The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset

by David F. Berens

  Steve caught up to find the place dark. Closed Due To Hurricane Daniel read a sign on the door. He pushed on the door, surprised to find it open. A bell jingled loudly on the inside, announcing his presence. Dammit.

  A stray pot clanged in the kitchen. Steve crouched behind the tables and chairs. He didn’t know if this dude had a gun, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  “Hector,” he called into the darkness, “we just need to ask you some questions.”

  “I know how this works, Cantamananas.” Hector sounded out of breath and was wheezing frantically. “You take me in, and no one ever hears from me again.”

  Steve shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he yelled. “I’m with the Key West Police Department. My partner and I are investigating a murder and we found your fingerprint on their boat. If you have an explanation for that, then we don’t have a problem.”

  Hector said nothing, and continued breathing erratically. He sounded scared.

  “You try to trick me,” —the man sounded ragged and near tears— “but I know, Chupaverga, I know what happens to guys like me. I get disappeared.”

  What the hell is he talking about? Steve wondered.

  “Your man at the fort told me all about it,” Hector groaned. “I will die before you take me.”

  “Look, Hector, I’m gonna put my gun away and we can talk.” He shouldered his gun and stood up. “Now, look, I don’t know what information you have about this murder, but all we need to do is—”

  Hector crashed through the room with his arms raised over his head, an enormous kitchen cleaver in his hands. He was screaming as he ran toward Steve.

  “You will never take me to that evil place again!”

  “Shit!” Steve knelt, re-drew his gun, and fired three shots. Hector’s knife clattered to the ground and his body slammed into a table with chairs stacked on top. Steve jumped up and backed out of the way of the crashing debris.

  He looked down at Hector and pulled out his cellphone. He dialed Joe.

  “Is everything okay?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I guess you could say that.” Steve shook his head. “I had to shoot him, he was coming at me with a knife.”

  “Dammit.”

  “I know. I tried to talk him down,” Steve said, “but he was terrified. Said I was gonna take him to an evil place. He kept babbling about the man at the fort.”

  “What fort? Fort Jefferson?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah, no joke.”

  “Miami P.D. is on the way here, so I’ll have them send a car down to check it out. We’ve got some interesting evidence here to check out. Coupla DVDs and a bunch of drugs.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you in a few.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Joe clicked the phone shut and looked at the dirty piece of paper he found in the bag. It was a list of ten coordinates. They matched exactly with the ones they’d recovered from the sunken G.P.S. unit.

  “So, Hector was there,” he mumbled aloud. “Still don’t know what the hell for.”

  He held the key up and studied it. No markings, no numbers, nothing, but they could match it to Hector’s boat with a little help from the marina.

  Joe rubbed his aching neck. “And who the hell was strong-arming Hector at Fort Jefferson?”

  He carefully placed everything back into the bag and waited for the Miami P.D. Looks like we might be going on another boat ride, he thought, as sirens wailed in the distance.

  28

  Dreams Of You

  Amazingly, the sky above the drifting survivors broke open, and sunbeams glittered off the increasingly calm water around them. R.B. and Megan were both in a near coma-like lethargy and Troy couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than a minute at a time. Unforgivingly, the sun began to bake them as it rose higher into the morning sky.

  A beautiful day to die, Troy thought. They were too far to have any hope of swimming to the islands and the current was most likely not heading for land. Troy looked down into the basket of shipwreck salvage. It looked like a bunch of rusty junk. I’ve killed them for some old pieces of antique store iron. He put his head down on the basket, closed his eyes and waited for the end.

  “There!” Bill pointed slightly to the north of the coordinates they had read from the G.P.S. ping from Troy’s cellphone.

  “Hot Damn,” George Wyatt said as he swung the plane around, “I can’t believe it.”

  “Gene, we got em!” Bill said over the radio to the the oil rig. “They’re in the water, probably gonna need medical attention.”

  “I’m on it,” Gene’s voice crackled back.

  “Hold on, Bill.” Wyatt took the plane around the drifting refugees to give them some landing distance. He took the plane down and coasted up to the basket. Nobody moved.

  “Oh God,” he said, and sat stunned for a minute. They all looked dead.

  And then, with what seemed like supreme effort, Troy’s head lifted, and he smiled.

  “Hot Damn.” Wyatt threw his headphones off and climbed out onto the plane’s pylons.

  “What took you so long?” Troy croaked through cracked lips.

  “Eh, you know, took a bit of a swim to relax first.”

  Troy laughed and then slumped back over the basket. Within a few minutes, Wyatt and Bill had dragged the three of them into the plane and wrapped blankets around them. R.B. opened his eyes for a second, but then drifted back to unconsciousness. Megan never came around. The cut on her forehead looked worse now than it had in the water.

  Troy shook her harshly. “Megan! Megan, wake up!”

  Wyatt grabbed him and shoved him back into a seat on the plane.

  “She’s fine, Troy,” he said and looked him in the eye. “She has a pulse and she’s breathing. She’s gonna need some stitches, but she’s fine.”

  Troy’s eyes welled up and he looked at her again. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Troy.” Wyatt clapped his hands on his shoulders. “You’re all fine now.”

