by Dan Walsh
“My guess is, people out here mostly live off the land,” Vic said. “Well, more like live off the water. I heard they eat alligator tail, snakes, turtles, and of course, all kinds of fish.”
“I could go for some fried fish about now. Think this guy might fix us some?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Vic said. “The better question is . . . will he shoot us? That deputy had it wrong, thinking we might get more cooperation from him because we’re with the FBI. He’s either not from here or hasn’t read much about local history.”
“Why’s that?”
“If this guy we’re coming to see is old enough to have a son Timmy’s age, he’s probably a first-generation descendent of moonshiners. Moonshine was big business down here during Prohibition. The FBI wasn’t a friend to the local economy. He’s probably grown up hating guys like us. We need to go in there ready to shoot, if necessary. Especially if it turns out he’s got Timmy.”
“So no fish fry then?”
“Don’t think so.” They passed by a few houses spread far apart.
“What’s that up ahead?” Vic said. “Some kind of sign.”
Both men looked. If it were possible, the road appeared to narrow even more. A large hand-painted sign was nailed to a tall fence post on the right. Big red letters. Big and sloppy. As they got closer, they could see that the sign said: “Russell’s Airboat Tours.”
“Think Russell is his first name or last?” Nate said.
“I have no idea. Looks like we’re about to find out.”
As they rode past the sign, the rutty dirt path curved to the right in between two large cypress trees. Beyond that, they arrived at a clearing about the size of a small parking lot. At the far end was a toolshed that leaned much too far to the east. On the left side of the property, sitting out on the water and held up by wood pilings, was a wooden house with a rusty tin roof. It was connected to the land by a rickety dock. The whole property was surrounded by a mossy cypress swamp. Parked at an odd angle next to the toolshed sat an old Ford pickup truck, looked to be from the late forties. It was a dull red, or was it just rust?
“I’m guessing no airboat tours today,” Nate said. “No other cars here. The guy probably owns that truck, don’t you think?”
Vic nodded. He looked toward the house, saw two wicker rockers on the front porch and some faded life vests hanging over a rail. In between the rockers, the shotgun the deputy had mentioned leaned against the wall. “But I don’t see an airboat anywhere. Maybe it’s docked behind the house.”
“Or maybe he and the boy are out catching dinner.”
They pulled up near the entrance to the house and got out of the car. The next sound was a slapping screen door, followed by the cocking of a shotgun. He moves quick, Vic thought.
“You two Feds can turn right around and get back in your car,” the man yelled.
He wore the full hillbilly outfit, complete with overalls and a straw hat. But, Vic thought, if you took off that straw hat and replaced it with a gray fedora, he did look a lot like the man in the artist’s sketch.
“How’d he know we were Feds?” Nate whispered.
“Must be the ties,” Vic said.
“I know a pair of Feds when I see ’em,” he said. “And you might as well talk straight to me. I can hear better than a bat. Besides, I had a feeling I’d be getting more company after that deputy showed up here. Haven’t had any lawmen out here in months. Why you harassing me all of a sudden? I ain’t done nothin’.”
“Mr. Russell, please lower the shotgun so we can talk.” Vic couldn’t believe this guy had gotten the drop on them.
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you men. It’s a free country. This is my property. And I ain’t done nothin’ wrong to give you cause to trespass on it. Now get back in that shiny black car and drive on out of here.”
“We will, Mr. Russell,” Nate said. “But you need to do something for us first. Soon as we take care of the reason we came out here, we’ll be on our way.”
“Have to do with my boy?”
“Well, yes, sir, actually it does.”
“What y’all want with him? That deputy wanted to see him too. He ain’t done nothin’ wrong, neither.”
How could Vic explain this? “No one is saying he did. We just need to see him a minute. After that, we’ll be on our way.”
“Why you need to see him? He’s just a boy.”
“How long has he lived here with you?” Vic said.
“His whole life. What do you expect? I’m his pa. He ain’t hardly ever been off this property.”
