Ride to Restoration (Ride Series Book 2)

by DJ Wilson

  Somewhere south of Valdosta, I dialed Gio’s number, compliments of Marcy ... and Candi. Three rings, then four...

  “Ciao, D. Is you?”

  “Ciao, Giovanni. How are you, sir? Mile? Candi?”

  “Heard bad things ... not true. Happy! Mile happy, Candi happy!”

  “That makes four of us. I’m going to take you up on your offer. The Benefit next Saturday, I’ll be there.”

  “Not so good idea, you dead ... then you be alive. Everybody know.”

  “I have a plan. Will need you to work with me to pull it off. You in?

  “I in ... Mile in, too.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. Do you think you and Mile can steal away for a few days, say Monday to Thursday and persuade Candi to come along with you?”

  “You have plan, I try. ... No, D, I do.”

  “Excellent. You ready to ride, broken leg and all?”

  “Hmm ... Cast — no can do. Not, how you say, possible.”

  “It’s possible ... You can ride a trike.”

  “Yes, but no trike here.”

  “There is in Daytona, home of Bike Week and Biketoberfest, two hours east. I’ve reserved two bikes for the week, one Road King Trike for you and a Sportster for Mile. Tell Candi she can ride with you. That is until you get here. Then she can ride with me. I want to surprise her.”

  “You surprise me ... You surprise her,” Gio exclaimed.

  “Walking on the beach ... that’s how I want to surprise her ... excuse me ... that’s how Major and I want to surprise her ... On the beach at sunset.”

  “Good ... you bring dog? How ... he ride?”

  “I’m working on that. May need to kennel him again. Damn, I hate the thought—”

  “He too, D. May-jore ... yes?”

  “Yes, it’s Major. Gio, I have two whole days of solitude to pull this plan together. Make it happen for me, for us. I’ll find us two rooms near the Boardwalk that has covered parking and allows pets. You want anything special?”

  “Beer for me, spa for Mile ... stairs no.”

  “Copy that. Tell Candi you talked to me and all is well. Will call soon. You run into a problem, call me and leave a message. Thanks, Gio. Means a lot to know you’re with me on this. I owe you.”

  “No ... owe you. Never ride trike. ... Will now. Ciao.”

  Chapter 62

  Just north of the Florida line, I stopped for fuel, to walk the dog and reprogram the GPS to Daytona Beach, rather than Tampa. Routing east on I-10 around Lake City, Florida moved me out of heavy traffic and onto open roads that I hoped would stay that way to Jacksonville. I had calls to make, people to talk to, and schemes to create in my head. Distracted driving Damn Yankee’s I did not need distracting me when I could do it well enough on my own.

  With SIRI’s assistance, I found a hotel not far from the Boardwalk, the Plaza Resort and Spa which adequately met my requirements, as well as Giovanni’s and the dog. Three males making the rules for a change, at least until the women got there. Then it’s back to damn you, woo-hoo, damn you!

  My next call was to Keith, a retired Air Force Captain who I had not talked to in at least eight years. He had the connections to find a direct line to another cohort of ours, a man who by all accounts should be a Full Bird Colonel by now. Giving Keith as little Intel as possible, I convinced him rather quickly of the urgency and left him in the process of making it happen.

  My third set of calls was to locate Nancy, a family friend of my mom’s, who happened to live in Port Orange, Florida, next door to my mom and dad at least fifteen years ago. I wanted to share good times with her again. At least I did until I found her brother who sadly broke the news that Nancy had passed two years before. Damn it ... this dropping off the face of the Earth sucks. My life, as I knew it ... stopped. If my plans worked out, this living in the shadows would finally come to an end.

  Turning south onto I-95, the Damn Yankee traffic resumed and interrupted my endless string of calls all the way to Daytona. Taking the speedway exit to the world’s most famous beach, I passed NASCAR’s oldest track, the Daytona 500 on my right bringing back fond memories of another time, another life. There was a time when I worked hard and played harder — a time when the fruits of my labor meant something to me and everyone else. What I wouldn’t pay to roll back the clock ten years, even fifteen. You’re dreaming again, D. Live life forward, it’s the only choice you’ve got.

