by R. P. Gannon
There were two flimsy looking seats attached to the bottom of the open well, one in front and one in back. Willey went up front. I was wearing flip-flops so I picked Oscar up and sloshed into the water to hand him to Willey. Then I climbed into the back and settled myself into the rear seat. We picked up our paddles, waved at the old guy, and pushed off.
The old guy waved back and said, “Watch out for the gators.” I froze.
Willey turned around and said, “He’s just joking, Barney.” I hoped he was right. But alligators, like cockroaches, have been around since prehistoric times, bothering the cave men.
The creek reminded me of The Green Swamp, except it had more trees and brush and less open space. The stark contrast between the bright green foliage and the pitch black water was the same. The shack quickly disappeared behind us as we glided under the canopy of low hanging trees. Unlike the swamp, with its wildlife concert, the creek was quiet, peaceful.
“Isn’t this nice?” Willey asked.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this myself.” Oscar was taking in the surroundings, and smiling. “Oscar looks like he’s enjoying it, too,” I said. We paddled along, watching the shoreline go by and enjoying every minute of it. We paddled slowly, looking from side to side, taking in the lush scenery.
“There’s a little current,” Willey said. “We can paddle up stream for an hour and then let the current carry us back.” We turned one scenic bend after another, until we heard something big plop into the water. We all looked in that direction—nothing showed. A few seconds later an alligator’s eyes rose above the water. Oscar started chirping, “Ee,ee,ee,ee.” The gator was coming for him and he knew it.
I yelled, “Let’s get out of here. Suddenly the bucolic jungle had become … well, a jungle.
“Just don’t make any sudden moves,” Willey said. “He won’t bother us.” We sat stone still but the alligator kept coming toward us. Oscar looked terrified.
“Willey …” I said.
“Just be quiet, Barney and he’ll go away.” I was quiet, Willey was quiet, Oscar was quiet, but still the alligator swam toward us. I finally realized Willey didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. I slowly pulled the gun out of my pocket. We watched, almost mesmerized, as the monster slid toward us with its huge jaws wide open.
Willey screamed, “Shoot it, shoot it!” Oscar screeched. I was speechless as the giant lizard chomped down on the side of the kayak right in front of Oscar. The alligator pulled, and almost tipped the kayak over. I pointed my gun at the gators head and fired two shots. The kayak went right side up again, and the alligator slid quietly beneath surface of the water.
We sat there trying to catch our breath … until the first bullet went
whizzing by! We looked into the brush and saw Stevens battling his way through the dense growth, trying to get close to us. He was having a bad time of it, mostly because he was so drunk he was staggering and his left arm was in a sling. Mary had shot him at least once.
“Turn this thing around,” I yelled. We paddled furiously back the way we had come. Another bullet whizzed by us as we went around a bend and out of Steven’s site.
“Hurry, Willey,” I yelled. “We have to get back and out of here before Stevens gets back to his car.” Oscar kept looking back to see if the gator was following us. He was wide eyed, he knew he had come within inches of being that demon’s lunch. For that matter, we all had. We came steaming around the last bend before the rental place at Olympic speed. The old Cracker actually got out of his rocking chair when he saw us coming.
“What was all that shooting about?” he yelled.
“Hunters,” I lied. “Too dangerous.”
“Damn,” the old man cursed. “Come into the office and I’ll refund your money.”
“Keep it,” Willey yelled, as we scrambled to get out of the kayak. “We’ll be back next week and try again.” I couldn’t get myself out of the kayak. I was sitting on the bottom with my legs stretched out in front of me and I couldn’t pull myself up. Willey grabbed my hands and pulled with all his strength, but I still couldn’t pull myself out of the damned thing … until we heard a gunshot from close behind—then I jumped out of the kayak like a jackrabbit. We pulled off the life jackets and dropped them into the kayak.
“See you next week,” I said to the owner, and we ran for the Wrangler.
