“Wow. Am I a lucky gal, or what? How many women can say they’ve actually been paid a visit by the Swamp Thing?”
“Very funny, Porter,” he cracked, still trying to catch his breath. Once he did, Gary broke into relieved laughter.
“That was a pretty aerobic workout. Hell, I should be able to eat a good half-dozen donuts without any guilt.”
“Yeah, I think you deserve at least that much,” I agreed with a grin.
Gary flipped on the boat’s engine and began to steer out of Purvis Creek, only to stop at the crab pot that we’d previously passed. He took a quick look around and then snatched a few of the crabs, sticking them into a baggie.
“What’s that for? Tonight’s dinner?” I quipped.
“No, it’s so I can test their tissue, wiseass,” Gary smartly responded.
We continued into the Turtle River and back toward St. Simons.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
The sound of the motor became a mechanical lullaby, mixing with the penetrating call of a kingfisher. The blue and white bird perched on a branch, sporting a bushy double crest that gave it the look of an avian punk rocker. It scanned the water’s surface with large, piercing eyes before plunging headfirst into the water. A moment later, the bird emerged with a small fish in its daggerlike bill. Then the “King of the Fishers” flew back to its perch and viciously beat its prey to death before devouring it.
“You wanna hear something really twisted? Now that I’m safe, I can admit that I actually had fun back there,” Gary revealed.
“Yeah, me too,” I reluctantly conceded.
“That’s what’s so insane about our jobs, you know,” Gary now waxed philosophic. “These adrenaline surges that constantly push us to respond to the next crisis. Hell, I even begin to crave the high after a while, just like a junkie.”
I knew only too well. Santou had once accused me of preferring to be at work rather than at home. Though I’d refused to admit it, he’d been right. There was something about the rush that came from dealing with danger that couldn’t be matched by watching TV or doing housework.
“I mean, do you realize the number of man hours we put in each week?”
“I suppose I think of it as dedication,” I responded, loath to confess that my obsession might actually be a problem.
“Bullshit. You can’t fool me, Rachel. I may be a contaminants expert, but I’m just the same as the rest of you law enforcement junkies. Our jobs are our lives. It’s what we eat, sleep, and breathe.”
Gary was right. Work was the sole reason that I woke up in the morning. No sooner did I finish one case than I actively sought another. Santou had finally given up trying to change me.
“So, ’fess up. Don’t you ever think you might possibly want something more out of life than just chasing after poachers and ghosts?”
A subterranean chill crept into my bones.
“Poachers and ghosts? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play coy. You know what I mean. There are poachers who are easy to catch, and then those ghosts that you’re never able to snag—the ones that become your personal Moby Dick.”
“You mean there’s more to life than that?” I joked. “What happened to you back there in that mud, anyway? Did you have a divine revelation of some kind?”
“Come on, Rach. I’m being serious. I’m trying to tell you not to screw up your life for an agency that doesn’t give a damn about you and never will.”
I looked over at Gary and realized that must be what he felt had happened with his own life.
“I’m not doing it for the Service, Gary. I’m doing it for the critters.”
At least, that’s what I’d always told myself.
Our conversation ended as we arrived at the ramp and loaded the boat onto its trailer. We didn’t speak again until we were headed back over the causeway toward Brunswick.
“I’ve seen too many agents neglect their personal lives,” Gary continued, picking up where he’d left off. “They crash land when their career comes to an end, precisely because they’ve got nothing else going on that matters. I’m talking depression, alcoholism, even suicide.”
“For chrissakes, Gary. Is that what you foresee in my future?” I asked, beginning to feel pissed.
“No, it’s just that I don’t want you to end up alone, is all. Let me tell you, it ain’t pleasant.”
“Do you know something about me and Santou that I don’t?” I challenged.
“How could I?”
I remained silent and Gary glanced over.
“You’re not mad that I’m talking about this, are you, Rach?”
“Of course not,” I tried to nonchalantly respond.
But Gary was hitting a little too close to home. Santou had recently broached the subject of marriage again, and I had agreed to seriously think about it. Maybe Gary was right. Maybe I was so caught up with work that I didn’t realize my life was slipping by.
Gary parked in front of his office and I began to hop out, when his hand locked onto my arm.
“You know that I only want the best for you. Don’t you, Rach?”
I looked at the man and wasn’t sure why, but my heart began to ache. It didn’t matter that he was covered in mud. I leaned over and gave him a kiss.
“I know that, Gary. And I want the same for you.”
His mouth split into a devilish grin. “Great. Then just make sure I’m next in line if things between you and Santou don’t work out. But right now, I have to get busy testing these samples.”
Giving me a wink, he grabbed his bag and headed inside.
I jumped into my Ford, slipped in a Bonnie Raitt tape, and took off, warbling along as she sang the blues of my life.
Ten
There was still plenty of time to kill before my late afternoon meeting with Eight-Ball. That being the case, I decided to grab some lunch at a local dive near FLETC—the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Brunswick, where rookies from every federal agency come to train.