  Major and I were warmly welcomed into the Plaza Hotel where the pleasure of his company cost me an extra one hundred bucks. I patted him on the head. “You’re worth ten times that,” I announced, “no sleeping on the couch.” Zora, the foreign exchange student desk clerk gave me a frown. “What? It’s better than me telling him not to pee on the furniture. Geez! Besides, that’s what the hundred dollars is for. So he can have a choice. Smile girl, he is.”

  In spite of my banter with Zora, I was fortunate to secure two oceanfront rooms on the fifth floor, no stairs. Giovanni would be pleased. Our room, overlooking the white sandy beaches and beautiful Atlantic Ocean was furnished with a rather inviting king-size bed, an overflowing mini-bar and an oversized three cushion wide couch that had Major’s name written all over it. “We can suffer through this, huh pal?” I asked my tail wagging companion with the yellowed Wilson Tennis Ball stuck in his mouth. Playtime, Daytona Beach, here we come. On a leash, dodging cars and trucks and children, lots and lots of children, this part of the beach was not dog friendly. My bad. “Come on Major, let’s go find a place on this beach that is.”

  I traveled down Highway A1A, through South Daytona to Daytona Beach Shores. Fewer people, fewer kids, fewer cars to interfere with a dog on a mission, retrieving tennis balls tossed into the pounding surf. Twenty minutes of fetch behind us, I settled into a lounging beach chair, courtesy of the Pirate’s Cove Hotel. “Major, I met a beautiful girl on this beach the summer I returned from active duty. Wonder what happened to her? Later on, I watched my son’s grow up playing on this beach. See that parking lot behind us. I remember rocking and rolling with their mom in a customized Ford Leisure Van until 2 AM one morning. The only privacy we could find on a moments’ notice with two rooms packed with kids. Memories, precious memories of a simpler time. You worked, you played, you thrived ... for your kids, family, friends and employees. Where are they now, pal?”

  Life happens ... children grow up, careers expand...businesses flourish ... until they don’t. Much like the waves crashing before me, our lives continuously ebb and flow comfortably until external forces appear as subtle as high tide or as devastating as a Category 5 hurricane. My life has become the latter, leaving in its wake, devastation where once there was continuity and harmony. Second chances, though few and far between, do not guarantee us the opportunity to erase and re-record. I wish they did. Our lives reflect the decisions we make, followed by their outcomes, be they good or bad. We hope and pray for redemption and restoration, and try as we might, it’s not always possible. I got it. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less, knowing what was may never be again. Or can it?

  I am determined to remake me, better than before, scars and all. Within me lies a strong foundation, built with sinew and blood, refined with countless beads of sweat and cleansed with a lifetime supply of tears.

  My phone vibrated ... then rang.

  “Jon David, Richard Little here. Keith called and said you were looking for me in a bad way. How can I help you, Captain?”

  “Thanks for calling me on such short notice. Captain, I’m not. That was another lifetime ago. And you, what about you, Rich?”

  “The powers that be moved me upstairs. Would you believe I’m a one star?”

  “Congrats, General Little. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Rumor has it you’re running Special Ops out of Hurlburt Field, near Destin. Is that still the case? If so, I’m looking for a ballsy helo pilot to perform an off-book extraction next Saturday night in Tampa. You think you could round one up?”

  “Hell, son, you’re tal
king to the best. Remember that time in Iraq, back in ’90? Of course you do ... I’ll do it. Just tell me where and when, I’ll be there. They don’t let me out much. It would be an honor and a privilege. You gonna need support? I can bring along a team, off-book of course. Guys out of your old unit, come to think of it.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. Let me digest it a little more. I’ll let you know.”

  Over the next fifteen minutes, I pitched him my proposed plan, less the personal details and gave him my AMEX to reserve the helo of his choice. All that he asked me to do was confirm next Friday and advise if it would be a ‘hot LZ.’ How the hell would I know if it was going to be a hot landing zone? Come to think of it, if it involves Candice Parker, I’d best say yes without a second thought. I chuckled, if Rich only knew ... the infamous power of her woo-hoo and its effect on the questionable men in her life — me included.

