Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  * * * *

  “Excellent work, gentlemen.” The Boss sits in his chair in the barn. Except for Otis and Zeke, he is alone. It’s early yet. “The rat was an inspired touch. Let her twist a bit before we deliver the final blow. I wish I could have heard her scream,” the Boss says, gripping the arms of the chair.

  Zeke and Otis steal an uneasy look.

  “You say she’s still a long way from opening? That must be causing her grief. Let’s see what else we can do to slow her progress.”

  “Why not just push her into leaving, Boss?” Otis asks. “I don’t get all this playing around.”

  “She took something that I cherish, gentlemen. I mean to take something from her. But slowly. You know you can put a frog in a pot of water on a stove, and if you slowly turn up the heat the frog won’t even know it’s being boiled alive?”

  The brothers exchange a glance, and shrug.

  “I want her to feel herself getting warm. But not jump out of the pot just yet. That’s no fun.”

  “Whatever you say, Boss.”

  Otis nudges Zeke. “It’s long days, Boss. Going out with the Sweet Revenge at night, and then working at Gator’s during the day.” Zeke grips his hat, twisting it.

  “Is that a complaint?” the Boss asks quietly.

  “No, sir. Just a fact.”

  “To toil in a righteous cause is an honor, gentlemen. There are many who would do their duty with joy, not complaint. Many. Am I clear?”

  Zeke nods. Head down, he glances sideways at Otis. With his brother’s silence, Zeke jabs him with an elbow.

  “Boss, how about Zeke just be the one? You don’t need two. That way I’ll be ready to take on more during the raiding.” Otis holds his breath, waiting.

  The Boss looks long and slow at Otis. “How about you do what I ask. Do what I ask, or tonight’s trip might be your last. The sea can be a dangerous place at night.” The Boss almost purrs the word ‘dangerous’. “Anything can happen. There is no room in this crew for men not prepared to pull their weight and do what’s asked. And I’m sure that Mr. Buford would be happy to give you a lesson on brothers standing shoulder to shoulder.”

  Zeke gulps. “You bet, Boss. We’ll be there tonight. And back at Gator’s tomorrow. No problem. Is there, Otis?” He jabs his brother with his elbow again.

  “No problem, Boss.”

  Chapter 22

  T he flickering light of a kerosene lantern dances shadows around Cassie and Leroy’s encampment. The fire pit is banked for the night. Cassie, sitting in her chickee, swats at a mosquito. “Darn bloodthirsty bugs.” She turns and shouts over her shoulder, “Leroy, bring me my salve. Darn skitters are eating me alive.”

  Leroy trots over, a jar of evil-smelling grease in his hand. Cassie accepts it and rubs it on her face and other areas of exposed skin. She hands the jar back to Leroy.

  “Ha, who stinks like a skunk now, Cassie? You the koone, not me.” Leroy throws her a laugh over his shoulder as he runs off.

  Cassie runs her hand just above the fan of cards before her. She stops when she feels the pull, then withdraws a card showing a young man, standing strong, a sword raised in both hands and alert for trouble. The illustration depicts a background of trees blown by a strong wind. Abundant clouds fill the sky. The land has a water feature. In front of it all, the young hero appears poised for action in unsettled times.

  Cassie shakes her head, “What’s this? Another rogue card. This must be wrong. Maybe the humidity is making the deck misfire?”

  She deliberately gathers up the deck, carefully reshuffling. She cuts the deck in three, then randomly stacks the piles. Turning the top card face up, she gasps.

  It is the same card, the Page of Swords. She sucks in her breath, alarmed.

  “No. This is wrong. It must be. He’s not going back there. No good will come of it.” She shoves back her chair and stomps down the steps of the chickee toward Leroy, who is whittling by the banked fire. “Cassie. You okay?”

  Cassie walks around the chickee, swinging her arms, loosening up like a prizefighter preparing for a match. She stops when she reaches the steps. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. The cards are just having a rough time tonight.”

