Legend in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  FIVE

  Key West

  Earlier that Evening

  I stood right along the edge of Mallory Square, gazing to the west as the sun began its dramatic exit. It’s a beautiful sight, and one that never grows old. I watched as the brilliant hues of yellows, reds, and deep purples shifted like an ever-changing masterpiece. The experience never ceases to amaze me. Never the same, and always awe-inspiring.

  “Mother Nature sure is quite the artist,” Ange said.

  I couldn’t have agreed more. Sliding my hand out of hers, I wrapped my arm around her and brought her body against mine.

  Angelina and I have been married now for six months. Still, I wake up every morning and pinch myself, wondering how I managed to get so lucky. With the sun’s dying light shining on her, I gazed at her tall, lean frame. I pushed aside a strand of her beautiful blond hair, then shifted to look into her perfect blue eyes.

  “What is it, Logan?” she said, smiling back at me.

  “Just very happy,” I replied, then kissed her on the cheek.

  Our bodies pressed tightly together, we looked out over the sparkling water. A few sailboats glided by, pelicans hovered in the ocean breeze overhead, and gulls cawed along the shoreline beside the soft crashing waves. Sunset Key sat a little over a quarter of a mile away and turned into a solid black outline as the glow drifted down behind it.

  The last bits of light vanished to a loud chorus of conch-shell horns. The deep, ancient sounds boomed from all around us as the gathered crowd said goodbye to the day.

  When the sun’s exit was complete, most of the thousands of spectators let out loud cheers and claps. It was like a switch had been flicked. The relatively quiet group became wild and rowdy in an instant.

  Kenny Chesney’s “When the Sun Goes Down” played in my head as Ange and I kissed and turned around to face the crowd.

  We’ll be groovin’, alright.

  After dinner at Salty Pete’s, we’d migrated down to the waterfront to take in the spectacle. Sunsets at Mallory Square are always a popular attraction, but during Fantasy Fest, the intensity of the end-of-day celebration is amplified astronomically.

  We were surrounded by a sea of some the wildest and open-minded people you’ll find anywhere. Many were decked out in costumes, everything from Crocodile Dundee to mermaids, along with handfuls of women wearing nothing but bikini bottoms and small stars over their nipples.

  As we turned around, a jacked guy wearing a tiny thong and dressed up as Poseidon walked by. He was holding a brown Yorkshire terrier curled in one hand and a foam trident in the other.

  “You could pull off that costume,” Ange said, motioning toward him as he strolled past. “In fact, I think I’d like to see that.”

  I laughed. “Not sure even this city has enough alcohol for me to wear that in public.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said with a smile.

  In addition to the throngs of tourists and locals alike, the square was littered with rows of stands selling everything from local sea sponges to rainbow-colored Panama hats. There were food carts catering to lines of hungry people as well, serving up conch fritters, big pretzels, piña coladas, and coconut shrimp.

  Along the water’s edge beside us, there were numerous street performers, entertaining gathered spectators with their unique talents. A guy alongside us, covered in silver paint, kept motionless as stone, then occasionally spooked to life. A guy dressed as a genie hovered with his legs crossed over nothing but a small piece of wavy fabric.

  Most of the performers I’d seen before, but there was a small handful of new arrivals. A group of acrobats on the other side of the square caught my attention. I reasoned that they traveled around the country, performing for crowds at various festivals and gatherings wherever they could.

  “Hey, there’s Jack!” Ange said, pointing into the congested mass of bodies.

  I spotted my old friend, and we both waved him over.

  Jack Rubio was a real-deal beach bum conch and he was proud of it. He’d spent his whole life in the Keys and knew the beautiful islands as well as anyone. When his father had passed, he’d taken over Rubio Charters, and he’d been taking tourists out diving and fishing since he was a little kid.

