by DS Whitaker
He walked up to the bar, but didn’t see Robin. Decidedly, it was a good opportunity to have a beer before she could criticize.
“Johnnie,” Mandy said, “the usual?”
“Yep. You see Robin?”
Mandy wiped down the wood bar in front of him. She leaned forward and whispered, “No, but the Chief is looking for you. What did you do?”
Earlier, at Cinnamon Bay Beach, Johnnie saw Chief Tobias pull into the parking lot. He should have talked with the Chief. Get it over with. But he hid in a clump of mangroves, behind some rocks, until the Chief left. He didn’t know why. Maybe afraid of confrontation and saying something wrong. At one point, Tobias walked within ten feet. Yet undiscovered, Johnnie heard him cuss and mutter under his breath, “Mother-loving Johnnie Crosswell. I don’t need this shit.”
Johnnie didn’t need shit either. Why was Tobias so hot to talk with him? There was nothing left to say. It wasn’t like the dead guy spontaneously woke up and told him the story of who killed him. That would be weird. Other than taking the key ring, he didn’t touch the guy. Well, he brushed tiny crabs off the guy’s legs, but only out of respect. It wasn’t like they’d find his DNA on Bob.
“Mandy, I didn’t do anything. Other than find a dead guy.”
She turned to fill a glass with Blackbeard Ale at the tap. “Heard about that. Any word on who it was?”
“I don’t know and don’t care.” Those words came out of his mouth and he realized they came out cold. Like he was a monster. Truth was, he had nothing against Bob. In fact, he felt bad for the guy. “What I mean is, I just found him. I don’t know what else I can tell Tobias.” He tried a smile, but it felt forced, so he stopped.
She placed a cardboard coaster under his frothy pint. “Count this one on me. I heard it’s your birthday.” Mandy winked, and before he thought to say thanks, she walked across the bar to another customer.
The bar was only half-filled, which seemed right for a Tuesday at ten-thirty. Admittedly, he was early for lunch because Robin said she’d be there at eleven, but it was a special day and it made no sense to delay his celebration. And he was grateful for his timing, because a cool breeze kicked up, and from the darkening sky, it looked like they were in for some punishing rain. Robin was going to get soaked.
He drank his beer and peeled back the label, attempting to remove it in one piece. The beer was cold and smooth and reminded him of the time before. When he had all his brain matter. When he could go to a bar and remember everyone’s name and flirt with women and not get anxious or angry watching strangers have fun. When he had a life. Not that he remembered all that well. Only in flashes. Or maybe these were false memories, based on stories his friends told him in the rehab facility, before they decided he was too much of a project.
Cool air whipped around his arms and sideways rain hit his lower legs, despite his position near the center of the structure. A hundred yards away, dozens of people coming off the ferry scattered and yelled, trying to outrun the torrential rain, which was impossible. They ran anyway, looking for whatever shelter they could find, lugging suitcases and shouting at their spouses about why they didn’t call a taxi ahead of time. A group of people ran straight to the bar, with no doors or barriers to slow their arrival. They shook with cold and wrung out their T-shirts and wiped the water off their faces with their hands. The kids wanted to play in the rain, but scowling parents dragged them back.
Johnnie tried not to make eye-contact with them. Because, soon, they would ask questions. Stupid questions. Like how to rent a car or where to buy an umbrella. He wasn’t a God-damned concierge or tourist office. All he wanted was to drink his beer in peace. Should he just leave? Robin would understand. Or maybe she wouldn’t. So, he stayed, head down. No eye contact. He placed his hands over his ears. Hear no evil…
Someone tapped his shoulder.
Johnnie yelled, “I don’t know the number for the taxi company.” He turned sideways on his bar stool to face the idiot tourist. But it was Chief Tobias. He froze.
The Chief sneered. “Hmmpf. Where have you been? Didn’t you get my messages?”
Tobias was a large man. Nearly half a foot taller than himself. About six-foot three, over two hundred and thirty pounds and clearly worked out from the defined muscles straining the fabric of his short-sleeved police uniform. He had an odd face, like someone hit him with a shovel, because his nose was crooked and flat and he had a big scar on his chin where the skin seemed to have healed misaligned. And Tobias was serious. The kind of person who doesn’t laugh unless he’s bested you at something. From the first time they met, Johnnie decided he didn’t like Tobias.