A dark and noisy joint, Sue’s was your basic cop bar. A police cruiser sat out front as free advertising, while inside a VCR continuously played old reruns of the reality show COPS. As if that weren’t enough, the regulars hummed along to the tune “Bad Boys, Bad Boys,” while stuffing donuts in their mouths.
I ordered an overdone burger, cavity-causing sweetened iced tea, and some greasy slip-from-your-fingers French fries. I was tempted to top it off with a jelly donut, until I took another look at the boys in blue around me. A few too many pot bellies did wonders when it came to curbing my appetite. Instead, I decided this was the opportune time to pay another visit to Manatee Mania and have a little one-on-one with their Huddle House–trained marine biologist, Candi.
I headed back over the St. Simon’s causeway, my Ford flying past an array of palatial estates as I made my way toward the north end of the island. It was there that the two plastic manatees stood merrily balanced on their tails, as if awaiting my arrival. I parked in the lot, approached the gate, and flashed my badge, hoping to appear friendly while still exuding a professional don’t-mess-with-me air.
“Mr. Holmes is busy at the moment. Should I let him know that you’re here?” asked the elderly woman sitting in the entrance booth.
A grandmotherly figure, she had apple-red cheeks, tightly permed white hair, and a register bulging with cash. I had no doubt that Ma Barker probably also had a piece stashed by her side, in case of trouble.
“No, that’s alright. I’ll walk around and check back in with you to see if he’s free in a while.”
“That’s fine,” she responded, sending out a don’t-screw-around-with-me vibration of her own. “Just please make sure that you do. Mr. Holmes doesn’t like it when people spring unannounced visits.”
She shot me a look as piercing as that of the predatory kingfisher. I gathered the last gatekeeper must have gotten into mucho trouble for having allowed just such a transgression. Hmm. That would have been when G
ary and I stopped by for an impromptu visit yesterday.
I skirted the gift shop and headed directly for Manatee Lagoon.
“Is Candi Collins on duty today?” I questioned the glum-looking ticket taker. Her eyes lit up as she saw my badge.
“Wow, is she in some kind of trouble?” the young Dukes of Hazzard chick asked, a little too eagerly.
“Why? Would you like her to be?” I responded, willing to dig for information wherever I could get it.
The girl tugged at her Manatee Mania midriff top. “Of course not. It’s just that I can’t move up in this place until one of the girls leaves, and I really want to work with the manatees.”
“Oh, are you a marine biologist, also?”
She shook her head. “No, not yet. But Mr. Holmes promised to teach me everything I need to know. He’s even going to give me private lessons. He said by the time we’re through, I’ll be qualified to work at any water park in the world.”
Something told me that a number of the sessions would probably take place in Wendell’s Viagra palace.
“Congratulations. In that case, I’m sure a few of the girls will be moving on soon.” Especially since Manatee Mania was bound to be permanently closed down.
“Thanks. You must have some inside information,” the girl cheerfully responded. “Candi’s in there keeping an eye on the kids while they’re swimming around. Just go right through the gate.”
Acting as referee was more like it. One child was attempting to climb on top of a manatee’s back and ride the creature like a motorized surfboard, while someone else’s little darling was hell-bent on feeding them pizza—a food item not normally associated with the health and well-being of marine mammals.
Candi appeared to be beside herself as she frantically ran about blowing her whistle to no avail. I briskly took matters in hand, informing each parent that they’d be handcuffed and hauled off to jail for harassment of an endangered species unless they gained immediate control over their boisterous offspring. The situation cleared up in no time.
Candi Collins caught my eye and gratefully waved, before sauntering toward me in her official Manatee Mania bikini. I watched as she approached, trying to decide if her walk was a God-given talent, or a cultivated skill that even I could acquire. No way. She must have been the lucky recipient of an I’m-too-sexy-for-this-world gene.
“Thanks for your help. Sometimes the kids get a little wound up and need a firm hand, is all.”
Personally, I would have opted for a lion tamer’s whip and a chair.
“I believe Wendell’s in his office, if you’re looking for him. He mentioned something about being tied up in a meeting all afternoon.”
“No problem. The truth is, I came to see you.”
Candi’s complexion instantly blanched, turning from a healthy tan to a pale shade of gray.
“What do you want with me?” she nervously asked.
“Wendell’s the boss. Any questions you have should be directed to him.”
Funny about that. Only yesterday, she’d gladly offered her assistance.
“This is something I think we should talk about first. I received a phone call from Spud this morning.”
Candi’s eyes flickered, though her expression remained frozen. “Who? I don’t believe I know anyone by that name.”
“Sure you do. Spud Bowden? Your old boyfriend?”
“Oh, that Spud,” she nearly spat. “What dirt did that scumbag come running to you with? Because let me warn you, you can’t believe a word he says.”
“He told me that you’re not a marine biologist.”
“Oh, yeah? Well there. That just goes to show what kind of lying rat bastard he is. Let him prove it,” she righteously insisted, thrusting out a hip à la Bob Fosse.
God, I wished I could do that.
“He doesn’t have to. I already called Mote Marine Laboratory and checked it out,” I bluffed.
