wouldn’t have to lift so much. Got outta that when one fella got in a lucky shot.” He slipped off his stool and pulled the back of his shorts down to show a big puckered-up scar I could have gone without seeing.
“Worked shrimping for a few years, then got in a all-night card game one time upstairs Sloppy Joe’s. Drunk fella used to work as a treasure diver in there thought he was that ol’ boy discovered Florida or something. Anyway, it was my lucky night, and by morning I’d won me a pot full of money. The liquor and women was a few weeks of damn good times with half the money, and I’m still living off the rest I put in stocks and bonds. I may be crazy, but I ain’t stupid!”
With that he issued forth a heartfelt belch that was again answered in spirit, if not in volume, by Capt. Tom.
I got another round of beers and we got into trading stories for a bit. Since it got to be a habit by then, I was looking at my hand, taking a finger count, and he noticed. The ol’ fella had a surprise for me.
“You doing that there for Lucid Dreaming, Taco?” I hadn’t been mentioning my new hobby to folks much lately since it usually just got me strange looks. I hadn’t even mentioned it to Mary Ann, worried she’d think me weird, reading a book by Charlie Spider.
But since he’d asked, I told the man that’s exactly what I was doing it for. So, in between taking pulls on a beer and giving Capt. Tom sunflower seeds from his pocket, Fish Daddy started in telling me all about Lucid Dreaming.
“I been waking up in my dreams for years, knowing damn well I was dreaming, before I ever found out some yankees up in one of them fancy universities was calling it Lucid Dreaming. I read up on it some, that guy Charlie Spider’s books, and even some of them fancy university books them yankees wrote.” The waitress who seemed so well practiced at ignoring Fish Daddy started wiping down the bar within easy listening range.
“Most times, it seems so damn real it’s hard to believe it’s a dream. Never have been able to get used to that.”
He took out a folding knife the size of a small machete and started working on the toenails of one of his bare feet while he went on.
“Now, there’s some folks can go into lucid dreams from being awake, but most of us got to hope we got the sense to pick-up on some kind of cue in the dream, like you and counting your fingers. I myself usually just look at my dick.”
The waitress rolled her eyes and worked her way further down the bar. He gave me a wink and went on.
“From what I read, and from my own personal experience, there ain’t much you can accomplish from those kind of dreams though, except maybe curing some people of nightmares. Of course you can fly around in your dreams like superman, and all kinds of neat shit like that.”
He put the knife back in his pocket and leaned in close like he was going to whisper a secret. He gave a little look over his shoulder to make sure the waitress was noticing.
“Of course the best thing is the sex.”
He was whispering till the last word, which he gave plenty of emphasis and volume. He then continued loud enough for most of the room to hear.
“Damnest sex you could ever imagine too! See something you like in your dream, just go right on over there and have sex with it! Long as you can stay lucid, it’s as good as the real thing! Shit, some of those women in the books say it’s better than anything they ever had awake!”
Everyone in the place was listening in at that point, and the waitress found a spot closer up the bar that needed more wiping. Even the bird seemed to be paying attention.
“Safe too, don’t have to worry about picking up no diseases or nothing. There ain’t no pissed off husbands or boyfriends to worry about, don’t have to buy ‘em no sit-down dinner, and they don’t get all mad if you don’t call the next day either!”
Fish Daddy went off into a good laughing and coughing jag after that. Everybody else just shook their head and went back to their own business. I ordered another beer for the first lucid dreamer I’d met, then headed out the door keeping a wary eye out for big, black cars.
∨ Key Weird ∧
33
Carol and Flying
Carol hated to fly, but she was getting used to it. Of course, flying without an airplane would be a rush, like Charlie had talked about, but she was terrified of heights and would probably completely freak if she ever did it. But then she never saw Charlie do it either. In fact, he never did do much of anything except talk and party. Well, there was the sex. Damn, but old Charlie had been great in the sack.
Carol held that thought and leaned back in her seat. She was starting to get a wet spot in her French-cut designer panties when the plane’s captain came on the intercom and announced they were making their approach to Key West.
♦
As soon as she got off the plane and into the terminal, Carol started looking for Jeremy. As expected, the little worm was nowhere to be seen, just a bunch of odd-looking people, most of them dressed far too casual for Carol’s liking. She was about to check the most likely place for him to be, the airport bar, when someone behind her said, “Hey, are you Carol Derrière?”
Carol turned, took a step back, and checked out the big, dark-haired guy with the prominent nose. Actually, he didn’t look too bad, in a big dumb-lug sort of way. The bright green shorts and the extra hairy legs were a bit much though.
♦
Butch had gotten to the incoming flights area just as the passengers were coming off the plane. Back at the bar, Jeremy had been a little hesitant to tell the old man about Carol and the Chacmool Idols after the mention of the head-squeezing thing. But when Sam offered him free drinks for the rest of the night, Jeremy gladly told everything he knew.
