* * *
It was a magnificent sight to behold. The 560 foot, Ohio Class submarine, the USS Alabama, was maneuvering its way next to the pier at King's Bay Naval Station. Sailors quickly walked back and forth on the missile deck of the great ship preparing to cast mooring lines to the waiting sailors on the pier. Two tug boats were aiding the process, pushing the sub from the starboard side of the ship so that the port side was facing the pier. The lines were tied to cleats on the ship on one end and would be secured to pylons on the pier.
Petty Officer Patrick McKinney could feel the goose bumps on his arms as he relayed the information to the control room that the first line was over. That meant that the ship was officially docked. He could hear the cheers all the way up in the conning tower from the open control room hatch. His last deterrent patrol was over. He was only hours away from the end of one career and the beginning of a new one.
Heading forward through the ship, McKinney's smile grew broader and brighter. Everyone he passed could tell he was getting out of the United States Navy. He had one last stop before he left the ship to see his family. Down in the berthing compartment, Petty Officer William "Hatch" Hatcher was stuffing his seabag with clothes, magazines, and some other things that, to McKinney looked like junk. But Patrick didn't question Hatch about hauling junk off the boat. Pat also noticed the beautifully polished knives, three of them, still lying on Hatch's bunk. You could see your face in the highly polished eight-inch blades and Pat knew that they were sharp enough to shave with.
William Hatcher, from north of Moniac, Georgia was a piece of work. At 6’1” and 185 pounds, he looked like a farm hand, lean and lanky, no fat but not muscle bound like a bodybuilder. He had brown curly hair and dark eyes. His skin was dark like a deep tan. Pat suspected that one of his parents was African-American but Hatch never talked about family. He lived on the southern edge of the Okefenokee Swamp, a little over an hour's drive from King's Bay. An electronics technician by rate, he had other special skills that are not normally associated with submariners. He was an expert marksman with any small arms weapon that the Navy had in its arsenal and was particularly adept producing and using hand crafted weapons. Large hunting knives were a specialty. He'd made many knives for several members of the crew and was popular with many of the "lunatic fringe," the guys seemingly on the edge of reality (the submarine force had more than its fair share). "Hey, Pat! Shipping out for good today, huh?" Hatch was glad that Pat took the time to see him before he left the ship.
"Yeah. I had to come down and see you first. Thanks for helping me out. I owe you. There are some things that I'm gonna need pretty soon, so I'll be looking you up.”
“Sure, no problem, Pat.”
“I've got your number and address packed away. I'll be back to the ship tomorrow to get my stuff and do the final checkout. Franklin (the ship's yeoman) said it'd only take about twenty minutes so I'm planning on an hour. You know nothing takes twenty minutes around here."
Except for the knives, Hatch was through stuffing his duffel bag now and grasped Patrick's hand. "Listen, when you get settled into your new place in Florida, look me up. Maybe you can come up for a couple days and we can play war and squeeze off a few rounds. You know, kill some imaginary bad guys. Maybe even do some fishing. You know the swamp’s got tons of different varieties of fish.”
Patrick smiled. "Sounds good, Hatch. I still have a lot to learn and not much time to learn it in. And I’m not talking about fishing." Patrick's glance went back to the knives on Hatch's bunk. He stared at the shiny blades and fell into a trance. He began to rub the scar on his chin as he was thinking of all of the different so-called "friends" that had betrayed him and his family. The names were ringing in his brain, torturing him as his trance grew deeper. Jamie Watkins, Randy Farley, Danny Vallero, Donnie Lee Lester, Roberto Acquino, Bill Grimes. His deep hatred was evident in the expression on his face and he had every intention of not just getting even, but getting ahead. With some people, time heals old wounds. With Pat, time only rubbed salt in them. Hours alone in a bunk on a submarine tends to give a man too much time to think . . . and plan.
Patrick shook his head to clear his mind, thanked Hatch again and headed for the pier.
