by Matthew Rief
I helped Jack slow the bleeding as Ange pulled back, lifting us up off the water. The bouncing over the slightly white-capped bay gave way to a smooth upward ride.
“I need a course, guys!” Ange shouted.
Neither Jack nor I had donned headsets, so it was the only way to hear her over the roar of the engine.
“Closest should be the Mariners Hospital in Tavernier,” Jack yelled back.
He reached beside his seat and grabbed the cardboard tube containing the Everglades charts as well as a map of southern Florida. Since we didn’t have a signal for the GPS, we’d have to rely on them to find a good landing site.
I spun around, pulled out the map, and did a quick measurement before donning my headset.
“Roughly twenty-eight miles southeast of us, Ange,” I said.
She nodded and turned us around, putting us on a direct course for the Upper Keys. I looked closely at the map, looking for a good place for us to drop down.
“Near Point Lowe looks like our best bet,” I said, pointing at a place on the map while holding it in front of Ange. “There’s a public ramp here. It’s on the Atlantic side, and this wind will make it choppy, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
She nodded confidently.
Once I had a signal on my smartphone, I looked up the number to the hospital. When I had a woman from dispatch on the line, I explained the situation and requested an ambulance to meet us at the boat ramp at the eastern end of Lowe Street.
Ange brought us down a few minutes later, landing just past the outstretched planks of a few private docks. As expected, the water was choppy and we bounced a few times before slowing to just a few knots. Ange motored us into a small man-made marina just as an ambulance pulled up alongside an old dock. Even over the engine, we could hear its siren screaming across the morning air.
I opened the starboard door as we motored up alongside the dock, tied us off, and helped a team of first responders put TJ onto a stretcher and carry him off the plane. Quickly and efficiently, the professionals loaded him into the back of the ambulance. We watched as the siren switched on again and they swiftly disappeared down Lowe Street, heading toward the center of the island.
My heart was still pounding as the sound died away. It didn’t look good for him. I’d seen a lot of mortal injuries before, and getting struck by an arrow to the back was right up there. A blow like that could routinely take down a full-grown six-hundred-pound elk if placed correctly. I was amazed he’d survived the flight.
“Shit, bro,” Jack said as he looked over at me. The three of us were standing at the end of the dock, right beside the tied-off Cessna. He motioned up toward the sky and added, “Not even noon yet and we’re already in the thick of it.”
Jack was right. It was hard to believe we’d taken off from Tarpon Cove Marina earlier that very morning.
“What happened with you anyway?” Ange said, wrapping an arm around me and looking at me with her beautiful blue eyes. “If it’d been anyone else, I’d have been worried.” She brushed a few hairs from my face, her fingers sliding over the side of my head. “Crap, Logan. You’re bleeding.”
Her eyes grew wide as she touched a cut. It stung a little. She stepped beside me, reached into the backseat, and pulled out a packet of antiseptic wipes and a large Band-Aid.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Little dizzy. The guy used my head for batting practice and made pretty solid contact.”
“I’ll say,” Ange said, wiping the wound and making it sting even more.
“You get a good look at him, bro?”
I shook my head.
“They were both wearing face paint and sunglasses.”
They paused, looked at each other, then looked back at me.
“Both?” Ange said.
“Yeah. Looks like we’ve got two crazy serial killers on our hands. Just our luck.”
“I’ll make sure and buy a few lottery tickets,” Ange said. “So what now?”
“I got a message from Pete,” Jack said. “He made it to Flamingo.”
I nodded. “We’ll head over there in a bit and meet him. Just need to stop by the post office first.”
I reached into my cargo shorts pocket and pulled out the killer’s knife, which was still wrapped up in my drybag. I’d done my best to preserve it and hoped that the fingerprints hadn’t worn off. After a quick taxi ride, I mailed the knife same-day air to my old friend Scott Cooper. Scott had been my division officer in the Navy, and we’d been good friends ever since. Smart, athletic, and good at just about everything, Scott was currently serving as a senator representing Florida. He had a lot of connections, and I knew that he’d be able to get the knife into the right hands.
