by R. P. Gannon
“Suit yourself but I’d stay far away from the park if I were you. In the meantime I’m going to leave my cell phone with you two.” Then Mary asked, “Any chance of getting your Wrangler back, Barney?”
“Maybe after a while we can go back at night and take a look at it,” I said. “But we think they put a bomb under it.”
“Damn,” Mary said. “Those bastards are nasty.”
We came to a gas station that was crowded with cars. “I have to get some gas,” Mary said as she pulled in. We cruised through the chaos of cars that were circling in different directions looking for an open pump. There was some yelling and horn honking going on. The people in the cars looked desperate. Mary pulled into line at a pump. There were three cars ahead of us but we were still in the shortest line.
“How come it’s so crowded?” I asked.
“The price,” Mary said. “It’s three cents cheaper a gallon here.” The price of gas had been rising by the day. The politicians were on TV daily, wringing their hands as if they just found out that we depended on our enemies for our energy. Politicians are the type that will steal your wallet and then help you look for it.
Mary said, “When we get to the pump, you guys stay in the car. I’ll pump the gas. No sense taking any chances.” I looked at the scene around us. It reminded me of a news clip I’d seen of starving people in a third world country. When the U.N. helicopter came in carrying a pallet of food, the crowd of people rushed under it. Just then the chopper let the pallet down, squashing about a half-dozen of them.
When Mary got back into the car Willey asked her if she would take us to a shopping center so we could buy some of the things we had to leave behind in the swamp. We spent almost an hour picking up food and water, and other supplies we needed. Once again we were homeless. I thought about the homeless woman in Clearwater Beach. I should have given her ten dollars instead of five.
Chapter Eleven
IT WAS DARK when we got to Thomas’ farm. “By the way,” Mary said. “There’s a storm coming in from the Gulf. They’re saying it could turn into a hurricane. You guys won’t be able to stay in the tree house if it gets bad. I go to a shelter when that happens. I don’t know about the monkey, though. They might have rules about letting monkeys in.”
I had seen a few of the hurricanes they get down here. I couldn’t imagine riding one of them out in a tree house.
Willey said, I don’t go to any shelters. Never have, never will.”
“Suit yourself you stubborn old goat,” Mary said. “But remember, we’re right on the coast here. Those hurricanes are at their strongest when they’re fresh off the ocean.”
“Never mind the hurricanes,” Willey said. “Have you had any luck finding a lawyer who’ll go to court for us?”
Mary shook her head. “No, when I called around all I got was a cold shoulder. I guess lawyers don’t like working for free.”
Willey said, “Pull over here.” We were at the tree house. Mary pulled to the side of the road and we all got out of the car. Between the three of us we were able to carry everything in one trip. The brush was as thick as Willey said it was. Soon we were standing at the base of a gnarled old tree. The trunk was about three feet in diameter. Pieces of two-by-fours were bolted to the tree trunk to form a ladder. We put our loads down and looked up at a large, black rectangle overhead.
“Who’s going first?” I asked Willey, hoping he would volunteer.
Willey put his foot on the lowest rung of the ladder. “When I get up there, carry up what you can and hand it to me,” he said. “You’ll have to make a few trips.” We watched Willey climb the ladder and disappear into the darkness. Then his head reappeared. I started up with the supplies. I had to make four trips to get it all up. Then Willey and I climbed back down.
Mary handed Willey her cell phone. “Don’t lose it,” she said. She disconnected the charger from the cigarette lighter. “And here’s the charger. When I get another cell phone I’ll call you to tell you what my new number is. Do you guys want my gun?”
“I have a gun,” I said. “You keep yours for protection. None of us are safe from these murderers.”
“Amen to that,” Mary said.
“Thanks for the lift, Mary,” Willey said.
“And thanks for the blankets,” I added.
She hugged each of us and said, “You two be real careful and don’t take any chances. You understand?” It was the first time I realized she was really worried about us.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll be careful.” Mary simply waved goodbye and headed back to the street.
