Temples, Tempests & Blood

by Andrew Allan

  “Is it low tide?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “We should stick closer to the shore if we have the depth.”

  “They’ll get a better look at us that way.”

  “Just do whatever’s not going to get us caught.”

  DG spit in the wind. “Bridge one or bridge two?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “One goes east of DeSoto, one takes us west, into the Gulf.”

  The waters would be choppier in the open water. But, probably fewer patrol boats.

  I spotted a map tucked into the side of the Captain’s chair, grabbed it, unfolded it, and pressed it down on the floor of the boat.

  “We go west then south. Fort DeSoto is here on the southwest elbow. But, we can’t just pull up to it. They’d be ready for that.”

  “How about there? What’s that say?”

  “Mullet Key Bayou.”

  “We pull in there, it’s just a bit of land to cut across.”

  A bit of land that may or may not be crawling with Kith.

  “How long to get there?”

  He shrugged and cut the boat. The boat aimed towards bridge two.

  The Don Cesar’s pink facade stood in the distance. Storm damage was visible. The sky was blue behind it. One of those weird phenomena—look one way you’d see the kind of black storm that accompanies the apocalypse, look the other way and it’s so sunny you wonder where your piña colada is.

  Wind, splash, roar of the motor.

  “DG.”

  I pointed. He looked.

  Police officers were stationed on the bridge. And, they saw us.

  “I see ‘em,” he said.

  “What do we do?” said Ilsa.

  “Check the cooler,” said DG.

  Ilsa and I exchanged curious looks. She cracked open the cooler and pulled out a warm, dripping soda.

  “Bring me one,” said DG.

  She did.

  He popped it open and guzzled. “Just enjoying a day on the water,” he said with a smile.

  And, no shit…he looked from me to the officers above and raised his soda in toast. They smiled and saluted. And, under the bridge we went.

  He said, “If you’re gonna hide, hide right in front of their face.”

  A hundred yards past the bridge, DG maxed out the motor and the boat ripped through the water.

  We roared past the tip of Pass-A-Grille. The Gulf of Mexico opened wide and offered a glimpse of freedom I hadn’t felt in quite some time. Wide vista. Fresh air. I savored it.

  I relaxed. Random thoughts entered. Memories of high school, biking along this very beach. A particular girl with whom I’d lost touch. Myself as a young lad, being pushed in an umbrella stroller by my mother. I couldn’t see her face. But, I knew she was there. The net result was bittersweet. How does a boy filled with innocence and love end up where I am now, running from the law, running from killers, boating towards whatever violence was to come?

  The more interesting question was how did a boy grow up to be Razook?

  The boat clipped a wave and landed. I snapped back to reality.

  Ilsa was dozing.

  DG was focused on the path ahead. Wind blew his hair back, seawater spritzed his face.

  A barge appeared straight ahead. It was large and anchored at a wooden dock that ran a good two hundred feet out into the water. People were moving back and forth across the boat and the dock. A glance at the island revealed pop up tents and more activity.

  “Emergency services?” said DG.

  A glance at the map indicated we were looking at Shell Key, just to the north of Fort DeSoto. We boated around to the east side. No activity happening there.

  The land was a collection of fine, white sand dunes. Powdery beach that made the area famous.

  “What do you think?” said DG.

  “Let’s find out who they are.”

  Ilsa walked up. “You’re going over there?”

  I nodded.

  “I will come,” she said.

  DG nodded in agreement. “I’ll keep the boat running.”

  Wet shoes would do us no good. We tossed them and jumped into the water. It wasn’t deep and we weren’t far from land. When we walked onto shore, we looked back at the boat. DG waved. It was quiet and breezy.

  “Let’s just take a look,” I said. “Could be nothing.”

  Our feet sank into the sand. The walk up the dune was a trudge. We had to walk a good quarter of a mile before finding any activity.

  But, there it was. The tents, the dock, the boat; everything we had seen from the water.

  A crew of men transported boxes to different areas under a large tent. There were people working at fold up tables. It looked like an emergency triage. There were even red crosses on some of the boxes.

  The Red Cross wouldn’t set up on this deserted stretch of beach. They’d be back on the mainland. This was not the Red Cross.

  “Look,” said Ilsa. “The shirts.”

  We had seen the same shirts on the staff back at the Aufderheide ranch. These were Kith employees.

  It was all happening.

  It was all coming true.

  They were seizing the land under decree of Governor Hoyt.

  Wint’s blueprints flashed in my mind. The guesthouses, the country club, the pool area…the crematorium.

  “This is bad?”

  “Very.”

  “What do you think they are doing?”

  We were low now, just peeking over the dune, our knees and hands in the sand.

  “I’d guess bringing in supplies for the builders.”

  There was order to their operation. The workers moved with purpose.

  “These are the surveyors and cleanup crew. They’ll prep the land. Then, they’ll really get to work.”

  “And, the Governor is doing all this?”

  “He’s making it possible. The Kith is doing the building.”

  “Perfect property, low cost, no one knows the difference.”

  “Tourists will be in for a surprise when they try to stay there,” she said.