So Butch had a pretty good description to go on. That had to be her: tall, with short, dark hair, nice body, skintight designer jeans, and some kind of lacy top that looked like something out of a lingerie catalog. She didn’t look too bad, in a snob-class, slutty way. Maybe could stand to lose a few pounds.
♦
“Who wants to know?” Carol thought this guy might be someone from one of the seminars who’d recognized her. After all, she was a star in her own right these days. Well, kind of.
“Look, lady, Mr. Sam sent me to pick you up. He’s a big man in this town. Him and Jeremy – ”
“Jeremy? Where’s Jeremy?”
“He’s with Mr. Sam down at the club. I’m supposed to take you there.”
Carol didn’t like it.
“Why didn’t Jeremy come himself?”
“Uh, him and Mr. Sam were talking, about treasure, and they asked me to give you a lift. My name’s Butch, I’m, uh, the manager of the club.”
Butch was smiling, obviously trying to look sincere. She weighed her options, then had the big goon help her with the luggage.
♦
The early evening heat and humidity was an unwelcome surprise for Carol when they walked out of the terminal into the parking lot. It wasn’t really that much different than Southern California, except the humidity made you sweat like a pig if you did anything more strenuous than breathe.
Carol rode in back, as she decided her current status as leader of the Spider Cult called for. The bozo reluctantly put the windows up after Carol mentioned it three times.
“Shit! Now I’ve got something in my eye!” Carol figured what the hell, worth a try. “I told you to put the damn window up. Now I’ve got some d
ust or something in my eye and I can’t get it out! Pull over somewhere and help me out here. This is your fault!”
♦
Butch wondered if he reached around and popped her a good one in the eye if that might do it, but turned off onto a side street and found a place to pull over. The old man would probably get pissed if he brought her in from the airport with a shiner.
“Jeez, it feels like something big. Look in my eye, maybe you can see what it is.”
Butch put the car in park and turned around to look into the bitch’s eye. The left eye.
♦
Carol was feeling pretty good about herself. Maybe she was getting better at this Black Eye stuff after all. It sure worked on Tall, Dark, and Stupid here.
This old guy Sam Turbano sounded like the person she needed to see all right. Carol had gotten all the information she needed about treasure and Jeremy out of Butchy Boy in just a few minutes. She wondered what else she could get out of him while he was so willing.
Though she was a woman of impeccable taste, Carol was still a woman. A woman with needs. Reaching over the seat to check out what kind of equipment Butch was packing, she noticed a little Indian kid had his face pressed against one of the car’s dark-tinted windows, trying to look in. Carol didn’t like that at all.
She tapped Butch on top of the head with her knuckles to snap him out of it, then sat back in her seat and sighed.
“Take me to your leader, earthling. I can’t wait to meet your boss.” Carol gave the kid the finger as Butch put the car in gear.
∨ Key Weird ∧
34
Treasure Check
Sam couldn’t stop thinking about his bags of gold. He knew they were safe. There was no way anyone would ever find them, but thinking about that one boat he’d seen way off in the distance was enough to keep him eaten up with worry.
After a couple of weeks he couldn’t stand it any longer and made a run out across Florida Bay in his brand new skiff early one morning. After making damn sure no one was within sight of the island, Sam beached the skiff, ran up, and started digging.
He found a place in the middle of the island where he could stand up and see all around to check for other boats. Spreading a blanket, he emptied out both bags.
It was a beautiful clear day. Sam sat down on the ground and spent several hours cleaning and admiring his treasure. It was quite impressive. There were some quality pieces, mostly bowls and cups, but a few heavy necklaces with medallions. Several nice idols and figurines, some jeweled daggers, coins, and a few things Sam wasn’t sure what they were. But it was mostly gold, over a hundred pounds worth. Nice little tax-free bonus, he figured.
Sam put the gold into a metal chest he’d brought along, and hauled everything back to his boat so he could go find a better place to hide his treasure. He filled the hole back in with a shovel and was covering over his footprints when he saw a lone footprint off to the side of where he’d been walking. He froze. A big rainstorm had come though the Keys just a few days before, so this was a fresh print. It wasn’t Sam’s boot that made the print either; a medium-sized bare foot had made this one.
Sam looked around, but didn’t see any more footprints, just that one. This was not good. He thought seriously about taking the gold back to Key West with him. He already had enough trouble with his treasure partners now as it was. If someone saw him with any extra gold pieces, he’d be in deep shit. He needed to let this stuff sit for a while, maybe even a few years.
He spent the rest of the day looking for another hiding place and finally got the chest buried back up in a tangle of mangrove roots on another island.
It was almost dark when Sam finished, and the mosquitoes were getting bad. He was just bringing the skiff up on a plane when he thought he saw another boat off in the distance. A commercial crab boat it looked like. Sam swore and kept on going; it was dark enough that chances were the crabber didn’t even see him, much less know where he was coming from.
