Bitter Tide

by Jack Hardin

  “Chill out, brother. You are the only person who knows we’re out here. This place isn’t in my name. They won’t find me unless I know about it first. The whole thing with Dawson will die down.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Oswald reminded Aldrich of a used car salesman who dressed like he’d intended on going hunting or joining a motorcycle gang but whose closet light had burnt out and forced him to get dressed in the dark. The oily, slicked-back hair curved up into a big wave and made him think of a bad Elvis hairdo, or a good Ace Ventura one. Bright, smiling eyes that seduced the naive into trusting him and his leather pants and leather vest and his thick mat of chest hair and the silver chain hanging off his neck all reminded Aldrich of someone from the Village People. Doing business with someone whose dress could let them double as a male hooker in the darker hours of the night gave Aldrich the willies. E Street Band, that would be better. Even the Heartbreakers or The Black Eyed Peas. But dear Lord, not the Village People.

  He looked at the bag, asked again, “Where will you keep this?”

  Oswald sucked on a tooth, thinking. He stood up. “Got just the place, Jimmy Jangle. Just the place.” He yelled down the hall. “Jesse! Buffer! Go out back and finish the inventory.”

  A scuffle come from the back of the house, then a tired, “Okay.” Aldrich watched as the two men who had been in the living room came back down the hall and drifted out the back door.

  Oswald jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Come on, my man. We’re gonna get you taken care of. Yes sir indeedy.” Aldrich picked up the bag, followed him, and stopped with his host near the refrigerator. Oswald got down and opened the door to the lower cabinet. He dipped his head and looked in. “In there. Take a look.”

  Aldrich leaned down and squinted.

  “It’s a false back. A couple feet. I put it in myself. No one else knows about it. Just some cash in there right now. That work for you?”

  Aldrich nodded.

  “Good. Don’t you worry about a thing now, Jimmy Jangle. You’re my man and Ringo’s my man, and I take care of my people, you better believe I do.”

  Aldrich motioned toward the hidden nook. “You mind if I do it?”

  “Sure. Sure, brother. Just hang on a Montana minute.” Oswald got down on his knees, reached into the dark cabinet, and fidgeted around for a few seconds before saying, “Got it,” and a muted pop sound came out. He brought a thin, stained oak panel out of the opening, set it to the side, then reached back in and pulled out a small box wrapped in duct tape. He stood back up and swung a hand out. “All yours, Jimmy Jangle.” As he watched Aldrich get down and wedge the canvas bag into the cubby, he asked, “Where’d you get this stuff, anyway?”

  “You and I both know you can come onto anything these days for the right price.” Aldrich stood back up and brushed off his knees. “I’ve got a monitor in the bag. In the event that it’s moved or tampered with, if the contents are disturbed in any way, I’ll get notified. Oswald, I don’t want to get notified.”

  “I got you, brother. I’m the only one who knows, and I ain’t going to mess with it. It’s yours. I’ll keep it for a week. I don’t want that stuff hanging around indefinitely unless I can keep it way out from the house, out in the storage building or something. Seeing as you don’t want it out there, I’m good for seven turns of this fine planet.”

  “That’s plenty.”

  Oswald put up a crooked grin. “What’s it for?”

  “I didn’t ask you about the .50 cals you have out here.”

  Oswald’s eyes narrowed, he lifted his chin. “How you know about those?”

  “I know things too. How your delivery was missing a final two .50 cals that your customer ordered.”

  “I refunded him for that.”

  “You know, it’s not my business. I’m just making a point.”

  “Taken, brother.”

  Five minutes later, as Aldrich drove away, he wondered what had possessed Ringo to do business with Eli Oswald in the first place. The man could lead a crew, that was for certain. He could move cocaine like nobody’s business, and Aldrich knew that underneath that strange and aberrant exterior there was a manifold intelligence that lived within. The eccentric facade was surely intended to get people to underestimate him, giving him the upper hand.