  She re-enters the chickee and returns to the table. Placing both hands either side of the cards, she breaths in and out, eyes closed. When she feels her heart slow and she is centered, she gathers the cards, holds them to her heart, and then deals them face down. Reaching the number eighteen, she turns the next and opens her eyes. Nineteen. A powerful number. A powerful message.

  The Page of Swords stares up at her. She sits back in her chair, arms crossed, chin out.

  “Now, look-it. He’s just a boy. This page wears no armor. He has no experience in battle. What you want to go putting him in the middle of that?”

  The night hums around her. She stews. The Page is going nowhere. “I must be reading the darn cards wrong.”

  “I’m going to bed, Cassie. You going to be long? Anything I can help with?” Leroy asks from outside the chickee.

  “No. You run along. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sit here a spell and think. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Leroy’s movements of settling in his tent soothe her. The moon shimmers. “Don’t you go shining so bright on me, Mr. Moon. You’ve shown your dark side tonight.”

  I’ve always known he’d have to go. Hiding out in the ‘Glades is no place for the boy. He’s getting restless and cranky, always talking about town and baseball. It’d be good for him to spend time in town with people. Go to school even. But where would he go? The cards tell me he’s going. I miss him already. Cassie shakes her head. But not yet. Not now. Not after what happened in town outside the café last month.

  The Everglades drone and croak behind her. A bit of sap in a stick on the fire pops. Leroy snores.

  I guess it could work out okay. What if I send him to that lady who bought Gator Joe’s? She stood up to Mr. Preacher-Man before. And she’d make sure nothing bad happened to the boy. Lordy, he’d be crazy excited by the idea. And maybe, if he goes, I can see what’s going on with Mr. Preacher-Man better. Knowing more would be a good thing… wouldn’t it?

  Cassie picks up the Page of Swords. How can I bear it, not having him around all the time? For sure it will break my heart in two. I’ve tried to do right by him, Cissy, I really have. Maybe it’s time he steps out into that wide world he’s so desperate to see.

  If he goes, will Leroy be safe? He’s got to stay out of Preacher-Man’s way. Heaven help us if the preacher finds out who Leroy is.

  * * * *

  Cassie sits guard all through the night. The darkness creeps away, the sunrise casting new shadows across the camp. When Leroy pulls back the tent flaps, he finds her still sitting in the chair in the chickee.

  “Cassie, did you sit up all night long?”

  “Leroy, git yerself over here.”

  He wanders over, rubbing sleep from his eyes. She gathers the boy close. He squirms away, alarmed.

  “Cassie. What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s something I wasn’t expecting, Koone.” Her hand sweeps above the table where the Page of Swords still rests. “It’s your card, Koone. The Page of Swords. I guess you’re now going to be part of this story.”

  “What do you mean, I’m going to be part of the story? What story? You feeling okay? How about I make us some coffee?”

  “How would you like to go live in Coconut Grove?”

  “Oh, boy, would I. Can I get a baseball glove?” Seeing her troubled, he hesitates. “With you, right? We’d go live in town together, right?”

  “No. With that gal that’s running that blind tiger, Gator Joe’s. The one we met in front of the café. She’s so strong, Leroy. She’d make sure you were okay.”

  Leroy folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to go.”

  “You’ll love living there, and it’s only for a little while.” Cassie waves the card in his face. The cards are leading us
and we got to follow. We’re at the mercy of the message, Koone. They also connect us. Always will.”

  Leroy stares at Cassie, eyes full of tears, his lip trembling.

  She wheedles. “I bet she has a radio. You could listen to that program you’re always going on about.”

  Arms still crossed, he glares.

  “You’ve been pestering me about moving to town for ages. That’s all you talk about. Now here’s your chance. I don’t know how long she’s planning on staying, or if there will ever be another opportunity.”

  “I don’t want to go and leave you, Cassie. And you can’t make me.”

  “Koone. It’s not just for you. She needs your quick mind. And you could help her out around the place. You’re gifted—the cards. And you’ll get to be a boy, too: swim in the ocean, maybe play baseball, pal around with friends. Come on, Koone. You know you’d love it.”

  Leroy kicks at the table leg.