* * *
Diane smiled brightly and gave her husband a huge hug and kiss, then backed away. "What do you mean, you're done? Don't you have duty tomorrow?"
"Nope. I'm really done. All I have to do tomorrow is come in and check out. This is it, babe. Take one last look at everything around you as you drive by because you won't be seeing it anymore. We're history, as far as the Navy's concerned."
It finally dawned on Diane that they were really leaving Kings Bay, Georgia. She couldn't believe it. Sean did all the talking on the way to the car. He seemed to be trying to tell his dad everything that had happened while he was out to sea. Anna looked pretty as a flower in her new, rose colored dress that Diane had made just for this occasion. She tried to get a few words in but to no avail. Pat listened intently and tried to take in every word. He loved his son and had missed his wild imagination. He was holding his daughter on the way to their car and kissed her on the cheek several times. She seemed to have grown a year in the last three months. He swore to himself that he would never leave his children or his wife again.
When they finally got to the parking lot, Patrick told them, "Take one more look at the sub, because you won't see it anymore, ever.” Thank God, only once more for me. With that, Patrick and Diane loaded the kids in the car and started the engine. Before the car was in gear, Diane handed Patrick a cold Bud Light. As Patrick took his first drink, Diane reached over and put her hand on his crotch and whispered in his ear, "This Bud's for you." Patrick nearly choked on his beer.
* * *
Mike McKinney finished off his third beer of the morning. At 9:30 AM, it was still early, even for him to chug down this much beer. The sun blazed brightly enough through the open curtain to hurt his bloodshot eyes. He woke up with a hangover and the only thing he could think of was getting something to drink. He knew if he didn’t get a drink his hangover would last for the entire day. He’d thought about his love, Julie, but that only made him want to drink more. She was gone and that was that. There was no bringing her back. How could those bastards have taken her from me? Why didn’t I stay with her? He had to get something stronger so he went to the liquor cabinet in his Spanish style home and looked for something, anything with alcohol. There was nothing there. He sat down on the love seat, put his hands between his legs and started to cry. He cried for a few minutes then stopped. He wiped his nose on the front of his tee shirt, laid down and fell asleep.
He immediately started to dream about a beautiful woman in a bright white dress. She was holding out her hands to Mike. Her face was pale white but silky smooth. She was smiling and her teeth were bright white and perfect. She was calling to him but he couldn’t make out here words. At first it sounded soothing like a lullaby. The sounds were not words but a sweet melody. Then her face started to contort into a sad appearance. She looked like she was saying help me. She was repeating “help me, help me” and her face changed from sadness to fear. Then he saw several hands reach up over her mouth and cover it. A hood was thrown over her head and ropes were being tied around her. A single hand tugged on a length of rope that hung to her side and she began to fall away from him. He reached for her but he couldn’t reach her in time. She continued to fall away, getting smaller as she fell into an abyss. He screamed, “No!” His own scream woke him. He looked around and figured that he must have fallen off of the love seat during his restless sleep. He was staring at the front of the love seat from the floor. He was sweating and his hair was matted. He’d had another nightmare. They were getting more vivid. He didn’t know what that meant and he sure wasn’t sharing this with any shrink. The last thing he needed was to get some quack head doctor telling him what all this means. He already knew. And he was sure he would never get any better. Nothing could bring Julie bac
k. I can’t keep doing this.
