by Johnny Asa
Hard Tide
Florida Coast Adventures book 1
Johnny Asa
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Thank You for reading!
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Copyright © 2017 by Johnny Asa
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1
The shrill cry of the phone snapped me from a dreamless, fitful sleep. Before I could stop myself, instinct honed from years inside a warzone took over. I leapt from my bed and looked around for intruders, hand already reaching for the Buck knife in my nightstand.
As I stood there in my dark, messy studio with my heart pounding and adrenaline surging through my veins, I realized what was going on. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I turned my gaze toward my nightstand and spied my phone ringing like it was going out of style.
My eyes widened as I glanced from it to the bedside clock and back again. My dad was calling me? At 1 AM? Sure he was on East Coast time up in Florida, but it was still early for him there too.
“Weird,” I muttered, reaching for the phone just as it stopped ringing.
I fruitlessly punched the answer button anyway, but it did no good. I frantically called him back. I was sure it wasn’t anything, but at the same time, ever since my mom had passed away from cancer a few years back, my dad never called unless it was a birthday or a holiday. Today was neither.
“You’ve reached Bob Ryder. I’m not here right now, so please leave a message after the beep,” his phone said the moment it connected. Hell, it hadn’t even bothered to ring. Were we calling each other at the same time? Probably.
I resolved to wait a few seconds and try again. I lowered the phone and stared at it. As I did, a voicemail icon appeared on the screen. My dad had left a voicemail? That was even more out of character than calling.
Now, I had a great dad. I just hadn’t seen him since he retired to Florida. The Marines and then life got in the way.
I shook off the thought since there was no use getting myself worked up over nothing. My dad had probably just forgotten the time difference. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. Besides, I’d know in a second. I hit the play button and put my phone to my ear.
“Billy, is that you? No, of course not,” my dad said as thunder boomed in the background. “Look, if I don’t make it, trust me, it wasn’t an accident… if you could come down here with a couple of those jarheads you called friends, well, that’d be just super.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling it into the receiver. “I’m going to try and—”
His words were cut off by the staccato crack of thunder. The phone must have slipped from his hand then because the next time my father spoke, his words were muffled and far off.
“You won’t get away with this. My boy—”
“If your boy comes, your boy will die, you foolish old man,” the voice said right before another crack of thunder split the air. Then the line went completely dead.
I stood there in shock. Had I just heard what I thought I’d heard?
No… surely not. There was no way. Could my dad be?
No…
I hit the call back button, causing the phone to go directly to voicemail again.
“Dad, this is Billy. What the hell is going on?” I barked, trying to keep the hysteria rising inside me from spilling into my voice. “Call me back.”
As I ended the call, I turned and moved toward my closet. I threw the door open. Laying beneath a pile of clothing on the carpet was the lock box, and even though I didn’t know what was going on, I grabbed it and tossed it on the bed beside my old olive drab duffel. Then I started grabbing clothes, shoving them inside the sack.
Three minutes later, I was out the door and seated behind the wheel of my black 2007 Chevy Tahoe with my duffel on the seat next to me.
Normally, it took five days to drive to Florida from California, but I was going to do it in two.
2
Forty hours later, I pulled the Tahoe in front of my dad’s house. I was tired as all get out and hadn’t showered in what felt like forever, but I didn’t care. My dad still hadn’t called me back despite me leaving so many voicemails, his mailbox had somehow gotten full. I wasn’t even sure how that happened in this day and age, but it was what it was, I guess.
Trying to staunch the worry swirling in my gut, I hopped out of the Tahoe and approached my childhood home. It seemed so weird because I’d literally not seen the place in almost two decades, but it looked exactly like I’d remembered it what with the white picket fence and huge imposing gate.
Part of me wondered why my dad had moved back here after mom died, abandoning his place in Chicago for the sunny subdivision of my youth, but part of me knew. He’d wanted to hold onto her memory and being here helped him do that. I wasn’t sure if that was actually healthy or not, but being that my dad was over seventy years old, I was inclined to let him do whatever he damned well pleased. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d listen to me anyway.
No, my old man was stubborn as a mule.
As I approached the gate, I couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. I couldn’t see into the yard because the honeysuckle was so overgrown, it blocked my view, but I still should have been able to see his truck. Hell, for all I knew, he kept his boat here too.
My dad’s boat had been huge, and I would have been able to see it over the top of the gate if it was here. Man, I needed to get a grip. No matter what was going on, I had to keep my head.
Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the Tahoe and opened the door. Then I pulled the lockbox out from beneath the seat and input the combination.
