“The easiest thing to do would be to get a gauge and fake it,” she said. That’s why she’d made captain.
“At least for a decoy.” I wasn’t sure if I was going to endanger Susan’s life with a ploy like that. Standing by her car, she called someone, asked whoever it was to do whatever I asked, and handed me the phone so I could describe the gauge. I would gladly donate some of my blood to make it look authentic, if it meant an end to this. She motioned to her car, but I declined.
“He’s expecting me. Alone.”
“I’ll be right behind you. Find a strip center or something nearby, and we’ll wait for backup there.” She moved toward her car.
“Better keep it off the radio,” I said.
She shot me a look and climbed into the driver’s seat of her car. The reminder was one of those things I didn’t want to say. You knew they knew, but with a life on the line, it was worth incurring her ire to confirm. There were a handful of Miami-Dade officers who wouldn’t be either so smart, or so tactful.
With Grace behind me, we made our way south. Spotting a supermarket nearby, I pulled in and drove to a secluded part of the lot. Grace pulled up, and before we exited our vehicles, several other cars joined us. This was Grace’s party now, and I stood back on the perimeter, catching “who’s this guy?” glances from the other officers. Finally, a dark, armored truck rolled up—SWAT had arrived. So long as we got Susan out alive, this was going to make her day.
With the briefing over, I stood on the outskirts of the group while we waited for the officer tasked with bringing the lobster gauge.
Feeling very much an outcast from the exclusive club, I checked my watch. It had been over an hour since Justine had taken off with the girls. When I called, she answered immediately, wanting to know why I had turned around. Being relegated to babysitter was not lost on her, and I could hear the disappointment in her voice when I explained what was happening. She understood that I was in a no-win situation, and fortunately, her attitude improved. I promised to keep her posted, and disconnected. Just as I did, a lone police car pulled in. Before the officer got out, the group converged on him.
There was no way to break through the dozen men in body armor, so I waited while Grace grabbed the new gauge and brought it to me. I picked it up, turning it in my hands. It wasn’t a dead match, but Robinson was a desk jockey. Not handling the gauges every day during the eight-month season, he might not notice. It did strike me that it was new-looking.
“It’ll probably pass, but we need to doctor it up.” I dropped to my knees and rolled the gauge in the dirt of a landscape bed. It took a little of the sheen off, but it was still too clean. Pulling out my pocket knife, I opened the blade and prepared to puncture my finger. The flash of steel had the men surrounding me in seconds, and as I pressed the tip to my finger, I could sense their approval.
Grace held the gauge ready to catch the drops of blood. When I thought I’d donated enough, I took it from her and rubbed the blood all over it. The group pressed around me as I held the gauge up to the light. Ignoring them, I inspected it, deciding that without the original “weapon” for comparison, there was no way to tell the difference—unless Robinson had made some kind of distinguishing mark on it, and that was a possibility I couldn’t cover.
I led the way to Susan’s condo. As we approached, I could see headlights dropping off, first the marked cars, then the unmarked. The SWAT van stopped a block away. I pulled up in front of her condo, stopping in the space behind her truck. The plan was for me to wait here to allow the SWAT team and other officers who were on foot time to get in position
The condo was dark, but I could feel Robinson’s eyes on me as I counted slowly to ten. Hoping it was long enough, I reached for my phone and pressed the icon beside Susan’s name in my contacts. On the second ring he answered.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the Lone Ranger,” Robinson said.
Even if Susan hadn’t tipped me off, I could tell by his voice he was under the influence, making me even more cautious. “I’ve got what you want. Why don’t you let Susan go, and I’ll bring it in.”
“Not going to happen, Hunter. Bring it to the door.”
I knew he was watching me, and I searched the dark windows looking for movement. He had at least enough sense to keep the house dark. Slowly I got out of the truck, fighting off my urge to look behind me for my backup, and with the gauge in hand, moved toward the front door. It cracked slightly as I approached, and when I reached the landing, a hand stuck out.
“Release her first. You have my word, I’ll hand over the gauge once she’s free.”
The hand shot forward. Expecting him to grab the gauge, I yanked it back. That wasn’t his intent and before I could react, Robinson had a hold of my shirt, and pulled me into the foyer. His action was so quick and unexpected that I went like a limp doll.
