by Tom Poland
We had made quick work of our visit to the village. Rikard agreed to take me, Mal, and Cameron to camp for a night of shifts and standing guard.
The greatest shadow of all—night—swallowed day’s remnants as the voodoo priest, rainbow seeker, writer, and incomprehensible professor made their way over the water, an unlikely group of men in an improbable place.
We moved through the night unseen, like nighthawks. Over the mainland, faint light filled the sky, an accretion from far-flung cities. The city that had pushed me away was pulling me now. Yet, here I was in a forsaken land with no way to the mainland, no way to see my sleeping beauty who slept no more.
THE CRUCIFIX
Oleander’s fate lay with Garrett. A black thought on a black night. I had other more pleasant black thoughts. That the sea scorpion and cayenne pepper were doing their thing. That’s what I hoped as we headed down the creeks to the channel to camp. All the way back, Mal slept, Cameron scanned the sky for shooting stars, and Rikard kept watching the creek behind us.
Camp was as we had left it. Mal struggled into camp and collapsed onto the sand. Rikard stood over him studying him; then he looked around.
“You want the Old Mullet Man to stay here with you tonight?” asked Rikard.
“There’s three of us … well two actually,” I said. “We’ll be okay.”
“You gonna give him his package?” asked Rikard, watching Mal curl fetal-like upon a gentle slope of dune.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “He’s got a date with a bar of soap and the Atlantic.”
“Well, do tell me what the hell it is.”
Rikard went to his bateau and came back, giving Cameron a revolver and a handful of bullets. I had Tyler’s .38 and my rifle. We wouldn’t be helpless.
After Rikard left, Cameron and I stepped behind the dunes to the latrine.
“Listen,” I said, “that crazy goat might be faking sleep. He might be faking everything. I’m going to wake him up. Walk him down to the surf and make him take a swim. There’s a bar of soap on the log we use as a table. Make him bathe and be sure he washes that nasty damn beard.”
“No problem. I wouldn’t mind a swim myself.”
“Keep him in the water until I come get you. I’ve got to check on something.”
“What?”
“That package his brother sent? I opened it one night in the fog. Inside were a letter and the cell phone you found. But, that wasn’t all.”
“What?”
“$50,000.”
“You serious?”
“Crisp, new C-notes. That’s why our camp was ransacked, I’m sure. I buried the money but haven’t had a chance to see if it’s still there. While you take the professor down to the water, I’ll check on the money.”
We went into camp and awakened Mal who babbled some nonsense about bluebooks, double truths, and metaphysics.
“Let’s go, professor,” said Cameron, taking the soap with him. “Let’s go take a swim.”
Mallory went with Cameron like a docile pet.
“Publish or perish. You’ve been published, I presume.”
“Professor, my work’s appeared in magazines all over the world,” said Cameron. “How about you?”
“Radio carbon fourteen and mastodons. Very hard to find you know.”
Cameron turned to me, shook his head, and disappeared through the dunes tugging the academician behind him.
I moved my tent, dug quickly, and reached into the earth. It was still there. I took out the pouch and repositioned the tent, smoothing the sand on all sides. I stuffed the pouch into my shorts and went to the beach. The professor stood in thigh-high water washing himself robot-like. Cameron came out of the sea.
“This guy is deranged. He was talking to each wave … giving it a grade. Every one flunked.”
“Why?”
“Too many absences. What are we going to do with him?”
“That’s a good question. It’s here,” I said, patting my shorts. “I’ve got it.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Give it to him.”
“Why? It can’t possibly matter to him.”
“That’s why I’ll give it to him. That way I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. Get him.”
We led Mal into camp.
“Your brother sent you something.”
The firmament, a starry, starry night, illuminated camp with the surreal glow of distant galaxies. Mal lay there sighting the stars between his fingers, as if he were using a sextant.
“Mal,” I said, nudging him with my foot. Your brother sent you a gift.”
He bolted upright.
“Cain’s on this island.”
