She’d keep that blood-sucking leech away from her sister. And she knew exactly how she was going to do it—even if that meant snitching.
CHAPTER 15
PARKER STARED OUT THE SIDE WINDOW and did his best to tune out Maria and Kingman’s stupid conversation. His adrenaline rush seemed to have drained out of him the moment he’d belted himself in Kingman’s truck. Regret took its place. As much as he was relieved to be done with Gator Hook Trail, he’d done it all wrong, hadn’t he? He should have told his dad where he was going—right up front. Gotten his permission. And the truth was, he knew he was making a bad choice at the time, but he kept going. He’d been an idiot.
On Gator Hook Trail he’d made a decision to stop compromising—hadn’t he? And if he was serious about that, he’d need to fess up to his dad about what he’d done. The thought soured his stomach.
Before passing Wooten’s on the drive back, Parker gave himself a deadline. He’d tell his dad tonight. It was the right thing to do. He hated the thought of how disappointed his dad would be, but maybe it would help him work harder at doing the right thing from the get-go next time.
A dog ran onto the oncoming lane of Tamiami Trail like the thing was being chased. A Jeep Wrangler clipped it. The driver didn’t even tap the brakes. There wasn’t time. The dog tumbled directly into the path of Kingman’s pickup—and the Wrangler kept going.
Kingman swerved to the shoulder and braked so hard that Parker’s belt dug into his chest.
“Oh my gosh!” Maria gripped the dash. “Clayton—he’s hurt.”
The dog struggled to get on its feet.
“Clayton,” Maria said, “you have to do something.”
Kingman killed the engine and elbowed open the door. “Give me a hand, Gator-bait. The rest of you stay in the truck. We don’t want to spook the pup into running and getting hurt worse.”
The last thing Parker wanted to do was follow Kingman. But the way Kingman likely saw it, he was doing Parker a big favor by giving him a ride—and now he owed him. There was no way he could refuse Kingman. Besides, how weird would he look to Maria and Jelly if he refused to help a wounded puppy? He unclipped his belt and ran to catch up with Kingman, which wasn’t easy with his sopping-wet clothes.
Kingman motioned for him to slow down. “You’re going to scare him, idiot.”
It was a golden retriever—with a collar and leash dangling from it. The thing looked young, no more than a year old. It stood on three legs, with its hind leg hiked up at an awkward angle.
“Easy, pup.” Kingman advanced slowly. “I’m just here to help.”
Parker never pictured him as a dog lover, but he actually looked like he cared. Weird.
“I had a golden,” Kingman said. “My mom got it for my eighth birthday. Named him King.”
No real surprise on the name choice.
“But he barked, you know? My dad hated the yipping.” Kingman knelt down and patted his thighs to coax the wounded puppy closer. The retriever’s ears went flat against his head. “I tried to keep him quiet. God knows I tried. Kept him in my room at night. Even smuggled a box of Cheerios out of the kitchen. King was always barking at something he’d hear outside in the night, so I’d give him some snacks right away, you know, to get him quiet.”
“So you trained him to stop barking?”
Kingman didn’t answer. Just kind of stared at the puppy. “My dad got home real late one night. King barked and barked. Man, I got a fistful of Cheerios—put it right in front of King’s nose. Begged him to take them. But he wouldn’t listen. King was on a mission to prove what a good watchdog he was or something.”
For just a second Parker saw Kingman—and what he might have looked like as a desperate kid trying to keep his puppy quiet. “So King didn’t stop barking?”
Kingman shook his head. “My dad stormed into the room. ‘There’s only one king in this house—and nobody barks at the king.’ Those were his exact words. Said anybody who couldn’t keep a dog from yapping had no right to own a pet. I promised him I’d do better. King would never bark again. My dad laughed and clipped the leash to King’s collar anyway.”
Parker couldn’t believe Kingman was telling him all this. “So what happened?”
“He took King for a ride in the car. I waited up—with the Cheerios.” Kingman shook his head. “But King wasn’t with him when Dad got back. Never saw him again. I never ate Cheerios again either.”
