Wild Ocean

by Tripp Ellis

  JD dropped it into gear, and the flat-six cylinder launched us away from the terminal. He turned the stereo down to a level that was just slightly below the threshold for permanent shift hearing.

  “Thanks, I owe you one,” I shouted over the wind, music, and roar of the engine.

  “Just trying to pay you back. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

  “Perhaps a slight exaggeration.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. That was a pretty hairy situation you pulled me out of back in Afghanistan.”

  “Ancient history, but I will graciously accept the return favor.” I smiled. “How’s Madison?”

  “I went to happy hour at Diver Down. Everything’s fine. No sign of trouble. I’ll take you there now, but she’s not going to be too happy to see you.”

  “I’ll deal with that.”

  “Where are you planning on staying?”

  I shrugged. “I figured I’d grab a room at the Beachcomber.”

  “Nonsense. You can crash on the couch at my place.”

  “Too dangerous. I’ve got some heavy hitters looking for me.”

  “I’m not afraid of a little danger.”

  “Yeah, but you got Scarlett to think about.”

  “You can crash on the Slick’n Salty.”

  I gave him a curious glance. There was no doubt about what the name was in reference to.

  “45 footer. Master stateroom, guest stateroom, full bath, galley. All the comforts of home. I’ve got it docked in a slip at Diver Down. Power and water hookup. It’s perfect for you. Plus I could use a First Mate on some of these charters. That would be a way to earn your keep,” he said with a sly wink. “I’ll swing by my house and pick up the keys.”

  I appreciated the offer. But I wasn’t sure how much time I would have to help JD out with fishing charters. But, it might be a good cover? I needed to lie low and watch over Madison, and that would put me in a prime spot.

  “I made some calls to see what I could find out,” JD said. “Nobody’s saying much of anything.”

  “Cartwright set me up. He shot Ruiz and the Mexican Feds. It’s all starting to come back to me now.”

  “Why? What’s in it for him?”

  “Maybe he got a better offer? I’ll tell you one thing, when I get hold of him, he’s going to wish he was dead.”

  It only took a few minutes to get to Jack’s ocean side house. The little 2 bedroom bungalow was right on the beach. The place could have been featured in Architectural Digest. It had a mid-century modern vibe, impeccably decorated. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the crashing waves.

  I took in the space, impressed. “You’ve done well for yourself, Jack.”

  He grinned. “Wait ‘till you see the boat.”

  A stunning brunette sauntered out of a bedroom to see what the commotion was about. Her stiletto heels clacked against the hardwood floors, and her little black dress was painted on, leaving little to the imagination. The bottom of the dress rode high on her tanned, toned thighs. The girl was breathtaking.

  Her bright eyes beamed at me. Before I knew it, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tight.

  I had no idea who it was.

  “It’s so good to see you, Tyson.” She stepped back and looked me up and down. “Look at you, you’re all grown up.”

  “Wait. Scarlett?”

  She smiled. “In the flesh.”

  My eyes flicked to Jack.

  He shrugged. “Who’d have thunk I could produce something like that?”

  “You look so… different… from the last time I saw you,” I stammered, still trying to process the transformation.

  She snickered, knowing exactly what kind of effect she had on men. “Are you staying on the island long?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, don’t be a stranger.” Her gorgeous eyes flicked to JD. “Jack, Chloe and I are going to Sand Dunes.”

  “Be back at a reasonable hour. And stay out of trouble.”

  She grinned. “Always.”

  Scarlett had no intention of staying out of trouble.

  She sauntered toward the door like a model prancing down the catwalk. A blonde in a convertible pulled in front of the house and Chloe hopped into the car. The tires barked, and the two troublemakers sped away.

  I looked at Jack like we were stuck in some weird episode of the Twilight Zone. “You let her out of the house like that?”

  “You think I have any control over that monstrosity? She’s got way too much of her mother in her.”

  7

  “I don’t understand. She was just a kid the last time I saw her?” I stood there, dumbstruck.

  “You haven’t been around in six years. Not since before…” JD quickly changed the subject not wanting to speak about the event. The thought he was trying to avoid had already flashed through my mind, and I knew I was going to have to deal with it sooner or later. But not now.

  “And what’s with this Jack thing. No more Dad?”

  JD rolled his eyes. “Ever since the little miscreant turned 18, she’s asserting her independence. She prefers to call me Jack. She also informed me that since she’s an adult, we are now roommates. I said, okay, great, you can start paying for your half of the rent.”

  I chuckled, and my chest throbbed with pain.

  “So far she hasn’t taken me up on the offer. And this place ain’t cheap.”

  “I can see that.”

  “You want a drink before we head over to Diver Down?”

  “No thanks. I need to keep a clear head.”

  “Might take the edge off your pain. Besides, do you really want to confront Madison sober?”

  “What do you have?”

  “I’ve got everything,” JD said with a wide smile. “You still drink that Bacardi 8 Year Reserve?”

  “Tempting, but let’s get to Diver Down.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Oh, you got a gun I can borrow?”

  Jack frowned at me. “The last thing I need to do is lend you one of my guns.”

  “I promise I won’t kill anyone with it.”