“Sir, sorry about that. I’ve been busy. Didn’t you hear? It’s my birthday. Can I get you a beer?” He tried a smile again. It still didn’t feel right.
Chief Tobias crossed his stocky arms. “Look, I need you to come to the headquarters at one o’clock or I’ll find a reason to arrest you. You understand?”
Johnnie straightened his back and saluted. “Sir! Yes, sir!”
Tobias grunted and walked away into the rain, putting up his umbrella with military precision. Lightning cracked across the sky, followed by booming thunder. It seemed as if on cue, signaling Tobias’ grand exit, like the Chief commanded the earth and sky like Zeus. But maybe this was his mind playing games on him.
Johnnie reached in his pocket and pulled out the key chain. Bugs was in a pose like a pugilist, with yellow shorts and boxing gloves. On the metal ring were three keys. Two looked like house keys—there wasn’t any writing. One was small with an engraving. He cleaned his glasses with the end of his t-shirt, then tried reading the print.
Mandy came back to check on him.
“Hey Mandy, can you read this?” He handed her the key. “The print is too tiny for me.”
She examined it. “Hmmm. Wait.” She took her cell phone from her canvas waist apron and turned on its flashlight. “I see it now. I think it says ‘Carib Bank’.
“Huh.” Maybe a safe deposit key? He’d never owned anything valuable enough to have one, but wrote a note in his phone to ask Cud about it tomorrow; he would know about bank keys.
“Can I get you another?” She gestured to his near-empty glass.
He ordered another beer.
Not long after, Robin arrived. On her petite frame, she wore a white suit jacket and navy skirt, in keeping with her usual work attire. Her shoulder length wavy black hair seemed damp, despite her umbrella. She was holding a tall red gift bag.
“Johnnie, happy forty-five!” She reached around his shoulders and gave him a hug while he remained seated. She placed the bag in front of him. “Open it.”
“Thanks, Sis. Am I taking you away from important business?”
“Not at all. Dottie cleared my calendar.” She sat at the stool next to him.
He opened the greeting card first. An Amazon gift card for a hundred dollars was taped inside.
“Thanks.”
She shook her head. “I would have gotten you some books, but I can’t keep track of what you’ve already read.”
Since his accident five years ago, his ability to read and comprehend words came back slowly. Reading, once a frustrating exercise, eventually became his primary solace and escape from his own thoughts. He read nearly every evening, mostly fiction and across many genres except for horror. As much as he loved books, he had to be mindful of eyestrain, which led to migraines.
Johnnie held the package. It had white tissue paper. He pulled out the contents. A box of Mallomars. There was something else at the bottom. An automotive headlight for his scooter.
She smiled, her blue eyes shining. “I know how you love Mallomars, so I got someone on the mainland to ship them. And I don’t want you driving in the dark without a headlight anymore. You’ll go around a curve and bounce off a donkey.”
It was true. His headlight broke a month ago and he couldn’t find the part he needed at the local auto parts store. So he gave up. Which wasn’t smart, but
he trusted his driving skills. He’d driven in worse conditions during deployments, even in sand storms. At least here, there weren’t IEDs or mobs with grenade launchers. Robin was right though; there were stray donkeys and chickens wandering the roads, particularly near his place. Sometimes they sauntered out of the way of moving vehicles. Often, they didn’t. Still, the gift showed she cared, and it was better than another pair of socks.
“Thanks. Do you want to get a table?” He looked around. The rain subsided and the tables further from the center of the bar now seemed safe from the former deluge.
“Nah, we can eat here. I’m going to get a burger. How about you?”
“I was thinking the same. Hey, I saw the Chief. He wants me to come in at one o’clock.”
“Really? Does he want to ask more questions about the dead body?”
“He won’t say. But he said he’d arrest me if I didn’t show.”
“Do you want me to come? As your lawyer?”
He almost said yes. His sister was technically a lawyer, although as one of the fifteen senators in the US Virgin Islands’ legislature, she hadn’t been in private practice in seven years. “No. It will be fine. But can I ask you something? Hypothetically?”