“Is Mrs. Russell around?” Nate said. “Could we talk with her?”
“She’s been gone since he was two. Been just me and the boy ever since.” He lowered the shotgun slightly but still kept it aimed in their direction.
“Mr. Russell, please call your son,” Vic said.
Russell scratched his chin. “No, I don’t think so. I think you men should just turn around and go back the way you came. I don’t want to upset my son any further. He struggles with nightmares as it is. Won’t help he sees you men in your dark suits, asking him all kinds questions.”
“Think maybe living out here with alligators and snakes might be a bigger cause of those nightmares,” Nate whispered to Vic.
“I heard that,” Russell said.
“Mr. Russell,” Vic said, “we’re FBI agents investigating a kidnapping case. We can’t leave until we see the boy.”
“What . . . kidnapping?” Russell tightened his grip on the shotgun and pointed it right at them.
Vic put his hand on his pistol.
“What’s that have to do with me? I ain’t kidnapped nobody. There’s just me and my boy here. No one else.”
“That may be,” Vic said, “but we still need to see him. The kidnapping involves a little boy.”
“That’s ridiculous. You think I kidnapped my own boy?”
“Mr. Russell, we need to confirm he is your boy. The reason we’re out here is because some witnesses saw a man take a little boy. Our artists made a sketch of him, and we’ve been running that sketch in the newspapers the last couple of days.”
“That’s not my concern,” Russell said.
“You look a lot like the man in that sketch,” Nate said. “And you’ve got a boy in there about the same age as the missing boy.”
Nate took out his pistol and aimed it at the man’s head. Russell saw this and aimed the shotgun at him. “You want to shoot me, G-man? I think I got the edge with this here shotgun.”
“Now hold on,” Vic said. He wondered what Nate was up to, why he was escalating things.
“I don’t want to shoot you, Mr. Russell.” Nate reached in through the open car window and pulled out the newspaper. “I’ve got an idea that should clear this all up pretty quickly. If that little boy is your son, then you’ve got nothing to worry about from us. Let my partner walk this newspaper to you so you can see the picture of the little boy’s face, the one we’re looking for. You’ll know right off the bat if he is or he isn’t.”
“I already know he’s not.”
“Okay, then we’ll know that. But you’ll know when you see the picture, if it’s not him, that we’ll get back in our car and drive away, leave you and your boy alone for good.”
Vic took off his hat and black blazer, started loosening his tie.
“What are you doing?” Russell said.
“I don’t want your boy to see a G-man when he looks at me,” Vic said. “Just a regular guy. You get customers out here sometimes, right? Just tell him I’m a customer. You can even show me your airboat, or maybe ask him to show me. I’ll know in five seconds if he’s not who we’re looking for.”
“Problem is,” Russell said, “I’m sure he just heard everything you said. Hears like a bat too. Like his old man.” He lowered his shotgun slightly. “Just bring that newspaper over here and let me see it. Let’s get this nonsense over with.”
Vic walked around the car. Nate han
ded him the newspaper but still kept his gun aimed at Russell. Vic walked across the property, then across the dock to Russell’s front porch. When he got a few feet away, he held out the paper for Russell to see.
Russell squinted as he looked first at the sketch then at Timmy’s picture. “You think that man looks like me?”
“A little,” Vic said.
“Maybe. But that definitely ain’t my boy. ’Course, I already knew that. Little Russ,” he yelled. “C’mon out here a moment, let this nice man take a look at you.”
Vic stared at the door. A few moments later, a young boy about five or six walked through it. It wasn’t Timmy. It wasn’t even close. If the tourist who’d called this in in the first place had a newspaper nearby when they’d taken that airboat tour, they would have known it too. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, sir.” Vic turned toward Nate. “It’s not him.” He reached out his hand. “You and your son have a good day.”
Russell hesitated, then shook his hand. “Guess no harm was done.”