“Yes, bamboo and flytraps, too,” I said. “Here’s a gift from your brother.”
I took out the pouch, pulled out the letter, and gave it to him. The words lay beneath starlight.
He crumpled it.
“F. Improper format.”
“Well flunk this,” I said, handing him a stack of bills whose metallic ink shone silver. “$50,000, all for you.”
I dumped the stacks of bills into Mal’s lap. He began tossing stacks of bills across the dune.
“Take him to the beach.” Cameron led Mal to the beach, and I gathered and reburied the money then went down to the sea. A million stars filled the sky.
I walked over to Cameron.
“Someone sure fucked up these boys. He’s a lunatic, and his brother is a bastard.”
Mal turned to me. “So, you think my brother is a bastard?”
“You can make sense, I see.”
“Of course. So, you think my brother’s a bastard?”
“Yes. Your brother’s a bastard.”
“Ever thought about killing him?”
“Many times.”
“Good. You just earned an A in trust.”
“What’s with the nonsense you talk?”
“No one expects anything from a crazy man. Take the money. It means nothing to me. Cain is on the island. My brother intends to kill me. Dead men can’t spend money.”
“Cain. I see. So you think Murphy’s on the island?”
“If he’s not, he will be soon,” he said, tugging on his beard.
“I don’t think so. He went to Europe for the summer.”
“He’s coming to Sapelo. I don’t care for the Forbidden Island thing.”
“Why’s he coming?”
“To get a new lease on life.”
“Fifty grand doesn’t sound like a man who wants to kill you.”
“You work for him. Surely you notice how ill he is. Fifty grand? That’ll buy one of my kidneys. Maybe he’s getting a deal—two for the price of one. Either way, he’s going to kill me and you’re helping him. You’re his errand boy.”
“The hell I am. I’ve thought about killing him myself.”
“Be my guest,” Mal said, looking much like Murphy when he was angry. Then his expression softened. “You know, when we were kids our mom used to dress us alike. Mallory and Murphy, the inseparable twins. But things change. When dad died, well … money came between us. Money can split the strongest families. Seen it happen too many times.”
“It looks as if your brother is sincere.”
“Please. You underestimate my brother. Let me bring you up to speed. First of all I’m not going to Atlanta—”
“—I’m not taking you.”
“My destiny is here. Now, let me educate you. Murphy, Garrett, and I played on this island as kids. We pretended we were pirates—“
“—Did you say Garrett?”
“Yes, he’s my cousin.”
“ ‘Garrett.’ Is that his last name or first?”
“First. Last name is Ashley. Cousin Garrett, first cousin.”
“He’s a conservation officer.”
“So, you’ve met him I see.”
“You could say I’ve seen him in action.”
“Cousin Garrett’s a true gentleman, all right. He abuses blacks, chews
tobacco, thinks women belong in the home, and won’t think twice about killing a man. Most of all he loves to hunt, and deer season is always open here. All of us, Garrett, me, and Murphy knew about Sapelo’s black market long ago. When I heard Murphy’s disease had confined him to a wheelchair, I knew my days were numbered.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“Chronic renal failure—deteriorating kidneys. Surely, you’ve seen the frost on his skin. Either he receives a kidney transplant or he dies. What better match than a twin brother?”
“You sure know a lot about a man who hasn’t spoken to you in seven years.”
“My daughter. He used to call her all the time, such the loving uncle.”
“Then why come to Sapelo?” I asked. “You’re making it easy for him.”
“I have my work. Murphy has his. And Garrett has his dirty work.”
“We saw Garrett feed a man to a gator after they had removed his kidneys,” I said.
“I’m sure he enjoyed every minute of it. Garrett used to bring hunters over here to rustle deer. Then he stumbled onto the African poachers and found a better prey—humans. Every so often, the Africans let Garrett track one of their victims. As soon as he kills his prey, they move in for the organs.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
Garrett tapped his head with a finger.
“People say what they want around a crazy man.”