Willey, Oscar, and I climbed up to the tree house. There was enough light coming from the street light to be able to see. The tree house was about eight by ten feet with a cut-out for a window on two sides. There was a constant breeze up there, coming in one window and out the other. It was just enough to ward off the mosquitoes. Willey turned on a pen light. There were the required beer cans, we threw them out the windows. Then we folded the blankets in half and spread them on the floor. They weren’t as comfortable as the sleeping bags, but they would have to do. I was feeling somewhere between a Gypsy and a homeless person. I sat down heavily and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Willey asked.
“I’m tired.” I groused.
“What are you tired from?”
“Are you kidding? I’m tired from having no place to live. I’m tired of being shot at.”
“I’m not tired,” Willey said.
“Of course you’re not tired, you have monkey glands.”
I looked over at Oscar. “No offense, Oscar.” I said. Oscar didn’t look offended.
Oscar seemed to like the place, maybe because it was high up in the tree tops. He kept looking out the windows. I worried if he did that in the daytime someone might see him. I’d keep an eye on him in the morning. After a while we settled down, and one by one we drifted off to sleep.
In the morning Willey and I were looking up at what I would call a watery sunshine coming through the clouds. The sky had an eerie greenish glow to it. I put it down to the coming storm. I wished we had a transistor radio so we could keep track of it. The last thing I wanted was to be caught up in a tree house during a hurricane. We shared some crackers and pretzels for breakfast. After we ate I said, “Willey, call Eduardo and tell him where we are. And be sure to give him our new cell phone number. And tell him where we left the Wrangler. See if he can rescue it for us.”
“You sure have a lot of instructions,” Willey said, as he pulled Mary’s phone out of his pocket. When Eduardo answered Willey told him we were living in a tree house. He gave Eduardo instructions to the tree house and gave him our new phone number. Then he told him where we hid the Wrangler and asked him if he could get it back to us. And, oh yes, look underneath it for a bomb. Then Eduardo must have asked Willey why we were living in a tree house, and why my Wrangler was left behind in a swamp and might have a bomb under it, and why we had new phone number, because Willey said, “Ah … well, we were staying in a swamp because …” and then Willey proceeded to tell Eduardo the whole sordid story. I had forgotten that we didn’t want Eduardo to find out how badly we had screwed up at Ransoms.
“Imagine that,” Willey finished by saying. “Those bastards tracked us down through my cell phone. Had to ditch it in the swamp.”
When Willey closed the cell phone he said, “Well Sherlock, you let me walk right into that one.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” I said. “Besides, we have to get Eduardo’s help if we’re going to survive this. We had to tell him sooner or later.”
“Eduardo sounds like he’s very worried about us, “Willey said. “He said if they traced our phones they’re professionals. He said he’d pick us up in the Wrangler as soon as he can get here.” I was upset to hear we were being tracked by pros. But the thought of getting some breakfast and coffee when Eduardo arrived cheered me up a little. I reached under the side of my blanket, pulled out my gun, and shoved it int
o the pocket of my cargo shorts. The gun made me feel safer.
****
Harley Kimball stood outside his grass shack in the Green Swamp. The morning sky was a bilious green. Harley knew that meant only one thing—a hurricane was on the way. There was nothing he could do to protect his little shack. It had been blown down by previous hurricanes and Harley had simply rebuilt it. He would rebuild again after this hurricane had passed.
Harley wondered what had become of the two men with the monkey. They hadn’t been around for a while, but their little Wrangler was still there in the swamp. Harley walked to the chickee and went inside. All of their things were still there. While Harley was standing there scratching his chin, a State Police car rolled past on the bicycle path, followed by a bomb disposal truck and a tow truck. This was more excitement than Harley had seen in years. Harley left the chickee and went around to where the Wrangler was parked in the brush. He stayed out of site. He was well aware that his shack, with its lack of toilet facilities, would capture the attention of the authorities if he were questioned about the owner of the Wrangler—and asked to give his address.
