Mango Key

by Bill H Myers

  Mango Key

  A Mango Bob and Walker Adventure

  by

  Bill Myers

  www.mangobob.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Copyright © 2015 Bill Myers. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

  Version 2017.02.15

  Chapter One

  Monday, April First. April Fools’ Day.

  Doctor Lori Joy, my on again off again gal pal, invited me to join her for lunch at the Lucky Dog in Venice, Florida. It was mid spring, not too hot, not too cold with barely any humidity. The kind of weather the local Chamber of Commerce likes to brag about.

  Those of us living on Florida's Gulf Coast knew it wouldn't last. We knew in a few weeks it'd be summer, hot and humid, and we'd be spending most of our time indoors with the AC running. But not that day. It was a good day to be out enjoying the weather.

  The place where Lori wanted to meet, the Lucky Dog, was one of those old time diners, long and narrow, built on the frame of a railroad car. Painted lime green by the previous owner, it had the kind of beachy look you expect to see in Florida. A quirky kind of casual. So much so that Lucky Dog post cards were popular with tourists. They'd send them to their friends up north with notes scribbled saying how much they were enjoying Florida while their friends were shoveling snow.

  It was hard to miss the Lucky Dog if you were in Venice, Florida. Located next to the hospital and across the street from Publix, the place was a local landmark and everyone knew where it was. A lot of people ate there. The food was good, but the menu was limited. Gourmet hot dogs, burgers, and if you arrived early enough, breakfast.

  Lori wanted me to meet her there at noon. We'd be too late for breakfast, so we'd be having either burgers or dogs. I wasn't much for hot dogs. It'd be a burger for me.

  Being an old railroad car, the inside of the Lucky Dog was pretty tight. The grill behind the counter took up almost half of the inside space. There were a few tiny booths against the wall where you could sit and eat, but they were almost always full.

  Outside there were picnic tables with bright umbrellas providing shade. That's where you wanted to be that time of year if you were eating at the Lucky Dog. You could sit in the shade and watch traffic roll down Tamiami Trail as you ate.

  I'd known Lori for about two months. She's a veterinarian and her specialty is big cats—tigers, lions and panthers. There aren’t many tigers and lions in Florida, but there is a growing population of panthers and the state works hard to keep them healthy. When one gets hurt, they call in a specialist. Lori is their first choice. That's how we met.

  About two months earlier, she'd been called to check on a panther that had been hit by a car in the Everglades. They'd taken it to the Oasis Ranger Station on Alligator Alley and they wanted Lori to go there to check it out. But there was a problem.

  According to our mutual friend Polly, Lori was feeling a bit under the weather and didn't feel up to making the drive into the Everglades on her own. Polly called me and asked if I'd help. She knew I had a motorhome and she said it would be easier on the ailing Lori if I drove her in it to the Oasis station in it.

  Lori could rest in the back bedroom and be close to the motorhome's bathroom facilities. According to Polly, being close to a toilet was vitally important due to Lori's condition.

  She said it would be a quick trip. Just down and back and I'd be helping the state of Florida save an endangered animal. I wasn't busy at the time, so I agreed. Things went downhill from there.

  As it turned out, Lori wasn't under the weather. In fact, she was perfectly healthy and capable of driving herself to the Oasis Ranger station. She didn't need to be close to a toilet. What she needed was a pretend boyfriend for the trip and she and Polly had decided I was perfect for the job. I was single, about Lori's age and we had a lot in common.

  They didn't bother to tell me about their 'pretend boyfriend' plan and I only found out about it after we were a hundred miles down the road. By then it was too late to turn back.

  I played the pretend boyfriend part and we spent three days hiking through the swamps of the Everglades, looking for panther kittens while trying to avoid alligators and skunk apes. We ran into a few crazies, camped in a Miami parking lot, and at one point, ate alligator stew.

  Somehow we'd survived.

  Amazingly, we were still friends when it was over. After that trip, Lori and I had been seeing each other socially whenever her schedule allowed. Unlike most vets, she doesn't keep regular office hours. She spent most of her time on the road, tending to wounded panthers and speaking at fundraisers for the big cats.

  When she called and asked if I would meet her at the Lucky Dog for lunch, I agreed. Like I said, she's my age, smart, attractive, and single. No way I could turn her down.

  Chapter Two

  I'm what you would call 'semi-retired'. Some people might call me unemployed. But that's not the way I look at it. While it's true I didn’t have a job and probably should have been looking for one, I wasn't. I was pretty happy about that.

  A year earlier, I was working for a Fortune 100 company. If I told you the name, you'd recognize it. I was their computer security specialist. Part of my job was to find exploits in their computer networks and report what I found. Basically, I was their paid hacker.

  Companies hire people like me to test their data security. Using the same tools hackers use, I probe their networks and try to break in. If I get in, and I usually do, they pay me to show them how to keep others out.

  It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. They get a more secure network and I get a paycheck. We both end up happy. But it didn't work out that way on the last job. At least not for me.

