by David Banner
Just after 10:00 am I heard the sound of a buzzer followed by heavy footsteps headed down the corridor toward my small cell.
"Brandon Waters?” A female guard with a high blond ponytail said opening the door.
"Yes," I said, assuming I was in for another round of questioning from Detective Michaelson.
"You're free to go."
The words came as a shock. How on earth had I managed to get released so soon, and with the amount of charges they had on me, it made no sense. "I'm sorry?” I said.
"You're a free man, for now anyway." She gave a half-smile.
I walked silently beside her down the hall, through two guard-operated doors until finally reaching the exit door. I signed a paper and a clerk handed me back the contents of my pockets in a small plastic bag. I turned back to look at her still a little confused. "That’s it?” I said. "I just go?”
"You just go,” she said opening the door. "Today, you're not my problem."
The morning Miami sun burned my eyes as it flooded the hallway and I stepped out onto the hot blacktop. I turned back to look at her, but she had already begun walking away and I could only catch the faintest glimpse before the door slammed closed.
I stood for a long minute just staring up at the sky. I wasn't sure where to go from here. I was overcome with the urge to act, to do something of value, something that would help detangle this mess I had gotten myself into but, to save my life, I couldn't think of what that was.
"You just gonna stand there looking at the sky all morning, or can we get out of here?" I heard the unmistakable soft voice of Rachel.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Someone had to bail you out." She smiled.
"Bail?" I asked.
"Turns out the guy whose ass you kicked didn't wanna press charges. The only thing they had on you was messing up that hotel room. And on top of that he skipped out on the hospital in the middle of the night. They have no idea where he is." She took my hand in hers. "You okay?"
"I'm okay,” I said.
"Get in, I'll drive you to your car,” she said.
"Okay, it's at the Manda—”
"The Mandarin. I know." She smiled again. "That was a pretty nice hotel room you jacked up, I'd hate to see that bill."
"Yea..." I said. "I'll pay you back for the bail."
"Don't worry, the charges won't stick.,” she said as we pulled away from the police station.
Leaning back a little and letting the events of the night before play in my mind I realized something. I had managed to get away from the hotel with the guy’s cell phone. I quickly pulled the small plastic bag up from the floorboard and riffled through it pulling the phone out.
There wasn't much to look through though, only a small handful of calls, the oldest one being from the day before. "A burner..." I muttered to myself. No photos, no texts, nothing, it was empty.
"What are you looking for?" Rachel asked.
"I don't know,” I replied. "It’s empty, only three numbers in the call log. They're all disconnected and no photos."
"What about texts?" she said. "It’s a crappy flip-burner phone, But it can still text.. Let me hold it."
A few clicks later she handed me back the phone. "There's only one text, its an address. I guess it’s a dead end."
516 Beach Cove Way. Anna Maria Island, FL.
"I know that address,” I said. "I think that’s my house."
CHAPTER EIGHT
U NDER ANY OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES I WOULD NEVER LEAVE TOWN WITH MY BROTHER LOCKED UP IN SOME JAIL. At least not without visiting him first and letting him know. But I couldn't risk it. As far I knew the police didn't know anything about Anna Maria Island. But I guess if I thought about it neither did I. I just knew that it had to be more than coincidence that the house I just inherited was on some random guy’s phone. Especially given the way in which we met.
I drove home and quickly packed a bag. A small duffle with a couple pairs of jeans, some underwear, and a few shirts. Then I walked to the kitchen and with a mix of apprehension and something not quite regret, I pulled up the floorboard. I sat there on my knees staring at the pistol I had been carrying for years now, the one that belonged to my dad, the same one I swore to never use.
I had spent my entire youth making promises to myself, one after the other and in the manner of a weekend I had managed to break every one of them. But once again I didn't have time to let that stop me. I didn't know what would be waiting for me on Anna Maria Island, if anything. I just knew I had to get there and find out. I just had to make one phone call.
"I need you to do one thing for me,” I said into the phone.
"Yes?” said Rachel, a clear worry in her voice.
"Visit him. As much as you can. Everyday if you can. The thought of him being locked up in there is..." My voice began to give way.
"I will,” she said. "Everyday."
"Thank you,” I said.
"Just come back the same way you left, okay?" she said.
"I will,” I told her. "I will."
And with that I was out the door. Anna Maria Island sat about four hours away from Miami on the Gulf Coast. It was only about a four-hour drive up Highway 93 and now it was a place I could call home if I chose to. I didn't know what would be waiting for me, other than a likely abandoned and decaying house, but I did know I was ready to face it, whatever it was.
The warm gulf breeze tried its best to settle my mind, flowing through my open-topped Wrangler, and I tried my best to let it. Most of my time in Florida had been spent in Key West and it didn't take long for the familiar gulf air to wash up childhood memories. I remembered all the years my family and I spent lazing about on the crisp white sand, listening to the water tell its story. It was a feeling I had forever cherished and even with as nervous and confused as I was in that moment, it still felt right to have it by my side.