As we pulled out onto the road we passed Steven’s Cadillac parked off to the side. He hadn’t reached it yet.
“That was a close one,” Willey said.
I said, “I thought I saw his car behind us back at the bank. But I thought it was just my imagination.” As we raced down 580, Willey said, “Take the next exit and we’ll take the back roads to make sure he isn’t following us.” I took the exit and we took the back roads heading to 19 North.
“Did you notice that Stevens had his arm in a sling?” I asked.
Willey smiled. “I can’t wait to tell Mary she shot the bastard. She’ll like that.” We stayed on the back roads all the way back to Tarpon Springs just to be safe. Along the way I heard Oscar whimper a few times from the back seat. I reached back and rubbed his little head. He had been traumatized. We all had been traumatized—including Willey. I thought about Willey screaming, “Shoot it, shoot it,” like a little girl, and I had to smile. I was losing my fear of Stevens and his gun. Not that I thought there was something wrong with the gun, but with the shooter. I hoped he wouldn’t sober up anytime soon.
After a while I said, “Well, that was a relaxing change of pace, Willey. We’ll have to do that kayak thing more often.”
Willey said, “I think so, too.” I thought Willey was starting to lose his fear of Stevens, too. But he sure as hell was scared by that alligator. So was I.
Chapter Seventeen
AFTER LUNCH WILLEY called the hospital again. Mary was well enough to have visitors. We told Sofie we were going to visit Mary in the hospital. She was busy in the kitchen and Oscar was trailing around behind her. We drove down to Largo. Once again Willey wore the ball cap and I wore the sunglasses. It probably was a waste of time but it made us feel a little safer. We parked a block away from the hospital, walked around to the emergency room entrance, went in and took the elevator up.
When we got to Mary’s room the door was open. Mary was sitting up in bed watching TV. When she saw us she broke into a smile. “The psycho ward is down stairs if you guys want to turn yourselves in,” she said. She was looking good.
“When are you going to stop loafing around here and help us stop Flaherty,” Willey chided.
“I’d like to stop him with a bullet between his eyes,” Mary said.
“Speaking of bullets,” I said. “We ran into Stevens and he had his arm in a sling.”
“I thought I hit him,” Mary said. “I’d like to shoot him between the eyes, too. Where did you see Stevens?” We told her about our kayaking trip. She just shook her head. ”I feel like we’re an endangered species.”
Willey asked, “How did Stevens sneak up on you, Mary.”
“It was the middle of the night and I was asleep, until I heard him break the glass in my side door. I didn’t have time to call 911, but I got to my gun and shot at him as soon as I could see him moving through the darkness. He fired back and hit me in the stomach. All I could do after that was to keep on shooting until I was out of bullets. I think I passed out after that. When I woke up again I was in here, all bandaged up.” We chatted a little more until we ran out of things to say.
“Well, we’ll let you rest, Mary,” I said.
“Get better soon,” Willey said, and kissed her on the cheek.
As we left, Mary called out, “You two be careful.”
We went down in the elevator and left the hospital looking over our shoulders. Finally, we reached the Wrangler and drove back to Sofie’s.
The next morning we got a call from Eduardo. Willey answered it. “Barney, Eduardo wants to know it we’ll do an over
night stake-out for him at Frank’s. He thinks they’re smuggling something through there.”
“Who’s smuggling what?” I asked.
“That’s what he wants us to find out. It’ll give us something to do and we’ll make some money.”
“Sure, I’ll do it.” I could always use the money.
Willey said, “Sure, Eduardo, we’ll do it … yeah … yeah. Okay, but I’ll need a gun. Sofie? … okay, we’ll be looking for the package, see ya.”
Willey said, “Sofie will lend me a gun and he’s sending us the keys to the back gate and the back door of Frank’s by currier. He made copies of them when he was working there. He says the neighbors call the police because a big cabin cruiser pulls up to Frank’s dock in the middle of the night, stays for five minutes, and then leaves. When the police get there the boat is gone. Anyway, it’s happening on a regular basis and he wants us to hide up in Frank’s cupola and find out what’s going on. We’re not supposed to do anything, just observe.”
