by Matthew Rief
“One step at a time,” I said, striding over to the helm. “Everybody hold on.”
I hit the throttles, accelerating us back toward Key West.
THIRTY-ONE
I piloted us back into the marina, killed the engines, and tied off to slip twenty-four. After a quick cleanup and gathering of gear, Jack and Pete hauled our day’s catch onto the dock and carried it down to the cleaning station. As they did, Ange and I went quickly to work rinsing our gear with the freshwater hose.
I thought about Buck the whole trip back. We’d tracked him down in the swamps, where he’d had the home court advantage. Now, he’d ventured out into the real world. After spending over ten years living in the middle of nowhere, I knew that adjusting to normal society wouldn’t be the easiest thing. We had the advantage now, and I knew that it would only be a matter of time before we tracked him down again.
I looked up and saw Gus Henderson approach from the direction of the marina office. He was wearing an orange visor, sunglasses, and a Conch Republic tee shirt. He flip-flopped past Jack and Pete and stopped right beside the Baia.
“Feel free to as much of that as you want, Gus,” I said, motioning toward the fish and lobster the guys were hauling over to the cleaning station.
“I need to talk to you about something,” he said flatly.
He motioned down the dock, indicating that he wanted our conversation to be private. Intrigued, I set my rinsed gear on the sunbed, then stepped onto the dock and followed him a few strides away from the nearest boat.
“Somebody called the office asking for you, Logan,” he said.
He spoke in a serious tone, which was unusual for the marina owner. I raised my eyebrows, tilting my head so that my eyes could meet his. His gaze was narrowed on me, his brow furrowed.
“At first he said that he was an old friend of yours. But I figured it was a lie from the start. He gave off a strange vibe, even over the phone.”
“What did he want, Gus?” I said.
“At first he asked what slip you were at. But I don’t give out personal information like that to anyone. I protect my patrons.” He paused a moment, clearing his throat. “Then the conversation turned sour. His tone shifted and he raised his voice. He told me to relay a message to you. He said that he wants you to meet him over at Sugarloaf Landing. He also said that if you don’t come alone, he’ll kill her. Didn’t say who she was, though.”
I paused a moment, taking in everything he’d said. My right hand unconsciously formed a tight fist and I narrowed my gaze.
“Did he say where in Sugarloaf Landing?”
Sugarloaf Landing is a housing community on Lower Sugarloaf Key. I’d never been to it but had driven by many times.
“He said he was at number sixty-two. What’s going on here, Logan? Who was that on the phone? Does this have anything to do with—”
“Yes. It has everything to do with that.”
He swallowed, then nodded.
“Did this asshole say a time?”
Gus shook his head.
“No set time. Though he did say that if you didn’t show by sunset, he’d kill her.”
I nodded. I hadn’t dealt with a lot of hostage situations in my life, but I’d been trained in the basics. Negotiating with this guy was out of the question, I knew that much. I also knew that the longer that Martha was with him, the greater the chances were that she’d end up dead.
I turned on my heels just as Ange walked over and practically bumped right into her.
“Whoa there, you been sneaking beers without—” She cut herself off when she saw the expression on my face. Hers shifted from playful to serious in an instant. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Buck Harlan,” I said.
I strode by her, heading for the Baia.
“What about him?” Ange said, following right behind me.
“Call Jane,” I said as I jumped over the side and onto the deck. “Tell her to meet us here. Make sure she brings backup.”
“What’s going on?”
“I know where he is,” I said, turning back to look at her as she stepped over the gunwale. “And it sounds like Martha’s still alive.”
Ange followed me down into the main cabin. I told her everything Gus had told me, then she stepped into the galley and called up Jane. I went straight for the small starboard closet to grab my gear for the upcoming confrontation. Back when I was in the Navy, Scott used to call it saddling up. I grabbed my bulletproof vest, strapped it down, and threw a lightweight tee shirt on to conceal it. I had my Sig holstered with a fully loaded mag inserted. It was concealed from view under the right side of my cargo shorts waistband. At the backside of my belt, I strapped down my sheathed spare titanium dive knife. Before stepping out, I grabbed the extra vest so that Ange could wear one as well.
