Wood's Harbor (15 page)

“That’s some exotic shit you got there,” one of the men said. “We’d be happy to help.” They giggled. 

Mac knew the stories about the backwaters of the bay and wished he had a gun. Just miles from Miami, things were very different here. The area was lawless, too large and desolate for law enforcement to patrol. He looked around but there was nowhere else to go. Powerless, the clock to save Mel ticking in his head, he knew he would have to make the best of it, and paddled the remaining few feet to land.

One of the men entered the water, took the dock line from the deck and pulled the boat onto the sandy shore. The men surrounded them.

“Vance is the name,” the man with the golf club said.

“Bugger Vance,” one of the men chuckled. The third laughed at the joke. “Thinks he’s a pro golfer like that dude in the movie.” 

Vance smacked him in the side of the head and the group fell silent. He picked up the manacles from the deck. “Looks like y’all got some ‘splaining to do.”

Mac hoped their outlaw status would help gain some sympathy. “Broke him out.”

“Strange bunch,” Vance said. He tossed the restraints on shore and moved towards Alicia. “Two white boys, a Cuban and a gook. Not the usual company we see come through here. Maybe y’all oughta get off the boat and tell us what you’re running from.” He leered at Alicia, who clung to the life jacket.

They followed the men to a clearing with a fire pit and several chairs. Mac scanned the brush for their boat or an escape path, but the shack had been placed in dense brush on purpose. The smell of chemicals was in the air. He suspected their purpose was not recreation.

Vance reached into a cooler and pulled out a beer. “Why don’t y’all sit down,” he said and indicated a group of camp chairs by the fire. 

Mac smelt the air again and started putting things together. The only thing he could do was cooperate, but he was getting more uncomfortable by the minute, and searched for any weapon or escape option he could find. Following directions, at least for now, he motioned the group towards the chairs. 

He sat and looked at the man in a dirty, sleeveless t-shirt and torn camo shorts, his golf club extended in front of him like he was lining up a putt. The other men were behind them. Before he could react, he felt the barnacles on the crab trap line scrape his skin as they tossed it over him and pulled. He fell from the chair and they wrapped him, the abrasive line tearing open scabs from his partially healed cuts. He looked at Trufante and Armando, struggling against their restraints. Alicia remained in the chair, arms crossed protectively across the life jacket still strapped to her chest, tears streaming down her face as Vance approached her.

NINETEEN

Norm walked along the beach making a list in his head. He tried Alicia’s number, cursed as again it went to voicemail and hung up. A message or text would leave a trail. A missed call to an operator under his control would look normal if his plan fell apart and there was an investigation. She would see the call and know he was looking for her. Activity along the path picked up as he walked, the barely-clothed joggers and rollerbladers momentarily distracting him.

Getting Travis and Armando back in time for the ferry was paramount. He walked past several hotels and turned into the main airport entrance and followed the sign for Key West Seaplane Adventures. 

He waited while the woman behind the counter booked a flight to the Dry Tortugas, the charter company’s specialty. Finally she completed the reservation, hung up and acknowledged him. 

“Going to Fort Jefferson?” she asked.

He dug into his pants’ pockets for his wallet and remembered it was gone, but found a crumpled business card in a front pocket, removed it and pushed it across the counter. “Looking for a private charter for later today.”

She thumbed the card. “You’re going to have to put a deposit. Where is your destination?”

“Have to pick up some folks, and then to Key West, somewhere between here and Miami.”

“That’s a little vague.” She pulled out a calculator and started to punch numbers. 

His patience was waning. “It’s on the government. Just call the number on the card; they’ll authorize the expense.”

“No offense, but we run a tight operation here - no credit.” She handed the business card back to him.

His credentials were gone along with his wallet, cash and credit cards. The bump on his head started pounding again.

He handed her the card back. “This is official business. I’ll expect the plane standing by,” he said, puffing his chest out. He realized what he must look like and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Cash or credit card only,” she said and casually answered the phone.