A moment later, the lock opened. I pulled it free of the plastic case and tossed it on the seat. Then I unclipped the snaps holding the lid in place and flipped it open. My Glock 19 stared back at me. I hadn’t even looked at the weapon since my last tour of duty, but it still looked as deadly as ever. There would have been days where I’d put seven hundred rounds through her for fun, but those days were long past.
As I pulled her free of the case, I instantly felt a little better. That said, I couldn’t just carry her around in the open, so even though I didn’t have a carry license in Florida, I dug out my inside the waist holster and hooked it to my leather belt just inside my pants. Then I checked the magazine in the Glock, ensuring all fift
een rounds were present and accounted for before shoving it into the holster and pulling my Tommy Bahama shirt down over it to hide it from view.
Sure, if I raised my arms, someone might see it, but hopefully, no one would make me do any burpees out here.
A grimace crossed my face as I stood up and shut the door to the Tahoe. Then I locked her even though I had nothing worth stealing. Hell, I was fairly certain people in Pleasantville still left their front doors unlocked. Still failing to plan was planning to fail. So I locked the door and shoved the dangle into my pocket.
Then I made my way toward my dad’s place. The gate opened easily under my hand, making me think it’d been recently oiled because I remembered the gate always creaking like a son of a gun. Guess my dad had finally gotten to it after all these years. Mom would be so proud.
As the black, wrought-iron gate swung open, it revealed exactly what I’d known I’d see—nothing in the driveway. My dad’s boat, a Catalina 36 Sailboat, was gone as was his black Nissan Titan, making me think he’d definitely brought it out on the docks.
A grimace flitted across my lips as I stared at the space the truck would have occupied. I never understood why my dad would go and buy a boat for over forty grand and then buy a Titan over an F150 because it was cheaper, but that was my dad.
Besides, the only thing my dad every used the Titan for was puttering around town or going to the dump. Heck, half the time I marveled that the Nissan could even carry enough to be worth taking to the dump.
“I wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot if you’d answer the damned phone,” I grumbled, glancing around the yard. Part of me wanted to go inside, but you didn’t rush into a situation without doing surveillance first.
So I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself as I made my way along the walk past the azaleas. The door looked as it ever did. One of those solid white security doors hiding the carved oak front door. The windows were barred and shut, which had always struck me as odd when I was a kid, but they’d been there since my parents purchased the place. Besides, they did increase opsec, you know, in the event those traveling salesmen went for the hard sell.
“Hey, Dad! You there?” I called, rapping on the metal with my fist before pressing the doorbell with my thumb. It chimed loudly as I stood there, growing more anxious by the second.
I tried a few more times before pulling out my phone and calling for the gazillionth time. Again, there was no answer. As I stared at my phone, part of me wanted to listen to the message he’d left one more time, but I couldn’t right now. It was time to get a move on.
Instead, I shoved the phone into my pocket and dug out my old Mickey Mouse key. That wasn’t a joke. When I’d left home to fight for God and country, my mom had given me a house key stylized with Mickey Mouse because I’d loved the bugger as a kid. She said it’d keep me safe. It must have worked since I wasn’t dead, yet.
I put the key into the lock and twisted as I pushed the memory aside so I could focus. As the door unlocked and I pulled it open, I tried the front door. It was locked too, but my key made short work of that.
Then I was inside. The first thing I noticed was the dust covering the shelves. It was a little strange since I remembered my parents being fairly clean. My dad must have neglected to dust all the knickknacks cluttering the shelves, most of which had belonged to my mom.
As I walked in past her collection of porcelain angels, I called out again. “Dad! Are you here? It’s Billy.” My voice echoed through the tiny house, but there was no response. A sigh escaped me. This wasn’t good.
A quick glance around the place revealed dishes in the half-full dishwasher, but no other signs that someone had been here. Heck, even those seemed like they’d been there a while.
That’s when a thought struck me. The last time I’d talked to my dad, he’d invited me out here to spend a few days on his boat, claiming we could stay on the old girl. I hadn’t thought much about it at the time, and admittedly, I didn’t know if it was even possible to “stay” on his boat, but maybe my dad was doing that?
I mean, it wasn’t like he had to come back here for anything… but then why the weird phone call?
With that thought rattling around my head, I turned and made my way back toward the front door. Only as I approached it, I saw a huge mountain of a man standing on the porch. He was covered in tattoos and sported a bald head and a beard that fell to his mid-chest. He turned his cold gray eyes on me, seeming sort of surprised to see me.
