by Lyle Howard
“NO! It can’t be. I don’t believe it!” Geiger screamed.
The Thunderboat hit a tremendous wave, sending both men spinning into the air. When they landed, Hidalgo’s opponent’s face was clearly visible, but no one aboard the Explorer wanted to believe who they saw. The second passenger was none other than Wolfgar Von Robles!
The boat was hurtling through the water like a runaway locomotive! No one was at the wheel!
“They’re out of control!” Artie shouted. “Pull up a little. Don’t get too close!”
Hidalgo dove for the compartment where he kept his arsenal hidden, but Von Robles pulled him back to his feet only after he managed to remove the cover. Both men traded fierce punches and, from Cal’s perspective, he could see no clear-cut front runner.
“What are we going to do?” Geiger screamed into his microphone.
Cal was having a hard enough time keeping the helicopter flying level. “I don’t know, Artie. I don’t know what we can do!”
The deputy was torn. He couldn’t believe he was actually rooting for a drug smuggler!
Cal felt utterly useless. Fifty feet from Hidalgo, and there was nothing he could do but watch helplessly...
The smuggler was on top of Von Robles until the older man wedged his foot between them and kicked Hidalgo toward the front of the boat. With the smuggler’s back pressed against the windshield, Von Robles began choking Hidalgo...
For the passengers flying above the scene, it was like viewing the fight from inside of a fishbowl.
Hidalgo spotted the helicopter hovering behind his boat, and, with Von Robles’ hands still clenched solidly around his throat, he managed to wave one of his arms in recognition. Cal put his free hand up against the glass helplessly. Hidalgo gave him back a knowing wink, reached onto his waistband and pulled off two hand grenades. With a sad smile that conveyed both his inner contentment and final resignation, the smuggler pulled the pins and tossed them into the compartment where he kept the rest of his explosives.
“Hang on!” Cal screamed for the second time in less than ten minutes.
The Explorer performed like a thoroughbred, banking up and away from the surface as if though it had been shot out of a cannon. It climbed to a thousand feet in what felt like an instant, pressing everyone back into their seats with nauseating force.
The fiberglass hull of the Thunderboat evaporated into infinitesimal pieces, scattered by a hellish fireball that put an end to the trouble in paradise.
Thirty Two
Six months later...
Port Madison,
Bainbridge Island,
State of Washington...
“She sent a letter!” Artie shouted as he weaved through the tables waving the envelope.
Cal finished drying another glass and threw the dishtowel over his shoulder. “Well, what does she say?”
Geiger sat down at the bar. “I haven’t opened it yet, idiot!”
Cal grabbed the remote control and pointed up at the television suspended over the corner of the bar. “Well, read it to me already!”
The ex-deputy began to read aloud...
“Dear guys,
I hope this letter finds you both well. Well, to tell you the truth, I hope it finds you ... period! Kind of an old fashioned way to communicate, but you’ve set up such an elaborate network to hide your whereabouts, I just hope that giving this to Rosie at the Shack like you instructed me will allow it to finally reach you.
The new owners of the place have really let the place be run into the ground. Rosie says they’ve decided to enclose the place, get rid of all the sand, and put in (can you believe it?) air-conditioning! Isn’t that against the law or something?
The entire gang really misses you. Rosie sends her love and wants to know if Artie’s buns are staying as tight as they always were. She’s really got the hots for you, Deputy Geiger!”
Artie cleared his throat as Cal rolled his eyes while continuing to flip through the stations.
“My injuries have all healed really well, as I hope yours have. I’ve actually started on a regular workout routine! I don’t think I’ll ever be gracing the cover of Vogue anytime soon, but hey, it’s a start, right?
Is it true you’ve opened up another bar together? That should be interesting!
Now, I know that I thank you in every letter I’ve penned, but I’m never sure if any of these letters are really reaching both of you. I find it very hard to express in writing, my gratitude to the both of you for saving my life. Someday, if we ever have the pleasure of sharing one of Cal’s infamous daiquiris, I’d love to thank you face to face. I know that you got me to the hospital just in time and then pulled your vanishing act, but I just wanted you both to know how incredible it is that you would risk your lives for someone who was quite literally a stranger. You guys are the best! I really love ya!
In closing, let me just tell you that the G-men have finally decided to leave me alone, convinced that I don’t know anything. (Perhaps that didn’t come out quite right!) I hope you’ve found a warm place that will make the both of you happy because I wish you nothing but the best!
Good luck, and God bless the both of you.
My sincerest love always,
Rebecca.”
Artie stared at the heartfelt words for a few moments longer before sliding the pages back into the envelope. “I wish I could have gotten to know her better,” he said, regret shading his voice.
Cal stopped his channel surfing when the News Network appeared. “Yeah, I’ll just bet you do!”
Geiger turned his attention to the somber-spirited anchorwoman who was reporting on the sudden drastic increase in drug trafficking that was spreading the Coast Guard’s effectiveness beyond the breaking point. “No, I really mean it! She seemed nice,” he said half-heartedly, suddenly distracted by the news report.
Cal listened attentively to the anchorwoman as he continued to rinse and dry glasses. The evening rush would be coming in and he wanted to be ready. This joint wasn’t like the Paradise Shack where it was only busy on weekends. Come five o’clock, Ernie’s was a Mecca for everybody who was looking for somewhere different to drown their problems.
Sunlight streaked into the darkened tavern as a young man entered through the front doors. “Hey, how you guys doing tonight?” he asked, grabbing the stool at the end of the bar.
“Uh-uh,” Cal chastised him. “Sorry, that stool’s taken.”