She was just finishing up her call when I stepped out.
“She’s on her way,” Ange said.
I handed her the vest and she strapped it down. She’d already changed into a pair of cutoff jeans on the boat ride back to town. Her Glock 26 was strapped down in the same place as mine, hidden from view aside from a slight bump.
We locked up the Baia, turned on the security system, then strode down the dock with Atticus right beside us. We headed straight for the office and asked Gus to look after him for a few hours. On our way to the parking lot, we met up with Jack and Pete, who were just finishing up at the cleaning station. They had a pile of fillets wrapped in newspaper and a few buckets of fish guts.
We told them what was going on, and without a thought, they insisted on coming with. We helped them clean up, then headed for the shore. Jane pulled into the lot in a squad car just as we reached the top of the metal ramp. We quickly went over a plan, and once she’d assured me that neither she nor any other officer would go near the house before I did, I gave her the location.
“I’ll take the lead,” she said. There was a deputy sitting in the passenger seat of her cruiser. She glanced at him, then at the backseat. “Not sure I have enough room for all of you and your gear.” She turned her gaze to the mostly empty lot around her and added, “You guys got something that can keep up?”
I looked over at Pete’s Camaro, which was parked in the front row, just a few empty spaces down from us. Its shiny polished paint sparkled under the afternoon sun.
“Well, Pete,” I said. “You wanted to stretch her legs out. Looks like we’ve got our chance.” I turned back to Jane and added, “We’ll be right on your tail.”
The three of us headed over to the Camaro. It was even better looking up close. With its sleek garnet-red finish, shiny rims, and new tires, it looked like a show car.
Pete stopped me as I moved toward the passenger side and shook his head. “You drive, boyo. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
He handed me the keys and we all piled in. Pete had completely redone the leather seats and interior paneling. It had a simple yet elegant look. Sliding the key into the ignition, I rotated it forward and listened as the loud and powerful V-8 engine growled to life. The entire car shook as I brought us out of the space and followed Jane out of the lot. She lit up her police lights, blared the siren, and hit the gas.
We followed right behind her as she paved the way, flying out of the lot and down the cross streets toward US-1. When we got out of the city, she floored it ahead of us and we kept right with her, flying over Stock Island at over a hundred miles per hour. The power and speed were incredible, and the ocean and islands flew by in a blur.
As I kept my eyes focused on the road ahead of us, I thought about my enemy. I didn’t care how he’d found out who I was and where I kept my boat. I also didn’t care why he’d suddenly decided to man up and face me. All I cared about was taking him down before he had a chance to hurt anyone else.
We thundered past the Saddlebunch Keys and pulled off onto Lower Sugarloaf Key. We reached the entrance to the Landing just before 1600, completing a drive that would usually take half an hour in under t
en minutes thanks to the police escort. Jane had cut the sirens off a ways back so Buck wouldn’t hear them and suspect anything.
We pulled into the visitor lot, parking right beside the office building.
“Looks like your destination’s right here,” Ange said, pointing at her smartphone.
She had the GPS up, and there was a green pin marking the spot where Buck was supposedly hiding out. It was one of the far southern spots, right on the water of Harris Channel.
I nodded and burned the location into my mind.
“If I’m not back in five minutes, move in,” I said.
I opened the door and stepped out.
“Screw that!” Ange snapped. “The second I hear a gunshot or see any kind of trouble, I’m barging in there.”
There was no point in arguing with her. She was the only person I’d ever met who was even more stubborn than I was.
“That makes three of us, bro,” Jack said from the backseat, motioning to Pete.
“Alright,” I said. “Just make sure he doesn’t see anyone else until I’ve engaged. I don’t want to risk him trying to kill Martha.”