“Well, whoop-de-doo. Good for you. And who says I didn’t have a different last name back then? It just so happens that I was married at the time.”
Boy, was this girl good.
“Besides, that loser is out to bad-mouth me any which way he can, all because I dumped his sorry ass like a sack of rotten potatoes.”
“Oh yeah? So why did the two of you break up?”
“Because I finally got tired of paying all his damn bills, that’s why. I bet he didn’t tell you about the last stunt he pulled, did he?”
I shook my head, curious to know just how bad to the bone Spud Bowden could be.
“I’m driving home one night, after a twelve-hour waitressing shift, only to see his clunker of a truck hightailing it like a low-life skunk away from my place. He didn’t stop, didn’t bother to wave, just pressed the pedal to the metal and kept right on going. But what really made me suspicious was when I saw my kitchen table lashed to the rear of his truck.”
“He stole your kitchen table?”
“Hell, he stole a whole lot more than that! The table was sitting on top of all my other stuff, which he had hidden beneath a tarp. Not only did he ransack my place, but he even stripped the aluminum siding off my brand new trailer to pay off some debts! You can’t get any lower than that.”
No doubt about it. That definitely sounded like something that Spud would have done. He was probably lucky she hadn’t plugged him full of buckshot.
“You certainly had good reason for dumping the guy. But that still doesn’t make you a marine biologist, Candi. Why did you ever lie about that in the first place?” I asked, more than willing to bet that Wendell had something to do with it.
“Okay, so maybe I didn’t go to Mote. But there are lots of other places just as good,” she angrily huffed.
“Name one.”
Apparently, Candi hadn’t done her homework quite as well as she’d thought. She paused, obviously stumped.
“You’re not the person I’m after,” I softly informed her.
“Then why in the hell are you pushing me on this?”
“Because I need to know the truth. So tell me, where did you go to school?”
Candi responded with a flow of expressions that ranged from a pout, to an uncertain smile, to an angry glare, before she settled upon simply bursting into tears.
“Wendell said it would sound more professional if I told people that I was a marine biologist, and there wouldn’t be a problem.”
Bingo!
“Besides, even if I don’t have a bunch of big ol’ degrees, I still love these manatees better than any of those damn scientists ever could!” Candi vehemently insisted. “For instance, I know that each of them has their own unique personality, like Rudolph over there.”
I spotted a fuzzy muzzle bobbing around in the water. It slowly surfaced to expose a face as wrinkled as a shar-pei dog’s, topped off with black button eyes. The animal’s lips moved like those of a hand puppet as it laboriously chewed away on something.
“I raised him myself when his mother got sick. I even hand-fed him with a baby bottle. Now if that’s not rehabbing, then I don’t know what is.”
“That’s great. But what happened to Rudolph’s mother?” I inquired.
“Well, she got weaker and weaker until she finally died. That’s why I had to take over. He would have starved otherwise. It’s just lucky that Wendell found them when he did.”
Once again, Wendell had perfect timing. Either this girl was just as much of a liar, or she’d been brainwashed into believing his stories.
“There’s something else I want to ask you. Exactly where is Wendell finding all of these manatees?”
“What do you mean? I just told you. He’s rescuing them from around the area, of course,” she skittishly responded, switching her weight from hip to hip.
“Cut the crap, Candi. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Wendell said they’d been hit by boat propellers. Only none of them have any sign of a recent injury, which leads me to suspect one of two things. Either someone is illegally breed
ing these mammals and selling them to Wendell. Or, they’re being snatched from the wild.”
Candi’s lips drew tightly together, and she immediately clammed up.
“Whichever is the case, that also makes you an accessory. Is it really worth doing jail time over?” I asked, allowing the question to dangle.
“Look, Ma!” came a loud shriek from behind us in the pool.
I turned and saw a child pulling hard on Rudolph’s neck. One flash of my badge and his mother promptly dragged him off.
“Listen, Candi. I love manatees also, which is why it’s important that we do what’s best for them. And that’s for these creatures to be in the wild, not mauled to death by crowds all day in an amusement park. Right now, they’re nothing more than a moneymaking tool for Wendell. Is that really what you want for Rudolph and the others?”
“That’s not true,” she argued. “Wendell says this is a wonderful way for people to learn about them, and that the critters instinctively want to bond.”
“Well, he’s wrong. Manatees are naturally shy and hate noise. This sort of thing simply stresses them out. If Wendell really cared, he would have guidelines posted that instruct swimmers not to ride, poke, or harass them like that kid was just doing.”
Candi cringed and I knew I was getting through to her. “By the way, did anyone ever perform an autopsy on Rudolph’s mom to try and find out why she died?”
Candi shook her head as tears began to stream down her face. Her heart was clearly in the right place. I decided to try and appeal to her conscience.
“You know, there’s a good chance it was the result of being kept in a pen and forced to swim with a bunch of tourists. You can help me with this, Candi. That is, if you really care about them as much as you claim. For chrissakes, this has to be stopped. Just look at what’s going on in there.”
Coastal Disturbance Page 10