He felt ignored. “Have it ready. I’ll be back.” He tried not to sound like the terminator. He left the office and started to jog out of the airport, reaching a full run by the time he made the main road, cursing every step.

***

A swarm of tiny bugs swirled around Mac’s head and he had to force his eyes open as the near invisible insects attacked. He squirmed in the sand for a better vantage point of the camp and saw the men standing around Alicia. Something moved by his side and he jerked, thinking it was one of the myriad of bugs or snakes common here, but he heard a grunt and felt a hand on his back. Fingers pried at the restraints and he heard Trufante whisper something, but the men were talking louder and he couldn’t understand.

“Come on, Bugger. Let’s have some fun.” 

He heard a slap and Vance whined, “I told you to stop calling me that. Now take Junior here and go finish the batch. From the look of this group, they’re running from something, and we don’t need no company with that shit cooking.”

Mac saw the two men walk away and sniffed the air trying to place the smell. He’d thought at first it was acetone, but realized it was ether. He looked at Bugger, who leered over Alicia, his hand moving toward her face. 

“Hey, let us go and we won’t turn you in,” he said trying to distract him.

Boots kicked sand in his face as Bugger came towards him and he looked up at the rotting teeth just before the man wound up and swung the golf club, falling slightly off balance before landing a blow to Mac’s side. Even off balance, the blow hurt and he held back a scream. Had the tweeker been sober, the stroke might have done serious damage, but he was dealing with meth heads. These men had obviously not learned the lesson from
Scarface
: the first rule of dealing was to not use your own shit. 

“Y’all are dead once my boys finish this batch. I’d do it now, but I gotta play a few holes, and then I promised them we’d share the girl around first.” He turned towards her. “Besides, can’t afford no gunshots till we’re ready to go.” 

Mac sat helpless as Bugger grabbed Alicia’s bound hands and lifted her from the chair. Ignoring her screams, he pushed her forwards towards an opening in the brush. 

“Now act nice, little girl.” He laughed and pushed her onto the narrow trail leading out of sight.

They were alone now and Mac turned to Trufante. “Can you work them loose?” He felt fingers working the restraints. 

“Old boys tied them good, and the barnacles ain’t helping. Nasty ass line.” 

Mac looked around for anything that could help and saw Armando slithering towards the chairs. He watched as he moved towards the fire pit and knocked his legs against a tree stump used for a table. A glass pipe fell from the stump and he grabbed it in his mouth, gagging at the taste, but secured it and slid towards them. 

“Nice,” Mac said. He took the pipe from Armando’s teeth. “Tru, can you find something to break it?”

They froze as a man entered the clearing. He looked at the stump and started searching the area around it. Mac could tell he was becoming anxious by his body language as he widened the search, finally focussing on the pipe in Mac’s hands.

“Y’all should have said you wanted to get high. We could use you to test the batch. Bugger usually makes me do it, but hell, better you than me.” He reached for the pipe. “You never know when Bugger has a few bad holes how the batch is gonna come out.”

Mac dropped the pipe and the man bent over to retrieve it. With all the power he had left, he spun his body and struck him with his legs. The man lost his balance but stayed on his feet. He stumbled away and dug a container from his pocket, filled the bowl and lit it. Mac watched him inhale and hold the smoke until he almost gagged. Before he released the drug from his lungs, he crossed to Mac and blew it in his face. Mac was able to hold his breath, but the man relit the pipe and inhaled again. This time, before he blew the smoke into Mac’s face, he kicked him in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. Mac had no choice but to breathe in the evil vapor. 

He choked on the acrid fumes, gagged, and accidentally inhaled more. The smoke stung his lungs and he tried to repel it, but gagged again and inhaled another breath. 

“Never know if we got us a good batch or not. Old Bugger was smacking those balls around this morning. Should be a good one.” He put the pipe back to his mouth and sucked hard. 

Mac was prepared this time and did his best to hold his breath until the smoke dissipated. The cloud hung in the humid air; the only benefit was it cleared the bugs out. The man was about to repeat the process when they heard a scream.