  But in this particular case, Eli Oswald did not have the upper hand. He had crossed a line. He had broken one of Ringo’s rules. And no one broke one of Ringo’s rules.

  Oswald had been informed that Aldrich needed a place to store a few pounds of C-4. Aldrich had it on good authority that Eli Oswald knew nothing about explosives, and what Oswald had not been told was that there was not C-4 in that bag. It was its close cousin, Semtex, and more importantly, it was packed and wired with a trigger device. A trigger device that could be set off via a wireless signal.

  It had been less than a pound of Semtex that had been molded into a Toshiba tape recorder back in 1988 and used to bring down Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland.

  It would be two pounds of the same substance that Ringo would use to soap, scrub, and rinse himself of Eli Oswald.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ellie parked the El Camino behind Major’s Jeep Wrangler and stepped out into a humid evening. A dry rustling issued from a cluster of palms at the end of the driveway, and the air sighed above her as a pelican flew by. The front door of her childhood home was open. She pulled back the screen door and called out as she walked in. It was a bricked one story, its sides wrapped in lap siding, and it sat on a lot in Pineland that saw palms, pines, and oleanders spread generously across a half acre.

  “In here,” Major called out.

  Little footsteps pattered down the hallway, and Chloe turned the corner and ran to her aunt, her arms open. Ellie leaned down and gave her a long hug. “Hey Boo, how are you?”

  Chloe was beaming, “Very good. Happy birthday!”

  “It’s not my birthday, silly. It’s Major’s.”

  “I know,” she giggled, and ran into the kitchen.

  Ellie followed her. Major was sitting at the table nursing a beer. “Hey, kiddo. Beer is in the fridge.”

  Katie opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a Corona. She popped the top with a bottle opener and handed it to her sister.

  “Thanks,” Ellie said.

  “Katie was just telling me about the job she had in Seattle,” Major said. “Programming smartphone applications. Did I get that right?”

  “Well done,” Katie said.

  “You need some furniture around here,” Ellie noted.

  “Don’t I know,” she said. “Major brought that couch in the living room over this morning. I think I’ll get Chloe a bed with the card the Potters gave me.”

  Last night Ellie had taken Katie and Chloe down to The Salty Mangrove to see a couple dozen locals who had come out to welcome them back. Gloria and Fu had given Katie a homemade gift certificate to babysit Chloe when needed, and Sharla and Gary Potter brought Katie a gift card to a furniture store in Fort Myers. Other gifts had included more gift cards, a bottle of wine, a fishing pole for Chloe, and beach towels.

  Katie took a seat at the table and tilted her head when she noticed the leather-strapped Fossil watch on her uncle's wrist. “Hey, where’s your gold watch?” she asked.

  “Weird, isn’t it?” Ellie said. “It’s like seeing Tom Selleck without a mustache.”

  “Ah, it broke on me. Ellie sent it over to Haskell's to get it fixed. I thought I would’ve had it back by now, but Fred had to order the glass special.”

  “Speaking of that,” Ellie said. “What in the world happened to it? The glass was shattered pretty badly. Looked like you took it to the driving range and set it on a tee.”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It was...stupid is all. Fred will get it looking right as rain. So there’s a pretty big hurricane about to slam into the Virgin Islands. If it doesn’t change course, they have it heading up our way in the next few days.”


  “Great.” Katie rolled her eyes. “Seattle might have all the rain but hurricanes they do not.”

  Chloe jumped into Major’s lap and rested her head on his shoulder. “You made me a happy man, Katie, bringing this little thing back to me.”

  From her spot at the table, Ellie could see into the living room. “You know, Major, you didn’t buy me any furniture when I got back.”

  “You didn’t need me to.”

  “But Katie got all that money from Dad after he died.” She knew that Katie had set it all aside for Chloe's education.

  “Uh, oh,” Katie said. “Now you’ve pulled out the big guns. You know that money is for—”

  “I know, I know,” Ellie laughed. “I’m just messing with the big guy.”