“Okay, maybe it won’t be so bad,” I said. “And it means another four hundred apiece for us, that’s the best part. When do we do it?”
“Tonight. Better bring a thermos full of coffee to keep us awake.”
An hour later the currier arrived with the package. There was a note inside from Eduardo. It told us to go up into the cupola on the roof and just observe. He said to stay out of site. Smugglers are dangerous people—and not to forget to lock the back door and the gate behind us, both going in and coming out.
I said I would bring my camera and try to get some shots. “Just don’t hit the flash again like you did at Ransom’s,” Willey said.
“What? Do you think I’m stupid?” Willey smirked at me.
When we got back Sofie gave us a key to the house so we could come and go during the night. I was a little tired and decide to take a nap before I had to stay up all night.
At 1: am Willey shook me awake. “Let’s go, we have to get to Franks.” I sat on the edge of the bed rubbing my eyes.
“Come on, Barney. Move it. We don’t have time to for you to diddle around.” I pulled my pants on over my pajama bottom, stuck my feet into my shoes, no socks, and staggered, half asleep, into the living room. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. We went out the door and locked it behind us. When we got to Jack’s I pulled the Wrangler off the road into the bushes. We sat in the Wrangler and watched the employees leave. About 2: am the pontoon boat made its last trip to shore and was tied up. The old guy who operated the pontoon was the last employee to leave. The parking lot was finally empty. We waited another half-hour just to be safe, then I grabbed my camera and we made our way to the service road that went to the back of the island. As I walked I noticed the drawstring on my pajamas had come loose and my pajama bottom had fallen down around my legs. It made it difficult to walk. I shouldn’t have let Willey rush me.
Willey unlocked the service road gate. We slipped inside and Willey re-locked it. We made our way to the back door of the restaurant. Willey unlocked that door, too. We went inside and re-locked that door. It was dark in there. We took out our penlights and looked around. We were in a storeroom full of canned goods. There were ship’s ladder with stairs going up to the cupola. Willey went first, I followed. It was hard for me to climb the stairs because the pajama bottom was restricting my legs. If I stopped to pull up my pajamas Willey would have a laughing fit—the idiot. It was his fault for rushing me.
There was no door on the cupola. I would have felt safer if it had a door we could lock. The cupola was about eight feet square. The floor was bare wood and there was a large window in each of the four sides. We were high enough that we could see the Intracoastal and the barrier islands beyond. The night sky was a few shades lighter than the trees on the islands, but we wouldn’t be able to see a boat coming if it was running without lights. Willey and I went back down the stairs, and we each carried up a case of canned goods to sit on. I let Willey go first. I didn’t want him snickering at me trying to go up and down the stairs.
“What if they don’t show up tonight?” I asked, as we settled in.
“Then we’ll just have to do it again tomorrow night and the night after that, until they show up.” We sat on the Gulf side so we could watch the water.
“Do you think they’ll run without lights?” I asked Willey.
“I’m positive they’ll run without lights, they’re smugglers. They’ll come into the Intracoastal and use the spotlights on this building to guide them.” I looked out over the water. I couldn’t see a thing. But maybe Willey’s eyes were better than mine. We sat quietly and stared into the darkness. I looked at the luminous dial of my watch. It was 3: am My eyes were getting heavy and every once in a while I would slip off into sleep, only to be snapped awake again with the feeling I was tumbling over backwards.
“We forgot the coffee,” I said.
“I know,” Willey said.
We sat and watched, and waited, until 4:30, when the sky was just turning a shade lighter. I was thinking we’d be leaving soon when Willey said, “Look, over there to the left.” I didn’t see anything.
