ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (10 page)

That
night, Zac was uncharacteristically quiet, which made Jackson more than a
little nervous. When his brother kept his mouth shut for any length of time, it
generally meant he was up to no good.

“So, you
get things squared away with the police?”

Zac
nodded. “Yep, I’m a bona fide snitch. They’re even gonna toss a few bucks my
way every now and then. How about that?”

“Seriously?”

“That’s
what they said. I’ll believe it when I get the cash, but that’s not what this
is about.  I just want to find out what Leon’s up to and if he did
anything to Izzie.”

“Really?”
Jackson was having a hard time believing his brother had transformed from a
layabout
into an upstanding citizen practically overnight.
What if this was all a ruse? What if his brother was really interested in Leon
so he could get in on the action?

An
involuntary shudder passed through his body. God, he hoped that wasn’t the
case. This could turn out to be a disaster of monumental proportions. His
mother would never forgive him; hell, he’d never forgive himself if Zac ended
up in prison—or dead.

“What?”
Zac scrutinized his younger brother. “Is it so hard to believe I’d do something
worthwhile? You really think that little of me?” He got up and left the
apartment, slamming the door behind him.

****

Jackson
was getting worried. Several hours had past and Zac hadn’t returned. Finally,
just before midnight, the key turned in the lock. His brother was home,
hopefully not as angry as before.

“Hey,”
Jackson said, looking up from a book he hadn’t really been reading.

“Hey back
at ’cha.” Zac mumbled and plopped into the closest chair.

Neither
spoke for several minutes. “Listen,” Jackson began. “I’m sorry if I upset you
earlier. I didn’t mean…”

“I know
’
xactly
what you meant.
Ya
don’ have to pretend.
I know
,” Zach hiccupped, then continued, “I know
what
everone
thinks a’ me. Think I don’?”

Several
hours of serious drinking made itself known with the difficulty his brother had
expressing himself. Not wanting to make things worse, Jackson bit his lip.

“
Tha’s
right, be the same good
lil
’
boy who sucked up to Mom ’n Dad while I was the screw-up. Well,
lemme
tell you
sumpin
’ kiddo:
’fore they went out and got you, I
was the golden boy. Far as they were
concerned, I was damn near
perfec
. Then they
jus
hadda
get a brother
fer
me ’n ever thing change. It was ‘careful don’ wake the
baby
;’
‘that new toy’s for
the baby
;’ ‘
isn
’ he
jus
’ the
sweetes
’ thing?’
Yeah
right
.”

Jackson
was still focused on Zac’s remark about his parents going out and
‘getting’
him. Odd. Even in his drunken state, wouldn’t he have said something like,
‘when you were born’?

“What did
you mean they went out and got me?” Leaning in toward his brother, Jackson
could smell liquor on his breath.

Zac
laughed in only the way someone who’s had too much to drink would. “You don’
know, do you? They never got ’round to telling their
very
spechul
child—one who’s
so-o
smart,
so-o
handsome, so-o ’
complished
;
th
’
one they love more ’n me—that he’s not really a Taylor uh
t’all
.
That he was,” he let out a loud belch, “you know—adopted.”

The news
crashed in on Jackson like a cement block to the head. The thought never
entered his mind. Oh, from time to time, a neighbor had remarked on how very
different the Taylor boys were from each other, but that was often the case in
families. One child might be blond with blue eyes while another’s eyes and hair
were dark; one short, the other tall enough to play professional basketball.
Now, Zac was saying he’d been adopted. All these years he’d known and kept it a
secret.

Unable to
respond, Jackson just sat there staring at his older brother. Finally, he said,
“That’s not true. You’re jealous, always have been. Well, this time you’ve hit
a new low. It’s one thing to say something like that, but to suggest Mom and
Dad lied all these years, it’s despicable, that’s what it is.”

Zac stood
up and leaned over him, putting his hands on the back of Jackson’s chair for
support. “Oh it is, is it?  Call Mom and ask her, why don’
ya
’? She might tell her precious baby boy the truth now that
he’s all
grow’d
up.” Weaving uncertainly, Zac fell
back into the chair.