Mike picked himself up off the floor and headed for the bathroom. He figured that he had to go out and get some booze so he could make it through the day. That seemed to be his only escape. He drank until he passed out. If he drank heavy enough, he wouldn’t dream too much. But if fell asleep too soon, he’d have a dream that would rip the scars off of his mental wounds. He had no idea how to break the cycle without going insane. Of course, maybe he was already there. He wanted to go back to Florida to see his family; Mom and Dad, Pat and Joe. But they’d think he was soft. He couldn’t handle it. They’d try to tell him that he could break out of his . . . what had Pat called it . . .his funk. This is one hell of a funked up funk, Mike thought to himself and smiled at his little joke. Then he went back to thinking about Julie. He could see her beautiful eyes looking back at him. Then his mind faded and he couldn’t focus on her clearly. Again he decided he needed a drink. Then he decided he needed a shower before he went out in public. He headed towards the bathroom and found himself standing in front of the mirror. He hated what he saw. His beard had a full three days growth. His eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, too much alcohol, and not enough food. He was killing himself, slowly but surely. Seven years ago, he weighed 215 pounds, had a full head of hair, and hardly an ounce of fat on his body. He was 5‘10” tall and could hold his own in an arm wrestling match with either of his brothers. Now he was 5’9”, weighed 150 pounds soaking wet and could barely lift his arms over his head to put on a tee shirt. His hair was gray, thinning and his skin was wrinkled with age spots all over, like a seventy year old man.
He showered and shaved, cutting his chin in the process. He brushed his teeth for the first time in days. He managed to find a clean pair of pants and a shirt that wasn’t in too bad of shape. He had a maid service come in once every two weeks to dig him out of the mess he accumulated. They cleaned the house from top to bottom, did the dishes and the laundry. They used to feed and care for his cat, but they’d long ago convinced him that he shouldn’t have animals. He couldn’t take care of them and his cleaning service couldn’t come in more frequently and make sure that they were still fed. They were sure that Mike would have been dead long ago if they weren’t there to help him. And they were probably right.
Pat and Joe called often to check on him. They really wished that they could help him, but they had lives back in Florida now that they were both out of the service. He was proud of them both. They had strong character and could withstand adversity. He’d wished many times that he could be like them. But it wasn’t in the cards. He was far less stable. Now he was the weakest of the three, both physically and mentally. He couldn’t handle the stress when things got a little dicey. He just wanted to run away. Pat had told him once that he’d felt the same way. He said the only thing Mike had to do was overcome the urge to run once and he’d have that fear conquered. He never found out if that were true. He could never get up the nerve to hold his ground. That’s why he moved to Las Vegas. He had to get away from his old life and all the old faces. Pat and Joe moved away, too but that was to get away to regroup. Mike ran away in fear never to return. He was a coward and he knew. He needed a drink.
Chapter 8
Brian couldn't sleep. His thoughts kept going back to the Rock Alliance and Ginny Parks. He was angry at himself for allowing Ginny to stay with that son-of-a-bitch, Danny. But what else could he have done? Danny had out-charmed him and Ginny wanted to be there. If she winds up broken-hearted, it's her own fault. She is a big girl. I guess she can handle it. Then his mind wandered to Karen Grimes and her low-life husband, Bill. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of women troubles.
The ritual beer and two bong hits of Columbian red bud didn't seem to be working this evening. Usually, after a long day at the Orlando Sentinel, or after a particularly long gig or jam session, a Bud Light and a couple hits off the bong did the trick; more effective than valium. But with women on his mind, Brian was doomed to a near-sleepless night. He needed his sleep this weekend. With two more nights to play at the "Rock" and two more ten-hour days at the Sentinel he didn't need the aggravation of a sleepless night, especially over two women with whom he wasn't even personally involved.