  Jack scoffed. “I know better.”

  He slipped into the bedroom and returned a few moments later with an IWB Kydex holster that contained a Köenig-Haas MMX 9mm. He set the holster on the counter.

  I picked it up, drew the weapon and press checked it. I dropped the magazine out and surveyed the rounds, then jammed the magazine back into the well. I made sure the weapon was on safe and slipped the pistol into the holster, then clipped it inside my waistband for an appendix carry. When I pulled my shirt over my waistband, it was nearly impossible to tell I was carrying.

  “If you like that, you’re going to love this,” Jack said.

  He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a few moments later with a Köenig-Haas SA-25 semiautomatic, special applications sniper rifle.

  It was a thing of beauty. Perfectly balanced, expertly crafted. I was no stranger to the weapon. They were popular with SOCOM units.

  I admired the weapon for a moment, then handed it back to JD.

  “And check this out,” he said, holding three small surveillance cameras in the palm of his hand. They were no larger than shirt buttons. “These beauties are wireless. They’ll connect to the Internet from anywhere. Initially, I thought I might put them up around the house when I went out of town to keep an eye on things. But you never know they might come in handy.”

  I looked at JD with a healthy dose of suspicion. “Don’t tell me you’re going to plant them in your ex-wife’s house and spy on her.”

  “I would never dream of doing something like that,” he said in an overly innocent tone.

  This was coming from the guy who put a GPS tracker on his ex wife’s car while they were still married. Granted, it did help him catch her cheating. My philosophy was if you had to go to such lengths to prove your spouse was cheating, you already knew what the outcome would be.

  We ho
pped into Jack’s midlife crisis and drove over to Diver Down. Madison and I inherited it after our folks death, but I turned my share over to her. I didn’t need the money, and I knew I was never going to be around to share the responsibility of running the place. I was off gallivanting around the globe, running covert ops.

  Looking back, I’m not really sure what I was chasing. It seemed clear when I first joined the service. Like many, I wanted to serve my country and challenge myself. See what I was made of. Be a part of something bigger than myself. Of course, there was the added bonus of shooting guns, jumping out of planes, and blowing things up.

  After six years as an Officer in the Teams, I wanted to be more directly involved with the intelligence community. I wanted to serve as more than just a tactical unit. I applied for a position as a Paramilitary Operations Officer with the CIA. A lot of people tried to talk me out of it. Said I’d be happier where I was, and that it was doubtful I’d passed the poly and the background check, anyway.

  I knew I was pretty clean. I hadn’t done drugs in the last five years. I had no relationships with any operatives of foreign governments. There wasn’t anything egregious in my past that anyone could use to blackmail me. I admitted to all the minor indiscretions that I made as a youth. The time I got a Minor in Possession of Alcohol at a high school football game. Selling old term papers to underclassmen. And the time I used gasoline to draw a giant penis in the grass on our rival’s football field before the big game.

  That made the cute blonde administering the poly blush.

  Miraculously, I passed the poly, and the background check, and received a 5 year contract. By the end of the term, I had been approached by Cobra Company to do essentially the same thing, but for way more money. At the time, it was a no-brainer. But that’s when things started to get complicated.

  Now, at 35, I felt lost.

  Cobra Company wasn’t just a private clandestine contractor. They had grown into a powerful, connected organization that was well-funded. And they had a degree of immunity. It was in everyone’s best interest to let the company operate without much scrutiny. Many governmental agencies preferred not to notice when Cobra Company did something of questionable legality. And the company drifted into more and more gray areas of operation. Cobra Company became a vault that held a lot of nasty secrets that no one wanted to exposed.

  And I could expose a lot of them.

  The muffled sound of music spilled into the parking lot as we pulled up to Diver Down. The neon sign on the front facade buzzed, and the fresh sea breeze blew my hair. It was your typical beach town restaurant and bar. Lots of deck work, life preservers on the wall for decoration, palm trees, thatched roofs. A stunning view of the ocean on one side, and the marina on the other. It was the best spot on the island for a bar. It drew a mix of tourists and regulars.

  I strolled inside, took a seat at the bar, and waited for the fireworks to begin.

  8

  Madison’s seething eyes blazed into me. There were a lot of things she was pissed off at me about. “See that sign. It says that I have the right to refuse service to anyone. So why don’t you pick yourself up, turn around, and walk out of here. We’ll both be better off.”

  Madison had golden blonde hair that was highlighted by the sun. She had olive skin, sculpted cheekbones, and blue eyes that had broken many hearts. She had been a model and a professional surfer until she blew out her knee. After two ACL reconstructions, she decided it was best to retire from the board if she wanted to continue to walk without a limp.

  It seemed like she hadn’t aged a day since the last time I saw her. She wore a bikini top and Jean shorts and didn’t have any intention of wearing anything else. She wasn’t a 9-to-5’er, and loathed putting on shoes, much less business attire. The bar was her life. She was 31 now, and she had taken over the bar just about the time she aged out of modeling. It’s a cruel business where you’re washed up at 25.

  “I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d say hello.” I wasn’t about to tell her about my situation, or that she was in danger. It would only enrage her further.

