by DJ Wilson
One answer down. One to go ... or was it two?
Chapter 77
Major and I slept in until six. After a quick walk with the dog, up and down the beach chasing crazy crabs, I fed him and left him piled up on the couch. Going downstairs for breakfast, I put a call in to Gen. Little while I waited for my food to arrive.
“Morning General, Jon David here. I told you I’d get back with you today.
“Good morning to you, Captain. What have you got for me?”
“As it stands right now, there will need to be an extraction of no more than two from the roof of the Marriott Waterside in Tampa at 1820 hours. Are you familiar with it? My sources tell me the building does have a helo pad, sir, I just don’t know if it will be lit.”
“No problem. I’ve stayed there. I’ll make sure it’s lit. My aide will notify them, anonymously of course, that a VIP is flying in tomorrow night before 1900. They’ll leave the lights on. Don’t like surprises. Do I need to bring security?”
“I don’t think so sir. Better safe than sorry. I’ll let you make that call.”
“And where are we going from there, Captain?”
“Southwest Florida International.”
“Copy that. Anything else I need to know, you call me, 1820 tomorrow. Marriott Waterside ... Confirmed.”
I pushed my food back and forth across the plate until it was cold. I wasn’t hungry. Too many details still to iron out left me hanging off the ledge. Seeking a small degree of solace I called Candi ... It went straight to voice mail. I forgot Marcy flew in late last night. I sent her a text.
What I could control I did, stopping by the business center and confirming late night departures out of Florida International. I found the two I wanted, leaving non-stop at 10:05 PM and 10:45 PM, respectively. They weren’t full flights by any means. But, I was getting ahead of myself. This was a trip for two, better still for three, counting the dog.
By 9 AM, I had checked out of the Plaza and was on I-4 west driving to Ft. Myers, just a shade over four hours away. Passing through Orlando, trapped in the smothering highway congestion that the almighty tourism dollar brings, I had a major epiphany. Maui, my first choice, could eventually become just like this — God Bless Us, America. I pulled the trigger again. I should be going where I can blend in with others who unselfishly give more than they receive. I needed a second opinion
Major and I rolled into Ft. Myers sometime around two and drove straight to the long distance shipper. Surprisingly, in less than an hour all the forms and paperwork were filled out to ship my truck, sans the trailer and the bike, west or north. What they needed the most, I couldn’t provide — an exact physical address to ship to. That would have to come later.
I bought Major an oversized crate, complete with a memory foam fitted bed at PetSmart, along with two giant rawhide chews to keep him entertained during his confinement. Then I found a J.C. Penney and bought two pieces of luggage. Next, I checked into a ground floor room at the Holiday Inn on Airport Row. After unloading the dog, his crate, my clothes, my bags and the bike, I dropped my truck off at the shipping office. Nice enough folks, whose employees were kind enough to give me a ride back to the hotel to keep me from calling a cab.
While the dog and I waited for the surprise rain shower to quit, I texted Gio:
Hey Pal. Tell me what you know and what you don’t.
After fifteen plus minutes, Gio replied with multiple texts in no particular order. I bet it took him that long to type. That’s mean, even for a little prick to say.
Ciao D. What I know. We table of 4. Marcy come. Her Momma, Joseph, table 12. 4 heavy.
Heavy as in carrying concealed weapons, I surmised. Ha ... I’m not as dumb as I look.
Mgr do what I say. Big Tip. U Have Hr. No C movie ... Candice say NO!
Which meant it was up to me to get her to say yes. Better still, if she could burn me two copies on DVDs to fit into jewel cases along with two very important CD’s. I replied:
Thanks Gio. I owe you. We’ll talk tomorrow late. Meet me by pool at the Marriott, 7 PM sharp.
And then I rested my eyes watching Major break in his new bed. His sleeping, I soon discovered was contagious. I woke up at 3:30 and found three missed calls from Candi. For some dumb reason that now escapes me, I’d left the phone on vibrate.
Since I was still in my clothes, I took Major for his long overdue walk. I now remember why I never liked south Florida. It’s as muggy at night as it is in daylight. We made two trips along Airport Row and back. My shirt, because of the heavy humidity, melted into my back. Yuk!
