by Bill H Myers
But that still left the other thing. “Think I should call the car insurance people?”
"Yes, go ahead and do that. You've got the accident report; that's probably all they need to get the process started. When they see the photos, they'll know your motorhome was totaled and will probably offer you a quick payoff.
“Your RV is fourteen years old, so don't expect to get much. But if they try to low ball you, ask to speak to a supervisor. Tell them the story about how the flying Corvette slammed into you. Maybe that'll help.”
I nodded, thinking about the wreck. I hadn't seen the video, but apparently just about everyone else on the planet had. Maybe even the insurance people. I'd call them the next day and see what the policy covered.
Around ten that evening, we headed for our separate bedrooms. I was hoping that would change when Abby returned from her trip.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning, well before dawn, Abby tiptoed into my bedroom and placed a note on the nightstand. I was half awake and asked, “You leaving?”
She nodded. “Yes, I've got a plane to catch and don't want to be late.”
I sat up. “A plane? Where are you going?”
She shook her head and whispered, “I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Promise.”
She leaned in, kissed me on the cheek, and then left the room. A few minutes later, I heard the front door open, followed by the sound of her driving off in the minivan.
I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
Three hours later, the sun streaming into my room told me it was time to get up. Even though I didn't have anything to do and couldn't go anywhere, I wasn't going to spend the next two days just lying in bed.
Remembering the note Abby had left on the nightstand, I picked it up and read it.
It said, “Walker, I'm chasing down a lead on the guy who hit you. It may not go anywhere but it could. I'll tell you about it when I get back.”
The note continued. “When you go out on the beach today, be careful. You're going to meet two people. One is going to try to hurt you. The other will help you find Bob.
“Don't forget what the doctor said. No drinking, no driving, no internet, and no sex.
“Get plenty of rest. You'll need it when I get back.
“Abby.”
I reread the note to make sure I had read it right the first time.
She’d said she was chasing down a lead on the guy who crashed into me. She didn't tell me where she was going, but before she left she had mentioned having to catch a plane.
I wasn't sure why she wouldn't tell me more. If she had, I could have gone with her. I could have helped her chase the guy down. But maybe she had a good reason for not wanting me to go along. Maybe the reason had something to do with what else she had written in the note. Something about me meeting two people on the beach.
I reread that part again.
“When you go out on the beach today, be careful. You're going to meet two people. One of them is going to try to hurt you. The other will help you find Bob.”
If anyone else had told me something like that, I wouldn't have believed them. No one can see the future.
But Abby has a gift. I'd seen her do some unbelievable things, and for me not to take her prediction seriously would have been a mistake.
I decided if there was someone on the beach who could help me find Bob, I needed to be out there looking for them.
The problem was both the beach and day were long, and my chance of being in the right place at the right time was slim.
First, I needed to eat breakfast then change into beach clothes and lather on the sunscreen.
Abby had stocked the fridge before she left, making sure I wouldn't starve while she was gone. I found eggs, turkey bacon, and orange juice.
I put a skillet on and while it was heating up poured a glass of orange juice. When the skillet was hot enough, I cracked two eggs and let them cook. I liked my eggs over easy, with firm whites and runny yolks. To get them that way, you have to flip them once and take them off the pan at just the right time.
When they were ready, I scooped them onto a plate and put two strips of turkey bacon in the pan where the eggs had been.
Three minutes later, I was eating breakfast.
After finishing off the bacon and eggs, I rinsed the plate and headed back to my bedroom to shower and shave. Normally, with Abby gone and me stuck in the house alone, I wouldn't have bothered to do either.
But if her note was right and I was going to meet people on the beach, I wanted to look my best.
After the shower, I dug through my freshly washed clothes and pulled on a pair of tan cargo shorts and a light blue T-shirt.
I didn't have any beach shoes, so I put on the steel toe tennis shoes I'd gotten two days earlier. I was still breaking them in, but they'd be fine for a walk on the sand.
I should have worn a hat to protect me from the intense Florida sun, but I didn't have one, so I just grabbed my sunglasses and headed out onto the deck.
From there, I had a great view of the white sand going in both directions. Since Abby had said I would meet the people on the beach, I checked to see if there was anyone out walking on the sand.
Our little beach cottage was at least three miles from the nearest public beach. Far enough away that most beach goers would never get close. The only people I'd see were the locals who lived nearby.
Looking north, I didn't see anyone, just seagulls dive-bombing sand crabs. Turning to the south, I could see a woman walking a dog. She was wearing a large sun hat, a white blouse, and white shorts. Her dog was a small breed, maybe a Jack Russell or Rat Terrier. It was running free, chasing the seagulls that flocked nearby.
Since she was the only one on the beach, it could have been her who was supposed to help me find Bob. I figured I needed to go see if she was the one Abby had mentioned in her note.
I took the stairs down to the beach and headed in her direction. Not wanting to scare her off, I walked slowly, trying to look like a normal person out for a morning walk on the sand.
