Avenged in the Keys

by Rief, Matthew

  I hoped that he’d be dealt with properly by the law and that it wouldn’t matter. Striding toward the back of the truck, I knelt down and picked up the gold bar I’d used to end the fight. It was partly covered in a layer of Lynch’s blood. The irony of it all was impossible to ignore.

  I set it back on the floor, then rose and examined the rest of the bars in the back of the truck. A few more police arrived to take care of the scene, and as I stepped toward the door, Jason appeared.

  “There weren’t any more in the house,” he said. He looked around the garage, then patted me on the back. “It’s good to see you’re all right.”

  I nodded. “You too.”

  He grinned, then said, “You just wanted to send me away so you could hog all of the fun, huh?”

  I laughed as best I could. “Come on,” I said, motioning to the door. “I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Jason and I cooperated with the first wave of SWAT members, stepping out of their way and answering their questions until Chief Barton pulled up in a police cruiser. After getting an all-clear update from the officers, Barton approached us.

  “Sounds like it went off without a hitch,” he said, looking proudly back and forth between us.

  “Aside from an unfortunate tumble into a pit of alligators, yeah,” I said.

  Barton raised his eyebrows, then looked me up and down. “I have ambulances standing by if—”

  “No need,” I said, waving him off. “I’m sure it’s just a few bad bruises. Nothing that rest can’t fix.”

  The three of us watched as one of the police cars in the driveway fired up its light and blared its siren. Through the back window, I could see the dark outline of Lynch’s upper body. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like he was staring at us.

  Staring at me.

  The driver hit the gas, and the noisy cruiser turned and eased down the drive.

  “We’ll fight for the death penalty,” Chief Barton said as the three of us watched the car pull out. “You can be sure of that.”

  Before anyone could ask Jason or me any more questions, Barton ushered us into one of the unmarked cruisers.

  “Most of the reporters will follow the car with Lynch in the back, so you should be fine slipping under their radar,” Barton said. “Senator Cooper said he’ll meet you down the street. You boys did good tonight, and I thank you. It’s a shame that no one will ever know who the real heroes were tonight.”

  “They already do,” I said. “It was Sergeant Brian Tate.”

  The chief gave a slight nod, then shut the door. The officer at the wheel drove us down the winding dirt driveway, through the gate, and out onto the main drag. Barton had been right. Most of the news vehicles had left, tailing Lynch and hoping to snap a few pictures of the locally renowned criminal when he stepped out.

  We were dropped off at a dark pullout a mile from the farm, where Scott and Ange sat in the idling Range Rover. Without a word to or from the officer, we slid out and he drove back in the direction we’d come.

  Ange climbed out of the passenger side first and sprang over to me. We hugged, squeezing each other tight. Jason strode over to Scott beside us, and the two shook hands.

  “How do you always manage to save me just in the nick of time?” I said to Ange.

  We let go of each other, and she inspected me from head to toe. My clothes were wet, muddy, and torn from the various scuffles and the free fall into the alligator pit. But aside from the usual scrapes and bruises, I was all right.

  “I think you two would’ve taken him out just fine,” Ange said.

  “He was a fraction of a second from filling us both with lead,” Jason said. “If he hadn’t relished our caught-off-guard reactions, we’d have been toast. It was almost like he recognized us.”

  I laughed softly. “I may have encountered him before,” I said.

  “Who took down Lynch?” Scott asked.

  “Logan did,” Jason sighed. “He tricked me so he could hog the fun.”

  “How did you finish him off?” Ange said.

  I smiled. “I bashed his head in with a gold bar. You know how I love my irony. But the guy stayed alive long enough for SWAT to swarm in and nab him. He’s pretty banged up, but he’s in police custody now.”

  “What a shame,” Scott said. “I’ll do what I can to ensure that justice is served.”

  We climbed into the SUV and Jason drove us back to the airport. After loading our bags and hard cases into the Cessna, I removed my new bulletproof vest and held it out to Jason.

  “Why don’t you hold on to it?” he said. He reached into the back and pulled out a second one. “In fact, we brought one for Ange as well.” He handed it over and added, “It’s the least I could do after all that you two did back in Trinidad, and here tonight.”

  I grinned broadly and thanked him. Something told me that the impressive pieces of body armor would come in handy for Ange and me.

  “You two need to take a break and hang out with us in the Keys for a few days,” I said. “There’s more to life than just taking down bad guys.”

  “Logan’s life motto is work hard and play hard,” Scott chimed in. He glanced at Jason and added, “Our ship’s still in the yards, undergoing extensive customizations. I think we can get away for a day.”

  I patted them each on the back. “Good. And you guys can tell me all about this new ship of yours.”

  Jason laughed. “It’s really something. When it’s ready to make waves you’ll both have to come and check it out. It’s gonna have a moon pool, and a submersible.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Scott and Jason met us down in Key West the following day. With near-perfect conditions out on the water and with most of the gang assembled, we motored out of Conch Harbor Marina before 0800. Ange, Scarlett, and Lauren sunbathed up on the bow, Jack manned the helm, Pete trolled a line while kicking back on the sunbed, and Scott, Jason, and I hung out while lounging on the half-moon seat at the topside dinette.