  “They’ll never get past the guard gate. And, if they do, I’d be surprised if they made it out alive.”

  I rolled onto my back, reclined against the dune, and tried to think of what to do next.

  Something blocked the sunlight.

  “Don’t move,” said the man pointing a gun in my face.

  56

  HE WAS DRESSED like a soldier.

  But, he wasn’t in the National Guard.

  You could just tell.

  “Who are you and why are you here?”

  “Just boating around. Checking out the hurricane damage, man,” I said, trying to act casual.

  He looked to Ilsa. “And, her?”

  “I’m with him. Just like he said.” She sounded confident. No hesitation at all.

  “Come with me.”

  “It’s public property, man,” I said. “We’re not trespassing.”

  “This is an emergency zone. You are trespassing.” Unwavering authority in his voice.

  I stood and offered a hand to Ilsa. She took it and pulled up.

  “My boat’s just over there.” I moved that direction.

  “Hold it,” said the soldier. He aimed at me.

  “You want me outta here or not?” I said.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “Look. This is public property. I stopped by to check storm damage and that’s it. I don’t know what you have going on here, but frankly, I’m not interested. And, don’t expect me to just leave my boat unattended.”

  “Move.”

  Ilsa said, “What’s the big deal?”

  “Enough,” he said. “You’re going to march up that dune and over to that tent. Now.”

  I looked to Ilsa and played up my frustration.

  “Thanks for ruining our afternoon,” she said.

  Up the dune we went. The soft sand played in our favor. It slowed us. That brought him
closer. Close enough Ilsa was able to elbow the gun off us and leap onto him. The uneven sand caused them to fall and roll down the dune.

  “Get the gun.”

  Ilsa yanked it away before the goon could pull the trigger.

  She chopped him in the throat.

  He gasped and gagged.

  Ilsa set her knees into his elbows, pinning him to the ground. I grabbed the gun and rested the muzzle against his jawline.

  I scooped a handful of sand.

  “Talk or your next drink is a dry one.”

  The goon’s face flushed red as he hacked.

  “Talk.” I let my irritation show.

  “You’re not ‘sposed to be here,” he said. “State of emergency. From the Governor.”

  Hoyt. Kith. Confirmed.

  “Then why are you loading things onto the island?”

  “Base of…base of operations. I don’t know. Just told to load up for deployment.”

  “Deployment where?”

  He hacked some more and shrugged.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Who asked you to patrol?”

  “My boss.”

  “Boss? Or, sergeant? Or lieutenant? What rank are you?”

  He shook his head. He was sweating. His ears were sandy.

  “No, not military.”

  Semi-soldier. Stooge ruse. Confirmed.

  “Then, maybe you shouldn’t be here pointing a gun at the locals.”

  More coughing. “It’s…it’s not…it’s private…property.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true!” His eyes bugged, desperate for me to believe him.

  “This for Wint Wilson Development?”

  He looked surprised. How’d you know that?

  “Building a resort?”

  “Hadn’t heard that.”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to report you.”

  That spooked him. “No, please.…”

  “It’ll just be a reprimand.”

  He looked more than reprimand scared.

  “What’ll they do?” said Ilsa.

  The poor fool. He’d screwed up for one of the most ruthless organizations in the world.

  But, it was like that, wasn’t it? It’s only fun when the bully’s on your side.

  “Once the storm passes and you start loading this stuff up over at Fort DeSoto, and the big tools come in, will they have you patrolling there?”

  “Haven’t heard yet.”

  He froze. He’d revealed too much.

  “Just kill me now,” he said.

  I shook my head. “You don’t deserve that. You’re just a goon on patrol who don’t know nothing, right?”

  He nodded, frantic.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Clark.”

  Ilsa climbed off Clark and stood. “Get up.”

  He did, slowly, rubbing his throat.

  I kept the gun on him.

  “Right now, you’re the goat, Clark,” I said. “But, how’d you like to be a hero?”

  Confusion on his face.

  “March, and I’ll tell you all about it.” I pointed towards our boat.

  Clark followed orders and walked to the boat.

  DG straightened behind the boat wheel.

  “Souvenir?” he said.

  “This is Clark. He used to work for the Kith.”

  “The what?” said Clark.

  “The Kith. It’s what I call you and your merry band of murderers. They’ve never actually told me the real name.”

  Realization struck. “Holy shit. You’re him,” said Clark.

  “Since I was born.”

  I had to admit, it was kind of fun being recognized as a famous outlaw. Of course, it was only fun because this guy couldn’t run and tell anyone. He’d be fish food if he tried.

  DG backed the boat out from the shore and we cruised to deeper water.

  “Where to, Walt?” he said.

  “We need to make a phone call.”

  57

  “NOT SURE THIS is the smartest move.”

  “It’s our only move,” I said. “I need to give this guy to Stokely, let him talk.”

  I finished tying Clark to a metallic zebra-striped dining chair. Only someone extremely wealthy would be dumb enough to buy something that ugly. I’d say that to their faces, but the homeowners were absent. We had the massive Tierra Verde waterfront house to ourselves.