Since 5:30 breakfast was still an hour away, all I could scavenge was last nights’ coffee. It would have to do. Back in the room, I flipped on the news and zoned out, wondering what the day along with the night would bring.
When I put this plan together I was counting on shock and awe — the element of surprise, a room full of witnesses and a willing participant jumping at the chance to run away with me. What I didn’t anticipate was the radical change in me that had occurred on my way here. I was now seeking service above solitude. Go figure. So much for writing a book.
Maui, Hawaii is by far the most beautiful place in the world by many standards, including mine. I spent three glorious days in an Embassy Suites watching hump back whales swim leisurely back and forth along the beach, not fifty yards from my room. Then there’s the diamond in the rough. Hana, population 1200, is located four hours away from anywhere and offers a temperate climate, seclusion, privacy and unsurpassed beauty. I even believe Charles Lindberg retired and died there. Thankfully, I’m not ready to retire or die — not yet anyway.
Which brings me to my second and final option, Corner Brook, Newfoundland, population 20,000. Years ago, I persuaded three friends to go on a moose, caribou hunt on an island in the middle of Newfoundland, which, itself is an island in the North Atlantic. Long story short, our guns, our gear, our luggage never made it out of Boston. But we sure as hell did, never dreaming our luggage would never catch us before we were dropped into a remote tent camp by helo.
Before us, an eight-day hunt. Behind us, our guns, our gear, our clothes sitting securely inside Boston Logan with no way to retrieve them. Within ten minutes of landing, Punch, our outfitter, passed around a yellow legal pad around asking us to write down our clothes sizes, shoe sizes, coat sizes as well as the caliper of gun we shot. Satisfied he had all the information he needed, he called in the supply chopper and disappeared. The next morning two choppers landed bringing us two of everything we listed, half of which was brand new. Seems the story of four stranded yanks went viral. Picked up by the radio stations, our dilemma passed through Corner Brook like wildfire and people from a fifty-mile radius delivered everything we needed for the week and more.
Newfie’s, as they’re commonly called in jest by other mainland Canadians, could very well use my gifts and talents, while offering me a like minded community to establish new and deeper roots.
Paying it forward begins at home. Random, unselfish acts of kindness is a trait Newfoundlanders must be instilling in their children at birth. To me, Corner Brook, and possibly all the rest of Newfoundland, is, to some degree, everything I’ve been searching for in my quest of Mayberry. Although, I dreamed of Maui, Corner Brook was calling my name, only louder.
Another lingering question ... would Candi hear it, too?
Chapter 78
It was now half past six. Candi, by my calculations, had slept enough. I texted but got no reply. I called three times, no answer. At least it rang. I called again.
“D, do you know what time I went to sleep this morning? I tried calling you last night — three times. You didn’t answer. I thought something was terribly wrong.”
“Candi, do you know what time I got up?”
“Probably about the same time I went to bed. Marcy worried with me. Besides, we had a lot to catch up on.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun, huh baby?”
“I’m so tired. Can
you wait until I wake up before you start making jokes?”
“Grab a nap, then a shower. Call me later.”
“I’ll grab a shower — a cold one. I’ll call you back, K?”
“Bye, baby.”
I visited the breakfast room while I waited for Candi to call. Other than some black tea and an English muffin with peanut butter, nothing else looked appealing. It wasn’t the diverse food choices Holiday Inn provided, it was me. My appetite had waned since Candi left. I was apprehensive about tonight. Hard choices, harder decisions that had to be made today, tonight. Otherwise, I would spend the rest of my life sleeping with one eye open.
My phone vibrated, then rang. “Morning, Candice, are you awake now?”
“Not entirely ... But, it’s the best you’re going to get on three hours of sleep.”
“Remember, I told you there would come a time when you had to make some hard decisions? This is not the time. It will come soon enough. This morning, I’d like to ask you some hypothetical questions.
“Baby, you woke me up just to ask me hypothetical questions?”
“It’s important to me.”
“Go ahead, D. Fire away.”