Once inside, the door slammed and I was pushed to the floor. Blinking to adjust to the dim light, I saw the outline of Robinson standing over me. As my eyes acclimated to the darkness of the house, I could see the pistol in his hand.
“Let her go,” I crawled to my knees, holding out the gauge as an offering.
He grabbed it from me and rolled it in his fingers. My night vision was fine-tuned now and I could see details. “Really, you think I’m that stupid? You’ve had plenty of time to get another one.” He tossed it at my head.
I could see the tension in his arm extending to his index finger. It came to me in a flash: His plan had been to add Susan and me to his body count. Without us as witnesses, and if I was stupid enough to bring the real gauge with me, there would be no evidence against him. He already knew the real gauge wasn’t enough evidence to indict him. It was Scott’s fingerprints on the folds of the dry bag that placed Robinson in the bullseye.
His forearm twitched again. I had to act now. Lunging forward, I grabbed him around the ankles. It was a perfect tackle, but, coming from the floor, I was without any momentum or leverage. He kicked me aside, following my movement with the barrel of the gun. In slow motion, I saw his index finger tighten on the trigger. His finger twitched once. This gave me a fraction of a second to react, and I rolled to the side.
A shot fired, then another. My head was facing away, and it took me a second to realize I was still alive—and another that I wasn’t hit. Sitting up, I saw Robinson’s body on the floor with a dark liquid pooling around his head.
Behind him stood Susan McLeash with a gun in her hand.
Epilogue
There’s something about a near-death experience that leaves you both tired and wired. By the time I awoke the next day, sunlight streamed through the windows. Checking my watch on the nightstand, I realized it was past ten. Expecting to hear impatient voices coming from the living room, I leaned up on one elbow and listened. It was dead quiet. Without the urgency of entertaining Allie and Lana, I lay back down and let my mind drift, trying to sort out last night’s events.
Having Susan McLeash save my life was an unexpected outcome, but I was glad for it. She was exonerated and would get the lion’s share of the credit for taking down Robinson. I was the only one who knew the entire story, and it would stay with me. In the end, it was justice that I wanted, and it had been served.
I closed my eyes, but there was no going back to sleep. After the crime scene had wrapped up last night, I got a ride back to my boat and crossed the bay, arriving at Adams Key at four in the morning. The shooting had played over and over in my head until dawn broke, when I finally fell asleep.
Rising from bed, I realized I was still exhausted. A shower helped, and in the kitchen I picked through the leftovers of breakfast and washed the dishes. With the girls and Justine gone, the couch beckoned and I was soon asleep again.
Excited voices coming up the stairs woke me, and before I could crack my eyes, Zero’s tongue lashed my face. Fully awake now, I swung my legs to the floor.
“We got some yellowtails. Justine chummed them up. It was so much fun!” Allie said. L
ana stood beside her, clearly as excited.
“Good afternoon, kemosabe.” Justine relocated Zero, leaned over, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “They’ll be down on the fish-cleaning table waiting for you.”
“Can we go snorkeling again, Dad? Maybe to the reef this time?” Allie asked.
With the world back in alignment, I checked my watch. It was almost two. “I don’t think we have enough time. We have dinner with Mariposa tonight. We’re going to have to leave around five.”
I could see the disappointment on their faces. “There’s something we could do tomorrow, though, that might be fun and take care of your senior project.”
She didn’t look so enthused. “What’s that?”
“I was thinking about setting up a pen in the lobster sanctuary where we could raise the shorts that the FWC confiscates.”
“What a great idea!” She turned to Lana. “We can do it together.” Standing in front of me, they started planning social media coverage and logistics. Their conversation took them back to Allie’s room.
“That was a home run.” My wife smiled at me.
“Not very original, though.”
“No matter,” Justine said, sitting down next to me. “You rocked it.”
Afterword
The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) plays a valuable role in the preservation of Florida’s natural resources. They are the heroes in many cases, doing an incredible job in managing our limited and often declining stocks in very difficult circumstances. To make matters worse, they are often caught in a political quagmire between special interest groups and the recreational anglers and hunters of the state. In no way was the portrayal of the FWC or its agents in Backwater Flats meant as a statement about, or an indictment, of them.
That said, the premise for the book came from their actions.