Parker didn’t even know what to say. He’d been seeing Kingman as a total scumbag. This didn’t change his opinion, but now maybe he had a little intel as to why.
“Come here, puppy.” Kingman patted his pockets, like maybe he was wishing he had some Cheerios. He reached for the retriever’s collar. The dog nipped Kingman good.
Kingman jerked back and sucked the blood off his own hand. And in that instant, his whole face changed. Got harder somehow.
He reached for the dog again, but this time the retriever backed away, a low growl rumbling up from deep inside it. “Don’t want to be friends? Okay . . . have it your way. My old man was right. I got no right to have a pet.” Kingman glared at Parker. “Gator-bait, win that dog’s trust—right now.”
Thankfully, the Tamiami Trail was quiet today. There wasn’t a car or truck in sight. Parker eased around Kingman, walking slow. “Easy now. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” He reached out a hand, and the dog hobbled toward him—giving Kingman a wide berth. The dog sniffed Parker’s hand and rested its head against Parker’s leg. A tag dangling from the collar read Snak-pak. “Hey, Snak-pak. I’m not going to hurt you. We’re just going to get you some help.” The dog’s tail wagged a couple of times, then drooped back down. “There’s a phone number on the tag.”
Kingman hesitated for a moment—like he was struggling with a decision. He whipped out his phone. “Read me the number.”
Seconds later Kingman had the owner on the phone and set up a rendezvous. By the time he disconnected, he was smiling like Parker had never seen him smile before. “Get this. The guy bought Snak-pak for their sixth-grade son, who loves it to pieces. The kid was sick when he thought the dog was gone. It’s going to be some reunion when they get Snak-pak home.”
Parker never pictured Kingman doing something that decent. Was this the side of him that Maria saw? “You did the right thing.”
Kingman’s smile faded. “Now you sound like my old man—always telling me what was the right thing to do, like he was Mr. Perfect. But he’s nothing but a hypocritical poser. A pompous, pet-hating pig.” He spit on the side of the road.
The guy could change moods quicker than the Jeep had clipped Snak-pak.
“You’d better not repeat what I told you,” Kingman said, “not one word about my puppy as a kid—or so help me you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Parker avoided Kingman’s eyes. He reached both arms under the dog’s chest and belly. “Easy now, Snak-pak.” The moment he lifted, the dog squirmed a bit. “Trust me, okay?”
“You hear me, Gator-bait?”
Parker nodded—still focusing on the wounded puppy. “I got you, Snak-pak. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you.”
“You remember what I just told you,” Kingman said, “or you won’t be so lucky.”
CHAPTER 16
PARKER’S DAD HAD BEEN WORKING extra shifts with Uncle Sammy—like he usually did when Mom was out of town. He still wasn’t home by the time Parker flopped into bed. He sent a text to his dad, telling him he needed to talk when he got off shift, no matter how late. Parker didn’t want to take the chance that he’d change his mind. He’d stared at the INTEGRITTY sign on the wall—waiting to hear Dad’s F-150 pull up the driveway. The moment he did, Parker left his room and told his dad everything. Wilson’s noggin therapy idea. Riding in Kingman’s truck. Gator Hook Trail—and getting trapped between the gators. And he told Dad about his decision to show more integrity . . . to work harder at doing the right thing.
Dad had taken it all as well as a parent possibly
could. Not that he didn’t get frustrated that Parker hadn’t gotten permission first—and that he’d taken such risks. And Dad definitely laid down the law in more than one area. But deep down Parker knew his dad was proud of him. For facing his fears on Gator Hook Trail, sure. But mostly for his renewed commitment to do the right things.
Despite all the bad choices, Dad said Parker had reached a whole new level on his “trust meter” because he’d fessed up and told him what he’d done—even though Dad may have never known otherwise. That meant the world to Parker. Parker couldn’t imagine anything that would cut him deeper than disappointing his dad, which cemented his decision to stop compromising all the more.
On the way to school Monday, he told Jelly and Wilson that he’d spilled to his dad the night before.
Wilson couldn’t believe it. “Your crazy need to always do the right thing is going to get us in trouble someday, Bucky.” Those were his exact words.