  “But you need to stay alert. You know what this Page means. Observe, be ready to take action, and listen to others who have your back.”

  “Don’t call me Koone,” Leroy shouts. “That’s not my name. I ain’t no stinky skunk.”

  Cassie shakes her head and reaches toward him. Leroy backs away, tears running down his face.

  “Leroy. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Do what I say. Get yer stuff together. We’ll go to her tonight.” Before I chicken out and change my mind.

  * * * *

  The long walk from the camp has been a silent one. Cassie and Leroy stand at the edge of the mangrove swamp, looking at the lights shining through the windows at Gator Joe’s—but two are boarded up.

  “It didn’t look like that the last time I was here. Must have been some trouble,” Cassie whispers. Leroy shrugs, hands buried in his pockets. She fidgets with his backpack. He jerks away.

  “See that barn over there? That would be a good place for you to hide for a bit. You’ll know the right time to show yourself.”

  Leroy nods, then wipes his nose with his arm.

  “Mind what I say about that preacher, Brother Silas. He’s trouble and means you no good.”

  Leroy looks into Cassie’s eyes. Suddenly he’s wrapping himself around her, almost knocking her over. “Hush, Koone. It will be all right. You’re not that far. You can come visit me soon. I’ll know when you’re coming.” She strokes his head, his arms—one more quick hug.

  Leroy makes his way to the barn. He stops and looks back. She reassures him, smiling through her own tears, nodding. “Make sure you visit me soon, hear? Tell me everything,” she whispers.

  She watches until he disappears inside the barn. “Stay safe, Koone. Stay safe.”

  Chapter 23

  E dith’s favorite place to work is the dock. The breeze off the ocean, the sound of seabirds and waves, the smell of salt: they reinforce feelings of wellbeing and contentment. And that she’s made a good decision to put her stake in the ground at Gator Joe’s.

  It’s like working on top of the sea. She loves the sound of the water slapping against the wooden dock and occasionally at high tide, of getting her feet wet as a wave splashes up between the boards. Edith could be lost in plans for Gator’s—and there are times when the newness and the scope of the project is overwhelming and only had to look up from the page and out over the sea and she’s centered again. Bliss.

  The downside is the dock in front of Gator Joe’s is a crowded place. Each day, when she finished her paperwork, Zeke would have to drag the table and chair back inside to make room to unload supplies, fish, or illegal liquor from their beat-up rust bucket of a fishing trawler, Rex.

  For convenience and in the interests of keeping her indifferent workers focused, Edith had them put the smallest of the barroom tables, and a chair, on the veranda. She can still see the ocean and feel the breeze, and she’s close by should a workman need a decision, or if she has to check on something. It’s a much more practical arrangement, although she still carries a canvas chair to the dock most evenings so she can enjoy the sunset. From that chair on the dock, looking out over the water, planning the next day is an evening ritual that grounds her. She looks forward to the day when she can do it with a martini in hand.

  Reggie was as good as his word. The liquor arrived buried under fresh oranges in the back of a truck. It was an exciting day, putting the bottles on the shelves and storing the remainder in the locked shed outside. Keeping her inventory off-site, even if it’s padlocked and only a few steps away from the back door, makes Edith nervous, and she knows what Mickey would say. She misses having a basement or cellar. And she doesn’t like the idea of leaving the barroom unattended while she goes out back to fetch another bottle. For now, it will have to do, but better liquor storage is first on the priority list for stage two of Gator Joe’s renovations. Right after the roof gets done.

  Progress was also hampered by the generator, which seemed to be working fine one day and then sputter and die the next. She kept saying she was going to take it back to the store, but Zeke always managed to get it restarted by purging the fuel lines.

  Edith had planned to spend some time touring the competition within a half-hour drive of Gator Joe’s. She is curious about the other blind tigers, their business, their set up, and wants to get to know her ‘colleagues’ better. She’s eager to learn about how the racket down here differs from Philly and how they are dealing with Wharf Rats.

  So far, it hasn’t happened. Zeke and Otis are surprisingly reluctant to accompany her on the tour. She’d promised to buy all the drinks, but even that wasn’t enough of an inducement.