As we got closer, I could see she was middle aged, maybe in her late fifties or early sixties. She appeared to be fit and seemed to be enjoying the walk with her dog.
I didn't want to ask outright if she was the one who was supposed to help me, so, instead, as we passed, I said, “Great weather, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, it is. Sunshine and no snow. What else could you ask for?”
She pointed to her small dog. "Tucker sure likes it.”
When he heard his name, the little dog ran over to the woman and sat down in front of her. She reached into her pocket and came out with a doggie treat. He gobbled it down, barked once and wagged his little tail.
The woman looked up at me and said, “He always gets two. He'll sit there and not move until I give him his second one.”
She bent over, held out her hand, and he gently took the treat.
When she stood, she smiled and asked, “You live nearby?”
I pointed over my shoulder to the place we were staying. “We're up there.”
She nodded again and asked, “Are you part of the TV show?”
“No, not at all. Are you?”
She shook her head in disgust. “No, I'm not. I wish they would go somewhere else. They’re noisy, rude and drink too much. I'll be happy when they're gone.”
I nodded my head in agreement. “Me too. Their late-night parties disturb the peace around here.”
The woman clipped a leash on Tucker and said, “This is about as far as we walk. Maybe I'll see you out here later. I'm Mildred, by the way.”
I smiled. “I'm Walker. Nice to meet you.”
I was hoping she would want to talk more, maybe tell me about a cat she'd found. But she didn't. She just said, “Have a nice day,” and headed back the way she came.
I didn't see any other people on the beach, so I turned and headed back to our place. Twenty minutes later, I reached the steps and c
limbed up onto the deck. I pulled one of the lounge chairs to the deck rail, opened a beach umbrella to give me some shade, and waited for the next person walking the sand.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It didn't take me long to get bored. No internet, no TV, no smartphone and no one to talk to. Yes, it was nice to be able to look out on the beach and watch the waves rolling in. For a lot of people, that would have been their dream vacation.
Go to Florida, sit out on a deck overlooking the ocean, and just chill. But I'd been chilling ever since the wreck, and I was plenty chill enough.
Still, I sat out on the deck hoping to meet the person who, according to Abby, would help me find Bob.
So far, the only one I'd seen had been Mildred walking her dog. No one else.
Three hours later, still not seeing anyone new on the beach, I decided it was time to make lunch. I didn't want to stay inside long, afraid that I might miss the person I was supposed to find. I made a quick turkey sandwich, poured a ginger ale and headed back out onto the deck.
Right after I sat down, getting ready to take a bite out of my sandwich, I heard a woman scream, “Let go of me!”
I put the sandwich down and stepped over to the edge of the deck. Looking north, I didn't see anyone. But looking south, I saw a young woman, maybe in her late twenties, trying to fight off a man about the same age.
He was taller and stronger than she was, had grabbed her arm and was pulling her toward the water. She was trying to swat him with her left, while screaming, “Let me go!”
They didn't seem like they were playing, she was panicking, desperately trying to get away from the man. At least, that's what it looked like to me.
I didn't waste any time; I ran down the deck stairs and headed toward the couple. They didn't see me coming.
When I got close enough, I asked, “Is there a problem here?”
The man, who was a couple of inches taller and forty pounds heavier than me, looked over and said, “Yeah, there's a problem. You're butting in on something you don't know anything about. Leave before you get hurt.”
While he was distracted telling me to leave, the woman he was holding leaned forward and took a bite out of his arm. He screamed in pain and pushed her away. If she'd been thinking straight, she would have run to safety. But she didn't. She just backed up a few steps, rubbed her arm, and yelled, “Don't you ever touch me again, you jerk.”
The man took two steps toward her and, with an open hand, swung at her face. His hand connected, and she went down.
I ran over to her and asked, “You okay?”
She was rubbing the bright red handprint on her face. “No, I'm not okay. That asshole hit me.”
I turned back to look at him, but not soon enough. He had walked over to where I was trying to help the girl, and I hadn't seen him coming. When I turned to see where he was, I saw his fist heading toward my head. I tried to duck, but I wasn't quick enough. He caught me just under my right eye.
I'd been hit harder by bigger men but had never blacked out before. This time I did.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that the man had backed up a few steps and dropped down into a football stance, waiting for me to get up.
I'd seen this before with big guys. They want to use their heavier weight to their advantage. Rather than stand and fight, they rush their opponent and tackle them to the ground. Then they lie on top and punch the victim senseless.
Being punched senseless was something I wanted to avoid. I was still on the ground and knew that when I stood, he’d make a run at me. But I had a few tricks of my own.
I stood and, just as I suspected, he rushed toward me. Head down, ready to tackle; he was coming fast for a big guy. I had to carefully time my move to get out of his way. Move too soon and he would adjust and still get to me. Wait too long and he would plow over me.
So instead of moving, I waited until the very last moment before he impacted me then stepped to the side. As I did this, I kicked out my right leg and caught him around his ankle. His weight and momentum did the rest. He ended up face down in the sand.