Vic bent down and smiled. “Just remember, Little Russ . . . we might wear dark suits and black hats, but we’re really the good guys.” They shook hands, and Vic headed back across the dock.
“Hope you find that little boy soon,” Russell said.
45
After dinner that night, the guys, including Colt, went out to the living room to watch Walter Cronkite on the national news. Without a doubt, he’d be sharing more on the world blowing to bits, Gina thought. For once, she was actually glad to be doing the dishes. And tonight she had her sister’s help.
The afternoon had crawled by. Still no word from the FBI, and no one had called from the newspapers or local network news. Didn’t anybody care about her son? Rose had suggested there probably would have been lots of calls and lots of interest if this Cuban crisis wasn’t happening. People were so distracted. Three days had gone by since the president broke the news, and with each day, the possibility of nuclear war seemed to be intensifying.
Gina got that, but it didn’t help. It was an odd thing to think, but even if the world was about to be destroyed by a nuclear holocaust, her only concern was to have Timmy right there beside her, holding her hand.
Rose had already started washing the dishes before Gina had finished clearing the table. With each trip back and forth to the sink, Gina looked at the telephone. At dinner, Scott seemed to think the FBI agents would have arrived at their location by now, unless it was in the Florida Keys or at the far end of the panhandle, near Alabama.
She picked up the salt and pepper shakers and the ketchup bottle and looked at the phone again. Why haven’t they called? Shouldn’t they have found him by now?
Just as she brought the last item from the table, a gravy bowl, the telephone rang. Gina almost dropped the bowl. She set it on the counter and hurried to the phone. Scott, Mike, and Colt were already there. Rose walked up behind her, drying her hands on a towel.
Scott lifted the receiver. “Hello? This is Scott Harrison. Oh hello, Vic.”
Scott listened a few moments, nodding his head. Then his countenance fell. He looked at everybody, shaking his head no.
They hadn’t found Timmy.
Gina didn’t know anything else that was said; that was the only thing that mattered. She started breathing again and headed back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she heard Scott hang up the telephone. He came into the kitchen, followed by the others.
“Vic was sorry to call us with this news. But it wasn’t Timmy. They had driven all the way down to the Everglades. Apparently, there’s this guy down there who gives airboat tours. Some people who’d ridden with him saw his picture in the paper and remembered he lived in a house down there, just him and a little boy.”
Rose put her hand on Gina’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. We’ve been praying all day that this would be it.”
Everyone stood there for a moment, then Scott said, “Anything we can do out here?”
He’d never asked that question before. “No, we’ve got it covered. Why don’t you go back and watch the rest of the news?”
“It’s already over,” Colt said. “You know what that means . . .”
Gina had no idea.
“Ozzie and Harriet,” Scott said.
“No, Dad. We don’t watch that anymore since you moved out. We watch Mister Ed.”
“Mister Ed? No . . . Ozzie and Harriet’s much better,” Scott said.
Colt looked at her, as if she would side with him. She wanted to. Not that she liked Mister Ed so much, but she liked watching “perfect family sitcoms” even less. “Why don’t you let Uncle Mike decide? Since he’s our guest?”
Scott and Colt looked at Mike. “I’ve gotta go with Mister Ed,” Mike said.
Colt smiled, but Gina noticed that Scott smiled just as much. “All right, Colt. You win.” He rustled his hand gently through Colt’s hair. The three of them turned and headed back toward the living room. Scott stopped and said to Gina, “You almost done in there? Might do you some good to hear a talking horse for a while.”
Gina laughed. It felt almost strange. “We won’t be long.” She almost said thanks. She managed a smile, then turned to help Rose with the dishes.
Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Gina found herself thinking about how happy her sister’s marriage seemed, what a normal family life she had. Almost as nice as Ozzie and Harriet’s, and the Cleavers. But nicer, because Mike and Rose’s happiness was real. After all these years of watching Mike and Rose, she decided it was time to just ask. “Hey, Rose, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for some time.”