  I certainly can’t go myself. Imagine the uproar that would cause in town. Maybe Mae can come down for a few days and we can do the Coconut Grove version of the Grand Tour.

  The sound of hammering has been the background noise for Edith as she’s been sitting at the table on the veranda pulling all the receipts and scraps of paper together to make sense of where she’s at financially on the project. Putting down her pencil, she gets up from the table and stretches out the kinks.

  Too much paperwork. I wasn’t built to sit behind a desk all day. I’ll go inside and make some lunch for Zeke and me. That darn Otis, a waste of air if you ask me. Zeke’s been on that roof all morning, and I’ve yet to see hide nor hair of the other one, not to mention the couple of fellas they’re usually carting along for the roof.

  No way would Mickey have put up with this but I just can’t figure those boys out. I yell, I bribe, I coax—nothing. They only have two speeds. Zeke is low and Otis is bull-low.

  In the kitchen, Edith hunts for the loaf of bread. “Now, where did I put it? I’m sure I left it right here in the bread box. Surely it’s not all gone?” I bet those fellas snuck in and made sandwiches on their own. They didn’t even offer me one.

  Edith, hands on hips, slowly turns around, searching. She opens the refrigerator. “And the chicken’s gone, too! Carcass and all. I wanted the bones for soup. Those two don’t earn their keep and now they’re eating me out of house and home. I guess I’ll have to go to town for groceries, again.”

  Edith fetches her hat and jams it on her head. Her eyes narrowed, she grabs at a pencil and starts making a list of what else she’ll need to pick up in town now that the ravaging hordes have descended on her kitchen. She hopes they’ll at least sell her bread. I’m sure not driving all the way into Miami for a loaf of bread. Darn town folk. Zeke’s footsteps thump on the roof as he crosses to the ladder.

  “You’d better be making progress up there. I’ve got to go into town for groceries. Again.” Edith stands by the bar, her foot tapping, as he comes into the barroom.

  Zeke wipes his face with his handkerchief. “It must be ninety in the shade out there. I could use a cold beer.”

  “Help yourself. Like you usually do. They’re in the cooler.”

  Zeke pops open the lid and pulls out a long-necked bottle of beer, wiping the wet bottle with a handy rag. “Ice is just about done.”

&nbs
p; “Delivery man comes tomorrow.”

  “Almost out of soda pop.”

  “No, we’re not. Nobody drinks pop.”

  “I’m telling you there’re only a few bottles of cola left.” He leans further into the cooler. “Not even cream soda, neither. And it’s not the helpers we’re using. They drink from the creek.”

  Otis wanders in. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Looking for cream soda,” Zeke says, head deep inside the cooler.

  Otis pulls out a chair, plants himself on it, then leans back and rests his boots on the table. “Cream soda? Brother, you are a strange one. Pass me a cold beer while you’re in there, will ya?”

  “Get your boots off that table. Were you raised in a barn?” Edith winces as his feet thud to the floor with a bang.

  Zeke brings over two beers and sits next to his brother.

  Edith frowns at Otis.

  Wide-eyed, Otis says, “What? Roofin’ is hot, thirsty work.”

  “You haven’t been up on that roof at all this morning, Otis. I’ve been sitting on the veranda working and haven’t seen you around.”

  “No time for roofin’, Miz Edith. I was in town doing a bit of recon work for ya instead. I heard that there’s a rum runner on the Row from Havana with a load of Bacardi rum and aguardiente.”

  Zeke hands a beer to Otis. “What ship?”

  “San Sebastian. One of Spanish Marie’s ships.”

  “I’d love to serve some premium liquor like that. Can you boys head out tonight and get me a few cases?” Edith asks.

  “Whadda ya say, Otis? Make a little run out to Rum Row and see what the San Sebastian has on offer?” Zeke asks, taking a long swallow of beer.

  Otis shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Miz Edith is going to get her friend in Miami to get it, or we can get it. Might as well be us that makes the commission.”

  Otis shrugs.