  A few inches shorter than my six foot two, Jack was a hundred and seventy pounds of pure wiry muscle. He had tanned skin, curly blond hair, and blue eyes. Usually, Jack walked with his patented unaffected gait, but today he had his head down and his shoulders hunched.

  “What’s wrong, man?” I said, patting my old friend on the back. “It’s a party, and you look like you just cracked your favorite dive mask.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, bro. Don’t wanna put a damper on things.” He paused a moment, greeted Ange, then added, “Just got word that the children’s center is closing its doors at the end of the month.”

  The news caught me off guard. The children’s shelter on Tavernier had been a landmark in the Keys since before I’d first moved here with my dad back in the late eighties, helping thousands of abused, neglected, and orphaned children over the years.

  “What? Why?” Ange asked.

  “Talked to Misty earlier today. Their expenses have gotten too high, and they’re drowning in debt. Wish there was something we could do.”

  Ange and I had both found success in our careers before moving to the Keys, and getting a finder’s fee from the Aztec treasure we’d stumbled upon had set us up well. But after buying my forty-eight-foot Baia Flash and a house in Key West with cash, we didn’t exactly have that kind of money just lying around. Like many people in the islands, we sent a check every month to give back to the community, but running an organization in the Keys is much more expensive than most places across the country.

  “We’ll figure something out, Jack,” I said. “If anything, I could give Scott a call. See what he can do from the political side of things.”

  Scott Cooper was one of my best friends and just so happened to be a senator representing the state of Florida.

  Just then, a shirtless hairy fat guy held two cans of beer in the air and started shaking them.

  “Who’s ready for lager rain?” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  We took that as our cue and decided to make our way along the waterfront to the Conch Harbor Marina, where Jack and I moored our boats. Though just a short walk from the hustle and bustle of downtown, the marina maintained a more relaxed and quiet vibe. Relatively speaking, of course.

  “Let’s wind down with a few drinks,” I said, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright, man.”

  We moved past a solid group of people that had gathered around the acrobatic performers I’d spotted earlier. They wore nothing but speedos, putting their tanned, six-packed bodies on display. They had a thirty-foot pole set up with blue-ribbon-covered ropes extending down to where a few young women had been picked from the crowd to hold them in place. One of the guys was up top, balancing on one leg while doing Mr. Miyagi type moves.

  “Who are these guys?” I asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Never seen ’em before.”

  “They’re the Soaring Modelos,” an enthusiastic young dark-haired woman said beside us. She was wearing nothing but a pair of booty shorts, and red, white, and blue paint covered her upper body. I could smell the alcohol on her breath as she moved in close to me. “They’re hot. Like you, mister?”

  I took a step back. Ange slipped in between us and cordially informed the young woman that I wasn’t on the market. I laughed and brought Ange in close.

  We stood and watched the performers for a few minutes, mesmerized by their incredible feats of strength and acrobatics. Just as we were about to turn and continue our difficult journey through the crowd, I spotted something I couldn’t ignore even if I wanted to.

  One of the performers who was walking around the edge of their makeshift stage showing off his abs slid behind a drunk guy in the crowd. In a quick flash of movement, the performer reached into t
he unsuspecting guy’s back pocket and snatched his leather wallet. Faster than a blink, the wallet was gone, hidden from view in the performer’s fanny pack.

  Daniel Ocean would’ve been impressed. He was good. Smooth, fast, and efficient. In the chaos of the gathered people, and with the feats on display behind him, I’d barely noticed the act.

  In the heat of the acrobatic display, I leaned over and spoke into Ange’s ear.

  “Looks like we’ve got a pickpocket on our hands,” I said, motioning toward the performer closest to us.

  Ange nodded, keeping her gaze directed forward.

  “That guy on the other side just snatched something from a woman’s purse as well,” she said.

  I scanned over the scene with new eyes. Some kind of scheme they had going there. Pull into town, take advantage of drunk, wild, and distracted tourists, then make off with much more than the donation basket full of bills lying on the ground in front of them.

