by Bill Myers
The phone continued to ring. And since no one else was around, I figured the call might be for me.
Walking out onto the dock, I saw a white plastic bag tied to the leg of a bench. The ringing sound came from inside the bag.
By the time I got the phone out of the bag, the ringing had stopped. I'd missed the call.
Looking back at the Jeep, there was still no sign of Darrell. No one else in the parking lot.
The phone rang again and this time I answered.
“Hello?”
“Took you long enough to answer.”
It was Darrell.
“Here's the deal. I'm watching you right now. I can see everything you do.
“I want you to reach into your front pants pocket and pull out the cell phone you had earlier. Not the one you found in the bag, but the other one.”
Following Darrell's instruction, I pulled out Polly's cell phone.
“Now drop the phone over the rail and into the bay.”
I hesitated. It was Polly's phone and she'd be pretty upset to lose it and everything on it, including her photos.
“Can't do that. Too nice a phone. Paid too much for it. If you want, I can put it back in the Jeep.”
“No. If you want your dog back, drop the phone in the water.”
I wanted the dog back. The phone I could replace. But not the dog, so I dropped the phone over the rail into the salty water below.
“Good. Now, reach into your other pockets and empty them onto the bench in front of you.”
I did as instructed. The only thing I was carrying was my car keys and wallet.
“Are you sure that's all you have?”
“Yes, that's it. Just my keys and wallet.”
“Put them back in your pocket.”
Again, I did as I was instructed.
“Where's the package you were supposed to bring?”
I pointed over my shoulder. “In the Jeep.”
“Good. Go back and get it. Bring it out on the dock. And leave your keys and wallet in the Jeep.”
As I walked to the Jeep, I scanned the area trying to locate Darrell. He had to be nearby if he could see me. But looking around, I couldn't see him anywhere. Maybe he was on top of one of the nearby buildings.
Wherever he was, I hoped Homeland Security agents were watching him.
When I got to the Jeep, I took four twenty dollar bills out of my wallet and stuffed them in my pocket. Then I put my wallet in the glove box and locked it. I put the car keys under the driver's seat.
I grabbed the plastic Walmart bag and headed back out onto the dock, raising the bag up over my head.
Darrell was still on the phone. “Is the package in that bag?”
“Yes. But you're not getting it until I'm sure Oscar is safe.”
Darrell didn't answer. He ended the call.
CHAPTER FIFTY
A moment later, the phone buzzed signaling an incoming text message. I clicked on the message and saw a photo of Oscar laying on a white sandy beach. A rope attached to his collar, tied to a palm tree.
The phone rang.
“You see the picture?”
“Yes. Where is he?”
“Right here with me. Just follow my instructions and you'll have him back in a few minutes.”
“Okay, what do I need to do?”
“Jump into the water.”
“What?”
“Put the phone down. Jump into the water. Go completely under. Then climb back up on the dock and pick up the phone.”
“I'm not getting in the water. It's cold.”
“Either get in the water, or the dog dies.”
Darrell had the upper hand. I put the phone down and stepped off the dock into the icy saltwater.
I stood for a moment, then quickly ducked down until I was totally submerged. I silently counted to ten.
I knew why Darrell asked me to do this. Any electronic device I might be carrying would be ruined by the salt water. If I had a GPS tracker on me, it wouldn't work when I got out.
The fact that Darrell knew this meant he was a little smarter than I had initially thought.
After twenty seconds I came back to the surface, waded over to the ladder and climbed back up on the dock. I was dripping wet, and the cool breeze quickly chilled me to the bone.
I picked up the phone.
Darrell was still there. “Was the water cold?”
“Come over here, I'll show you.”
“No need. We'll be seeing each other soon enough.
“Take the package and walk to the end of the dock. There's a small flat bottom boat. Get in it.”
I'd noticed the boat earlier. I figured it belonged to the funeral home. Maybe they used it to spread ashes of loved ones on Lemon Bay.
Following Darrell's instructions, I climbed over the dock rail and stepped down into the boat. The boat shifted under my weight, and with one hand holding ten pounds of pot and the other the cell phone, I struggled to stay upright.
The wobbling of the small boat almost sent me overboard. I dropped the bag with the pot onto the floor of the boat and used my free hand to grab the dock.
From the phone, I heard a chuckle.
Then, “Behind the back seat there's a foil lined freezer bag. Put the pot in that bag and hold it up so I can see it.”
I carefully stepped to the back of the boat and found the bag, the kind sold in grocery stores to keep frozen food cold. Opening the bag, I placed the brick of pot inside, then held it up in the air to show I'd completed the task.
From the phone I heard Darrell's voice. “Good. Now untie the boat, start the motor, and head south, hugging Manasota Key until you get to Stump Pass State Park.
“Shouldn't take you more than ten minutes.
“When you get to Stump Pass, keep your eyes peeled for a man wearing an orange vest standing on a sandbar to your left. He'll be alone.
“Pull your boat up on the beach. That's where you'll find your dog.
“Any questions?”
I shook my head. “No. No questions. Ten minutes, I'll be there.”