  Feeling some sense of relief in my quest, the clouds of regret, along with the few rays of sunshine I’d subjected Major to over the last hour, turned to hunger pangs again. Imagine that, I’d failed to eat lunch or dinner. I could still make the last one. Across the causeway, Aunt Catfish on the River beckoned. Memories, too, were made there, good ones, fond ones, and drunken ones over the last twenty plus years. Of course, it helped for fifteen of those years my parents lived less than three blocks away. To my chagrin, Major took the lead, jumping into the front seat, scattering white sand across the console, the dash and me. Yep, only in Florida am I privileged to spit sand granules out of my mouth with frequency.

  Dining on the Admiral’s Platter — my favorite from times past — was more fare than I recalled. One thing for sure that had decreased with the grey, my appetite for fine food. Thankfully, my unquenchable thirst for fine women had only been enhanced with age. Major, not to be denied, has benefited rather handsomely from both, Candi included.

  Chapter 63

  My, how Daytona has grown, I mused, as Major, his head buried in my leftovers, and I stayed on Highway 1 back to the hotel. What once was a snowbird winter haven has become a year round, white and blued haired paradise, sprinkled with NASCAR fans, teenagers and leather clad bikers, depending on the month and the season. I wonder what year the majority of white hairs had an epiphany to acknowledge, ‘we’re too old to go back and forth, from now on we’re staying?’ Mayberry, it’s not.

  Sitting on the balcony of our room, inhaling the salty, eighty degree air blowing west off the ocean, Major and I watched the sun’s rays give way to the twinkling lights of fishing boats and ships peppered across the horizon. Two distinct plans in the making deserved an equal amount of attention, beginning with Candi and our surprise Monday night reunion, followed by the Saturday night benefit ball extravaganza.

  Because I needed Gio’s assistance in making the latter a reality, I focused on Monday. That was all Major, all me. Flowers, I wanted to shower her in flowers and envelope her in live music, Sinatra to be exact. Over the next hour, I researched, planned and plotted my way into, out of and through our romantic rendezvous on the beach, weather permitting, of course. “Enough,” I announced to the dog, “I can’t do any more tonight. Come inside pal, it’s time we slept.”

  The sun’s rays broke through the sliding glass doors a few minutes after five, gloriously welcoming the day, before I closed the curtains and crawled back into bed. Some days it doesn’t pay to get up early. This so happened to be one of them. I fell back asleep and dreamed the strangest dream.

  Candi was an Egyptian Princess and I was a commoner. I roused her from sleep this particular night and was making mad passionate love to her on an outdoor marble terrace when my phone’s alarm went off waking the entire kingdom. Two palace guards captured me, the king confronted me, demanding not my head, but my uh-um, since I could do unspeakable things to her that he no longer could. Startled, I awoke with a woody that for the life of me would not go away. Rather than take matters into my own hands, I turned on the news. Yep, that works every time.

  I made a black and green in the lobby and took Major on a three mile trek up the beach towards Ormond. It, too, had changed. Mom and pop establishments that dotted the shoreline years ago had given way to massive hurricane resistant condominiums, rising perilously into the sky. Progress, what I was experiencing was progress here in Daytona made at the expense of few for the pleasure of many. Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching. Tax dollars, rental dollars, disposable income dollars were flooding into this area in search of the American dream, aka, a twenty percent ROI (return on investment). Status quo was no longer an option here. Bigger, taller, better, more. Mayberry, where are you? You’re looking sweeter and sweeter by the moment.

  Sitting at the Plaza’s outdoor bar with a Bloody Mary in my hand watching Major watch the tan lined fillies in their skimpy two-piece bikinis, I did the next best thing, I called Candi. Four rings later ... she blasted me, “D, don’t you ever do this to me again, ever,” before I even had a change to say hello. “Do you know how many times I’ve looked at this phone, hoping you would call, begging for you to call, waiting for you to call? Too many ... way too many times. — Don’t do this to me again.”

  “Hello to you too ... baby.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In hiding, Candi. There’s some mean people with an attitude who’ve been looking for me. At least they were until they found me ... kinda.”

  “I heard ... Fortunately, Marcy enlightened me before the news of your possible demise crossed the wires. Jim put that out?”