I stepped out, gave a nod to Jane, then moved down the park’s main street, heading south.
The community was big. I estimated that there were a few hundred spaces. A retired couple walked a poodle on the other side of the street. Ahead of me, a group of kids pedaled their bikes in circles while two others shot baskets into a hoop. Everyone was going about a typical August day. They were oblivious to the cold-blooded killer who’d infested their quiet little neighborhood.
As I approached space sixty-two, I did a quick survey of the grounds. The small house was simple and unassuming. A single-wide park model with a back porch that looked out over the channel. Its owners clearly took good care of the house and property. The landscaping was sharp and devoid of weeds, the outside walls of the house looked freshly painted, and the roof appeared to be practically new. I guessed that it belonged to a well-off snowbird couple that spent half of the year up north someplace.
I looked around while walking casually up a cobblestone pathway that led to the front porch. Whatever vehicle Buck had used to get there was nowhere in sight. The small driveway was completely empty and the house didn’t have a garage.
I approached the front door cautiously. If Buck Harlan knew my name and where I moored my boat, then it was safe to assume that he knew other things about me as well. He probably knew that I was a SEAL, and even if he didn’t, he knew that I could handle myself in a fight. That much was surmisable from our brief encounters back in the Everglades. I wanted to be ready for whatever strategy he had in store. He didn’t exactly strike me as the kind of guy who took kindly to a fair fight.
I glanced down at my dive watch. It was 1603, which meant that Gus had gotten off the phone with Buck a little over half an hour ago. I could try and recon the place, sneak around and peek in through the windows. But I decided against it. Buck would be keeping close to Martha. He had the windows open and I knew he’d be watching, listening for any sign of an approaching person. He’d lived years in the swamp, and in that time his ears had undoubtedly grown attuned to notice subtle changes that most people miss. I also didn’t want to risk spooking him and putting Martha’s life in any more danger than it was already in. So I walked normally and headed straight for the door.
The wooden stairs creaked quietly as I stepped up onto the front porch. A seashell wind chime hung from the rafters and sang in the calm ocean breeze beside me. There was a stuffed animal parrot attached to the door and a woven-rope welcome mat with the words Welcome to Paradise sewn in black letters. I listened carefully, couldn’t hear anything inside. Every window’s curtains were drawn, even the small one behind the parrot.
I reached for the brass knob with my left hand and turned it. To my surprise, there was no resistance. The mechanism slid smoothly, and the door hinged inward a few inches on its own before I pushed it the rest of the way. I raised my Sig and stepped inside.
My eyes scanned the room for any sign of movement. The shag-carpeted, panel-walled living room appeared empty. The small kitchen as well. It was dark inside. Large drapes blocked light from entering the windows. The only illumination inside the house came from the open door at my back.
I took two steps forward, the soles of my boots transitioning from linoleum to carpet. Then I froze. I heard sounds coming from down the narrow hall across the room. Suddenly, Martha appeared in view. She was practically being dragged from behind by Buck, who had an arm squeezed tight around her upper body. His right hand gripped a large knife, the blade pressed against Martha’s neck.
“I told you to come alone, Dodge,” Buck yelled.
“I did come alone,” I fired right back.
He paused a moment. It had been a bluff on his part. There was no way in hell that he knew about Ange, Jack, Pete, and the police officers at the place’s entrance. He’d been trying to get me to screw up. To verify something that he didn’t know.
“You stay right fucking there,” he snarled as he forced Martha to move. She moaned, so he squeezed her tighter and added, “You stay quiet, bitch.”
They stepped out of the shadows and into the dim glow of the living room. Martha looked good, all things considered. She was wearing her tan park ranger pants and a black tank top, both torn up and dirty. Her mouth was gagged with tied-up fabric. Her face was covered in sweat and she shook, scared out of her mind. But aside from a small cut across her forehead, she looked unscathed. Scared, tired, and hungry, but alive.