  The company had several large plants where they manufacture products under different brand names. You'd know the names if I told you. At the urging of one of their executives, they decided to close one of the more profitable plants and move it to Mexico. They sent me in to close down the computer system.

  While I was on-site, they let six hundred employees go. Including me. It was a surprise, but they offered me a decent severance package if I stuck around long enough to make sure the computers were secure and shipped back to company headquarters. It was a decent offer, so I agreed.

  During the closing process, I discovered documents marked confidential that revealed criminal misdeeds by the executive who pushed for the plant closure. I turned them over to the corporate board.

  Long story short, after they saw what I found, they said my services were no longer needed, and they sent me on my way. I suddenly found myself unemployed with no immediate job prospects and no chance of a job recommendation from the company that had let me go.

  Two days before being let go, my wife had served me with divorce papers. She said she was doing me a favor. Giving me freedom to get on with my life. There were no kids involved, so it was quick and easy. She got the house and we split the other assets. A few thousand dollars between us.

  Fortunately, the company that had let me go, didn't renege on the severance package. They paid me as promised, which meant I had money in the bank. I used most of it to buy a twenty-eight-foot motorhome which I moved into while I looked for a new sour
ce of income.

  As it turned out, I didn't need to look for long.

  Chapter Three

  Two months after being laid off, I was contacted by a law firm representing the company that had let me go. They wanted to talk. They wouldn't tell me about what, just that it was important.

  My experience with corporate attorneys had never ended well, so I declined their offer. I suggested they contact my attorney, Lawyer Bob. He had handled my divorce and, even though he didn't do corporate law, I figured if he could deal with angry ex-wives, he'd have no problem dealing with a bunch of corporate ambulance-chasers.

  I was right.

  They set up a meeting, which I didn't attend. After it was over, Lawyer Bob called me. He said the meeting went well. Turned out, the company wanted to give me a check. A big one.

  They were calling it a 'whistle blower' award. They said they were grateful I'd uncovered evidence of wrongdoing by corporate management. To show their gratitude, they wanted to pay me.

  But there was a catch.

  Before they'd give me the money, I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I'd have to swear I'd never disclose what I had learned from the documents I had given them.

  That wasn't a problem. I'd already signed a non disclosure as part of work contract. I signed it when they hired me. Either their attorney's didn't know or didn't care.

  Either way, lawyer Bob said, “Don't ask questions. Just take the money. Be happy they're giving it to you.”

  Of course he was right. I was happy they were offering me money and I had no problem taking it. It made me happy. And Lawyer Bob too. He got ten percent and I got the rest.

  I deposited my share in the bank and gave up looking for work. Instead, I loaded up the motorhome and headed to sunny Florida. I wanted to live a free and easy lifestyle near a beach.

  Chapter Four

  I had a pretty good idea why Lori wanted to meet for lunch. She'd been hinting she wanted to go to Key West. In the motorhome. With me driving. She hadn't said why she wanted to go to Key West, just that she wanted to go.

  You'd think that with both of us being single and me having plenty of time on my hands, I'd jump at the chance to go to Key West with Lori. She was fun to be around and would probably be even more fun in Key West.

  I'd never been there myself, but had heard it was a real party town and I wanted to check it out. I'd already decided to tell her I'd take her. But not until I found out the real reason she wanted to go.

  I was pretty sure it wasn't going to be a romantic getaway just for the two of us. We'd already tried romance and discovered we were better at being friends than lovers. So there had to be another reason she was willing to leave work and spend three or four days on the road with me.

  I'd learned from our previous road trip it was a good idea to find out the full story before agreeing to do anything with Lori. I hadn't bothered to do that the last time and I had paid the price. This time I was going to find out before I agreed to anything.

  When she had called and invited me to meet for lunch, she said the parking lot at the Lucky Dog would probably be full and suggested I park in the Rialto lot. She'd pick me up there.

  The Rialto is a fairly old shopping center about a block away from the Lucky Dog. There used to be a Walmart there, but it was long gone. The space was taken over by a Good Will store and even though the Good Will stayed pretty busy, there was always plenty of parking at the far edges of the lot. Meeting Lori there was a good idea.

  As I mentioned, I live in a motorhome. I have it set up at Mango Bay, a long-established RV park in Englewood, Florida, about ten miles south of Venice. It's an easy drive to the Rialto, but I wasn't going to do it in the motorhome. Too much trouble to unhook from shore power and navigate the narrow streets of Venice Island in a motorhome. To avoid problems, I'd be driving my Jeep.

  We were supposed to meet for lunch at noon and even though it was just a fifteen minute drive, I left thirty minutes early. It wasn't that I wanted to get there early; I just didn't want to be late. To get onto Venice Island, I had to cross the Intracoastal Waterway via the Circus bridge. That bridge, like the two others that connect the island to the mainland, is a drawbridge. When the drawbridge goes up, car traffic in both directions is stopped for five to ten minutes, sometimes more depending on how many boats need to pass under it.