I set the choke on the motor and pulled the starter rope. The engine sputtered to life. I reset the choke, untied the lines and slowly motored out into the bay.
Glancing behind me, I hoped Agent Harris and his men were watching.
They could no longer track me through the GPS app they'd installed on Polly's phone. It was sitting on the bottom of Lemon Bay. And it was possible that the foil lining of the freezer bag would block the signals from the tracker in the brick of pot.
I didn't have time to worry about any of this. I had ten minutes to get to Stump Pass State Park. As I reached the channel, I brought the boat up on plane and headed south.
Four minutes later I passed under the Manasota Key drawbridge, where the wide waters of Lemon Bay began to narrow toward Stump Pass, a natural cut into the Gulf of Mexico.
Much like a funnel, the waters from the Gulf roar through the pass at low and high tides, creating strong and sometimes very dangerous currents. Those currents weren't a problem for large boats, but the little flat bottom I was driving would have a tough time if the tides caught it.
If Darrell's directions were accurate, I didn't have to worry about the pass. I would reach the sand bar long before I reached it. But there were other things to be wary of in these waters.
The channel leading to Stump Pass is dotted with the broken stumps of trees sheared off during tropical storms. At low tide, most of these stumps are visible and easy to avoid. But at high tide, many are hidden and pose a significant danger.
Hitting one of these in any size boat would be bad. But in my little boat with its thin metal hull, hitting a stump would spell disaster.
As soon as I saw the first stump, I throttled back and steered toward the center of the channel. This gave me more water depth below the boat and less chance of hitting a stump.
But being in the center of the channel had its own risks. It put me in the path of northbo
und boats. The small ones I wasn't worried about. I could get out of their way.
The larger ones could be a problem, creating fast moving wakes that could easily swamp the little flat bottom boat. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be much boat traffic that morning and I didn't have far to travel.
As I neared the park, I cut my speed and start scanning the sandbars on my left for a man in an orange vest.
The sandbars were created when the Corps of Engineers dug the intracoastal waterway back in the nineteen fifties. They dredged the sand to create a deep navigable channel and dumped the excess on the sides, creating small spoil islands.
Over the years, the spoils had become overgrown with tropical plants and home to flocks of native birds.
I studied each of the islands, alert for a flash of orange. Against the white sandy beaches, he shouldn't be hard to spot.
But after passing six islands, I started to worry. I hadn't seen a single person. And the further south I went, the more I felt the current picking up strength, pulling me toward Stump Pass and the Gulf of Mexico.
If I didn't spot Darrell soon, I'd have to make a decision. Either turn around and head back or get closer to the pass and risk getting caught by the currents and swept through the pass.
After passing yet another empty island, I decided I must have missed him. I started to swing the boat around when the phone buzzed, startling me.
I answered with a question. “Where are you?”
“Just ahead on your left. I can see you from here.”
Looking ahead, I saw a man wearing an orange vest step out from the thick undergrowth. Behind him, just at the treeline, a dog on a leash. Oscar.
I steered my boat in his direction and watched as he took off the vest and stuffed it into a green pack.
He now wore a white fishing shirt, khaki wading pants and a fishing hat with a neck flap. His face was completely hidden behind a white sun mask.
If he were to walk into a bank dressed like that, he'd be arrested on the spot. But out here on the water, he fit right in. Just another fisherman dressed to cut his exposure to the sun.
As I got closer, he pointed to the sand in front of him. He wanted me to beach the boat at that spot.
I steered to where he pointed and gave the motor enough power to push the flat bottom up onto the sand. With the boat beached, I killed the motor, stood and started to step off into the water.
The man, who I assumed was Darrell, shook his head. “Hold it right there. Both hands in the air.”
He held a small silver revolver, pointed straight at me.
With my hands in the air, I said, “I'm unarmed.”
The man waggled his gun in my direction. “Let's check for sure. Turn around. Slowly.”
Balancing myself in the boat, I did a slow three sixty turn.
“See, no gun. I'm not armed.”
Still pointing the gun at me, he said, “Toss me the package.”
I lobbed him the foil bag. Catching it in his free hand, he said, “Stay in the boat while I test this. If it's good, you can have the dog and be on your way.”
He backed up a ways and squatted to begin the process. It seemed to take forever. He had to keep one eye on me and the gun within reach while he cut through the wrapping around the package and pulled out a small sample.
After placing the sample in a test tube, he added several drops of liquid from a small plastic bottle. Then he shook the test tube vigorously.
“Now we wait. See what color it turns.”
As we waited for the results, a large trawler made its way up the intracoastal. Three teenaged girls in bikinis on the top deck waved at us, and I waved back.
Darrell looked at me. “They with you?”
“No. But when cute girls wave at me, I always wave back.”
I pointed at the test tube. “So what's it show?”
The contents had turned a deep purple.
“You're in luck. It tested good. Get out of the boat and go get your dog.”
He didn't have to tell me twice. I hopped into the shallow water and headed straight to Oscar. Even before I reached him, he was wagging his wiener dog tail hard enough to shake his entire body.