The young patron looked around the nearly empty place. “I don’t see anyone waiting for this stool!”
Cal waggled his finger. “Sorry, pal. That seat’s always reserved. No one sits there!”
The disgruntled customer slammed the vacant stool against the bar. “Well then, fuck you guys! If I can’t sit wherever I want, then I’m going around the corner to McMichael’s Pub!”
Geiger smiled, as harsh daylight flooded the bar once again and the young man stormed out. “Ah, another satisfied customer!” He shot a suspicious look at Cal. “Did I ever tell you that you’ve got a wonderful way with people?”
Mackey stared up at the television. The Coast Guard was off-loading another massive seizure of cocaine in Miami. “Hey Artie, do you ever wonder if we did the right thing?”
Geiger slipped Becky’s letter into his shirt pocket and looked up at the screen. “Are you asking me as an ex-cop, or as an average citizen?”
Cal looked at Artie quizzically. “Is there a difference?”
Geiger shrugged. “No, not anymore, I guess.”
“Look at all of that confiscated dope,” Mackey said, pointing up at the screen. “I mean, was Von Robles really doing something so heinous? Think about it. He was executing drug smugglers and pirates! Is that such a terrible thing?”
Geiger knew what was troubling his friend. He too had lost plenty of sleep over the past six months, thinking about the events on the Nocturne. He reached over the bar, snatched a clean glass and squirted it full of soda water. “They told us that there were more like him out
there. So I think the less we question it, the better off we’ll be.”
The bartender drew in a long, meditative breath. “I’d be willing to bet that Von Robles probably single-handedly saved the lives of more inner-city kids than all of those damned Coast Guard cutters combined. Did we make a mistake, Artie?”
Geiger took a swig of the carbonated water. It desperately needed a lime. “We tried to rescue our friends. Unfortunately,” he mourned, staring down into his drink, “we didn’t save them all. I guess that’s my deepest regret. If I worried about all the other consequences and what’s really going on out there, I wouldn’t be able to function. I think,” he concluded, as he set down the glass, “you’ve got to just live every day like it’s your last and move on.”
For the first time in fifteen years, Cal Mackey’s conscience was uneasy. He wondered what else he could have done. Maybe he should just move on like Artie ... maybe not.
Frustrated, he pointed the remote control at the television to shut it off.
He couldn’t watch anymore.
Epilogue
The bus tires screeched to a stop on the wet pavement. The driver looked into the mirror and studied the only passenger he was chauffeuring on this overcast morning. Ever since he had picked her up at the ferry, the old woman remained to herself and solemn in the second seat. He had tried to strike up a conversation, but she chose instead to stare silently at a photograph that she had retrieved from her bag. “Okay Ma’am, this is the stop you asked for, Manitou Beach Road which will take you out to Skiff Point.”
The delicate old woman collected her things. An umbrella which she bought in the drug store before she boarded the ferry from Seattle, and the canvas duffle bag that contained all of her worldly possessions. “Thank you,” she said in a very thick accent.
The driver shifted the bus into park and got up to help her. “Can I give you a hand?”
“No, no.” The woman waved him away. “I’ve come so far. A bit further won’t matter. It is good exercise.”
The driver moved ahead of her down the steps and held out his hand anyway. “You had better open that umbrella. It’s misting out. You know how the weather is here in the great northwest.” Now he could see the photograph in her hand more clearly. It was a family portrait, a vintage image taken long ago. In the photo there was a gentleman with silvery hair, a beautiful woman standing in the middle, and a striking young girl next to her holding a flower. “Is that your family?” He asked politely nodding at the picture.
The old woman finally relented and handed down the driver her bag as she opened the umbrella to ward off the chilly air. “Thank you very much, sir. You are a true gentleman.”
He thought he would ask again, thinking that perhaps she had a hearing loss. “Is that your family in the picture?”
“Yes,” she said, bouncing a boney finger across the photograph. “That was my husband and this is my daughter.”
The driver tried to figure out how old that would make her. Very old, was the solution to his lack of math skills. Regardless, he tried to remain jovial. Tourism was important to the island and during this sluggish time of year, every dollar counted. “So you have blood on the island?” He asked as he set her bag down on the waiting bus bench.
A disturbing smile creased her cracked lips as she sat down next to her bag and peeked out from under the umbrella. “Yes, I do,” she said softly. “I am meeting my daughter here. We have come to surprise some old friends.” Carefully, she slipped the family portrait back into her duffel.
The driver almost felt guilty leaving such a frail and vulnerable old woman by herself. Bainbridge Island wasn’t exactly a hub for crime, but it had seen its share of snatch and grab robberies of innocent tourists. “That sounds great, Ma’am. Please be careful though. We want your stay on our island to be a safe and enjoyable one.”
She smiled up at him and without realizing it, he took a step backward toward the curb. Water dripped off the bill of his cap as the smile on her face suddenly contradicted her years. It was a young woman’s smile made of nearly perfect teeth. “You are so very kind, sir,” she said shaking her head slowly. “Just being on this lovely island and seeing my daughter again rejuvenates my soul.”
“Well, you look pretty terrific to me already,” The driver quipped, as he backed up the stairs.
The old woman nodded appreciatively. “Thank you again for all of your assistance. My daughter should be here soon.”
The driver waved out the door one last time as he took his seat behind the steering wheel and released the parking brake. The bus hissed and pulled away from the curb. He took one last look at the old woman in the side view mirror. Sure, he was still cold and wet from standing out in the foul weather, but the shiver that ran down his back was totally unexpected.