  “And my stuff?” He looked around frantically. “From the shipwreck… we brought up some things from the…”

  “Easy, big guy.” Wyatt nodded to the back of the plane.

  Troy turned and saw that the contents of the basket had been piled up on an extra blanket; rusty and barnacled and wholly indistinguishable as anything of value. He slumped back into his seat.

  Gene watched as the yellow seaplane splashed down. Troy was the only one able to exit the plane under his own power. Bill carried the others. After some minor treatment for their dehydration and exposure, they slept.

  Troy’s dreams came vividly and broke him into a feverish sweat. He stood at the wheel of a massive clipper ship. Everything was black, the wood, the iron, the steel. Even black sails whipped in the wind above him. Megan stood to his right and R.B. to his left. Neither spoke at all. He was horrified to see their eyes were rolled back in their heads. They were clearly dead.

  Señora de la Muerta, the Lady of the Dead, crashed through black waves. A dark and electric cloud swirled above the ship and began spinning and curling in a hurricane spiral. Voices screamed at him to turn the ship around.

  “Never!” he yelled, “I will bring this ship through the storm!”

  He heard nothing but booming evil laughter. The violent wind ripped the sails and cracked the masts. Splintering wood and rigging crashed all around them, but neither Megan nor R.B. moved. Suddenly, he saw a floating form drift out of the swirling clouds toward them. It was some sort of wraith or witch in a flowing black veil.

  “How dare you disturb the dead,” she screeched at him.

  He stood terrified at the horrible apparition before him. She reached out and pointed at R.B. Suddenly, he slumped and fell to the deck.

  “No!” Troy dropped to his knees beside him. “What have you done to him?”

  “I did nothing,” she said. “You have brought them to their fate aboard the Lady of the Dead.”<
br />
  She slowly turned toward Megan, still staring out into the blackness around them. She raised her finger to point at her.

  “NOOO!!” Troy jumped at the wraith and grabbed at the black cloth swirling around her head.

  His hands felt like he’d dipped them into ice water, but he could feel the veil in his grip. He ripped it off her head.

  She screamed and reeled back from him. To his utter shock and horror, he recognized the face. Though it was blue and veined and covered with seaweed, he knew her. It was Natasha.

  “No…” he gasped, tears welling in his eyes.

  Troy Bodean jerked his eyes open and sat up.

  “Oh, my God.” He put his head in his hands and cried.

  “Natasha, I’m so sorry.”

  “You gonna be okay?” a voice rasped from the next bed.

  Troy looked over. R.B. was propped up on his elbow.

  “Yeah,” he answered, shaking off the dream. “Megan?”

  “Don’t know. I haven’t been out of bed. Still can’t muster the energy yet.”

  Troy nodded and swung his legs over the edge and rested his feet on the cold steel floor.

  “I’m gonna go see what’s going on.”

  “Hey,” R.B. said, and lay back down, “bring me a beer, will ya?”

  Troy laughed as he forced his legs to pick him up. “You bet.”

  Megan Simons was lying in George Wyatt’s bed. Her breathing was shallow and her skin was pale. Wyatt was sitting at his desk.

  “You’ve all been out for about six hours now.”

  Troy nodded toward Megan. “How is she?”

  “She hasn’t come around yet,” he said. “I think she lost a lot of blood from that nasty cut.”

  Troy knelt down beside the bed and touched her forehead. A bandage oozed over the cut she’d gotten from the exploding glass on the Wy Knott.

  “She’s gonna need stitches and antibiotics, Troy.” George stood up. “We need to get all three of you to a hospital on the island.”

  Troy nodded. “Thank you, Wyatt,” he said, his voice quivering.

  “What for?”

  “For coming out there to find us.”

  George opened the door. “Find you?” he said, laughing. “I was just looking for my damn boat!”

  Troy could hear his laughter echo down the steel hallways of the oil rig.

  “I’m gonna fire up that plane of yours, and get you lazy bums back to the island,” he called.

  29

  Nice Nap

  Troy Bodean stared blankly at the doctor who was explaining the micro-stitches in Megan Simons’ forehead. He was going on about how they weren’t really necessary, but that they would keep the scar fairly invisible. Troy didn’t care; he just wanted to make sure she was going to be fine.

  “Yes, Mr. Bodean,” the doctor continued, “she’s going to be okay.”

  He thanked the man and walked back into the hospital room where Megan was sleeping. She had an I.V. in her arm and her face was ashen. Her lips were cracked and glistened with lip balm. Her hair was freshly washed and still slightly wet. He sat down heavily in the vinyl visitor chair and watched her breathe, nearly in sync with the heart rate beeping lightly in the background.

  Even in this disheveled state he was amazed he still found her incredibly beautiful.

  Sunlight beamed through the sterile vertical blinds of the Lower Keys Medical Center. Hurricane Daniel had passed, but somehow he felt they were not out of the storm yet. He’d pretty much bet the farm on finding treasure in the sunken ship but all they really had to show for their struggle at sea were some rusty bits of junk. He wondered if it would even be worth enough to pay for Megan’s hospital bill. Probably not, he thought, I’m sure micro-stitches aren’t cheap.