  A big burly guy marched toward me. He had curly brown hair and beard. Barrel chested guy, wearing a T-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. He practically snarled at me. “This guy giving you trouble, Maddy?”

  “He was just leaving,” she said.

  “You heard the lady. Get your ass up and get out of here.”

  A thin, almost imperceptible, smile tugged at my lips. I was amused, partially by the fact this guy had no idea who he was dealing with. But I was also appreciative that he was looking out for Madison.

  “Look, buddy, there’s no problem here. I’m her brother.”

  “I don’t give a shit who you are. Family reunion is over.”

  I chuckled.

  “Is there something funny about that?” the Burly Guy asked.

  “It’s okay Jeremy. I can handle this,” Maddy said.

  Jeremy seemed disappointed. “Are you sure? Because I’d love to smash his face in.”

  He tried to appear menacing with crazed eyes. He kept staring at me and didn’t break eye contact.

  “Let me buy you a beer, Jeremy,” I said.

  “I’ll take a long neck so I can shove it up your ass,” he growled.

  “Sounds kinky, but I’m not really into that kind of thing.”

  That pissed him off.

  He cocked his fist back ready to swing. It would have been a big mistake on his part but Madison stopped him. “Jeremy! I got this.”

  Jeremy exhaled and reluctantly backed away. “You holler if you need anything, Maddy. I got your back.”

  “I know you do,” Madison said with a wink.

  Her vicious gaze turned back to me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I guess now’s not a good time to mention I’ll be living on Jack’s boat.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, no you’re not. You can find another slip if that’s the case.”

  “It’s just temporary.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to actually put down roots anywhere,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay awhile this time?”

  “No, you won’t.”

  She was silent for a moment as the rage built. “You didn’t even come back for their funeral, Tyson. You left me here to deal with everything on my own. You have no idea how hard that was.”

  “I was on assignment. I couldn’t come back. You know that.”

  Her eyes brimmed. “And after the assignment? You just washed your hands of everything.”

  “The last time I talked to you on the phone you said don’t bother coming home. If I never see you again, it will be too soon, you said. I wanted to honor your wishes.”

  Madison slumped, her word spit back to her. She took in a deep breath and steeled her resolve. “See, you can’t even keep a simple promise.”

  I grimaced. “Come on, JD. I think we can find another slip over at Pirates Cove.”

  I pushed away from the bar and marched out of the establishment.

  Jack shrugged to Madison. “You guys need to work that shit out. Life is short.”

  I tried to decompress in the parking lot. Jack caught up with me. “I’ll call Bobby and see if he’s got room in the cove for a 45 footer.” He dialed his cell phone. As he waited for an answer he said, “Damn, son. That woman can hold a grudge.”

  “Well, that’s not the only thing she’s pissed off at me about.”

  A voice crackled through the speaker on JD’s phone. Bobby had space available, and within a few moments Jack had negotiated a deal. “Sounds great. We’ll see you in about an hour.”

  “Man, I didn’t mean to put you through all this trouble. Let’s just forget about it. I’ll grab a room. Just keep the boat here.”

  “Ain’t no big deal,” JD said. “But Bobby does want $100 more a month.”

  I felt even worse. “I’ll cover it.”

  “Damn right you will.”<
br />
  “Not like you need me to. Looks like you’ve got deep pockets.”

  Jack smiled. “Life is good.”

  9

  “Ain’t she a beauty?” Jack said, beaming with pride as he showed me the Slick’n Salty.

  It was a hell of a fishing boat. No doubt about it. It must have cost a fortune—at least half a million on the used market.

  Water lapped against the fiberglass hull of the boats. Mooring lines creaked and groaned.

  We climbed over the transom into the cockpit. There was a bait prep center and sink with both freshwater and a raw water wash down system. The deck house alone was luxuriously appointed with cherry cabinetry and indirect lighting. There was a large flat panel display and a surround sound stereo with subwoofer. There was an L-shaped lounge with padded cushions, and an L-shaped dinette. The galley was fitted with a microwave, cooktop, sink, fridge, quartz countertops, and cherry cabinetry. The bridge deck was above the deck house and had its own stereo system, bench seats, and storage. Two 16,000 BTU air conditioning units could handle just about anything the Florida summer could throw at it.

  “The twin cat C-18 diesel engines are putting out about 2030 hp total. She’ll run, and run good.”

  I was in awe. “How did you afford this?”

  “I saved my pennies. Plus, this thing has been a gold mine.” He leaned in and whispered, “I gotta be honest. I’m not just doing fishing charters.”

  My mind instantly went to somewhere it shouldn’t. But JD wasn’t the type to do anything too illegal. At least, I didn’t think he was.

  “I’m catering to the rich and psuedo-famous.”

  My face twisted, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

  “These goddamn millennials got more money than sense. These social media influencers come down here, charter the boat. I take them out on the water and let them party, fish, whatever. They’ll pay just about whatever I charge. They take their pictures and hashtag it all over the Internet, and all that does is bring me more business. Plus, these honeys soak up the sun on the deck, and most of the time the bikinis come right off. God forbid they have a tan line. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”