  The normal thought of telling someone and keeping my hands clean of the situation didn’t occupy any space in my mind. I’d always preferred the old handle-it-myself method.

  I stared daggers at the closest performer as he navigated the edge of the crowd, heading toward us.

  “I know that look,” Ange said, tilting her head so her eyes met mine and giving a slight laugh. “You already know my stance on this kind of shit. So what’s the play?”

  “Somebody wanna fill me in here?” Jack said, noticing our expressions.

  Ange and I were probably the only two people in a five-block radius without a happy-go-lucky look on our faces.

  “These guys are crooks,” Ange said, motioning toward the group.

  Jack looked back and forth between us, then raised his hands in the air.

  “Ah, bro,” he said. “At least wait until the show’s over to do your thing. Looks like he’s about to do his finishing move.”

  No, Jack, I thought. If these thieves aren’t willing to play ball and own up to their actions, the show’s just getting started.

  SIX

  I spent a few seconds sizing up the situation. There were four performers in all. One guy high up on the pole, one at the bottom doing most of the talking, and two guys patrolling the edge of the crowd, taking prizes as they went like farmers picking apples. They had a few black bags and a gray case piled behind them. I was confident that they contained more than just extra supplies of spandex.

  The most important thing was that none of them appeared to be armed. Though one of the guys could’ve had something small and deadly hidden away in their outfits.

  “Alright,” I said to Ange as one of the rovers moved toward us. I unzipped Ange’s purse and added, “Time to act like a bunch of drunk party animals.”

  Ange and Jack were both more convincing actors than I was, but I did my best to play the part. We raised our voices, wobbled side to side, and laughed our asses off. As I’d hoped, the closest performer zeroed in on us like a cat catching sight of an unsuspecting mouse.

  The guy flexed his wiry zero-body-fat muscles and struck a few poses as he closed in. I intentionally looked the other way as he stepped toward Ange.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” he said in an Arabic accent. “Enjoying the show?”

  In my peripherals, I saw that she was smiling back playfully.

  “Every part of it,” she replied in her drunk Valley girl voice. “You fellas are so hot I’m sweating.”

  I noticed Ange turn around slightly, putting her open purse right in front of the guy. With the bait in place, the thief couldn’t resist. While looking one way and angling his body to cover his act, he slid his free hand quickly into her purse. When he pulled it back out, he froze and jerked his head around as my right hand clamped down hard around his wrist.

  “Not quite fast enough,” I said.

  My tone and mannerisms shifted from so plastered I could barely stand to perfectly sober in an instant.

  He locked eyes with me. For a brief moment, he looked like a kid trying to swipe a sugary treat from the cookie jar. His eyes twitched, and his mouth dropped open. As quickly as the caught red-handed expression appeared, it vanished, and the guy tried to relax as if nothing had happened.

  “Easy, friend,” he said, laughing it off. “Just having a little fun with her. Didn’t know she was taken.”

  He tried to rip his hand free, but I squeezed harder, holding it more secure than a vise.

  Don’t think there’s a chance in hell that you’re getting off that easy, bud.

  “Hey, what the hell, man?” he said. He patted me on the shoulder with his free hand and added, “Why don’t you just relax before you do something you’ll regret, alri—”

  “Which one of you dipshits is in charge?” I said, raising my voice.

  The short-haired guy who’d been addressing the crowd stepped toward me.

  “So much anger,” he proclaimed. “Do we have a problem, friend?”

  He was trying to embarrass me, to use his public speaking experience to try and get me to step back and retreat into a shell. But he had another thing coming.

  “Yes,” I said, raising my voice even louder than his and stepping forward into the open space. “We do have a problem.” I turned to the crowd and added, “It’s that these shirtless punks are crooks.”

  The crowd murmured, and the guy who was clearly in charge shook his head dramatically.