  Our boat was parked out at the dock. DG had no problem getting past the alarm, another one of his special talents.

  “You think he knows shit about what went down?”

  “He knows enough to prove to Stokely that the Kith are doing exactly what I’ve been warning about.”

  DG waved me over.

  We stepped out of the massive living room and into the laundry room.

  “Walt, if you tell Stokely you’re here, cops are gonna come flyin’ in from all directions. Then, we’re screwed.”

  “We get the info from Clark, tell Stokely where to find him. And, we’ll get the hell out of here.”

  “What will Stokely do with that information?”

  “Stop the Kith.”

  “What if he can’t? What if his story gets squashed? Or, he gets killed?”

  “He’s smart. He’ll make something happen.”

  DG looked skeptical.

  “Let’s just talk to Clark, find out what we can expect out on DeSoto.”

  DG shook his head.

  “I’m open to better plans. You have family up at the capital. Can’t they help?”

  “The Gary family is known for its power, not its ethics. Wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them were in the Kith.”

  “Let’s talk to him and go. We’ll make our own luck from there,” I said.

  “Okay. But, first sign of cops getting too close, I’m ghosting you.”

  “That’s what the teenagers say.”

  “Picked it up from this girl.”

  “I don’t recall Starla being in her teens.”

  A guilty look on his face. He hadn’t been referring to his old lady Starla.

  “You wanna go talk to Stokely or not?”

  DG quickly changed the topic.

  “You ready to talk, Clark?” he said on his way back to the living room.

  I followed.

  Ilsa said, “The police are outside.”

  DG and I ran to the front room.

  Two police cruisers were blocking the driveway. Police were walking up to the front door.

  “Shit,” said DG.

  We ran to the back of the house.

  Clark said, “Hey, what’s going on?”

  We ignored him.

  DG stopped short of opening the sliding glass door—a police boat was docked behind ours. More cops were walking up to the house.

  Ilsa said, “The house is raised. Maybe we can go out that way.”

  We ran into the laundry room, past the machines, and down stairs that led to a large, five-car garage. A Ferrari, a Lamborghini, and a deluxe golf cart occupied three of the spaces.

  “Ain’t gonna work,” said DG.

  “Roof?” said Ilsa.

  It was better than nothing. We hurried up the steps to the laundry room.

  Voices in the house.

  “Help! I’m in here,” said Clark.

  Route closed. Back down to the garage. What now? Keys were hanging on the wall. We looked to the luxury cars.

  We rolled out the door and down the path between the house and the fence.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said to DG.

  “Trust me,” he said.

  The golf cart was humming along at about twenty-five miles an hour. Ilsa held tight in the back seat. DG navigated the cart around planters and palm trees, down the front slope of the lawn and onto the neighborhood road…just long enough to swoop around into the yard next door.

  The thinking wa
s this: A Ferrari crashing through the garage door wouldn’t get very far. Police cruisers had blocked the drive. And, where exactly would a bright orange Ferrari hide? It gave us no chance. Running was too slow. But, the golf cart gave us speed and kept us small. And, that was just what we needed.

  Problem was, when the cart started up the grassy incline of the neighbors’ house, the battery died. And, by the time we jumped out, officers patrolling the street up ahead had spotted us. And, shouted loud enough for the cops at the house we were leaving to catch on.

  We sprinted up the steps of a nearby house. It was locked. We were stuck.

  Cops arrived at the base of the steps.

  They raised their guns.

  We raised our hands.

  “Told you to take the Ferrari,” said Ilsa.

  58

  THERE WAS AN upside to jail—food, drink and a chance to rest.

  We’d needed it after our time on the run and on the water. We hadn’t had a chance to raid the fridge at the Tierra Verde house. Turned out, DG wasn’t as good at dismantling alarms as he led us to believe. That’s why the police had shown up. Big, rich neighborhoods get plenty of attention and protection, even during hurricanes.

  Jail wasn’t actually jail. It was a command post that had been set up in a small warehouse back on the mainland, not far from where we’d stashed DG’s truck. The cells were chain-link fence that had been used by previous tenants to secure the more valuable supplies and products.

  I was alone. No clue where they’d taken DG and Ilsa. I hated they had been arrested, and were now considered my accomplices. I hoped they would say they had been kidnapped. Maybe the cops would buy it.

  Red alert: What if the Kith found out we’d been arrested? What if they went after DG and Ilsa? I couldn’t save them. As happy as I had been they’d come back to help, I now wished they had stayed away and in hiding. Worrying about myself was hard enough. Worrying about them was too much.

  Time crawled. Cops strolled by periodically. They sized up their prize catch. Don’t I get a phone call? Did I have Beef’s number? Great lawyer or not, he’d never get me out of here; I was the most wanted man in the state. And, that was if the Kith didn’t buy him off.

  The cage rattled. An officer unlocked it and said, “Come on Asher. You have a visitor.”

  Was that good or bad?

  Was it someone to help or Kith?

  It hit me—this could be it. The end. I could die without saying goodbye to Ilsa. Without her ever knowing what happened.