Around 1990, we lived in South Florida and often used Bayfront Park to launch our boat. One day when we were on our way in from a fishing and lobstering trip, we were stopped by a FWC boat, sitting where I portray it in the book. Of a half-dozen lobsters we’d caught, two were confiscated as shorts, something to this day I can’t believe, as we always measured carefully. I remember thinking during the short trip across the canal that their gauges were fixed and they were stealing our lobsters.
That incident stayed with me for over twenty-five years. Now, maybe I can forget it!
Steven Becker - Tampa, Florida 2019
About the Author
Always looking for a new location or adventure to write about, Steven Becker can usually be found on or near the water. He splits his time between Tampa and the Florida Keys - paddling, sailing, diving, fishing or exploring.
Find out more by visiting www.stevenbeckerauthor.com or contact me directly at
[email protected].
Get my starter library First Bite for Free!
when you sign up for my newsletter
http://eepurl.com/-obDj
First Bite contains the first book in several of Steven Becker's series:
Get them now (http://eepurl.com/-obDj)
Mac Travis Adventures: The Wood’s Series
It's easy to become invisible in the Florida Keys. Mac Travis is laying low: Fishing, Diving and doing enough salvage work to pay his bills. Staying under the radar is another matter altogether. An action-packed thriller series featuring plenty of boating, SCUBA diving, fishing and flavored with a generous dose of Conch Republic counterculture.
Check Out The Series Here
★★★★★ Becker is one of those, unfortunately too rare, writers who very obviously knows and can make you feel, even smell, the places he writes about. If you love the Keys, or if you just want to escape there for a few enjoyable hours, get any of the Mac Travis books - and a strong drink
★★★★★This is a terrific series with outstanding details of Florida, especially the Keys. I can imagine myself riding alone with Mac through every turn. Whether it's out on a boat or on an island....I'm there
Kurt Hunter Mysteries: The Backwater Series
Biscayne Bay is a pristine wildness on top of the Florida Keys. It is also a stones throw from Miami and an area notorious for smuggling. If there’s nefarious activity in the park, special agent Kurt Hunter is sure to stumble across it as he patrols the backwaters of Miami.
Check it out the series here
★★★★★ This series is one of my favorites. Steven Becker is a genius when it comes to weaving a plot and local color with great characters. It’s like dessert, I eat it first
★★★★★ Great latest and greatest in the series or as a stand alone. I don't want to give up the plot. The characters are more "fleshed out" and have become "real." A truly believable story in and about Florida and Floridians.
Tides of Fortune
What do you do when you’re labeled a pirate in the nineteenth century Caribbean
Follow the adventures of young Captain Van Doren as he and his crew try to avoid the hangman’s noose. With their uniques mix of skills, Nick and company roam the waters of the Caribbean looking for a safe haven to spend their wealth. But, the call “Sail on the horizon” often changes the best laid plans.
Check out the series here
★★★★★ This is a great book for those who like me enjoy "factional" books. This is a book that has characters that actually existed and took place in a real place(s). So even though it isn't a true story, it certainly could be. Steven Becker is a terrific writer and it certainly shows in this book of action of piracy, treasure hunting,ship racing etc
The Storm Series
Meet contract agents John and Mako Storm. The father and son duo are as incompatible as water and oil, but necessity often forces them to work together. This thriller series has plenty of international locations, action, and adventure.
Check out the series here
★★★★★ Steven Becker's best book written to date. Great plot and very believable characters. The action is non-stop and the book is hard to put down. Enough plot twists exist for an exciting read. I highly recommend this great action thriller.
★★★★★ A thriller of mega proportions! Plenty of action on the high seas and in the Caribbean islands. The characters ran from high tech to divers to agents in the field. If you are looking for an adrenalin rush by all means get Steven Beckers new E Book
The Will Service Series
If you can build it, sail it, dive it, and fish it—what’s left. Will Service: carpenter, sailor, and fishing guide can do all that. But trouble seems to find him and it takes all his skill and more to extricate himself from it.
Check out the series here
★★★★★ I am a sucker for anything that reminds me of the great John D. MacDonald and Travis McGee. I really enjoyed this book. I hope the new Will Service adventure is out soon, and I hope Will is living on a boat. It sounds as if he will be. I am now an official Will Service fan. Now, Steven Becker needs to ignore everything else and get to work on the next Will Service novel
★★★★★ If you like Cussler you will like Becker! A great read and an action packed thrill ride through the Florida Keys!
Backwater Flats Page 20