  Major’s brows lowered. “The big guy?”

  Katie eyed his midsection. “I mean, she kind of has a point.”

  “Incredible,” he said. “You both wait. All the burgers and beer with catch up to you too one day.”

  “Not a chance,” Katie said. “Just look at us.” She did have a point. Both ladies, taller than average and slim, were fit.

  “Just you wait,” Major said again.

  Katie got up, walked over to the pantry, and returned with a wrapped package. She handed it to Major.

  “What’s this?” he said. “I said no presents.”

  “Whatever,” Katie said. “Open it.”

  He slipped a finger underneath a seam, and as the paper tore away it revealed a large box featuring the young faces of The Beatles. “A Hard Day’s Night,” he read out loud.

  “It’s a collector's edition,” Katie said. “It has deleted scenes from the movie.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “This is great.”

  “Is it a fun movie?” Chloe asked.

  “I think it is,” Major said.

  “About what?”

  “It’s my favorite band, The Beatles.”

  “Eww, a movie about beatles?”

  “No,” Major chuckled. “It’s a music band called The Beatles.” He looked at Katie, slightly incredulous. “How does she not know who The Beatles are?”

  “Hey, she’s spent the last year in Seattle. You’re lucky she doesn’t have Nirvana and Soundgarden memorized.”

  Ellie slid her chair back and left the room, walked down the hall, and returned holding a wrapped gift of her own.

  “What is that?” Chloe asked.

  “You’ll see.” She handed it to Major. “It’s from all us girls,” Ellie said.

  Katie looked at her sister and smiled.

  Chloe wiggled off Major’s knee and stood beside him. “You want to help me with this?” he asked her.

  “Yay!”

  He lowered his voice. “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know. Open it!”

  “Do you think it’s a folding table?”

  She tilted her head and looked at him sternly and placed her hands on her hips like an exasperated mother. “Open it, Major!”

  Everyone laughed, and he and Chloe started in on the paper, pulling it away in sheets. “Careful now,” Ellie said.

  The back of the frame was facing away from him. Once all the wrapping paper was on the floor, he picked it up and turned it around. He cocked his head back as he took in the image of the pier he loved so much. He stared at it for a long time.

  “Wow...” Chloe said softly.

  Major looked up, his eyes misting. “Thank you,” he said. “This...this is wonderful.” He looked at the bottom corner. “Jean did this?”

  Ellie nodded.

  “I haven’t seen this one before.”

  “It’s new,” Ellie said. “Fresh out of the box. Or, off the easel, rather.”

  “This is really great,” he said. He stood up and then walked over to the front door, placing the picture up on its side so the bottom of the frame rested on the carpet. He came back in the kitchen and returned to his seat, picked up his beer.

  “Chloe, honey,” Katie said, “go ahead into the living room and watch some Llama Llama if you want to.”

  “Okay, Mommy!” She gave Major a quick peck on the cheek and was gone, sitting on the couch, remote in hand, ten seconds later.

  “She’s so glad to be here,” Katie said. “I hate that I missed the last year.”

  Major shook his head. “Now don’t start that. You needed that time away. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

  “Yeah,” Katie said, and then looked at her sister. “Has there been any progress looking for Ronnie’s friend?”

  No, there hadn’t been, and Ellie was beginning to feel more and more unease over it. She, Mark, and several others in their office had spent the last two days poring over everything they had on each member of Ronnie’s old group of friends. Ronnie had produced a few more names he thought might be helpful, names of those no longer in Harlan Tucker’s old group but who Ronnie thought might be able to fill in some missing pieces. They hadn’t been. No one knew anything at all. The FBI was conducting their investigation and coming up short as well. Each additional day that passed, the chances went down that they would find Dawson alive, if at all. In answer to her sister’s question, she shook her head and said, “I’d rather table that for a couple hours if it’s all the same.”

  “Sure. I get that.” After Katie took a pull on her beer, she said, “Major, tell us a story about you and Dad.”