She sat back and interlaced her fingers on her lap. “Sure.” She closed her eyes.
“Why are you acting like I’m going to say something bad?”
She opened her eyes. “Maybe because you never talk in hypotheticals.”
“Fair enough. I’m asking for a friend. Is it considered a crime to take something from a dead guy?”
“Oh, for crying…what did you take?”
“I said a friend. What if a guy took a belt and a knife off a dead guy? Is that stealing?”
“Short answer, yes.”
“But the guy is dead. He can’t own it anymore.”
“Right, but on his death, legally his estate and belongings transfer to his heirs, or if there aren’t any heirs, to the state. In actuality, you are stealing from them.”
“Huh. No shit.”
She slapped her hands over her ears. “Don’t say anything else, because it’s best if I don’t hear it.”
Mandy came over and handed them menus. “Senator, can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll have whatever Johnnie’s having.”
“Do you folks want a few minutes to look at the menu?”
Johnnie said, “We’ll both have burgers. Mine medium-rare, hers medium-well. And two more beers.”
Mandy smiled and took away the menus. “I’ll put it right in.”
His eyes must have lingered on Mandy as she walked away because Robin said, “A bit young for you.”
“She’s nice. That’s all. So, hypothetically, if the item was small, and the family didn’t know about it, it wouldn’t be a problem, right?”
“Maybe. It’s best not to bring it up.”
“Right.”
Johnnie liked the key ring. It was plastic and cheap, but it was fun and he loved Bugs Bunny as a kid. Bob’s family probably wouldn’t know or care, and if they did, how would they know it didn’t fall to the bottom of the bay?
And maybe, if someone asked, he could say he found it washed up a few days later. How was he supposed to know it was Bob’s?
That seemed like a good plan. Better than telling Tobias about stealing. The Chief wouldn’t be cool with that.
Yeah, best to hide the key chain for a few days and not say a word.
***
Dear Diary,
My birthday was good except for talking with the Chief. He told me the guy had stab wounds in his back. I asked, what does that have to do with me? The Chief showed me a file with an old police report from that time in Miami where I stabbed a dude. But I told him that was before I started therapy. And the guy was a douche harassing this woman on the beach and I told him to stop. The other guy with him had a throwing star and hit me square in my left shoulder blade as I walked away. Which means they started it.
Anyway, I don’t carry weapons anymore.
Chief asked me if I knew Doug, the owner of the marina. I kind of know him, but everybody does. Doug is always running newspaper ads and his face is plastered on lots of benches in town. So, I asked the Chief, is Doug the dead guy? Chief wouldn’t answer.
Then he gets in my face, saying the DNA results will come back tomorrow, and do I want to tell him anything. Like, even if I killed Bob, that wouldn’t scare me. Tobias is an amateur compared to the Army interrogators I used to know. I laughed, although I know that was a wrong response.
In other birthday news, Gertie embroidered a pillowcase for me with flowers and the words, “Home Is Where the Heart Is”. Then she asked if I could help her re-hang the shutters this weekend.
Goodnight Diary. Sweet Dreams -Johnnie.
Chapter 3
He saw her at daybreak. The goddess of the water. That’s what he called her because he didn’t know her actual name. On calm days, she glided into the bay from the East on her paddleboard and eventually made a U-turn.
Despite her distance from shore, he could tell the Goddess was tall. Maybe over six-foot; taller than him. Her hair was shaved close on one-side, her remaining hair fell a few inches below her shoulder, blonde nearly white, with loose waves. The sun sometimes glinted off her dangly metal earrings. Toned and tan, wearing a black shorty wetsuit, she traveled across the waves effortlessly, like she and the board were one.
She seemed otherworldly, like a mythical creature, and as elusive as Snuffleupagus. In a rare land sighting, Robin said she saw the Goddess last year in the parking lot at Maho Bay and was with a guy with hair like Fabio. But Johnnie never saw the Goddess on dry land, which added to her mystique.
He often daydreamed she would paddle in and he’d be brave enough to say hello. But after that, he didn’t have a clue of what to say to her. Still, just seeing her pass through was a good omen for the day.
