Bonefish Blues (15 page)

The house receded in his rear view mirror as he drove away, not knowing what to do. Then he remembered something. It was a shot in the dark, but it might work. During the boom of the early 2000s, he had owned a used boat lot. Outboard engines had only a handful of keys for each model, not an individual key like cars used. Maybe he had a key that fit Cody’s boat.

He drove quickly to his house, hoping it would work. Once inside, he grabbed a bottle of water, an energy bar, and a ring full of keys. He ran out the door and was back on the road, eating the bar when the police car lights flashed behind him. Enraged by his stupidity he started to pull over. The car had been there before but he had forgotten and now was getting pulled over. Just as he was envisioning himself in jail, the car sped past. Once the police cruiser had gone, he sped up again and pulled into the marina. There were two other cars there now — the beginning of the day’s activity — and the sun was starting to brighten the sky from just below the horizon. 

He ran to the dock, hoping he hadn’t been gone long enough to incur Pagliano’s wrath. Behind the helm, he frantically tried each key, losing hope as the first several did nothing. Matt, Nicole and Pagliano looked on as he went through the key chain.

Finally one turned, and the motor started.

Chapter 19

Cody, startled by the motor starting, jumped up and smacked his head against the decomposing headliner in the cabin. Insulation rained around him as he tried to figure out where he was and what was going on. He moved to the cabin window and peeled back the curtain. Dawn was breaking, the sun’s reflection just visible on the water and the dock was receding as the boat headed out to the gulf. Nausea overcame him, forcing him to lay back down. 

His head pounded from the long night of drinking. The boat was his home on those nights; it was a short walk from the bar, and in his usual state of consciousness, pretty comfortable. Days he had a charter he could slip around the back of the storeroom adjacent to the office and use the outside shower there. It was cold water, but had the desired effect, removing the cobwebs from the night before.

As he lay on the bunk, he tried to make out the voices coming from the cockpit. It sounded like two men talking, but he couldn’t be sure. What the hell was going on out there, and who was trying to make off with his boat? He sat up slowly, waited a minute for his head and stomach to catch up and then rose to a stoop. The cabin ceiling was shorter than his six-foot height, so he crouched, ear to the door as he listened. 

One voice came through clearer than the other, or maybe it was because he knew it better. It was his father. The other remained a mystery. Just as he was about to open the cabin door, another wave of nausea hit him, forcing him back to the bunk.

***

Doug stood on the boat ramp next to his kayak. He liked to be first to these outings, ready to greet everyone and make new connections. A large coffee in his hand, he was ready for the day. The line of cars, most carrying kayaks, wove it’s way into the parking area. He smiled as he looked at the vehicles lined up and waiting to park. A large turnout was essential to accomplish his goals. He had sent press releases late last night to all the media from Key West to Miami, but he didn’t expect anything to come from them by themselves. But a large enough crowd would ensure
some
kind of police communication, and the media all monitored law enforcement channels. They would put two and two together. Best case was a helicopter flyover and some footage for the evening news. That kind of video would find its way instantly to the Internet, flooding YouTube and Facebook with posts and links. 

It would draw all the attention he wanted. Guerrilla activism in the digital age. 

Several regular members came up and greeted him. They had the routine down. Get there early, unload quickly, and park. The limited number of parking spaces at the boat ramp would soon be gone. Doug had traffic cones in the back of his Subaru Outback to reserve several spaces for people who were willing to run a shuttle for the late comers without losing their coveted parking spaces. The sun was over the horizon now, about seven o’clock, and already things were picking up. Satisfied this was going to be the success he had hoped for, he got to work helping newcomers unload their boats and get situated. When he looked up after an hour, he was shocked to see the entire lot a multi-colored canvas of kayaks. 

At 7:45 he went for the closest picnic table to the ramp, climbed on top, and yelled for quiet. It took a few minutes to settle the large crowd, and while he waited for silence, he tried to guess how many people were there. Crowds were easiest to estimate if you broke out a group of ten or so people, took the area they encompassed, and applied that formula to the rest of the crowd. It wasn’t dead accurate, but he was shocked when he counted twenty groups. A flotilla with two hundred boats could ring the entire Key. That would be the spectacle he sought. 

“Attention everyone!” he yelled, sensing the moment he would be heard. “Thank y’all for coming. Now with this many people, we need to keep things organized. Let’s all break into groups of ten and stay together. Our goal is Flamingo Key. I’m guessing most of you saw the YouTube video. There’s a group here that is trying to sell off parcels of land to build homes on that beautiful island. They are trying to market them as sustainable. But we know,” he paused to get their attention, “that any building in this fragile environment is unsustainable. Birds live there, dolphins play there - it is theirs as much as ours. Now, let’s go out there and show these people that we care and they will have to fight us to ruin our pristine lands.”

He grabbed a handful of laminated papers from a box besides him, “I have enough charts for every group to take one.” Eager boaters started to line up and take them from his outstretched hands. “When we get out there, we are going to spread out and circle the island. Anyone with a phone or camera, get a shot or a video. When we get back we’ll flood the Internet and everyone will know about this. Be safe people!”

They started out in their groups, paddles bobbing back and forth in the water. He went with the last group, staying behind to ensure that any late comers would know their plan. Satisfied he was the last boat out, he started to paddle quickly, using his core to move his arms. Most of the paddlers were not as experienced, and used what he called girlie arms to paddle. His technique propelled him forward: keep your arms straight, push with the lead hand, and twist with a solid core were the keys to power. 