“Who are you?” he asked like it made more sense for him to be here than me.
“Me? Who are you?” I snapped, my hand inching toward my gun. If the guy saw me through the security door, he didn’t seem to care.
The big guy shook his head at me. “I came to get something. Let me in.” He smiled, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. “I promise not to break anything.”
“Not gonna happen,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. Something about the guy bugged me, and while I didn’t know what he was up to, I was way too high-strung to even think about trusting him. “You’ll have to wait until my dad gets home.”
His eyes widened at that. “Is that so?” he asked, and the glee in his voice stung me. It was almost like he knew something I didn’t. “I suspect I’ll be waiting a long time then.” Those words sent a cold chill down my spine.
As I opened my mouth to ask him exactly what he meant, he waved off the comment.
“No matter. I’ll come back later.” He put two fingers to his temple and saluted me. Then he spun on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing there, barely resisting the urge to run outside and shake him down for information. I didn’t, but it was a damned near thing, let me tell you.
3
I was still standing there like a dumbass when I heard a car start moments before it peeled out and took off in a screech of burning rubber. While I couldn’t see it because of the overgrowth along the gate, I found myself watching the street anyway.
Part of me knew I needed to get a move on and head to the docks to see if my dad, or at least his truck, was there. Only now I didn’t want to leave. What would happen if I did? Would that jackass come back and rob the place?
I wasn’t sure, but either way, I didn’t have time to stand here and guard the place if I wanted to find my dad. So I put my big boy pants on and walked outside, making sure to lock the door behind myself. No point in making it easy to break in after all.
That done, I headed toward the street. Part of me wanted to lock the gate, but since it didn’t normally lock, I didn’t have many options. Damn.
I took a deep breath, trying to force down the anxiety gnawing away at my gut. Surely, if I headed to the docks, I’d find my dad busy cleaning fish or something. Right, not with that phone call.
What if I was too late?
No. I couldn’t think like that. I had to do something, or I was going to go crazy. His phone went to voicemail again as I unlocked the Tahoe and slid behind the wheel.
A moment later, I was on my way toward the dock. While part of me had expected to be lost, the streets came back to me like I’d just been here yesterday. Even still, the differences were noticeable as I watched the houses on either side of the suburban street roll by. While most of the places I’d lived consisted of ticky-tacky houses, this neighborhood had been remodeled so many times over the years that most of the houses were nice looking.
I remembered my dad talking about it over the years. Every time someone passed away or moved to a new area, another owner would come in, knock the old place down to its frame and renovate. Guess that was what happened when the land was worth more than the house on it.
It still seemed a bit strange to me that people would actually want to live here what with the muggy weather, but I had to admit there was a natural charm to the state, and especially to a place like Pleasantville. It sang of crisp apple pie, and I dunno how else to say it, but the place reminded me of the Fourth of July block parties I always remembered as a kid.
>
Part of me wondered if they still had them, but judging by the way newly remodeled homes mixed with older houses, most of me was figuring they’d gone the way of the dodo.
Not that it mattered much. I was here for one reason. To find my dad. I knew, just knew, that the moment I found him, he was gonna laugh at me for being so worried. Then we’d knock back a couple Miller Lites and watch the ballgame.
I held that thought in my mind all the way until I reached the gate that led into the parking lot beside the docks. There was no line as I pulled into the ticketing booth, but there was an attendant. A guy about a decade younger than me with short curly hair and so many freckles, his face was more red than white.
“Howdy,” he said as I approached. “It’ll be ten dollars for the day pass.” He held out his hand to me, and I smirked. Guess they didn’t have automatic ticketing machines here.
“Sure,” I said, pulling out my wallet and fishing out two crumpled fives. I handed them to him, and he presented me with a highlighter pink paper pass.
“Pleasure robbing you today,” the guy said, smiling at me as he depressed a button, causing the mechanical arm blocking my way to lift with a wheeze of hydraulics.
I shook my head at the guy as I moved forward over those weird spikes that did irreparable tire damage when you went the wrong way. Soon as I was past, I spun the wheel and headed left around a bend in the road.
I found myself in the parking lot a moment later and much to my surprise, realized it was nearly empty despite the waterfront area teaming with shops. A quick glance at my watch told me why. It was barely 7 AM. Nothing was open. Of course, it was empty.
I drove around the parking lot anyway, my heart nearly beating its way through my chest with worry until I saw my dad’s truck. His Nissan, complete with silly fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror sat off to the left, practically hidden behind a big white Suburban.