“I’m going to paint you a picture — a scenario if you will. Answer truthfully and honestly. There are no right or wrong answers here. Let’s suppose you were given two choices where you could spend the next chapter of your life. One is by far the most beautiful place in the world. Ideal year round temps, blue water, cascading waterfalls into shallow pools, lush green forests near a small town with less than 1200 people, mostly mainlanders looking to retire in paradise.”
“It sounds too good to be true.”
“It’s real, I promise you. The second place has mild summers and harsh winters; fourteen feet of snow a year, blustery cold winds off the North Atlantic, an abundance of wildlife, moose, caribou and bear; and by far, 20,000 of the nicest, most unselfish, giving, genuine people you’ll ever meet. Here’s my question, which place would you choose?”
“Before I met you, what you first described would fit me to a tee. Paradise. I used to dream of lounging in a hammock on a private beach and spending my days sipping Mai Tais. The second place you mentioned sounds beautiful, yet brutal. But, it’s the people you describe that live there that sets it apart from the first one. They sound so much like the qualities I’ve come to appreciate in you. Therefore, I choose that one.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. “You’ve grown up quite a bit since we met, Candice Parker. Who would have thought six months ago you would choose substance over style? Go figure.”
“What’s this about, D? Are you going to tell me or not?’
“I am. Until then, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to trust me a little longer. That being said, I need you to burn two DVD’s of the video you made with Joseph. Then I want you to give them to Giovanni.”
“I can’t. I wouldn’t chance those getting out — ever.”
“Baby, this is bigger than you, bigger than Joseph, certainly bigger than me. As long as I’m alive and you two aren’t together, he won’t stop looking for me.”
“D, as far as he knows you’re history.”
“But, I’m not and therein lies the problem. One careless move, one casual photograph and the chase resumes, Candi. I watched three people die needlessly last week because of his jealously.”
“You didn’t tell me that. Was Donnie one of them?”
“I can’t say; I’m sorry.”
“I’ll do it, D. But if this gets out, Joseph is history.”
“That’s what I’m counting on. Not for him to die mind you, just for him to know that the risk he takes is far greater than the reward he receives.”
“When will I hear from you again?”
“Soon, baby. Soon, I promise. Kisses.” I pressed end. I had my second opinion.
“Major, we’re far from finished on this ride. Be patient with me a little while longer. I’m beginning to see a glimmer of light at the far end of the tunnel.”
Chapter 79
The rest of the morning was spent unloading my treasures from the saddlebags and the truck and packing it into my newly acquired luggage. I fed the dog, walked him and called a cab to take us, my bags, and his crate to the airport. Air Canada accommodated me in every way possible, assuring me they would take care of Major, until our flight left Ft. Myers. In dire need of solitude, I walked back to the Holiday Inn, feeling at times, lost, but never alone. There was an abundance of people who had my back. Tonight, I hoped I would not disappoint three of them, Gio, Mile — and Candi most of all.
I dressed in black leather and donned a red bandana in honor of Candi’s famous red thong. Confident I was ready to ride, I pumped my fist and shouted.. ... “Let the games begin!”
Traveling north on I-75 into rush hour traffic, I planned to be at the Marriott before seven to share the nuts and bolts of my convoluted plan with Giovanni. Thanks to clearing northbound traffic, I arrived shortly after six o’clock, along with hundreds of other attendees dressed in their finest revelry. With nothing to do but watch and wait, over the next fifty minutes I made Sam Adams proud.
A few minutes before seven, I traded glass for plastic and found my way to the pool. Giovanni, dressed in his finest biker rags, was already there, holding jeweled cases in one hand, a red solo cup in the other. My hero.
“Welcome to the Gala, Gio. I’m glad you dressed down for it.” Perusing his attire, Gio was wearing a ripped to the shoulder, black tee, emblazoned with the words, BITCH BEHIND on the front and STUD IN FRONT on the back. His leather chaps covered most of the holes in his jeans, except where they didn’t, in back, exposing his left butt cheek. I pinched it. He jumped, spilling his beer.
“Ahh, D. Too much sunshine?”