Instead of waiting for him to get up and take another run at me, I stepped over and sat down on his back. With him being face down, there wasn't much he could do except yell. Which he did.
“Do you know who I am?”
I took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, you’re the a-hole who slaps women and sucker punches men when they aren’t looking. That’s who you are.”
He yelled, “Get off me. I’ll show you who I am. Just let me up; you’ll see.”
He was struggling to get up, but I wasn't going to allow it. The tide was coming in, and the waves were getting closer. Soon, he would feel the spray of salt water on his face.
He yelled again, “When I get up, I'm going to kill you!”
I smiled and said, “Well, I guess I better not let you up then.”
I turned to the woman and asked, “You okay?”
“Not really. He hit me pretty hard.”
She pointed to the house behind her, the one where they were shooting the TV show, and said, “I'm going up there to wash up. You be careful with this guy. He's dangerous.”
She left, and I watched as she went up the stairs to the TV show mansion.
As she got near the top, I saw a man standing on a deck above her with a video camera on his shoulder. He saw me and gave a thumbs up.
I didn't bother to return one. The man I was sitting on was struggling to get up, and it was hard to keep my balance with his twisting and turning, but I did. I didn't want him getting up until he calmed down.
He kept screaming profanities, his voice getting weaker and hoarser with each. I just ignored him. I knew arguing with a fool was a losing game. Sitting on his back, I had the high ground, and I could wait him out.
As expected, he eventually got tired of yelling. The tide had come in a bit, and it looked like the salt spray on his face was calming him down. To make sure, I asked, “You still going to kill me if I let you up?”
He groaned. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Another groan, then, “I'm sure. Just let me up. I'll leave you alone. Promise.”
His promise meant nothing to me; I wasn't convinced he'd leave me alone. But my head was spinning again. It could have been the concussion or his sucker punch, but either way, I needed to get back to our cottage before I blacked out. Again.
Wanting to end it quickly, I said, “There's a man with a camera up there recording us. If I let you up and you hit me again, it's not going to look good when I take you to court. You understand?”
He grunted, “Just let me up.”
I looked back at the man with the camera. Just like before, he gave me a thumbs up.
I shook my head and said, “Okay, I'm going to get up. But if you try anything, I'm going to hurt you bad. Understand?”
He grunted out a “Yes.”
I wasn't feeling up to fighting anyone, especially a big guy. If he wanted to fight, I'd have to run. Not something I usually did when faced with violence. But this time it was the only sensible thing, with the recent concussion still giving me problems.
I got up off his back and took four steps away.
He pushed himself up off the ground, brushed the sand off his shirt and turned toward me. He pointed and said, “This is not over.”
Then he turned and walked away, heading toward the reality house and the man with the camera.
I didn't wait around to see what would happen next. I turned and shakily made my way back to the safety of our beach house.
Chapter Thirty
When I got back to the house, I took off my shoes and left them at the sliding door. They were covered with wet sand, and I didn't want to track it into the clean house.
I headed for my bathroom, along the way I grabbed a washcloth from the stack of clothes Abby had left.
In the bathroom, I looked at my face in the mirror. The punch had caught me just below my right eye. Hard enough to break
the skin and have me seeing stars. I knew if I didn't ice it down, it would be black and blue within hours.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a handful of ice from the fridge. I wrapped it in the washcloth then went back to the bedroom, lay down on the bed and put the ice pack on my face.
I was dizzy, tired, and more than a little concerned about how the blow to my head might affect my concussion recovery. The doctor had said to avoid stress and protect my head. I had done neither.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and either passed out or dozed off.
Sometime later, I woke to pounding on the front door.
I didn't want to get up, but the ice on my face had melted into a wet puddle, and I needed to replenish it.
I sat up slowly, trying to ride out the wave of dizziness that spread over me. After it passed, I got up and went to the front door.
Before I opened it, I looked out, expecting to see the big guy from the beach. He had said it wasn't over, and I was expecting him to bring the fight to me, maybe with a few of his buddies.
But it wasn't him. Instead, there were two sheriff’s deputies standing outside. Neither looked happy.
My first thought was maybe they had found Bob. I had left a flyer at the sheriff’s office. Maybe it had paid off.
I opened the door. “Can I help you?”
One of the deputies took a step back, leaving room for the other one to step forward. He introduced himself. “I'm Deputy Daniels with the Sarasota Sheriff's Office. We're here following up on a complaint.”
He paused then asked, “Don't I know you?”
“Yeah, we spoke two days ago about my wrecked motorhome.”
The deputy smiled. “I remember now. You told me your cat was missing. But you look different now. What happened to your face?”
I shook my head. “I got sucker punched on the beach this morning. Big guy hit me from behind. I never saw it coming.”
Daniels turned to the other deputy. “This is the guy who was in the motorhome. From the video on YouTube. He was driving.”
He turned back to me. “You live out here on Manasota Key?”
I knew what he was thinking. You had to have a lot of money to afford a house in this neighborhood. Even a small one would run over a million dollars. No way I wanted him to think I was rich, so I told him the truth.