  The dark look in his eyes said that he was taken off guard at the request. He recovered quickly and tried to smile.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s hard. I’m just missing him. It’s so good to be back, but the memories didn’t leave. Part of me still believes I’m going to see him somewhere. Even these last couple days, walking through the house and turning into the kitchen, half-expecting him to be sitting right where you are, sipping a cup of coffee and listening to All Things Considered on NPR.” After Katie had graduated from the University of South Florida in Tampa, she had come back home to Pine Island and couldn’t find a good reason to live anywhere else on the island. Their father had liked the idea of her coming back home, admitting that living in a house alone wasn’t exactly the catch of the day.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “We all miss him. It’s hard either way you swing at it.” He stared at the table top and sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  Ellie slid off her sandals, brought up her feet, and pressed her toes into the front edge of her chair. “How about a golden oldie?” she said. “One from back before the Civil War?”

  “Watch it now…”

  “Yes,” Katie chimed. “How about the one from when you both arrived at the Pacific with Lewis and Clark?” Katie looked across the table and shared a smile with her sister.

  “You both keep being wise asses and see how much of a story you get. You can’t go ganging up on me.”

  “We’re sorry,” Katie said.

  “Yes, we’re sorry, old man,” Ellie said. “Now cough one up.”

  “First my weight, then my age. You two…” The back door was open, allowing a gentle breeze to come in. He looked out into the backyard and smiled as a memory surfaced. “You know, your dad and I used to go down to the Keys on the weekends and have a go at it. We loved it down at the lower latitudes. We had this shared passion for being troublesome back then, especially your father. He had this crazy way of getting me to do almost anything.”

  “Dad?” Katie laughed. “He was always so serious.”

  “No, no. Not always. Truth is, your mother’s death mellowed him out. A lot of who he was died with her.” He shrugged. “A lot of me died with him.”

  Ellie said nothing.

  “Anyway,” Major continued, “there was a watering hole on Big Pine Key called the Crazy Coconut that we liked to frequent. We didn’t get down there much. Eight, nine times a year if memory serves. But this one time the four of us—Norma Jean and Gunny too—all stuffed into your father’s little Datsun extended cab and drove the five hours down to
the Keys. The ride alone was always good enough reason to go. We’d have the windows down, blasting The Grateful Dead and Billy Joel from the 8-track, and a couple of us may have enjoyed a few beers along the way. Anyhow, this particular weekend we get down to the Crazy Coconut and find that it’s closed for a few weeks. A kitchen fire ripped through half the joint, and they were down for repairs. So it being a Friday and us having spent the last five hours rolling over the pavement, we immediately went searching for a different bar. Well, your dad found one.” Major shook his head as he sat up and dusted off old memories. “It was, shall we say, not our typical kind of place. I couldn’t tell if there were more Vikings or bikers there.”

  “Vikings?” Ellie said.

  “I don’t know what they were, but they were big, blonde, and broad. Everyone, even the women, had fire hydrants for necks. They all had leather vests and collectively had more tattoos than the bar had suds. Back then the Middle Keys were a little rougher than they are today. And as it turns out this particular joint had turtle races on Friday nights. Catch was you had to bring your own turtle. Well, we didn’t exactly have a turtle of our own. And that’s where your father gets this bright idea,” Major chuckled. “He sees this monster of a man who had two turtles that he kept in a little cat carrier. Supposedly, this guy would bring two turtles, and once he got there he would decide which one to race for the night. That left one behind. Frank convinced Gunny and Norma Jean to go stand up on the stage with the band and start making out. They weren’t dating, but Norma Jean was a lightweight. Get three beers in her and you could get her to...well, nevermind that.” He paused and took another pull on his beer, set the bottle back down. “So the whole room starts cheering for them. Frank gets down low and starts walking across the room like a hobbit navigating a room full of orcs. He gets over where the registration table is and signs up this turtle.”

  “He won, didn’t he?” Katie said, grinning.