The bomb truck being there confirmed Harley’s suspicion that something illegal was going on. The guy he saw crawling under the Wrangler the other day was trying to murder Harley’s missing neighbors. The two guys with the monkey didn’t look like criminals, although the skinny one with the white beard did look about half a bubble off center. The bomb disposal expert wore a padded suit so thick he could barely walk in it. He crawled under the Wrangler and stayed there for ten minutes. Harley wondered how much they paid him. When he came out from under the Wrangler he was empty handed. There was no bomb. Then why did the guy bother to get under it the day before if he wasn’t planting a bomb?
The tow truck backed up to the Wrangler and hooked it up. Then they all disappeared up the bicycle trail with the Wrangler in tow. What in hell was going on? Harley walked back to his shack. He had a lot to do to get ready for the coming storm. Besides, it was none of his business what was going on with the guys with the monkey. Although he did sort of worry about them—Especially, Oscar, the monkey. He was a cute little guy.
****
LATER THAT DAY the sky changed from light green to battleship gray. All the
color went out of the landscape. I looked up at the sky. “There’s a lot of water up there,” I said.
“And a lot of power, too,” Willey added. I looked out the window for a place to hide from the storm in case we had to abandon our tree top mansion. There were two concrete jersey barriers the town had dropped off on Thomas’ land and probably forget to pick up, judging by the vegetation that was growing over them.
“If the storm gets really bad before Eduardo gets here we can hide behind those concrete barriers,” I said, pointing.
Willey jumped up and down on the tree house floor, testing it for strength.
“I don’t know, Barney. I think this place was put together pretty well. It just might be stronger than we think.”
“I hope so,” I said, as we listened to the wind building up outside.
An hour later it hit! The wind started to roar like a wounded animal and assorted objects started flying by the windows. Occasionally, something would slam into the tree house and it would sound like the crack of a gunshot. That’s the dangerous part about being outside in a hurricane. Flying objects traveling at 150 miles an hour can go right through you.
The tree house started to rock violently, and complain loudly. Oscar started to whine. That scared me more than anything else. Animals have senses about these things that we don’t have.
“I think we should get out of here, now,” I yelled , so Willey could hear me over the roar of the storm. Willey looked immobilized. I thought I was hearing thunder. Did hurricanes have thunder and lightning? Then I realized it wasn’t thunder. It was the sound of the roof being ripped off. There was a loud boom, and the roof disappeared—the storm was inside with us!
“Grab the blankets,” I yelled. I grabbed my blanket and threw one over Oscar’s shoulders. Willey had his own. Willey went first, holding on for his life. He doesn’t weigh a lot, and a couple of times I saw the wind lift his feet off the tree. I picked Oscar up and told him to hold tight. He must have known what I said because he had a death grip around my neck. He was so small he could be blown off into the wind if he lost his grip.
We were being pelted with small stones and debris as we made our way down the tree trunk. When we reached the ground we pulled our blankets over our heads and ran for safety. The blankets protected us from most of it. We made it to the barriers without being ripped apart. Stop signs seemed to fly by us at an alarming rate. We crowded together behind the barriers with our blankets over our heads for protection. The rain was so strong it felt like we were being pelted with birdshot. We hunkered down there for about an hour as the storm grew worse. Then we heard a loud, screeching noise from above. We peeked over the barriers just in time to see the tree house come crashing to the ground and explode into pieces. Neither one of us said anything.
A few minutes later we saw a pair of headlights shining through the gloom. I was so miserable I didn’t care if it was Snydely himself driving his Lincoln, I was going to get inside that car if I had to strangle the driver with my bare hands.
“Let’s go,” I yelled, and jumped up, carrying Oscar with me. Willey was right behind us. I ran down the middle of the road, yelling and waving my free arm. The car had high headlights that were close together. Could it be? Yes! It was my Wrangler, and Eduardo was driving it. The Wrangler stopped and we all piled in. Willey sat in the back with Oscar, and I sat up front.