And by how quiet Jelly had been, Parker was pretty sure she agreed with Wilson—at least a little. But it was the right thing to do, and he had no regrets. On Gator Hook Trail he’d made the decision that he had to stop compromising, and he intended to stick with his plan.
On Tuesday, Dad picked him up from school just before lunch for the monthly doctor appointment. The orthopedic surgeon’s office was all the way out in Naples, and the break from classes was welcome.
But on the ride back to school, there were other things on Parker’s mind. “You think my arm is ever going to be right again?”
Dad was quiet for a moment. “I’m just glad you still have it.”
Not the answer he was looking for. “I can’t wait to get out of this place.” Sure, the trek down Gator Hook Trail seemed to dissolve some of his fears of the Glades, but it didn’t change his restlessness to leave. He wanted out—more than ever. Everything about life would be better if he could get out of this place. Even his arm would heal better, right?
Dad slowed as he entered the Everglades City town limits. “If you could choose a place—any post—where would you hope we get transferred?”
He wasn’t going to get picky. “Anyplace but here.” Honestly, sometimes it felt like he’d just die if he didn’t get out soon.
Dad nodded and stared out the windshield of his F-150 like he was in a different world. Or wanted to be. “I’ll drop you at school. I’d hoped to get you back in time for part of last period, but it’s not looking so good now.”
Parker grinned. “I won’t complain.” The doctor had an absolute gift of twisting and pulling Parker’s arm until he winced in pain. That was enough torture for one day. He didn’t have any desire to check in with Principal Kingman for a pass to his last class. He stretched his hand open, then slowly balled it into a fist. His arm felt a whole lot worse after the doctor got done with him.
“Doctor Marvin was happy to hear how you’re keeping up with your therapy.”
Parker would be an idiot not to exercise. “But my arm isn’t getting any better. It’s been the same for what . . . three weeks?” Asking the doctor about it wasn’t exactly encouraging. Doctor Leo Marvin acted like he deserved a medal for how the gimpy arm functioned. Like he’d never expected it to do this good in the first place.
“Give it time. Sometimes progress is so slow it’s hard for us to see it at all.” Dad pulled the pickup into the turnaround in front of the school and braked to a stop. “I’m proud of you, Parker. I ever tell you that?”
Parker smiled. “All the time.” He was fortunate that way—and he knew it.
“See you tonight. After my shift—but it may be late again.”
Parker searched his dad’s face. “Problems?”
“High school kids from Miami and beyond are doing Watson’s Run solo—at night—and in kayaks,” he said. “Almost one a week. The more we warn the schools, the more kids try it. Definitely have to come up with a new strategy before someone really gets hurt.”
Watson’s Run. Named after “Bloody” Ed Watson, local resident and infamous serial killer from back in the early 1900s. The hot-tempered murderer ended up getting ambushed and killed by a mob—just outside Smallwood’s Store in Chokoloskee, minutes from Parker’s house.
Watson’s Run was a water trail that snaked up the Lopez River out of Chokoloskee Bay, through Sunday Bay, Oyster Bay, and Huston Bay before following the Chatham River down to the old Watson place. The route was wild and totally uninhabited. Snakes. Gators. And enough twists and turns to mix up even a seasoned guide. In the dark, the chances of taking a wrong artery were extremely high. “That’s pure insanity.”
Who would want to chance that route, or be at Watson’s place at night? The way Parker heard it, Watson’s land had a really bad vibe. Some sensed pure evil in the area. According to local history, some fifty skeletons were found on his land alone—and who knows how many bodies he dumped in the Gulf or in the Glades.
“We just picked up another high-school senior last night,” Dad said. “And a good thing we did.”
“What happened?” If he could keep his dad talking, maybe he wouldn’t have to go back to class after all.
Dad laughed. “Stalling?”
Busted. “Maybe a little.”
“Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Ask me tonight. I’ll tell you this much. It was close. If kids don’t stop, one of these days someone is going to get killed.” Dad hit the auto unlock button and checked the time. “You’ve got what, maybe five minutes before class ends?”