  Because the bridge openings are not on a schedule, you never know if it's going to be up when you get to it. So if you're supposed to meet someone on the island at a specific time, it helps to leave early in case the bridge is up.

  That day, I was lucky. When I got to the bridge, it was down and the light was green. Traffic was rolling smoothly and I made good time. I pulled into the Rialto ten minutes ahead of schedule and parked where I knew Lori would look for me.

  The last time I'd seen Lori, she was driving an old Ford Blazer. Faded green, beat up and dusty, the perfect vehicle for a vet who has to haul around sick animals and drive Florida's back road. That's what I expected to see her driving that day.

  So when she pulled into the lot driving a volcanic orange Mini Cooper I was surprised. It was the S model, the one with black fender flares, wide wheels and racing stripes on the hood. From a distance it looked like a Hot Wheels car. And it looked like it'd be fun. But it wasn't the kind of car I ever imagined Lori would be driving.

  When she pulled up beside me, she rolled down her window and said, “You ready for lunch?”

  I pointed at the car. “Nice. Yours?”

  “Yeah it's mine. You thought maybe I stole it?”

  “No, it's just not what you were driving last time. It's a nice car. I approve.”

  “Good. I was worried you wouldn't. Now get in.”

  I locked the Jeep and climbed in on the passenger side of the little Cooper. The seats were leather and comfortable. There was more leg room than I expected and it had a new car smell. Lori was wearing a white, button up shirt with dark blue shorts. A ball cap with a Florida Panther's logo hid most of her sandy-blonde hair, which she'd pulled back into a ponytail. If she was wearing makeup, I couldn't tell. All I knew was she looked good.

  She put the car in gear and headed out the back side of the Rialto lot, going the opposite direction of the Lucky Dog.

  “Where're we going? I thought we were having lunch?”

  She pointed over her shoulder to a bag in the back seat. “I've already picked it up. I thought we'd eat at the beach.”

  I nodded and asked, “What'd you get me?”

  “An Island burger, fries and a Coke. I didn't think you'd want a dog.”

  She was right. I didn't want a hot dog, but I was hungry so I reached into the back seat to grab some fries. Before I could get to them, Lori swatted my arm. “No eating in this car. You'll have to wait until we get there.”

  Using the paddle shifter, she dropped the Mini into a lower gear and floored it. The car took off like a rocket pushing me back into my seat. We were on Venice Island, a place where they frown on speeders. Lori knew this and as soon she hit thirty, she eased off and cruised at the speed limit until we reached the stop sign at Airport Road.

  After coming to a full stop and checking for traffic, she took off again, chirping the tires through first and second gear. I looked over and saw she had a smile on her face.

  “So what do you think?” she asked. “Are you impressed?”

  I was impressed but I wasn't going to tell her. Instead, I pointed at the police car heading in our direction. “You might want to take it easy. You keep driving like this you're going to get a ticket.”

  I then made a classic mistake. I asked the wrong question. “Aren't you a little too old to be driving this kind of thing?”

  She looked over at me, daggers in her eyes. “Old! You're saying I'm old? I'm a year younger than you. If I'm old, you’re ancient.”

  We were on Venice Island, where the average age is sixty-seven; being half that, she and I were considered youngsters. I didn't need to remind her of that. Inst
ead I said, “You're not old. And you know I didn't mean it that way. It's just that seeing you hot rodding around in this little car seems a bit out of character for you.”

  She tapped the steering wheel. “Maybe I'm trying to change my image.”

  “Well, if you are, this car is a good start.”

  That seemed to calm her down. She smiled and said, “So you like it then?”

  “You mean the car? Yeah, I like it. But your new image, I'm not so sure about that.”

  “Well, you better get used to it. This is the new me.”

  I decided to let it go. She seemed a little on edge and I didn't want to push it. If the car made her happy, that was fine with me. It was a good car for the island. Small enough to get around and easy to park. Quick enough to get out of the way if needed.

  But it would attract a lot of attention and it could get her in trouble if she drove it recklessly. Hopefully she'd figure that out on her own.

  It didn't take us long to get to the beach. Lori wisely avoided the main entrance and headed to Maxine Barrett Park. Just beyond Sharky's restaurant and the Venice fishing pier, it was one of the few places that wouldn't be crowded. She pulled into the lot, parked in the shade of a palm tree and grabbed the bag of food from the back seat. She turned to me. “Grab the drinks and try to keep up, old man.”

  I laughed at her “old man” joke and opened the back door to get the drinks. She headed up the sidewalk to the park's open air pavilion without waiting for me. She knew I wouldn't have any problem finding her. Other than a few walkers, we were the only people there.

  The pavilion where she was headed overlooked the beach and was used mainly for family reunions, weddings and company picnics. Its twelve picnic tables were positioned to give a stunning view of the Gulf of Mexico. That day, there were no parties or weddings at the pavilion. Just us.

  Lori picked the table with the best view and started unpacking our food. I placed the drinks on the table and sat across from her. With the food spread out in front of us, she asked, “So what do you think? Isn't this a great place for a picnic?”