He got out of bed and fixed up another bowl of red bud. He spotted the stack of mail on the television. Maybe looking through the mail will clear my head. There was the usual junk mail, the electric bill, and a letter with the return address of King's Bay, Georgia. Puzzled, Brian decided to open this one first. He didn't even know where King's Bay, Georgia was, or that it even existed for that matter. He ripped open the flap on the envelope and pulled out what seemed to be three full pages, with beautiful print, on heavy tan paper. As he read through the opening lines, he couldn't believe what he was reading. Pat McKinney is alive and well, and married, and has two kids. He's moving back to Florida, starting his own business. How long had it been since he'd seen Pat . . . almost seven years? Well six at least. Things sure have changed for him. Brian continued to read the letter:
I've made a few minor changes in my life since the last time we talked. When was that? 1988? Sure doesn't seem that long. I remember you jamming down at that old house that I was renting in Longwood when the neighbors came over complaining. We talked them into staying and listening and they started partying with us until past midnight. Anyway, my wife Diane, and I bought a house in Dunnellon and hope to move in by the end of May. We'd love to have you up for a house-warming dinner when we get settled. I'll be down in the Orlando area about May 12th to take care of some business so I'll look you up then. I heard that your band is really starting to take off. Sounds like beating on that Strat for all these years might actually pay off. Be seeing you soon. Patrick
Brian thought for a moment. How did he know about the band? He hasn't been around here for ages. Maybe he's been in touch with Bill and Karen. He always was close to them. Pat was always full of surprises.
With those thoughts, Brian yawned. He tossed the rest of the mail into a pile on the television. His last coherent thoughts were why do I even have a television? I never use it. It is a good place to stack mail, though. I guess I'll keep it.
* * *
Pat McKinney’s right index finger was rubbing the scar on his chin as he tried to relax. The flight was three hours long but it allowed him a chance to rest and to get his mind off of the task at hand, at least for a while. It was one thing planning and talking about killing another human being. Actually following through with such a plan was a whole different matter. You didn’t get the death penalty for thinking about it, at least not in this country. This was something he was looking forward to, and if he kept thinking about it, he might not actually do it. All he had to do on this trip was scout out the house that Joe had set up for their first hit then head for Moniac, Georgia to meet Hatch.
Diane had been really upset about not being able accompany Pat on the trip. She’d argued that it was her house too. Why did Patrick have to go alone? Her parents could take care of the kids. Besides, it was only going to be three days and they'd be back in Ohio, getting ready to drive back down to Florida. But Patrick insisted that he come alone. There was no need spending the extra money on two plane tickets when only one of them was needed. Pat had said that it was just a small problem with the house that needed inspection by the purchaser and a set of initials so that the loan processing could be completed. The mortgage company said it could be done by mail, but it would hold up the closing by some two weeks. Patrick said that he could walk the paperwork through the rest of the way. This would allow them to move right in when they arrived in Dunnellon.
Now he was relaxing in his coach seat, trying to sleep. The plane was full, the crowd consisting mostly of businessmen. He would touch down in Orlando in an hour and forty minutes according to the pilot. He went over the plan in his mind. Rent a car; drive to Moniac, Georgia to hook up with Hatch. Drive back to near Dunnellon and spend the night. The next morning, take care of the problem with the h
ouse. Later that night, take care of Danny Vallero. After that, visit with old friends and new neighbors. Sounds good on paper, he thought.
Pat started to think of just who he would like to visit when he dozed off. His next coherent thoughts were when he heard a tone and the Captain's voice which advised passengers to fasten seatbelts and prepare for landing at Orlando International Airport. Wow, he thought. That was a quick flight. It was the second best sleep he'd gotten since being off the ship less than a week ago. The best sleep was the first night that he was in his own bed, with Diane. He had just performed the most strenuous activity since the previous time he'd come in from sea. Making love had a way of relaxing a man. There must be some chemical release in a man's body which causes drowsiness after a long night of sex. He didn't have time to dwell on that thought. A young, blonde flight attendant came by and reminded him to put his seat to a full, upright position. Patrick did this without comment and prepared for a landing in the vacation capital of the world; Orlando, Florida.
Chapter 9
Bill Grimes stared at the open trash bag. He'd never seen so much Columbian pot at one time. And to top it off, it was his. He ran his fingers through the grain and felt the dry, coarse texture of the dope. His nose was filled with the sweet aroma of the powerful weed. Now he was in the big time. Bill Grimes; major player in the central Florida marijuana trade. Karen would finally be impressed with him and she'd fall back in love with him. She couldn't say he never followed through on anything now.
A Lifetime of Vengeance Page 6