  When I asked Jack where we should take them, he grinned and said that he knew just the spot. He motored us west, cutting through the heart of Key West National Wildlife Refuge. Half an hour later, he slowed over the reef south of the Marquesas Keys, and I smiled.

  “It’s been a while since we dined at the king’s table,” Jack said, noticing my expression.

  A while? I couldn’t imagine that it’d been longer than a month, but for a guy who lived in the moment like Jack, it might as well have been a lifetime.

  Jack peered over the side, then idled us when he reached his desired destination. Scarlett released the anchor, and Jack lowered it remotely with the windlass.

  “Jason,” I said, lowering my sunglasses, “you’re a lucky man. The reigning king of the Conch Republic has bestowed upon you a high honor.”

  “And you better not tell anyone about this place, man,” Jack joked after setting the anchor and killing the engines.

  “And where exactly are we?” Jason said with a chuckle.

  “Neptune’s Table,” Pete said, reeling in his lure. “Though to be fair, the place isn’t the secret haven for bugs and fish that it used to be. You have Logan and Ange to thank for that.”

  I laughed.

  “The crew of the Intrepid have to shoulder some of that blame,” I said.

  Jason looked back and forth between us, confused.

  I explained how Neptune’s Table was a unique underwater formation where we’d discovered the lost Aztec treasure three years back. After being stolen by conquistadors and smuggled out of Tenochtitlan, the treasure had been lost for nearly five hundred years after the Spanish ship had run aground. The story of our tracking it down from a secret cave in Mexico, then to our extensive search in the Keys, was a long one, and we regaled Jason with the high points as we threw off our shirts, donned our masks and fins, and jumped in one by one.

  Jason was a great swimmer. I’d heard Scott mention that he’d swam competitively a
t Columbia, and it showed. He was able to keep up and hold his breath for as long as any of us as we weaved in and out of the rock formations and colorful coral.

  We spent the afternoon freediving, spearfishing, exploring, and lounging topside. We cleaned our catches and cooked them on our portable grill. While savoring the fresh seafood, we told each other sea stories and Jason and Scott told us more about their new ship and operation. It was nice to hear that everything was coming along smoothly and that they’d managed to recruit a few solid team members, including two people from Venezuela that Jason had met while searching for a stolen nuclear weapon.

  “I’ll join your group,” Scarlett beamed while dousing grouper in melted garlic butter and dropping it down the hatch.

  “She’s a smart one,” Ange said with a nod. “And she’s quite the skilled martial artist. Just ask the Cuban crime boss Dante Salazar. Well, I guess you can’t ask him anything anymore.”

  “We’ll keep our eye on you, Scar,” Scott said with a smile. “But I’m thinking that college might be the smarter option first.”

  After eating, we motored farther west to Dry Tortugas. Only having the day, we wanted to show Jason at least part of our little slice of paradise, and soak in the sun as much as possible. We motored past the tall brick walls of Fort Jefferson, cut around Loggerhead Key, free-dove more near Bird Key Bank, then splashed back toward Key West in time for the Sunset Celebration at Mallory Square.

  We downed conch fritters from a food cart right on the square, then joined in the chorus of conch horns as the beautiful evening spectacle unfolded before our eyes. It was nice to see everyone so relaxed, especially Jason. The young man had been through a lot in the past couple of years, so it was good to see him soaking up some of the good things that life has to offer.

  When the distant sun sank into the ocean, we drove Scott and Jason to Key West International, where their private jet was parked.

  “I want to see pictures of this ship of yours when it’s complete,” I said. “Or better yet, get a private tour.”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Jason replied, “you’re free to come and go on it as much as you please. We might even need to make a stopover here in the Keys sometime. The island vibes here are powerful, and addictive.”

  “Like gravity,” Ange chimed in. “They’ll hold you here for life if you’re not careful.”

  Jason grinned. “There’s far worse places to be held.”

  We expressed our deep appreciation yet again for their visiting, and for all they had done to help us take down Lynch and the Aryan Order.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Scott said with a wink, then the two men strode toward the Gulfstream G400 jet parked right in front of us.

  Ange, Scarlett, and I drove back to the marina to pack up a few things before heading home. As I rounded up some dirty laundry from the main cabin, I noticed something sticking out from under my pillow. Brushing the sack of feathers aside, I realized that it was a small object wrapped in brown paper. There was a note attached.

  “What’s that?” Ange said, striding in behind me as I grabbed and unfolded the note.

  “I almost forgot to give you this, Logan,” I said, reading the message. “You didn’t think I’d let you both get away from this with just a simple thank-you, did you? After all your family did this past week, this isn’t nearly enough. But please accept this token of gratitude from me, and the entire state of Florida. Scott.”

  I set aside the note, then grabbed the object, unraveled the paper, and held up one of the gold bars from the Civil War chest. It’d been cleaned and polished and shone vibrantly under the main cabin’s lighting.

  “What do you plan to do with it?” Ange asked after we got over the shock of the incredible gift.