After mailing it off, we rode back to the dock. I called Mitch from the backseat and gave him a quick rundown of what’d happened. I also told him that TJ’s airboat was tied off just south of Hells Bay Chickee and that somebody would need to pick it up.
Just as the sun reached the top of the sky, we boarded the Cessna and flew northeast, back across Florida Bay.
NINE
We soared at a cruising speed of a hundred and fifty knots. Just under ten minutes after taking off, Ange brought us down a few hundred yards off Flamingo Beach. She motored us past the large pink Everglades National Park Headquarters and ranger station buildings and brought us into Flamingo Marina. We pulled up to a dock across from the Baia, and Ange killed the engine.
Aside from the Baia, a small dinghy, and a pontoon boat, the ocean side of the marina was empty, leaving a large selection of vacant spots along the various docks. Made sense. The Everglades isn’t exactly a popular tourist destination in the summer months. From June through September, the Glades boast average highs above ninety degrees with enough humidity to soak a sponge. And then there are the bugs. During a python-hunting trip, Jack had once told me that major companies and the US military use the Everglades to test bug sprays to see if they work at repelling mosquitoes. All in all, the summer Glades experience usually results in even the most prepared visitors adjusting their vacation plans at the last minute.
I removed my headset, stowed it on the dash, and pushed open the door. A rush of hot air swept against me. The moment my feet hit the starboard pontoon, I heard a familiar barking sound. As I bent down to tie us off, Atticus jumped the small gap onto the dock and buried his face in my chest. I smiled broadly and wrapped an arm around him while looping the nylon rope around the cleats.
Ange and Jack climbed down and we hauled our gear out of the cockpit and pontoon storage compartments. Pete appeared on the Baia’s deck and stepped onto the dock, offering us a hand. I thanked him for coming and for bringing up my boat.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, waving a hand at me. “Mitch told me you made some friends over in Hells Bay.”
“You could say that,” I said, loading our bags onto the Baia and carrying them down into the salon.
When we returned topside, Pete opened my cooler and handed out a few ice-cold bottles of water. I twisted one open and chugged all of it down in one long pull. I’d been so focused that I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was, and the water felt amazing.
“We need to talk about what happened,” Ange said.
I nodded. “Yeah, we do.” We’d only been able to discuss the incident briefly during the taxi rides and the flight back. “Just give me a minute. I’m in desperate need of a shower.”
“Yeah, you are,” Pete joked. “I was about to say that you should get your money back for whatever deodorant spray you’re using.”
We laughed as I turned, stepped below deck, and headed straight for the main cabin. I stripped off my clothes, which had undergone a lap in murky swamp water, treks through mangroves, and a few hours under the hot sun, and tossed them into a small hamper. After a quick hot shower, I dressed in a fresh tee shirt, shorts, and sandals.
Everyone was gathered in the salon when I stepped out. They had a big chart of the southern Everglades spread out on the dinet
te and were in the middle of a conversation.
“And that’s when this guy Teagan Suggs was struck in the back by an arrow,” Jack said just as I appeared.
“Then Logan went for a swim,” Ange said.
I nodded as I hinged open my fridge. “Seemed like a good way to cool off.”
I realized right away that Pete had taken the liberty of fully stocking my galley for the trip. There was a stack of fish fillets folded in pages of the Keynoter, a row of coconut water, four six-packs of Paradise Sunset beers, and a plastic bag of various fruit.
“I figured you’d be needing some good food if you were gonna go after a serial killer,” Pete said. “Speaking of good food, the Flamingo food truck just rolled in an hour ago. Let’s take this conversation to dry land. I want to hear what happened after your little swim.”