Eduardo looked worried. “Hi, guys. Hi Oscar,” Eduardo said as we drove off. “I’m glad to see that you’re all okay. I was worried about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about us,” Willey said. “We’re tougher than Flaherty’s goons.”
“Riight,” Eduardo said, smiling.
“How did you get the Wrangler so fast?” I asked.
“Told the State Police where it was, and that I needed it for a case I was working on. They didn’t want to do it at first, especially when I told them there might be a bomb planted under it. So I called the Attorney General and told him I was working on the Buckland-Flaherty case, and I was having trouble getting the State Police to cooperate. They had the Wrangler delivered to me within the hour.
“What about the bomb?” I asked.
“There was no bomb,” Eduardo said. I wondered what they were doing under the Wrangler.
After a few seconds Eduardo asked, “Barney, did you see or hear anything unusual while you were inside the nursing home that night?”
“No,” I lied. “Everything looked normal. Why?”
“Because the day after you were there they found the body of one of the residents in the trash compactor. He was compressed into a bale of trash. It was kind of gruesome”
“That’s awful,” I said. “How could something like that happen?” I could feel the warm sweat running down from my armpits even though I was soaking wet.
Then Eduardo said, “At first we thought it was a warning to Hattie, the woman you saw that night. We thought Flaherty had one of his crew sent in there to squish the old guy just to send a message: ‘This is what will happen to you, Hattie, if you talk to the cops.’ But then it turned out the old guy that got squished was the Attorney General’s father.”
I started to sweat big time.
“The Attorney General had been asking questions about Senator Buckland’s association with Flaherty Construction,” Eduardo said. “It all pointed to Flaherty.” Eduardo put the high beams on so we could see the road ahead.
“The Attorney General went berserk when he heard his father had been killed,” Eduardo continued. Now there’s an all out push on to prove Buckland and Flaherty are dirty. That’s why I was glad to see your pictures of Flaherty’s attorney passing an envelope to Senator Buckland. It’s only circumstantial evidence, bu
t put together with more evidence—more damning evidence, it will paint a picture of corruption.”
“I was glad to help,” I said. “By the way, where are we going?”
“We’re going to my YiaYia’s house if we can get through this storm. You’ll be safe there.”
“Your YiaYia?”
“That’s Greek for grandmother,” Eduardo said. We’re going to Sofie’s house. “She’ll love Oscar.” I felt better already. I was looking forward to seeing Sofie again.
Willy leaned forward. “You’re Greek Eduardo? I thought you were an illegal from somewhere in South America.”
“No, my real name is Eduardo Pappas. My father is Greek and my mother is Cuban. That’s how come my first name is Eduardo. I grew up in Tarpon Springs. My YiaYia lets me use her house as a safe house. The government pays her for it. If anybody needs a safe house it’s you two.”
“Tarpon Springs,” Willey said. I’ll bet this storm is raising hell with the sponge boats.”
“Yeah,” Eduardo said. “Storms as bad as this one cause a lot of damage.”
“Have they been asking about me back at Jack’s?” Willey wanted to know.
“Yesterday was my last day at Jack’s,” Eduardo said. “The bureau is putting me on another case. But yes, they do wonder what happened to you back at Jack’s. There are all kinds of rumors going around. Some think you owed gambling debts to the Mafia. Others say you ran off with a band of Gypsies. They’ve already hired a replacement for you, but the old guy they hired has bad eyesight, and sometimes he misses the dock and ends up out in the Intracoastal, cutting off the speed boats. One customer was so scared he jumped off the boat and swam back to Jack’s deck.” Willey was smiling from ear to ear. He was glad to hear they missed him.
We got on 19 North and headed up to Tarpon Springs. The wind was hitting the Wrangler on Willey’s side, and water was spraying through every tiny crack and opening on the soft top. Finally, Willey had to take off his socks and stuff them into the cracks to keep the water out of his face. A couple of times we were afraid the wind would tip us over. The wind pushed my little Wrangler all over the road and we had to swerve around downed power lines and trees. But somehow we managed to rock and roll our way up to Tarpon Springs.