I remember once asking my mother why the only time I ever saw her dancing was on the moonlit beaches of the Florida Keys. “Listen close,” she'd say. “The music of Havana is calling to us across the waves.” The image of her flowing white gown hadn't found its way into my mind in years. But in that moment, with that same white sand so close by I couldn’t help but almost hear her voice again.
So many things were right about that drive, the water, the sand, and the memories. And I guess they were enough to block out the shit-storm of the last few days, even if only for a few hours. Because before I knew it I was in Bradenton, just on the other side of the bridge from Anna Maria. I drove past a bar with a big sign about a concert later that night, then crossed the bridge from Bradenton onto Anna Maria Island.
Typing the address into my phone I slowly made my way through the small streets and past the Island Chamber. Miranda was right, Anna Maria Island looked gorgeous. The whole place looked to be everything I loved about Florida. Granted, there were a few things I could've lived without, like the modern grocery store and the sign for a “coming soon” resort. But, from what I could tell, the island seemed to thrive on that old-time Florida flavor that meant so much to me.
Small taverns and restaurants sat sprinkled throughout the island, perched on corners and stuck away down small streets. Where Miami was loud and new, Anna Maria seemed to be old and quiet the way I remembered my childhood summers. I kept thinking that maybe this would be the perfect place for me, maybe this would be a place I could finally feel at home again.
I was surprised, pulling into the small driveway of the house I now owned. It was a little larger than I pictured, still no Miami mansion but probably four bedrooms and from what I could make out through the fence it seemed to have a private pool. I just couldn’t fathom how my parents owned this their whole lives and I never saw it. Why, if this was here on such a peaceful island like Anna Maria, why then would we spend our summers in Key West, never having even stopped here to visit or spend the night?
A cobblestone walkway led up to a white house with a black door. Large picture windows sat
on either side of the small porch framed by beautiful Florida palms. It was a lovely place with a nice yard that was lined with a wooden privacy fence. "Wow,” I muttered. "It’s wonderful."
But just like so many times before, my small spark of happiness seemed to be short lived. Opening the door I was hit with the unmistakable odor of death. It came at me like a tidal wave and I could feel my gag reflex kick into high gear.
I stumbled back and hunched over trying my best not to vomit onto the cobblestone. It took a good three minutes, but I managed to get myself ready to go back and find the source of the odor. I walked back to my car, grabbed a t-shirt from my duffle bag and balled it up and placing it over my mouth and nose I made my way inside.
Just off of the living area I could see what looked to be a kitchen, and from that kitchen I could see the edge of what I knew to be a pool of blood. With slow and steady steps I made my way toward it, keeping an eye out for anyone else who might still be in the home. Finally reaching the blood I found its source.
A woman of average height with long dark hair lay dead on the floor. I looked at her for a moment trying my best to place her, but as far as I knew I had never seen her before. There didn't seem to be much about her appearance to make her stand out from the crowd or stick out in my memory though, she just looked like a someone you'd see walk past you on the street. I just had no idea why she was lying dead in a pool of blood in a house I had just inherited.
What was I supposed to do? Call the police, hide the body, leave and pretend I had never been there? None of the options were good. My mind raced a million miles an hour, trying to come up with some kind of solution, trying to make some kind of sense out of all of this. I thought about Micah. What would he do or say in this situation?
“They’ll never believe you didn't have something to do with it...” he’d say. “Run, hide the body and run. While you still can. Someone's trying to set you up.”
Wait! Was that it? Was someone trying to set me up?
The answer to that question came quickly. In the distance I could hear the sound of police sirens, distant at first but growing increasing louder by the second. Then, like a wave, it all made sense. We were being set up, me and my brother. The whole thing, the meeting with Miranda, someone drugging my brother, the text message on the phone and now a body that, no matter what I said, I wouldn't be able to convince anyone I wasn't responsible for. I noticed, in my panic something catching the light from under the kitchen island. It was a phone, quickly sliding it into my back pocket I turned to the door.
I had no choice. If I stayed in that house I'd be put behind bars, only this time I probably wouldn't get out the next day. I had to run, it was the only thing I could do. It was the only way I'd be able to save my brother and now— myself.
CHAPTER NINE
Q UICKLY RUNNING OUT THE DOOR AND HOPPING IN MY JEEP I SLAMMED ON THE ACCELERATOR JUST IN TIME TO SEE A COP CAR ROUNDING THE CORNER. Someone knew I was going to be there, but how had they known exactly when? Were they watching me? Were they on Anna Maria Island? Had they followed me? I didn't have any of the answers I needed. And now I was on the run to save my life.
The one thing I did know was that I had to get back to that bridge as quickly as I could before they blocked it off otherwise I might never make off of the island. For a moment I wasn't sure whether or not the cops had seen me pulling away, but that question was quickly laid to rest when taking a hard right down a little street I saw lights flashing in my rear-view mirror.
"Fuck!" I yelled to myself.
How had I let this happen, how had I been stupid enough to play right into a trap? My parents would have seen this coming a mile away I'm sure. But I was too preoccupied with not wanting to become them, with not wanting to do any of the things they did as private investigators that I had let my guard down. I hadn't paid attention to my surroundings, hadn't paid attention to the signs that I'm sure were all around me.