“You seem certain Murphy’s after you.”
“My brother needs kidneys, and here I am on the very island where black market poachers thrive. I don’t mind dying, I just don’t want Murphy to have my organs.”
“Why are you still here?”
“No way off the island.”
I went into my tent and brought out the burnt journal.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes. I had planned to publish my findings but Garrett and his pals raided my camp one night. I fled in the nick of time. Well, no matter. Except for one more thing, I have nothing more to say to you.”
“And that would be?”
“Murphy’s not getting my kidneys, I can assure you. I want him dead and holding onto my kidneys is my way of killing him. So now, if you don’t mind, the idea of a good night’s sleep in a tent is most appealing.”
“Whatever you say, professor,” I said, and with that Mal went into Tyler’s tent to crash.
Cameron and I took shifts standing guard, should unwanted guests return. The night passed without incident and near the end of my last shift, a coral rim edged the eastern horizon. I made coffee on the propane stove and awakened Cameron. Over coffee we debated what to do with Mal.
“There’s no point in giving the money to that fool again,” said Cameron. “So, just what are you going to do with it?”
“I came here to do a story on Rikard, which I have under control, and, of course, Brit is back with us. I inherited the mission of helping Tyler find her daughter, which she has. Other than the poaching story, my missions here are complete.”
“The money,” Cameron insisted, “what will you do with it?”
“How’d you like ten grand?”
“I could use a new camera.”
“I’ll split it five ways with you, Rikard, Tyler, and Lorie. But never forget. It’s blood money.”
I went over to Tyler’s tent to awaken Mal.
“Professor, we’re having a faculty brunch over cappuccino.”
Cameron and I poured another cup of coffee and waited. Mal didn’t stir. I went over and looked into Tyler’s tent. Mal had slit open its back and gone inland during the night.
“The professor’s on sabbatical, Cameron.”
It didn’t matter. We had no more business with him.
***
We canoed back to Rikard’s lodge beneath a rising sun and making it there took the better part of the day. We took great care to stay in lesser creeks and nearly got lost twice. At Conjura, Rikard’s gators parted as if we were Moses at the Red Sea.
I got everyone together and pulled the pouch from my shirt. Dumping the stack of hundreds onto the floor, Rikard let out a whistle.
I gave each one $10,000, and Rikard broke out a bottle of wine. Over dinner we recounted what had happened once Rikard left camp. That Mal was crazy like a fox and that he vowed never to let his brother take his kidneys.
“I hope he kills himself. That’ll be one less white man on the island,” Rikard said, leafing through his ten grand. “Money means trouble. Give me the pouch it came in. I got an idea.”
“What?” I asked.
“Can’t tell you but just be prepared. Right Camera Man?”
“Right,” said Cameron. “Always.”
I gave the pouch to Rikard, who took it into the back of the lodge and returned without it, sporting an all-knowing smile.
“What are you going to tell Murphy about the money?” asked Tyler.
“I’ll tell him I gave Mal the money and during the night he cut his way out of your tent and disappeared.
“You need to break camp down and bring everything here,” said Rikard. Make it look like you’ve left the island. Take my Whaler and get your stuff.”
Breaking camp made sense. We discussed just what we should do in the morning. Cameron decided to go ahead and take photos of the Bone Yard first thing when the light was right. Tyler and I would break down camp and return to the lodge.
We retired to our rooms. I was used to sleeping among the trees with Tyler and a sense of loss was eating at me, but Brit waited in Atlanta and that alone more than balanced me.
The next morning at dawn, Rikard gave me the money pouch, which felt far heavier than when it held money.
“Now, I ain’t telling you what’s in here cause it’d mess with your head. Just don’t open it. Don’t even think about opening it. If someone runs you down and asks for it, just give it to ’em. That’s all you need to do. Keep it in the shade meantime.”