By this
time, anger had bubbled up inside Jackson to the point he had a choice between
popping his brother in the chops
or
going to his room
without another word. Not wanting to destroy his apartment, especially in a
fistfight he was sure to lose, Jackson went to his room and locked the door.
Then, going over to his desk, he began to compose an email:

Dear Mom,

How’re you doing?
Me
and Zac are…

Jackson fumbled around for several minutes. He didn’t want
to worry her by giving the impression they weren’t getting along, even if that
was the case. Still, for the most part, things had been relatively peaceful,
especially after Zac had sunk his teeth into the whole Izzie/Leon situation. Finally
he began typing again.

Zac told me something odd
awhile
ago. Admittedly, he’d had too much to drink and probably won’t remember telling
me tomorrow, but I wanted to check it out with you all the same. He said I was
adopted. Is that true? I mean, I have a hard time believing you and Dad would
keep something like that from me all these years.

I love you, Mom, regardless of the truth nothing will
change that. Despite Dad’s drinking, it’s been a privilege to be part of the
Taylor family. But I have to know the truth.

Jackson hesitated a long moment as tears clouded his
vision.

Are you my birth mother? And if you’re not, can you tell me
who is?

I’m truly sorry if this email comes as a shock. Please
don’t get mad at Zac. As I said, he was drunk when he told me and I’m sure
didn’t do it out of spite.

Jackson bit his lip; he was pretty sure Zac fully intended
to hurt him with that revelation despite being inebriated.

All I want to know is the truth and I’ll never mention it
again.

Your loving and grateful son,

Jackson

After
finishing the message, Jackson’s hand hovered over the “send” button, then,
almost involuntarily, moved it to the right and pressed “delete”. No matter the
truth of his birth, he couldn’t hurt the woman who’d shown him nothing but love
all his life. When the time was right, he’d bring it up, but that time was not
now, and most certainly not by means of an email.

The
camaraderie he and his brother had cultivated over the past week was gone. In
the morning he’d tell him to get out. Zac could go back home to his drinking
buddies or stay in Tampa, Jackson didn’t care. As far as Izzie was concerned,
he’d somehow manage to find her on his own.

After a
sleepless night obsessing over how to tell his brother he was no longer
welcome, Jackson got up and left his room expecting to see Zac asleep on the
couch. He walked down the hall debating whether to wake him and demand that he
leave immediately, or wait until he got home from work. His resolve weakening
along with his anger, Jackson went into the living room to an unexpected sight:
Zac, along with his belongings, was gone.

Leon had
finished his second cup of coffee when he heard a tapping on the door.
Who
the hell is that?
His question was directed at Tiny, who had been reclining
on the cool tile floor. At the sound of the knock, the dog sprang to his feet,
began to bark and growl, and then dashed across the room toward the front of
the house. No one ever came around except for a pickup or drop off, making Leon
that much more concerned.

Was it
the police? Had they finally caught up with me? Will I be hauled into court to
face those whiny bitches?
Sweat poured in
rivulets down his face and back, making dark circles under his arms. The
breakfast he so recently enjoyed now sat like a lump in the pit of his stomach.
Whoever it was, rapped again.

Should he
answer it—or follow his impulse and hightail it out the back? Glancing around,
he concluded there was nothing lying around. There had been no deliveries for several
weeks now. What the hell, might as well open the door and see what whoever it
was wanted.

Squelching
the urge to greet his visitor with a bullet through the door, Leon swallowed
hard and joined his spastic watchdog. He opened the door a crack—just enough to
see who it was that had so rudely disrupted his morning.

There,
standing on the stoop, his arms folded over his chest, foot tapping as if
waiting for a bus, stood his newfound friend, Zac.
What the hell was he
doing here?
Had Leon forgotten he’d agreed to do something with him? How
did Zac even know where he lived? Oh yeah, the other day he’d made the mistake
of pointing the house out when he went to get the car. When would he learn?

“Zac,” he
exclaimed, grabbing hold of Tiny’s collar as he opened the door. “How
ya
’
doin
’?” He put on his most
welcoming expression, which wasn’t all that much of a stretch. He really did
like the guy.

“Hey,
Leon.” Zac appeared bedraggled:  He wore a badly wrinkled shirt; there
were dark circles under his eyes; his strong body odor broadcast the need for a
shower.

For a
moment neither one spoke, each waiting for the other to begin. Finally, Zac
said, “I didn’t mean to just show up like this, but me and my brother had this
big fight, see, and he kicked me out. You’re the only one I know around here.”

He
stopped talking and gave Leon a lost puppy-dog look, then added, “I wondered if
you’d let me stay with you a few days ’till I figure out what to do?”