Buck looked like a madman. His eyes were big and glazed over, looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He’d washed his face, allowing me to see his ugly pit bull–like features without all the dirt and paint. Veins bulged out from his brow and bald head. His jaw was clenched, his nasty yellow teeth on full display. He was wearing the same camo clothes he’d been wearing when we’d met days earlier. I could smell his stench from across the room.
He stopped between a recliner and the kitchen counter. There was only about ten feet separating us. I still had my Sig raised but didn’t have a shot. Buck utilized his brute strength to keep Martha’s head and body right in front of his.
“Drop the gun or she dies,” Buck said.
I didn’t have much of a choice. We weren’t going to get anywhere if I didn’t do as he said. I had to play his game, at least for a little bit.
I kept my eyes forward, staring right at Buck. Lowering my Sig, I bent down and set it on the carpet beside me. I was able to see Buck from a different angle as I leaned down. I saw his holstered silver revolver, the handle barely sticking into view. I also saw what looked like the wooden stock of a sawed-off shotgun on the floor on the other side of the recliner. He’d planned for this, had set the stage so that we’d face off right where we were.
“Kick it away from you,” he said angrily.
I nodded slowly and tapped my Sig with my boot, causing it to tumble to the center of the living room.
We stood quiet for a few seconds, staring each other down. He was trying to intimidate me, to strike fear into my bones. It wasn’t going to work. Even as a kid, I’d take on the biggest bully on the playground without skipping a beat. I don’t get intimidated—just the way I’m hardwired.
“Well?” I said. “I showed up. I kept my end of the bargain. Now it’s time to let her go.”
He gave an unusual laugh. It wasn’t exasperated or sinister in nature. It was just cold and unaffected.
Maybe this guy really is crazy. Maybe he thinks he’s somehow in the right here.
“You’re not running this, asshole,” he growled. “I make the decisions here.” He shook his head and added, “You fucked up royally when you killed my brothers.”
I could have corrected him. I hadn’t actually killed either of them. The first had ended his own life and the second had been eaten by their own pet alligator. I could tell him, but I knew it would only piss him off even more. If it was just the two of us in t
hat house, I probably would have. But it wasn’t just the two of us. Martha was there, and I knew that the angrier Buck got, the less likely he’d be to let her walk.
Instead, I said nothing. I let the silence stretch out longer. Let him make the next move.
With my weapon on the floor, he shifted his head around Martha’s so that our eyes met. He was thinking hard. His sinister mind was calculating what to do next.
I no longer had my Sig, but my dive knife was sheathed right at my back. I could snatch it and fling it through the air faster than this redneck could blink. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have been confident enough to pull it off. But Ange was an expert knife thrower, and she’d worked with me a lot over the past year or so.
Suddenly, his vision narrowed and his breathing quickened.
“You will pay for their deaths,” he said. “You will pay for all that you’ve done, you son of a bitch!”
His voice rose with every word until he was belting out a ferocious yell. He leaned back, slid his arm off Martha, and kicked her hard straight toward me. Her eyes bulged as her weak, terrified body lurched forward.
He was expecting me to catch her, expecting my good Samaritan instincts to take over my reason. I knew his angle. If I caught her, he’d put a succession of .45-caliber rounds right through the both of us. He’d take advantage of my lapse and kill us both. But I didn’t catch her.
I shifted away from her and darted toward Buck as he reached for the revolver at his back. He gripped it and managed to raise the barrel halfway to me before I launched my body and tackled him with all of my strength. He grunted as I slammed him back. The breath heaved from his lungs as we both flew through the air, crashing through the thin paneled wall behind him.
We hit the floor hard, his back taking most of the force. We rolled and tumbled against a bed frame, and he hit me across the face with a big meaty fist. My head snapped sideways, but I held tight to his right wrist. He was still clutching his revolver, and he managed to fire off two booming rounds before I twisted my body and snapped his arm over my shoulder.