Johnnie continued his chores, picking up some trash at the pit toilet restrooms. The smell was gross. He never used them, waiting until he got to Trunk Bay to use the flush toilets. Not that he was a sissy about dirt and feces. But once, overseas, his phone fell out of his pocket in a latrine, causing an unspeakable scene. His memory of the past wasn’t great. But that one stuck.
Next, he got a broom and swept out the sand out of the changing rooms. The spider web in the corner had grown since last week in the dank space. He couldn’t let it go any longer. Someone left a glass bottle on the floor in one of the stalls. Glass containers were strictly forbidden, but he was accustomed to people breaking rules.
As he gathered the trash bag and his broom, Cud walked up. A dirty and torn fisherman’s net style bag hung around him cross-body. The bag contained coconuts and some banana figs. Cud peeled the skin off the top of a mango with a pocket knife. Bob’s pocket knife. “Good morning, Johnnie. How are you on this blessed day? Want some mango?”
“Hey, Cud. Nah, I’m good. I had a breakfast sandwich earlier.”
“I saw the Chief looking for you yesterday.”
“Yeah. I talked to him in town after lunch with Robin. He thinks I stabbed Bob. What a dickweed.” He carried the trash and broom to the back of the pickup truck in the parking lot. Cud followed.
“Tobias lacks imagination. Any word on who the unfortunate soul was?”
Johnnie told him about the conversation with the Chief. But there was a more pressing matter on his mind. He leaned on the truck’s tail-gate and flipped up his sunglasses. “Cud, look at this.” I held out the small key. “It says Carib Bank. Is it one of those safe deposit box keys?”
“I reckon so. They have a branch here. Where’d you find it?”
“In the seaweed earlier this week.” Technically true, although it was in Bob’s pocket and Bob was in the seaweed.
“Do you think it belonged to the dead guy?”
Johnnie looked Cud in the eyes. “Did you know it’s legally considered stealing to take something off a dead body? You should be care
ful with that pocket knife. Maybe hide it.”
Cud laughed. “I still say finders’ keepers.”
Johnnie walked to the tool shed, “Follow me.”
Johnnie opened the shed door’s padlock. “I tell you what, maybe you should swap out the knife. You take this one.” He took a folding survival knife off the wall. “It’s much better for cutting fruit. Even coconuts. I’m not allowed to use it, and it’s no use here. But, in return, I need your help.”
“Sure.” Cud did a little dance in place, swishing his hips.
“Why are you dancing?”
“Why not? This new knife is very cool.”
Johnnie sighed. “I have to run an errand in town at noon. Might take an hour, ninety-minutes tops. But I’m supposed to be repairing and sealing the picnic tables here this afternoon. If you go out on your fruit scavenge this morning, could you be back to cover for me? That way, if Kemper or Merv comes around, you can tell them…shit, I don’t know.” He searched his brain for a plausible answer. Maybe he was making this more difficult and complicated than it needed to be.
“I’ll just tell her you had to sign for a package at the post office.”
Johnnie beamed. The post office on the island was notoriously slow and could explain his delayed return. “Yes. That works. Thanks, Cud.”
“You know, I used to be adept at subterfuge. How about an additional quid pro quo?” Cud started shimmying in place again.
Johnnie laughed. “What would you like?”
“A frozen Snickers would be heavenly.”
“Sure.”
Cud saluted and danced away toward his usual nesting spot. “Wonderful. See you later!”
***
Johnnie sat at the picnic table, still in his uniform, watching the time change on his phone. Cud should be back by now. Going to the bank was dumb, but maybe he’d learn more about Bob and why he was stabbed to death. A bird flew under the pavilion roof and landed on the table, pecking at some crumbs of bread left by the last occupant. It was diminutive and fluffy, with a russet chest. A Mangrove Cuckoo. The bird eyed him suspiciously while continuing his feast. “Hi, little bird.” The bird didn’t reply. Moments later, two larger birds, brown Thrashers, swooped in and scared the small one away. Johnnie swept his arm across the table, forcing the intruders to scatter. It wasn’t right. He muttered, “Pick on someone your own size.”