The food truck was parked in the lot beside the marina office. After paying the moorage fees for the Cessna, we ordered a stack of Cuban sandwiches along with potato chips and lemonades. We carried our haul over to a picnic table on the grass beside the water, which was well shaded thanks to a row of lignum vitae trees.
As we ate the sandwiches, which were much better than I’d expected, I told them what had happened starting from the moment I’d confronted the two guys near Hells Bay. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to tell. I knew their body types, how they were dressed, and their choice of weapons, but little else.
Once I’d told them what had happened, Pete steered the conversation to our search at the wreck.
“You guys find anything there?” he asked.
Ange rose and moved toward the water, down the dock, and into her Cessna. She returned less than a minute later with one of the arrows we’d pulled from the dinghy.
“We found this,” she said, presenting it to Pete.
Pete grabbed it and examined it for a few seconds. “Carbon shaft. Broadhead tip. Decent weight, I’d say five hundred grain. Scratched off all manufacturer markings.”
“Right.” Jack nodded. “And it’s a match to the one used to shoot the guy in Hells Bay.”
Pete nodded, taking everything in. “Find anything else?”
The three of us exchanged glances.
“Yeah,” I said. “We may have found a motive.”
He’d been looking out over the water, but his eyes suddenly darted over to meet mine.
“A motive?” he said.
“Ange found a bag of coke in their dink,” Jack said. “I didn’t know the Shepherds all that well, but something tells me that it wasn’t with them when they motored into the Glades.”
“Cocaine?” Pete said, shaking his head. “There’s no way George would have that kind of contraband. He was as law-abiding as a citizen can get, straighter than this arrow.” Pete paused a moment, taking a drink of his lemonade. “So the Shepherds stumbled upon a bag of snow, then these killers chase after them for it. These killers must be drug dealers.” He looked around the group and we each nodded. That was the conclusion we’d reached as well. “Who have you told about the coke?”
“Nobody,” I said. “And we’d like to keep it close to the chest until we can figure more of this out.”
We talked for half an hour while finishing up our food. I kept Atticus entertained by tossing his tennis ball across the grass a few times. I was surprised when he wore himself out after just a handful of throws. I guess he was enjoying the heat and humidity about as much as we were. I’d just showered and changed, yet my clothes were already starting to feel sticky.
As we gathered up our trash, I noticed a boat pull up on the freshwater side of the marina. After a quick tie-off, a tall guy with tanned skin and a long black beard stormed straight across the parking lot toward where the Baia and Cessna were floating. He was dressed in full camouflage and wore muddy hip boots. He paused for a moment along the water, staring at the dock, then turned and thundered toward us. It didn’t take me long to realize that he was the same guy we’d seen earlier, the one who’d shaken a fist at us as we’d flown over him while looking for TJ in Hells Bay.
“This one of your brawling buddies, Logan?” Pete said, rising to his feet and hovering his right hand over his waistband.
I didn’t need to see under his shirt to know that his silver Taurus Raging Bull revolver was stowed there, ready to be withdrawn and utilized at a moment’s notice.
“No,” Ange said, answering for me. “We saw him from the air. Didn’t look happy to see us then either.”
I stepped in front of the group and stood tall, facing the oncoming stranger. Whoever he was and whatever he wanted, he was trying to intimidate us with his movements. It didn’t work. I had my Sig ready at the side of my waistband just in case, but I was confident I could handle this guy unarmed.
“Well, if it isn’t the city boy who scared off my kill,” he said.
He was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, but it was clear from his body language and tone that he was pissed off. He stepped right up to me, moving his face less than a foot away from mine. I pegged him as a typical wannabe tough guy who lacked discernment when picking a fight. All brawn, no brains.
“You don’t want any trouble,” I said, staring at him through his dirty sunglasses. My body stayed tall, not moving back even an inch. “But if you don’t get out of my face, you’re gonna have a lot of it.”
He snarled and furrowed his brow. His left hand formed a fist and I could tell that he was close to making a decision that he was going to regret.