Blazing through a stop sign I came within inches of colliding with two parked cars and another officer. I watched as he slammed on brakes, then made a quick turn to pursue me. I now had two cops on my tail and a dead body in my house. If they caught me I would likely never be a free man again.
In the distance I could see two cops parked nose-to-nose in a 'v' formation, effectively blocking me from getting through the next intersection. They were standing in front of their cars, guns pointed as the two behind me got closer with every second. I had no choice but to give the steering wheel a hard pull to the left, sending me sailing over a line of shrubbery and into the front yard of a large beach house.
As my tires tore through the grass and rock I swerved in and out of beautiful manicured lawns, leaving a trail of destruction behind me as I went. I didn't imagine my new neighbors would be too happy with me in that moment. I had been on the island less than an hour and already I was a murder suspect as well as menace to society.
I could see the bridge to the mainland at the end of a street only a few yards away from me, I just had to get the cops off of my ass before I could try to cross. Strapping my seatbelt on I did the only thing I could in the moment. I slammed the side of my SUV in the nose of the cop car, sending it twirling onto the sand.
The sound of gunshots echoed from behind me, the bullets ricocheting off of the roof bars of my Jeep rang out all around me and I knew if I didn't get to that bridge in the next few seconds I wouldn't get out. So, going against my better judgment I threw my car into reverse and slammed on the brakes sending me spinning around in the other direction.
The cop and I were now face to face, I pushed the accelerator to the floor and headed for him, clipping the hood of his car and sending him spinning. Then, turning in a fury, I headed for the bridge as fast as I could. It was empty save for a few cars and I was able to make it across and back onto the mainland pretty quickly, but I knew I had to get out of my car and into something else if I wasn't going to be found.
As I crossed the bridge and made my way through Bradenton, I saw the concert was now in full swing. I threw my car into park, grabbed my duffle and made a run for it. There looked to be a couple hundred people out in front of that bar and I knew I was running out of time. I needed something ordinary, something that would draw attention and I quickly found exactly that in a silver Ford Taurus that looked to be from the early 2000's.
Getting into a locked car and starting it without the keys was something my father had taught me to do at an early age. It was one of his “you never know when you might need this...” lessons. It only took a few minutes for me to be out on the road again, only this time, not being chased by cops. I was sure the car would be reported stolen, I'd just have to make sure not to keep it more than a few days.
Reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone I gave it a good toss out the window and into a small body of water off to my left, but I decided to take the chance and keep the one I got from beside the body in my house. I wasn't sure how exactly whoever was behind all of this knew I was on that island, but I wasn't taking any chances. But close to two hours later I came into the city of Fort Myers and I knew what I had to do.
“The Blind Turtle.” That was the name of the bar, the one my father made me say over and over every day for two months straight. “If you're ever in trouble, ask for Sonny...” he said.
It took almost an hour of searching before I found the place. It was the very definition of a hole in the wall. A small place that kind of reminded me of The Gator Tail, only less crowded and not as easily found. A single “Bud Light” sign hung in the window illuminating the mostly empty parking lot, I doubted anyone would come looking for me there. At least not for a little while.
Entering the small building I found it to be pretty much like any other dump-bar in south Florida. Harsh neon lighting filled the smoky air, Jimmy Buffet played on the jukebox and a couple of guys were shooting pool, one of them likely being hustled.
On the television hanging above the bar I saw Micah's photo flash by, but th
e bar was loud and it was hard to make out everything. What I did hear though were the words “murder” and “Jane Doe”. I thought it was odd that they would refer to Miranda as a Jane Doe but, after a minute, the story flashed to another headline about an apartment fire and I decided not to concern myself with it right then.
"Hey," I said to the bartender. She was a young thing with bleach-blond hair and one too many tattoos on her neck. "I'm looking for Sonny."
"You a cop?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Cops aren't liking me too much right now."
"Got a gun?" she asked.
"Not with me,” I answered.
"Poison, a knife, anything...? she asked.
"I got nothing. I just wanna talk." I said.
With that she pointed to a small staircase in the far corner of the room. "He's up there."
Making my way up the stairs and opening the door to a small office I saw a man sitting behind a desk wearing a cowboy hat and boots. The office was small, but cleaner than the rest of the bar. On the walls were what looked to be army medals and a couple of trophies, a couple that looked to be from bull riding or some kind of rodeo.
"My name is Brandon Waters..." I said.
"I know,” he said. "You and that brother of yours are all over the news. Heard you killed a couple of ladies. Now what'd you wanna go and do a thing like that for?"
"I didn't..." I said. "We didn't. I think I'm being set up."
"Your mom always said you were smart,” he said.
"You knew my mom too?" I asked.
"Son, I knew your parents before they knew each other,” he said.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I'm Sonny Duggar," he smiled. "I'm your mom’s first husband. I'm your almost-daddy. I'm your Godfather."
"What!" I said. "First husband?"