Parker nodded.
“Don’t bother going inside. You’ll still be in the office signing in when the bell rings. Want me to drive you around back to your bike?”
“I’ll walk around the building. I’m going to wait for Jelly anyway.” Parker slid out of the truck and watched his dad pull out. He hustled around the school and unlocked his bike. He beelined it for the fishing boats moored along the waterway that bordered the back of the school property. Since he had to wait, he’d much rather do so by the boats than the bike rack.
Wilson had a detention to ride out after his last class, so he wouldn’t be joining them. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jelly wanted to talk to him so badly after school, Parker probably would have grabbed his bike and headed for the Boy’s Bomb. A ride in his skiff was just what he needed. Instead, he sat on a short stack of stone crab traps where he had a good view of the back doors to Everglades City School. He sent Jelly a quick text to tell her he’d meet her outside, and sat back to wait.
He spread open the fingers of his sixty-percent hand. Balled his hand into a fist. Rotated it slowly. Examined it like it wasn’t even his own. There were more scars from his elbow down than he could count with the fingers on both hands. Purple scars. Raised. Freakish. The straight ones from the surgeon’s knife. The jagged from the alligator’s jaws. A Frankenstein arm.
The kind of arm that got him lots of points and stares from kids. Parents looked too, but in a different way. As if they feared something like that could happen to their own kids. Their reactions were almost always the same. They’d bend down and talk to their kid, explaining the dangers of the Everglades or alligators no doubt. If they’d just treat Parker like a human being he’d be happy to tell their kids all about the dangers. Parents glanced at Parker while they talked, like they were afraid he’d actually come close. As if his scars would scar them in some way.
Older kids were pretty cool with his scars. They did the I don’t even see them act. Even Jelly never mentioned them—although he caught her glancing at them often enough.
She never talked about the transfer either. Except once when she confirmed her dad was planning to leave too. As soon as Parker’s dad got his new assignment, Jelly’s dad would put in for a transfer to the same post. Both their dads had been together since, like, forever. And Jelly’s dad said it was about time he followed after Parker’s dad for a change instead of the other way around.
Parker hoped it was true. And Uncle Sammy likely had another reason for wanting to get out o
f Dodge. To get Maria away from Clayton Kingman.
The trouble was, Maria Malnatti was still crazy about Kingman. Teachers-running-down-the-halls-with-scissors crazy. Follow-Kingman-to-the-ends-of-the-earth crazy. Which was pretty much where Everglades City was, the way Parker saw it.
Yeah, Sam Malnatti was as anxious to get out of Everglades City as Parker’s dad was. Maybe more. In the meantime, Uncle Sammy was doing everything he could to bust Maria and Kingman up. That’s what Jelly told him, anyway.
Despite Wilson’s best efforts—and schemes—over the last couple of days, Parker had successfully steered clear of the Everglades since Gator Hook Trail. He took the skiff out yesterday, but only into Chokoloskee Bay and around the Thousand Islands. He hadn’t even ventured up the Lopez River. There were way too many gators there. The rush of Gator Hook had worn off, along with the feeling of Superman invincibility that followed. Parker was in his right mind again. Thinking clearly. And he never wanted to see another alligator up close in his life.
A set of double doors swung open and Clayton Kingman’s dad stepped out of Everglades City School. Principal Kingman stood there for a moment, hands on hips, like he was a king surveying his empire. Prematurely white hair. Face so clean-shaven that it looked waxed and buffed. Thick-necked and thick-waisted, the principal was shaped roughly like a six-foot sweet potato. But there was nothing sweet about him. How the guy kept his shirt tucked in so tight was a mystery. It was like he stapled his shirttails to his legs or something.
Principal K snapped his wrist up to check his watch, making no move to go back inside.
Terrific. What was he doing in the back of the school? Normally he posted himself at the front so he could boss the bus drivers around. He hooked a walkie-talkie in the holster at his side. Parker sat perfectly still. He did not need the principal to see him outside—before school was officially over.
The bell announcing the end of last period rang, and within thirty seconds kids poured out the doors.
Escape from the Everglades Page 9