“It’s a little glimmer of light from the spotlights here reflecting off something out there. It’s moving this way, this could be it.” I was wide awake then. After awhile I found the light Willey was talking about—and yes, it was moving toward us. It was a boat running without lights. The only time a boat runs without lights at night is when the people on board are up to no good.
“Now I see it,” I said, and picked up my camera.
“Be careful with that,” Willey said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
“Good. Because if they find out we’re up here there’ll be no escape.” That woke me up completely. We watched in silence as the cabin cruiser came closer. It was about a forty footer and it ran quietly. It eased up against the dock and we heard its engines reverse as it came to a stop. In the light from the restaurant we saw a figure dressed all in black jump from the boat to the dock and tie the boat off. Another figure dressed in black came out onto the deck, followed by a half-dozen people. Those half-dozen looked small and slim. They were women, rather young by the graceful way they moved. They were wearing brightly colored dresses.
A gang plank was laid down from the boat to the dock. They crossed the gang plank and started walking toward us. As they came closer Willey said, “They’re young girls, Barney. Asian girls.” As they came closer I saw that he was right. I aimed my camera at the girls and started shooting. The flood lights on the restaurant provided plenty of light. The camera whirred as I took one shot after another of the girls and the two men with them.
“It’s slavery,” I said. “They offer to smuggle them into this country and the girls are indentured for a year or two, to men who buy them. They’re sold to rich men for a one or two year contract. The rich men pay well for the girls. After their time is up the girls are supposed to be set free, but I wouldn’t bet on it. I hope those girls know what they’re doing.”
As they passed under our window and headed for the access road, we switched windows and saw a white van parked outside the gate waiting to pick them up. When I looked back for the boat all I saw was the stern silently disappearing into the darkness. The whole operation had taken less than five minutes. One of the men opened the gate and helped load the girls unto the van. Within seconds the van was moving out to the main road. It was a smooth operation.
“Let’s go,” Willey said, and he grabbed his case of canned peas. I put the camera strap over my shoulder and picked up my case of canned corn. We put the cases back where we found them and went out the back door. Willey locked the door. We rushed to the rear gate, but I couldn’t keep up.
“Come on, Barney. Move it.” Willey unlocked the gate and re-locked it after we went through. We scurried back to the main road. I lagged behind.
“What’s the matter with you?” Willey stage whispered. “We have to catch up with the van before we lose them.�
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“I can’t run any faster, my pajamas came loose and fell down around my legs.” Willey got behind me, grabbed the back of my pants, and gave me a world class wedgie. I yelped, but I could walk better. We finally reached the Wrangler, and seconds later we were racing to catch up with them.
“I think I see their tail lights,” I said. When the tail lights made a right turn under a street light we saw it was the van full of girls.
“I think they’re going to head south,” Willey said. “They’ll be going to one of the richer places, like Naples, or across the Everglades to Miami or Palm Beach.” We stayed far back, and almost lost them a couple of times. We followed them down 19 South, then they turned left on 60 East across the Courtney Campbell Causeway, then south toward the waterfront mansions on Tampa bay. Finally, just as the sun was starting to rise, the van pulled into the gated driveway of a large, Spanish style water-front mansion. It wasn’t Miami, but it wasn’t chopped liver, either. I pulled over to the side of the road and doused the Wrangler’s lights. We gave them time to get the girls into the house. Then we drove by the gate and got the street number, 967.
“What’s the name of the street?” I asked.
“Just keep going, we’ll find it.” We watched the mail boxes as we drove by.
“There it is,” I said. “Sea Spray Drive. 967 Sea Spray Drive. They must put the girls up there and take them to their separate destinations the next day. Willey took out a notebook and jotted the address down.
We turned around then and headed back to Tarpon Springs. We had finally done a job right, with no complications—except for my pajama problem. It felt good, and so would the money.
I said, “Do you realize that this is the first job we’ve done for Eduardo that hasn’t been about Flaherty? And it went smoothly. Not a hitch.”
Willey said, “Except that your pants fell down and you were running like an old lady.”