“What is it?”
“Are you happy?” she said quietly. “You and Mike. Are you as happy as you seem?”
“Hmm,” Rose said. “I think so. I mean, we’re not pretending to be anything. Do we seem happy to you?”
“Yes, you do. I’d have given anything if Scott and I could have been that happy.” She was suddenly overcome by an ambush of tears.
“Oh, Gina.” Rose handed her a clean dish towel.
“I’m sorry,” Gina said. “Sometimes I hate being a woman.” She dabbed her eyes.
Rose smiled. “I wish I could tell you that you and Scott could be that happy again. I know it’s not as simple as that, because of what . . .”—she whispered the next part—“what he did at that party. But the secret to our happiness is something you can know. Mike and I have had our share of troubles and, really, a few years after our wedding, we weren’t doing very well. We started looking for a new church and began attending one in Savannah. The pastor there teaches things from the Bible you and I never heard in the church we grew up in. He talks a lot about God’s love and kindness, and about his willingness to help us get through the difficult things we all face.”
“That definitely doesn’t sound like the church we grew up in.” Gina grew up mostly afraid of displeasing God, and she was pretty sure she was failing most of the time.
“I know. And this pastor met with Mike and me after this men’s breakfast Mike went to, and took us through a bunch of Scriptures about God’s ideas for marriage and how things are supposed to work. It was amazing. Mike really began to change after that, and I guess I did too.”
“And this is a Christian church?” Gina said.
“Definitely. The pastor just teaches things that are a lot more practical than I was used to hearing. He even has a sense of humor. We laugh at something he says almost every Sunday.”
This definitely didn’t sound like the church they had grown up in.
“But he gets serious too. The last few Sundays, he’s been teaching about Joseph in the Old Testament. You remember that story?”
Gina nodded. The guy whose brothers sold him into slavery.
“Joseph went through some horrendous things,” Rose said. “The kind of things that would make you wonder if God had turned his back on you completely. The pastor said Joseph didn’t hate God because of all these things. Instead, he put his trust in
God to see him through. And God did. Not right away, but over time. And he used every single horrible thing Joseph went through to his advantage. When the trial was over, Joseph said that God had turned all the evil men had done to him into good.”
Gina was pretty surprised at how much Rose had remembered from one sermon. She could hardly remember anything her pastor said by the time she left the parking lot.
“Then,” Rose said, her face all lit up, “our pastor said that God is always with us and for us, just like he was with Joseph. And when we put our trust in him in hard times and do what he says, a time will come when we will look back on those hard times and smile, because we’ll know that what follows after is not more misery and heartache but God’s blessing and peace. And we’ll know it was God who worked it all out.”
Gina had never heard anything like this before. She wanted to believe it. If it was true. But how could it be? How could anything good follow after what had happened to her marriage?
Or what had happened to Timmy?
Please, God, bring Timmy back to me.
46
That same evening in DeLand, back in her little house, Mamie Lee was trying to relax over a cup of coffee with her friend Etta Mae. Etta Mae was much better company for Mamie than her own thoughts, which never drifted far away from worrying about little Timmy.
Thankfully, Mister Scott was kind enough to call her with the latest news. Even though there wasn’t any good news to tell. Mamie made sure he had called his mama first. Mrs. Harrison cared way more than she let on. In some ways, Mamie felt bad for white folk, especially the wealthy ones. Keeping their emotions locked up all the time. Couldn’t be good for your health.
“So how’d your day go, Etta Mae?”
“About the same as usual, I guess. Laundry, vacuuming, dusting. But Mrs. Schaeffer dropped a big surprise on me as I was getting ready to head out for the day.”
Mamie sipped her coffee. Nice and hot. Warmed her up from the cool breeze that had just started blowing in from her open windows. “A surprise?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, as much with her eyebrows as her voice. “When she first started explaining it, I was getting upset. Then she quickly made it worth my while.”