“Shit, gotta go or I’ll miss the fun.”

Mac’s heart was slamming in his chest and he feared the chemicals were working. Another scream and he searched frantically for anything to free them. The small knife he had found on the sailboat had been confiscated in Krome, but the memory moved his focus to his pocket and he felt the small piece of carbon fiber, the broken handcuff key. 

“Tru, in my pocket.” He faced him. “There’s half the key.”

“What’s a key going to do?” the Cajun asked.

“Just do it,” Mac said, and thrust his groin uncomfortably close to Trufante’s bound hands. He felt fingers enter the pocket and the key move. “That’s it.” 

Trufante worked the broken key out of Mac’s pants and stared at the splintered end. He took it and maneuvered into a position to work the restraints. Another scream, this time a man, came from the brush. 

“Hurry up. Something bad is going down,” he said. Two men could be heard yelling at each other. He couldn’t make out the words, but he had a good idea what they were fighting about. Something crashed just as his bonds released. With the use of both hands, he fumbled with the knots holding Trufante and Armando tossing the nasty rope to the side.

The three men edged down the trail, the sound of a fight directly ahead of them. As long as the tweekers were fighting between themselves, there was a better chance Alicia was unharmed. They reached the edge of the clearing where several tables were set up with beakers and Bunsen burners like a primitive chemistry class. Two men were rolling in the dirt, Bugger standing over them. He yelled something to encourage them to continue and went into the shack 

Mac gave a signal for the others to wait. He went to the table, grabbed a beaker full of clear liquid, ran to the shack and entered the dark room just as Alicia screamed. He heard a slap, but had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he could act. He had no idea what was in the container, but he knew it was bad.

“Bugger!” he yelled, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He could see the man lurching over the bed. Vance turned, about to move on Mac, when he tripped. Mac flung the liquid in his face and went for Alicia. Bugger grabbed for his eyes and screamed.

Mac led her from the hut and ran to Trufante and Armando. Bugger ran from the shack and stumbled into the table, knocking it onto its side.

“Hurry up!” Mac pushed the group forward. He knew there were volatile chemicals mixing together. They raced forward. He chanced a look back. A beaker lay overturned by one of the burners, its contents burning blue as it spread across the ground. Mac ran after his group, a loud whoosh behind him and the clearing ignited. They felt the heat from the blast on their backs. Something else blew, the concussion from the explosion knocking them to the ground. Fire burned around them as the liquid, spread by the explosion, carried the flaming fuel to anything that could burn. 

“The other side. They have to have a boat,” Mac yelled. 

They ran to the water, skirting the shoreline until they could see the engine of a skiff sticking from the brush. Mac raced towards the boat. The fire was burning closer. If it reached the fuel tank, they would be stranded in the inferno. 

Armando beat him to the boat and both men struggled to pull it into the water just as the flames kissed the bow. Mac jumped in and frantically pulled the starter cord. Flames burned on the water and he pulled again. Armando kept pushing the boat towards deeper water, but the flames came greedily towards them as if they knew more fuel lay ahead. 

Mac looked back and saw Alicia, knee deep in the water, frozen in place. The flames were skirting around her, small droplets of fire approaching as the chemicals surfed the small waves. She hugged her life jacket with her arms and screamed.

“Tru!” Mac yelled towards the shore at the Cajun striding towards the boat. “Start this piece of crap and circle back.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Alicia was in a total panic less than fifty feet away. The water was only a few feet deep. He took a deep breath and dove into the shallows. His only chance of reaching her safely was to stay submerged. Mac squinted, eyes burning from the salt water, the orange glow on the surface above. Bubbles escaped his lips as he metered out his breath in an attempt to stay calm and reach the girl. He knew from years of experience never to empty his lungs. Devoid of air, the body would react by gagging and he could drown - or burn.

He saw her legs underwater, dancing frantically. Without knowing if the fire had reached her, he blew the last of the breath from his lungs and surged forward, surfacing beside her. He felt the heat of the fire by his face and took in a huge breath.