Rikard and Cameron left for the Bone Yard long before Tyler and I left Conjura. It felt strange, empty, to know our days together were about to end, for now anyway, and we cruised in self-imposed silence. So much had come to pass. The Whaler that had brought us over lay beneath the Atlantic, a melted wreck. Here we were in another Whaler belonging to the fabled voodoo priest. Meanwhile, he and Cameron were documenting the Bone Yard. Everything was coming together.
I had wanted the days to blur into weeks and the weeks into months and they had. Tyler had burned her calendar right after Jackson died, and we had lost track of time. The tips of the marsh grasses gleamed golden and autumn had arrived. Soon I would see my daughter, talk to her, and explain things. And then there was Mary … waiting for me.
Tyler had Lorie and a grandchild on the way, as hard as that was to believe. My daughter was out of her coma, even harder to believe. Both of us had much to be thankful for. Halfway to camp, I was watching early morning storm clouds gather, lost in pleasant thoughts of Brit, Mary, and Tyler when Tyler stood and pointed.
“Over there, look.”
A boy lay against a dune on his back, struggling to get up. I steered the Whaler onto shore. The boy heard us and jerked his head toward us. Tyler made ready to leap out.
“No, wait,” I said. “Let me go.”
I jumped ashore and walked toward the boy and knelt. An outburst of Gullah came from him, none of it intelligible, and fear widened his eyes. He’d been shot.
“Hold on,” I said and he began to cry. Tyler stood on the Whaler’s bow like a mermaid. I went over and reached up to help her onto the sand. “He looks like one of the boys we saw crabbing,” I said.
“He’s crab bait now, folks” said a familiar voice from the dunes. “That’s what he gets for messing with Oleander.”
Garrett stepped forth carrying a gun, followed by the poachers. The evil doctor carried his bag, and one of the poachers carried the same case he had used to ice down Cade’s kidneys. Behind them, another poacher rolled Murphy along, his wheelchair leaving
twin serpent-like tracks in the powdery sand. Wheelchair tracks, not snakes, had scared the boys and a hot shameful feeling took hold of me for being so stupid.
“Well, hello Slater. I hope you haven’t worked too hard on the voodoo story. I killed it and Cousin Garrett here intends to kill the writer as well. It’s just the kind of fellow he is. I see you have a friend here. Pretty too.”
“So, you didn’t go to Europe,” I said.
“This isn’t the French Riviera? Isn’t Monte Carlo just down the beach? You’re easy to dupe, Slater. Too easy. I was patient, waiting to hear Garrett tell me when to come to Forbidden Island. Thanks to the cell phone I sent my brother, Garrett and I’ve known your every move.”
“How’s that?”
“If you weren’t so phobic about them, you’d know more about them, Mr. Freelancer. Global positioning system technology let us track you.”
“In the phone you sent your brother?”
“Yes, it let us follow you all the way to Sapelo, but then it quit moving for a long time. When it started moving again, we went to work and here we are.”
Garret, doubled over in pain, then straightened. The poachers didn’t look so hot either. One unleashed a torrent of vomit against a clump of sea oats.
“Damn sure did,” said Garrett. “A satellite up there’s tracking you. That day at the dock, I knew you was there. What’d you think? I was on patrol or something?”
Murphy cut him short.
“—Shut up. I’ll tell him. This poor fellow killed his wife with a cell phone. Didn’t you Slater? Shouldn’t have been so excited about that promotion now should you? People like me always figure out a way to use technology in evil ways. GPS technology, Slater, let us find you. Cell phones haven’t been kind to you, Slater,” said Murphy rolling over to me. “But thank god your little girl lived, or I wouldn’t have had your ass under my thumb all this time.”
I moved toward Murphy but Tyler stepped to my side and held me. Murphy rolled over closer, drenched with sweat.
“Slater, Slater, Slater,” he said, wiping his yellow brow. “I’ve got another $50,000 on me to close the deal with Cousin Garrett and the doctor. $100,000 to rise up from this chair and walk again. Now that’ll be money well spent. Cousin Garrett, show them how business on Forbidden Island takes place.”