Just then, a second guy approached. This one came from behind me, and in my peripherals, I saw that he was wearing a round-brimmed tan hat, a short-sleeved gray button-up with a gold badge, and green pants. The angry guy in front of me shifted his gaze to the approaching guy, then took a small step backward.
“Am I too late to place a bet?” the guy said.
His tone was casual, but his voice was raised. He walked over and stopped between me and Angry Guy. He was a few inches shorter than me, had lightly tan skin, and looked to be in his forties. His distinct Texan drawl and park ranger uniform made it obvious who he was.
“You must be Logan Dodge,” he said, turning to look at me and extending his right hand. When I accepted it, he added, “I’m Mitch Ross. Nice to finally meet you in person.” He glanced over at the other guy. “And I see you’ve met Hank Boggs. A frequent happy face around these parts. You giving these folks a good Gladers welcome, Hank?”
“These slickers scared off my quarry with their damn low-flying plane,” Hank snarled. He was still breathing heavily. “I was just about to put it down. First hog I’ve seen in two days.”
“I’m sure you’ll find another,” Mitch said. “I promise you that it wasn’t the only one out there.”
Hank stepped beside me and faced Mitch.
“You have any idea how long I was stalking that boar? It was all a waste of time thanks to these tourists here.”
“Right,” Ange said. “I’m sure your time is very valuable.”
I cracked a smile. Even the brute caught her sarcasm.
“You wanna say that again, little girl?” he said, stepping toward her.
Ange didn’t back down. She strode toward him confidently and I stepped between them at the last second. Hank had a rage-fueled look in his eyes that I was all too familiar with. Before either of them could make a move on the other, I grabbed Hank by his left wrist, twisted his body around, and slammed his head against the picnic table. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out, but it was hard enough to cause him to grunt and flare his nostrils.
I pressed him against the tabletop while forcing his arm behind him. In that position, I could break his arm in a fraction of a second if necessary.
“Time for you to cool off,” I said sternly. “If you make a move like that again, I’ll break you. Understand?”
He was still breathing heavily, but his muscles relaxed a little and he nodded. I let go of him and stepped back, letting him regain himself. He rubbed his forehead, then spat onto the grass
.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
He rubbed his jaw and sneered.
“What the hell for?”
“For saving your ass,” I said. “’Cause this ‘little girl’ was about to hand it to you.”
He narrowed his gaze again, but this time Mitch stepped in.
“Easy, Hank,” Mitch said. “They’re here to help with the investigation.” Mitch paused a moment, then added, “Come to think of it, you were out in the center of Whitewater the other night, right? You didn’t see anything? Didn’t hear any gunshots?”
Hank gathered himself. Took one last look at us, then turned around and stormed back toward his airboat.
“This is the Glades,” he yelled as he walked away. “Gunshots go off all the time.”
Mitch watched him for a few seconds, then turned to look at us.
Jack shook his head and chuckled. “We’re just making all sorts of new friends today, aren’t we?”
TEN
“I hope you don’t judge the people in this neck of the woods by your interactions today,” Mitch said as he led us over to the ranger station building. “I’ve lived all over the country and I’ve never met so many friendly people in my life. Barring a few exceptions, of course.”
The cool air inside felt amazing, whooshing against us as we entered through the glass door. There was a small welcome area with a counter full of maps and pamphlets on the park. A few stuffed raccoon and a deer rested on shelves off to the side. I’d been there a few times before and spotted a familiar friendly face behind the counter.
“Hey, Martha,” I said, waving toward her as we walked across the room. “It’s good to see your bright and smiling face.”
She walked around the counter and greeted all of us.
“This is a nice surprise after the tough couple of days we’ve had,” she said with a smile. She looked at my face and added, “Logan, what kind of trouble have you gotten into this time?”
I feigned confusion, then grinned and told her that it was barely a scratch.