  Troy stood up and walked over to the bed. Tipping his hat back on his… Holy Moly, he thought as he realized the hat had survived the hurricane too. He brushed his fingers lightly over Megan’s cheek.

  “Guess I’ll sell the scooter,” he mumbled aloud, “and the houseboat.”

  To his surprise, Megan opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “You call that rusty bucket of bolts a houseboat?”

  He was surprised again to feel tears begin streaming down his cheeks.

  “I thought sailors didn’t cry,” she rasped through a laugh.

  He smiled. “They don’t. I’m a pilot.”

  She laughed again and began to cough. He handed her an impossibly small paper cup of tepid water. She drank it down quickly and he filled it up again from a nearby sink five times before she was satisfied.

  She closed her eyes and was asleep again. He watched her for a while, but then fatigue caught up with him. He slumped into the cold hard chair and drifted off.

  He woke to find the sun throwing long orange rays between the blinds. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  “Nice nap?”

  He looked up to find Megan sitting upright in bed. She looked pale but not as ashen as before; even her lips seemed to be less swollen and blistered.

  “I got tired of waiting up on you!” he said, and stretched his arms out like a cat who’d just been roused from a warm spot in the sun.

  He heaved himself up and felt the aches and pains of their ocean swim needle into his muscles. The stiff hospital guest chair probably hadn’t done much for him either.

  Troy walked to her bedside and took her hand in his. For a few minutes, he couldn’t find the words to express what he’d been feeling.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he finally whispered.

  Megan smiled. “Pfftt, you think a boat ride through shark infested waters, rogue waves and gale force winds are enough to get rid of me?”

  He was suddenly choked up again and couldn’t speak.

  “You won’t shake me that easily, Troy Bodean.”

  He stared into her eyes and struggled to regain his composure. She pulled him down into a hug.

  “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” she whispered into his ear.

  Later in his life, when he looked back on this moment, he would tell the story of how he might not have pulled any gold or silver from the Gulf of Mexico, but that he’d found treasure just the same.

  “What happened out there, Troy?” she asked. “I remember the explosion, but that’s about it.”

  He told her what had transpired from the time she was unconscious until now.

  “Natasha?”

  He just shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Troy.”

  After a long pause she added. “What was she doing there anyway?”

  “I don’t think we’ll ever know that.”

  “R.B.?”

  “Waiting for us back at my place to tell him what to do with the junk we brought up from the Muerta.”

  “You mean the houseboat?” she said, winking at him.

  “Very funny.”

  “We can take it back up to the research center. I can probably get everything we need there to examine the pieces. It may not be much, but I bet we can find something a local museum might buy to put on display.”

  “Sounds good, but the doc said you can’t leave ‘til tomorrow morning. He wants to make sure that cut doesn’t get infected.”

  Megan looked exasperated, but soon relented. “Well, call him and tell him to go ahead and take all of it up to the center. It really needs to be soaked in salt water to keep it from decaying and falling apart on us.”

  “Gotcha,” Troy said as he clicked open his phone.

  He relayed the instructions to R.B. and sat back down in the chair. Megan then used his phone to call Chelsea, her assistant at the research center, and told her to prepare three large tubs of salt water for storing the artifacts. Troy almost laughed out loud when she said artifacts.

  Megan smiled a sideways smile, and said, “You know, sometimes things might not look so good on the outside, but if you clean ‘em up and give ‘em a little attention… you might be surprised what you’ve found.”

  “I should’ve kn
own you were an optimist,” Troy said through a smirk.

  “And you’re not?”

  He began to refute her assessment but was startled to find he was beginning to feel a little better about what might lay ahead. In fact, he was anxious to get out of the hospital and start cleaning up their rusty finds.

  “Maybe I am,” he said, winking, “maybe I am.”

  Ryan Bodean, or R.B. as he was widely known on the island of Key West, rapped on the glass security door to the Dolphin Research Center. Good grief, he thought, annoyed at having to make the long drive up by himself. He was anxious to unload the unimpressive bounty and get back down to Duval Street for a well-deserved beer. After a long wait, the girl named Chelsea finally opened the door.

  “Sorry, I was…”

  He didn’t hear the rest of what she was saying. She was stunningly beautiful. She had deep black hair and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. A few freckles dotted her nose, an occupational hazard from being in the sun, he guessed.

  “Hi, I’m R.B., a… a friend of Megan’s and Troy’s,” he stammered.

  She blushed slightly at his stare. “I know, I was expecting you.”

  “Well, I sure wasn’t expecting you… I mean, wait… I didn’t expect you to be so… crap, nevermind.”

  She laughed. “C’mon, I think we should probably get that pile of junk into the salt water tubs.” She nodded toward his beat-up Chevy pick-up truck. “And then you can take me up to Woody’s for a beer.”

  He was suddenly not so anxious to get back to Key West.

  30

  Needles And Pins

  Joe Bond and Steve Haney pulled into the Sunset Marina for the third time in a week. It was the marina the Key West police department used for their own boat storage.