“The word is daylight, Gio. Maybe a little for the caliber of people here tonight. In South Beach, you’d fit right in, San Francisco, too.”
“South Beach — yes! San Fran — no!” replied Giovanni, handing me his beer, then taking it back and giving me the DVD’s instead.
“You been drinking long?”
“Si,” Gio giggled.
“How many have you had?”
“Not enough”
“I heard that.” Scoping out a far off umbrellaed table, I pointed, “Follow me.” Over the next two beers, I pitched my plan, revised it and with Gio’s help, refined it and dumbed it down — the simpler the better. Making my entrance after the awards portion of the event would put all eyes on me and the table I rode up on. All told, I had twenty minutes from start to finish to confront the dragons, rescue the princess and ride off into the sunset.
I followed Gio into the banquet hall, located on the Mezzanine level and stood just inside the door, watching him weave his way through throngs of people in masquerades. Once he reached his table, he stopped, turned and walked to a large adjoining table, kissing a woman on the cheek, which I presumed was Candi’s mom. Two chairs to her right, sat Joseph attempting to be, by all indications, John Travolta from the movie Saturday Night Fever.
Back to Giovanni’s table, there were three women, two dressed in leather, the third adorned in a shimmery red dress that exuded elegance. She looked familiar — Candi. It was the first time I’d seen her looking so ... glamorous. Her hair was pulled back and wrapped tightly into a bun with what looked like a golden dagger holding it in place. Pretty woman / biker babe is that what Giovanni said?
For the first thirty minutes, I listened to Jeffery Whitehouse, the CEO/MC tonight, acknowledge all the locally famous people in attendance as well as offer a brief history of All Children’s Hospital, concluding with a litany of projects they hoped to launch from the proceeds of tonight’s Gala. Looking at the program, I noticed the next item listed was the Benefactor of the Year Award, recognizing the individual or individuals who best exemplified the heart and soul of All Children’s through their charitable acts of giving and service to the community. Hopefully, my phone call to Mr. Whitehouse last week wa
s successful. I smiled.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said Jeffery Whitehouse, “it is my pleasure to present the highest award offered by our foundation to one of our own. Stand with me and welcome our newest inductee into the All Children’s Hall of Fame, Ms. Candice Parker.
I watched Candi lower her head into her hands, before catching her breath while making a 360˚ sweep of the room to verify there was not another Candice Parker in the audience walking up to receive this prestigious award. The applause was deafening and continued to roar until she stood and made her way to the podium, glimmering in her beautiful red evening gown.
Mr. Whitehouse, reading her bio as she approached, got to the crux of the award as Candi reached the stage. “Dim the lights, please. Ladies and gentlemen, I direct your attention to the video screen on your right coming to you live from All Children’s. Candice, someone very special wants to speak to you. Go ahead, Missy...”
I watched as Missy appeared, looking no longer frail, but vibrant and alive. “Ms. Candice, I’m Missy Bryan from Mistatim, Saskatchewan. We’ve never met in person, at least I don’t think we have ... I mean, you could be an angel in disguise. Couldn’t she mom?” asked Missy looking away, before turning back to the camera. “I want everybody out there to know I was dying a little every day. Then they said Candice gave so I could live. I’m alive today because of Candice Parker. And I’m going to Disney World!” Missy looked away. “It’s true, Mom. D, promised me. He said I get to meet Mickey, Minnie and Pluto. Vic said we’re all going to Disney World. D said, I’m going to be a Princess.”
My heart stopped beating. My eyes glistened. Victoria, I wish you could see this. Then out of the mouth of a child, it came in waves — D said ... Vic said ... D said.
Turning back to the camera, Missy continued, “Ms. Candice, I love you. You come too. Bye-bye,” waved Missy as the screen faded to black before switching back live to the podium where Candi was standing, in tears. I watched Marcy vault from her seat and angle toward the stage with a package of tissues in hand. It wouldn’t be enough. Throughout the banquet hall, tears of joy flowed for this blond haired, green-eyed little girl named Missy who captured their hearts this night like she stole mine a few short days ago.