Leon,
who’d never had someone to hang with let alone a friend who needed him, was
momentarily speechless. Here’s this guy he barely knew asking if he could move
in with him. What should he do? The guy was obviously in a bind: no money, no
place to stay, no food. Boy could Leon relate to that. He’d been in the same
spot more than once and knew what sleeping on a park bench was like. Not only
was it cold and often wet, but next to impossible to sleep for fear of being
mugged or even murdered.

“C’mon
in,” he said.

For the
next hour the two men sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee and sorting
out their options.

“The
other day you said you were in the import business, right? I wondered if there
was any way I could get in on the action.”

Leon,
who’d grown weary of shouldering the responsibility for this part of the operation,
perked up at the suggestion. Then he realized what it was the man suggested:
let him in on a situation so dangerous that any revelation to the wrong people
could result in their being arrested—or murdered. That’s what he dealt with on
a daily basis.

But this
here guy might be the key to a better life. Hell, look at him: family turned
their backs on him, no job. Couldn’t be more perfect. He was a short step up
from the product they snatched off the street.

Leon
scratched the day-old stubble on his chin. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he
said and cleared his throat as if pondering Zac’s suggestion. “The business I’m
in tends to be dangerous. You up for that?”

“Danger’s
my middle name,” Zac said and leaned in toward Leon with a hopeful look.

“Yeah,
well, there’s danger and then there’s danger, if you get my drift.” Was this
guy for real? Did he have any idea what he was dealing with? “I mean, you look
like an upstanding
kinda
guy. You ever find yourself
on the wrong side of the law?”

Zac
guffawed. “Hell yes, all the time. Back home the
cops’d
come get me the minute there was any trouble. Figured one way or another I was
behind it.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms.

“I’m not
talking ’bout small-town crap teenage boys pull, drunk driving or getting
busted for drugs, that’s not what this is about.”

“So
whyn’t
you tell me what it’s about, then we’ll decide if
I’m up for it or not.”

When Leon
didn’t respond to Zac’s suggestion, he added, “Look man, I’m desperate here. Got
no money, no job, no place to stay. Don’t even have enough dough to go back
home. If you’d let me in on the action—just till I get on my feet, it’d be a
big help. Besides, seems like you could use someone to share the load.”

Scrutinizing
Zac as he made his pitch, Leon became convinced the man was for real. But how
did he know he could be trusted? What if he was an undercover cop? Then what?
Hadn’t Seymour drilled into him time and time again that no one—absolutely no
one—was to be trusted? Look what happened with Izzie.

As he
deliberated, Leon chewed on a bothersome hangnail.
What to do. What to do.
On the one hand it was a huge risk, one that could cost him not only his
freedom, but his life, if things went south. On the other, Zac appeared to be a
savvy sorta guy who knew his way around the block. He wasn’t some choirboy
who’d never been in trouble. Best of all, he needed Leon more than Leon needed
him. And if it didn’t work out, Leon would take care of it. Taking care of
problems was his specialty.

 “Oh,
what the hell. Why not?” he said at last. “But
lemme
warn you, this is a tough business.  We help people get in the country and
find them jobs, hence the import label. But
ya
gotta
be careful; can’t trust anyone…see what I’m
sayin
’?”
 Leon saw Zac's forehead contract into a mass of wrinkles.

"What's
illegal about that? Sounds like you provide a service."

"Right.
That's exactly what it is…a service." Leon scratched the stubble on his
chin and slapped the table. "Actually we should get an award for what we
do, but," he heaved a sigh and gave an exaggerated shrug, "It is what
it is. So…you on board?"

"Sure,
man, count me in."

"But
now,
ya
gotta understand, all this is on the QT. If
word gets out, we could land in jail…or dead."

"I
get the jail part," Zac said. "Authorities enforce laws even when
they don't make sense, but who'd
wanna
kill us?"

"Competitors.
We're not the only ones in this business,
ya
know.
It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Just make sure you’re not the one that’s
eaten."

Zac
nodded and reached out to shake his hand. “Thanks for giving me a chance. You
won’t be disappointed. I promise.”

“I better
not be.” Leon reinforced the implied threat with a long, penetrating look.
I
really like this guy. Hope he doesn’t screw up. I’d hate to have to drop him
off the Sunshine Bridge.
“Here’s what we’ll do…”