“Oscar, you okay?”
In response to my question, he dropped to the sand and rolled onto his back so I could rub his belly. It needed doing so I obliged him.
Behind me, I failed to notice that Darrell had put his gear in the boat and pushed it off the beach.
When I heard the motor start, I turned just in time to see him wave as he powered away toward the Gulf of Mexico, leaving Oscar and me stranded on the sand.
I had rescued Oscar. But who was going to rescue me?
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
“How about it Oscar? Think we can swim across?”
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The outgoing tidal currents along with the cool water temperature would make swimming across the channel a risky move – especially since neither of us had a life jacket.
Even if I could make it across, I was pretty sure Oscar and his stubby little legs didn't stand a chance. And there was no way I was going to leave him behind.
The way I figured it, there was no reason to risk either of our lives trying to swim to safety. Sooner or later, Agent Harris or some of his men would show up. He had assured me they would come to my rescue should I need their help.
I needed their help now, so I was pretty sure they were on their way.
So I did the smart thing. I found a nice shady spot under a palm tree, and Oscar and I stretched out on the sand to await their arrival.
I'm not sure how long I slept. It could have been a few minutes or a few hours. But judging the shadows cast by the palms trees, I was pretty sure it was past noon. That meant we'd been stranded on the sandbar for more than three hours, and neither Harris nor his men had swooped in to rescue us.
So maybe they weren't coming. Or maybe they didn't know where we were.
Either way, I was tired of waiting.
I'd already decided not to risk swimming across the channel. I could probably make it but Oscar couldn't, and I wasn't going to leave him behind.
Our other option was to try to wave down a north bound boat and hitch a ride. The only problem with this plan was there hadn't been much boat traffic today. Of course, I'd slept through most of the morning, so I really didn't know how many boats had passed.
But it really didn't matter how many boats had already gone by. What mattered was how many boats would pass by in the next hour or so. And how many of those boats would have a shallow enough draft to reach us here on the sandbar.
I explained our situation to Oscar and he didn't seem too concerned. He stood, shook the sand off his shiny brown coat and slowly trotted toward the water. When he reached the edge, he plopped down in the wet sand. He had found himself a cool spot and he was happy.
I stayed in the shade of the palm tree where I could watch for north bound boats. Sooner or later the right one would come by, and we'd find someone who would either take us across to Stump Pass State Park or drop us somewhere further north where we could find a phone and call for help.
During the next hour or so, we saw two large trawlers and three sailboats – all headed south, the wrong direction for us.
There'd also been three teens on jet skis heading north, but they'd been traveling so fast they were gone before I could get their attention.
We'd seen three other boats that would have worked – all were charter fishing captains coming back off the gulf with clients. I waved to get their attention and they waved back. But none of them had stopped.
Oscar didn't seem to be bothered by any of this. He slept, licked his parts, and slept some more.
I, on the other hand, was anxious to get back to the mainland and to my normal day-to-day life. One that didn't involve drug dealers and Homeland Security agents.
Settling back on the sand, I sighed. And maybe dozed off again.
I drifted awake
to the faint strains of Jimmy Buffet singing 'Cheeseburger in Paradise'. I wasn't sure whether I was hearing the song in my head because I was hungry, or if it was actually coming from the water.
When the song got louder, I realized it was coming from a boat. Hopefully one that might stop and pick us up.
I walked down to the beach and stood beside Oscar. Looking south, I saw something heading our way. As it got closer, I could see that it was a boat, unlike any I had seen before. Maybe I was dreaming.
Someone had added a tiki hut with a palm frond roof to a party barge. Under the shade of the tiki hut, a shirtless man with shoulder length hair stood at the helm. Behind him, three women in bikinis held water pistols.
This was the kind of rescue I was hoping for.
As the boat got closer, I started waving my arms to get the attention of captain and crew. Oscar decided to help by singing along with Jimmy Buffet. I'm not sure which was more effective, but it worked.
One of the women saw us and squirted the man at the helm with her water pistol. When he turned to squirt her back, she pointed at us.
Seeing us on the beach, he immediately reduced speed, turned down Jimmy Buffet, and picked up a microphone. “Ahoy, there. You need help?”
“Yes! We're stranded.”
He turned and consulted briefly with the three women, then turned back to me. “Stay put. We'll come to you.”
The man steered the boat toward shore and brought the tips of the pontoons up onto the sandy beach. With beer in hand, he walked to the front deck and opened the gate.
“I'm Captain Jim. The girls and I are heading up to Chadwick Park. You're welcome to ride along with us.”
I smiled with relief. “Chadwick Park would be perfect.”
After putting Oscar up on the boat, I climbed onto the front deck and started to take my shoes off. I didn't want to track sand into their boat.
Captain Jim shook his head, “Don't worry about that. Sand is part of life out here. We're used to it.”
I nodded. “I really appreciate you stopping for us.“
Captain Jim smiled. “No problem. But how'd you come to be stranded?”
There was no way I could tell him about the drug deal, so I thought fast. “Oscar and I got out to explore the island, and while we were gone, someone took our boat.