  I didn’t have to give it much thought.

  “A college fund for Scarlett,” I said. “Seems only fitting. After all, it wouldn’t have been found without her.” I ran my hands over the gold, then added, “And her birthday’s coming up. She’s gonna need her own set of wheels.”

  FORTY-NINE

  The following week, a large crowd assembled at the Conch Harbor Marina. The cluster of people centered around the small pavilion that Jack had been working on the past few months. Our beach bum friend stood center stage, a megaphone in one hand and a beer in the other. An object shrouded in a blanket rested at his back.

  “We’re here tonight to celebrate the legacy of Gus Henderson,” Jack proclaimed into the megaphone. “His family founded this marina, and Gus was a vital member of this community for years. Above all, Gus was a friend, and a great one at that.”

  He set his beer on the handrail beside him, grabbed the edge of the blanket, then slid it free. I smiled when I saw it. The bronze statue was a true likeness. The short, chubby marina owner was depicted wearing his usual flip-flops, sunglasses, and his favorite ballcap. He stood with one leg up on a buoy and his eyes directed out over the horizon. True to Gus’s demeanor, the sculptor had put a big smile on his face.

  We cheered and hollered and raised our drinks.

  After the statue reveal, much of the group migrated over to Pete’s for live music and a big buffet-style seafood dinner. It was a fitting celebration, and one hell of a way to spend a Friday night.

  Two days later, Scarlett’s sophomore year of high school came to an end. She’d enjoyed her few months of public school but relished the idea of spending more time with Ange and me.

  We spent the following weeks falling back into our normal island routine. When July 21 rolled around, we celebrated Scarlett’s sixteenth birthday. In the morning, we gave her her gifts, her favorite being a new pole spear, along with a new wetsuit and long freediving fins. Anything but typical teenaged girl stuff. Then we let her pick the agenda all day. Needless to say, most of the daylight hours were spent zipping around the islands, checking out some of her favorite spots and showing her new ones.

  We ate dinner on the Baia with some of the friends she’d made at school, and Pete stopped by to say happy birthday and to give her a present. It was a copy of The Old Man and the Sea.

  “The fact that you share your birthday with Papa Hemingway,” Pete said, “is even more of a sign that you belong here with us in the Conch Republic.”

  After dinner, and as the sun began to set, the three of us drove home with Atticus in Scarlett’s lap. It’d been a great day, but it wasn’t quite over yet. When I pulled us into our driveway, there was a vehicle parked beside the house. It was covered in colorful gift wrap and a big blue bow.

  Scarlett beamed. She jumped out from the truck before I’d stopped, and bounded over to her last present. Tearing off the wrapping paper, she froze in overpowering delight as she gazed upon her new ride. It was a 1971 Ford Bronco, customized to be a convertible just like Harper’s and painted sky blue.

  “We knew how much you liked Harper’s,” Ange said as we approached her.

  “We hope you like it, Scar,” I said, then chuckled and added, “If not, we can—”

  “I love it!” she exclaimed. She sprang toward the vehicle and climbed inside without bothering with the door. She scanned over every inch of it, then her eyes watered and she looked over at us. “But, it’s too much. It’s so nice. Are you sure I can have it?”

  Ange and I closed in, and she wrapped an arm around our daughter.

  “After all that you did to help us find the gold?” I said. “This is the least we could do.” I hugged her as well, then added, “Besides, you’re sixteen now. You need a car, and your mom and I think this one fits your personality perfectly.”

  We’d thought long and hard about what to get her for her first set of wheels. We both agreed that a 4x4 suited her character best, and that classic was better than newer. The only downside to the vehicle was that, being older, it lacked modern safety features, so we’d had front airbags installed, along with a new roll cage, and new seat belts. But the classic vehicle still had its original leather seats and that vintage car smell.

 
; I handed her the keys and she laughed as she fired up the eight-cylinder engine. We suggested that she should take it for a test drive, and she agreed enthusiastically. Ange and I climbed into the back while Atticus plopped down in the passenger seat.

  Scarlett drove us out of the lot, down Palmetto Street, and eventually onto US-1. We skipped from island to island, enjoying the warm wind blowing across our faces. She switched on the radio and we sang along to The Marshall Tucker Band’s “Can’t You See” as the red sun dipped down at our backs, glowing the sky with its final beams of warmth for the day.

  I squeezed Ange tight, kissed her on the forehead, then looked out over the paradise surrounding us and smiled.

  THE END

  LOGAN DODGE ADVENTURES

  Gold in the Keys

  Hunted in the Keys

  Revenge in the Keys

  Betrayed in the Keys

  Redemption in the Keys

  Corruption in the Keys

  Predator in the Keys

  Legend in the Keys

  Abducted in the Keys

  Showdown in the Keys

  Avenged in the Keys

  JASON WAKE NOVELS

  Caribbean Wake

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  About the Author

  Matthew has a deep-rooted love for adventure and the ocean. He loves traveling, diving, rock climbing and writing adventure novels. Though he grew up in the Pacific Northwest, he currently lives in Virginia Beach with his wife, Jenny.