  “Some people just don’t know how to relax and have a good time,” he said, shrugging and drawing a few laughs from the crowd. “We’re just trying to entertain you all. If you don’t like that, I suggest that you run off and be a bore someplace else.” He stepped past me, lifted his hands in the air and added, “I’ll even part this crowd like Moses, so even you won’t have trouble leaving.”

  Most of the gathered crowd were tourists. Mainlanders who didn’t know me from Adam. Naturally, they were mostly in the performers' corner and started to move so I’d have free rein to take a hike.

  “Just trying to entertain, huh?” I said, unfazed. “Alright, well, if that’s the case, why don’t you have Tarzan here open up his fanny pack?” I motioned toward the guy who’d tried to steal from Ange’s purse. The leader glared at me as I stepped toward the long-haired guy. “Go on,” I added. “Open it up.”

  I stepped along the edge of the crowd, who were cursing and heckling me like an away team’s star player as he stepped into the batter’s box. I stopped in front of the drunk guy whose wallet had been snatched a few minutes earlier.

  “’Cause I’m willing to bet that your wallet’s in that pack and not in your back pocket.”

  The drunk guy looked angry, then confused as his right hand gravitated to the back pocket of his plaid shorts. His eyes grew wide when he felt nothing, and he looked up at me in shock.

  “My wallet’s gone,” he said in a heavy Southern accent. “Somebody stole it!”

  I crossed my arms and looked back at the long-haired guy.

  “It’s in there,” I said, motioning toward the fanny pack. “Along with a whole lot more.”

  I stepped back toward the leader as he struggled to maintain control of the situation.

  “Alright, that’s all for tonight, folks,” he said before whirling around and motioning for his boys to pack up.

  Not so fast.

  I strode back up beside him, getting right in his face.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you give back everything you stole tonight,” I said sternly.

  He gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow, his cocky veneer cracking like a cheap vase.

  “Listen to me, asshole,” he said, lowering his voice so that only I could hear. “If you don’t back off, we’re gonna beat your snitching ass to a pulp.”

  Please try. Nothing would make me happier.

  After eight years in Naval Special Forces, six years as a mercenary fighting around the world, and a few years of taking on bad guys here in the States, I’d learned a thing or two. I was confident that I could hold my ow
n against even the most dangerous criminals. I wasn’t about to back down or be intimidated by this clown and his gang of shirtless gymnasts. Just not the way I’m wired.

  “No, you listen to me,” I said, stepping even closer to him. “One way or another, you’re giving back everything you stole tonight. Whether that happens while all four of you are strapped to stretchers or standing under your own strength is up to you.”

  He froze for a moment, then eyed me up and down angrily.

  “You gonna let him talk to us like that, boss?” Tarzan said.

  He was moving in alongside the other two performers. They’d started taking down their equipment, but stopped and closed in like sharks sensing blood in the water.

  The gathered crowd was antsy as they watched the scene unfold. Some kept quiet, but most yelled out for the performers to open up their bags. I’d managed to sway the crowd; now it was time to put an end to their charade.

  “Give everything back,” I stated, my tone revealing my irritation. “Now.”

  “Who the hell’s going to make us?” the leader said, sticking his chest out in front of me.

  “I am,” I replied.

  “You mean we are,” Ange said, stepping toward me along with Jack. “You’re not hogging all the fun.”

  The leader eyed the three of us, then tossed his hands in the air in submission.

  “Fine,” he said, clearly irritated.

  He stepped toward me, unclipped his fanny pack, then threw a quick haymaker. His intended target was the left side of my jaw. The moment before his knuckles landed, I weaved sideways. He was fast, but not fast enough.

  Grabbing his forearm just below the elbow, I pulled his arm back and twisted his body around. I jerked hard, flaring his elbow out in a chicken wing and wrapping my left arm around his upper body.

  He groaned and yelled as he tried to escape from my grasp.

  “I’ll break it,” I said matter-of-factly. Then I looked up at the guy’s three buddies and raised my voice. “One more step and I’ll break it.”