He quickly reached the front group and took the lead. The waterproof VHF radio clipped under a bungee on the deck let out a call every few minutes. Several power boats were forced to change course by the long string of boats, while others stopped and gawked at the spectacle. Finally a sheriff’s boat appeared on the horizon and started idling by the line of kayakers. He heard the request for several Coast Guard Auxiliary boats to come out and monitor the convoy, and as the radio chatter continued, a large smile crossed his face. 

With this much chatter and attention, he was going to get his news helicopter.

***

Will strapped the tank to his back after assembling the parts in a mesh bag set at his feet. The PVC fittings clanked in the bag as he moved toward the gunwale, and handed it to Sheryl, not wanting to lose it on entry. 

“Can you toss me this when I’m in?” He looked at the bag, then, and remembered what he had forgotten at the house: The waterproof PVC cement. “What was I thinking?” he gasped. “This will never work underwater.” He pulled the can out and handed it to her. 

“Why don’t you dry fit everything you can, and bring the pieces up for me to glue? That should leave just one connection unglued. I’ll see what I can come up with for that.”

He gave her a questioning glance, and she grinned.

“My father was a plumber.”

He put the regulator in his mouth and started to breath while he gathered the hoses and bag against his body. One hand on the regulator the other on his chest to hold the equipment in place he fell backwards into the water. The visibility had increased dramatically, now that the sun had risen. It was close to ten feet now — pretty good for this shallow on the bay side. He had chosen to dive without fins this time, as there was no need to swim, and even the smallest movement would silt up the water, decreasing the visibility. 

Gravity and the extra weight took him to the bottom where he found the pipe. Kneeling in the sand with the mesh bag beside him, he went to work. With a small handsaw he started to cut the pipe. It was harder work than he anticipated with the water providing resistance. Bubbles rose from him in a thick stream as he worked. Will did as Sheryl asked and assembled a coupling to a small, cut piece of pipe, then added a cap at the end. He tested it on the freshly cut pipe and surfaced. She grabbed the assembly from him as he reached over the transom, then held onto the boat as she glued the pieces together. 

The procedure was taking longer than he’d hoped, and he scanned the horizon for boats. Toward land, he saw what looked like a flock of birds on the surface of the water. Studying the unusual sight, he noticed paddles, which were reflecting in the sunlight. 

“Hey, look over there. You’re higher up, hop on the poling platform and see what it is.”

She turned from her work and looked where he was pointing. The platform elevated her four feet above the water, plus her five-foot-eight height, and she was able to see much more than he could in the water. 

She took a long look, then came back down, her expression worried. “It’s the kayak Meetup thing. There must be a couple hundred of them.”

Will didn’t want to be in the area when they got there. He didn’t want them prowling around the pipe or mistaking him for one of the developers. They didn’t need to know what was going on. He had wanted to fix the pipe and be gone before anyone arrived to ask questions. “We have to finish fast.” 

She handed the glued up pipes to him. He submerged again and went back to work, eyeing the gathering school of barracuda attracted by the activity and free breakfast from the pipe. Although barracuda didn’t worry him, he thought about the larger predators the chum slick might bring in. With all this activity going on, he was sure that unless he could cap the pipe that sharks were bound to appear. Hoping it would hold, he jammed the pipe into the fitting, frustrated at the amount of time this was taking, and finally surfaced again. 

“It’s capped for now.” 

Sheryl didn’t answer, but he heard her talking. He swam around the boat to see what was going on, quickly submerging before his head hit the two kayaks hovering by the boat.

Chapter 20

“Holy crap. Look at those idiots.” Pagliano yelled. 

Braken was at the helm of the Grady-White racing across the flat water at twenty five knots. They were about a quarter mile from Flamingo Key. He looked toward the right over the starboard gunwale at the cluster of kayaks ringing the Key. They were still a quarter mile away when Pagliano signaled for Braken to slow. The boat rocked back as the propeller stopped. 

“What the fuck do those passion-fruit-tea-drinking sons of bitches think they’re doing? We’ve gotta break this up before one of them decides to check out the flora or whatever the fuck they do.”

Nicole and Matt sat huddled on the deck, Matt holding her tightly. “They have as much right to be there as you do,” Matt said. 

Pagliano went toward the stern and kicked him. “I want a comment from you, I’ll be sure to put it on YouTube. You realize this is all your fault?”

Braken broke the tension, desperate to pacify Pagliano. Watching his family being abused was changing his opinion of his associate. There would be more deals with better partners … if he could survive this one. He wondered where Cody was, hoping that he had at least discovered that the boat was missing, and maybe gotten off his hungover ass and done something about it. “So, what do you want to do?”

“We’ve gotta break it up. You know, make ‘em scatter.” 

Braken thought for a minute. It would be easy to spook the kayakers — just a couple of high-speed flybys would swamp a few in his wake. That would probably be enough to scare them without hurting anyone. But there was the problem of him being seen at the wheel of the boat. Many people, both from this group and the area, knew him by sight. Many of them had been burned in his deals, and wouldn’t need an excuse to turn him in. His only hope was people would assume it was Cody at the helm.
Hope the boy has an alibi,
he thought.