∨ Key Weird ∧
35
Carol and Sam
It was a typical early summer storm coming ashore in Key West. The sky to the west was black, so the daily edition of Tropical Sunset was a complete bust. The crowd at Mallory Square quickly thinned out and people on the streets of Old Town hurried to get where they were going. The wind rattled the palms trees and thunder boomed. Cats frightened by the thunder made frantic last-minute dashes in the alleys as the first big raindrops hit the pavement.
Coming back from the airport, Butch pulled the big car around the back of the Pink Snapper and popped an orange tabby making a break for a dumpster with the right front tire. He gave himself a thumbs-up. Carol almost hurled. They ran in a side door of the club just as the sky opened up and it started pouring.
Once inside, Carol started following Butch towards the back, but then stopped. Butch turned.
“What?”
“Just give me a second here, Big Fella.”
She looked over at the stage where a slim woman with long red hair and nice boobs was slowly gyrating to the too-loud music. Sure enough, there was a bald head she recognized sitting at a table close to the stage. Carol started toward Jeremy.
“Hold on, Princess, he ain’t going anywhere. Mr. Sam said to take you straight in to see him.”
Carol looked at Butch’s big paw on her arm and gave him her best sneer. He let go and she gestured with her hand.
“Lead on, Handsome.”
She looked over at Jeremy and saw he was holding a folded dollar bill up toward the redhead.
♦
The office in back was a little less seedy-looking than the rest of the place. The room was brightly lit and the walls were adorned by framed pictures of a younger version of the old man now sitting behind the desk. There were some photos of him with people, but there were many more of him posing with his treasure, and laminated newspaper clippings with headlines announcing the discovery of the mother lode.
The current edition of Sam wore a suit that looked a couple of sizes too big. He leaned forward in his chair a little. He looked old, wrinkled, and pissed-off, but his eyes were locked on Carol.
“Have a seat.”
The old man waved the back of his hand at Butch.
“Blow!”
The big guy started to say something, but changed his mind and left the room, closing the door behind him. Carol took a seat in front of the desk and held her Gucci purse on her lap. She gave the look she was getting across the desk right back, and then some. The old geezer flashed the briefest smile, and seemed to relax a little.
“Okay, little lady, you probably know who I am by now, and I got a pretty good idea of what you’re about from your boy Jerome. He says you want to buy the idol he’s got a picture of. First thing I want to know is where you got that picture of the Golden Chacmool.”
∨ Key Weird ∧
36
Treasure Trouble
Several weeks went by until Sam was able to get back to his gold. The salvage of the mother lode off Key West was going full steam. Now that they had cash flow there were more divers at the site which drew plenty of attention from the press. Sam did some research on Spanish artifacts and saw some pictures of things he had in his treasure chest. One was a curious reclining figure, which was identified as a Chacmool.
♦
Sam hadn’t seen a soul for miles. As soon as he pulled the boat up to the mangrove island where his treasure was stashed he felt something was wrong. He grabbed the shovel and made his way through the tangle of mangrove.
It had been gone for a while. Sam could see where there had been rain at least once since someone had taken his chest of gold and left him with an open, smelly hole in the black mud. Sam Turbano hadn’t cried since he was a little kid, but he sat down right there and made little moaning sounds for several minutes.
His grief eventually turned to anger. He looked around and found a footprint just like the one he’d seen before. Someone obviously had seen him on the islan
d. Probably saw him on the first island too, but hadn’t been able to find it there. The only boat he’d seen that day had been the crab boat way off in the distance. Had to be it.
By the time he got back to Key West, Sam had decided on a plan of action.
♦
A few days later, Sam’s inquiries paid off. Someone told him a bartender from Marathon had been around trying to sell a gold necklace. Sam found the bartender, who told him an old crabber had sold it to him for a hundred dollars a couple of days earlier. He said the crabber’s name was Mikey, and he had a little shack out on one of the islands in Florida bay. He came in to the fishhouse to sell his crabs a couple times a week. Typical crabber, always went to one of the bars on Marathon and got drunk whenever he got a little money in his pocket.
For five hundred dollars Sam got the necklace, the general location where Mikey had his shack, and an understanding with the bartender that they had never had that conversation.
♦
In the bottom of the boat were a couple of barracuda Sam had caught while waiting for Mikey to wake up.
Mikey had come in late from the bar, staggered up to his tarpaper shack on the island, and taken a good long piss outside the door. That taken care of, he pushed the door open and passed out into bed. Sam had been waiting inside in the dark, where the mosquitoes weren’t quite as bad. He tied the old crabber’s hands behind his back and tied his legs at the knees. He dragged the unconscious little man out to the skiff and dropped him inside.
A couple of hours later, the boat was drifting with the current as Sam cut the barracuda into large chunks and dropped them into a bucket. The sun was starting to come up under some low clouds when Sam stood up, turned Mikey over on his back, and pissed in his face.
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