  “It was his idea ... to buy me some time.”

  “D, I brought all this on you. You realize that? I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.”

  “Candi, it was going to happen sooner or later. I won’t lie to you. You may’ve helped speed the process along. You’re healthier because of it, aren’t you? Financially, I mean”

  “Yes, I guess so. I’d trade it all to have things back the way they were on Dale Hollow.”

  “That’s a good thought. But, it’s not going to happen. Sadly, WITSEC advised I relocate. Still trying to decide where.”

  “D, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve robbed you of your present dreams, your new life and Dale Hollow Lake most of all.”

  “I’ll make better ones. Remember someone wise once said, ‘Life is not the destination, but the ride.’ There’s still plenty of ride left in me.”

  “I’m sure you will, D ... Speaking of ride, would you believe Giovanni, cast and all, wants to go to Daytona Beach tomorrow, rent a trike and a bike and ride for a few days. He wants me to go and ride behind him. Mile will ride her own. I don’t want to. It’s not going to be the same without you.”

  “Candi, I’d go for it. What’s keeping you there?”

  “For one thing, Marcy is coming the end of the week and then there’s Joseph. That’s another story in itself.”

  “I would go. It will do you good to get away, feel the wind in your hair, your face—”

  “Stop! ... D. I miss you. I’ll do it. At least when I’m riding, it will remind me of you — of us.”

  “That’s the spirit, Candi. Tell Gio to take care of you. Oh, and watch out for moose. Bye, baby.”

  “Wait, D — don’t go. When will I hear from you?”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  I hung up and immediately dialed Giovanni. He answered on two rings — impressive.

  “Gio, D. Candi nearby?”

  “Ciao ... D. No. Not here. She say she ... not”

  “Go ... I changed her mind. She is going. I have rooms reserved at the Plaza in Daytona. Will text you where to meet up with me tomorrow at six. Want to surprise Candi on the ocean. We’ll pick the bikes up Tuesday morning. Too much hassle dealing with it tomorrow. Bring your gear.”

  “Tomorrow, D. Happy. ... Ride again.”

  “Tomorrow, Gio. Ciao.”

  Chapter 64

  Long into my second Bloody Mary, I remembered how much I enjoyed it when a plan finally comes togeth
er. I was cautiously optimistic that Major and I, with enough creativity and cash, could make tomorrow night one for the ages. My to do list was growing, shrinking, evolving moment by moment as I flipped from one location to another before settling on the spot where I found myself yesterday.

  The beach at Pirate’s Cove was significantly less crowded than here. Besides, I heard Aunt Catfish calling me back for seconds. This time she told me to bring friends.

  Major cajoled me to the boardwalk where he sniffed and smelled every signpost, fire hydrant and bench leg within a two-mile radius. After that early afternoon fiasco, I ordered in. He munched on lamb and rice with a side of green beans, while I snacked on fish and chips, sipped on Smart Water and for good measure, chased it with my last Sam. Sleep came quickly.

  Thanks to a cold, wet nose nuzzling my face, C-Day was here, beginning at 5:05, long before the rooster crowed, even longer before the sun peaked its head above the far off horizon. Major and I trudged south along the surf until the darkness gave way to day. “It’s Candi Day, Major!” I shouted. “I can’t wait.”

  But ... wait I did until 8 AM for the local shops to open. Five gallons of fresh pink and red rose petals was not that absurd to the second florist on my list, thanks to the three hundred dollars I offered to make my request come true. Securing the fab ’50s band, now that was a little tougher, but nothing that two large wouldn’t cure. The crooner soloist and their illustrious leader cost equally as much. Sinatra impersonators must be in high demand around here. All I’ve got to say is for what he’s charging me he’d better sound like Frank, look like Dean and move like Sammy Davis Jr.

  Thankfully, the bakery had the brownies at the ready for less than ten bucks a dozen. Finally, something cheap ... excuse me affordable. After much searching, PetSmart had the twin ‘milk’ bottle carrying backpack for Major to wear since alcohol and glass were prohibited on the beach. I was missing something. Surely it would come to me during my last two stops in an otherwise, uneventful day.