by Tripp Ellis
"No. It doesn't fit. Old man randomly calls an escort service, and the girl they send just happens to get paid by an assassin to knock him off? No. No way. Carla wasn't nervous. She didn't fidget. She didn't have any of the usual tells of somebody that was lying. Trust me, I've got a teenage daughter, I know when someone is lying.”
I chuckled. JD didn't know the half of it.
29
The storm in the Atlantic was building steam. It was now a Category 4 and headed straight toward Coconut Key.
We were going to get the worst of it.
At least that's what the weather people had projected. I can't begin to tell you the number of times those ass-clowns at the local weather station were wrong.
But nobody was taking any chances.
I gave my little fur babies to JD to look after. He planned to head up to Orlando. He had a friend up there that offered him a place to stay.
My plan was to take the Wild Tide up to Dogfish Bay to a hurricane hole deep in one of the canals. The place I had in mind was surrounded by mangrove trees. With enough lines, and several anchors, I figured the boat would be in relatively good shape throughout the storm.
It was a small little cove not many knew about, and I hoped it stayed that way. Dad had been sheltering his boats there since I was a kid. It would take a full day's cruise to get there and secure the boat. With the weather rolling in, the seas were already choppy, and it wouldn’t be a pleasant cruise. I should have left a few days earlier.
I was well stocked with food and supplies. I didn't have anyone else to look out for but me, and I felt relatively confident that I could ride out the storm on the boat, even though that wasn't recommended.
By Thursday, a mandatory evacuation order had been issued. Everyone else in the marina had either packed up and left, or were in the process of moving their boats. Some decided to leave their boats here and hope for the best. The marina had weathered storms well in the past, but there was never a guarantee. And Celeste looked like a doozy.
I grabbed an umbrella and jogged down the dock to Diver Down. It was sealed up tight, and Madison was gathering some last-minute things before she left.
Her boyfriend—fiancé—whatever you want to call him—Ryan, helped her. I didn't really like the guy, and I didn't approve of the fact that he was still married to someone else, even though he was engaged to my sister. But he said he'd look after her. Madison said they planned to drive north and grab a place at either Orlando, or Jacksonville—they weren't sure.
“You hear anything from Scarlett?” I asked.
“No,” Madison replied. “But she’s not in jail, so I guess her little scheme worked.”
“That’s a good thing, because you’d be an accomplice.”
Madison’s eyes narrowed at me. “I’m not going to do it for her again, if that’s what you’re worried about?”
“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”
“That’s wishful thinking, and you know it,” Madison said.
Scarlett was a handful, and I didn’t anticipate she would change her ways anytime soon.
I helped Madison and Ryan load up, and we said our goodbyes.
"You be careful," Madison said. "Are you sure you don't want to leave the boat and come with us?"
"I'll be fine. I’m just going to run the boat up to Dogfish Bay and tie it off. JD’s going to pick me up, then I’m going to go to Orlando with him.”
She gave me a worried look.
"Now who's being overprotective," I said.
She rolled her eyes and gave me a hug. We had our differences, but in times of crisis, family is family.
Madison climbed into her Jeep and followed Ryan out of the parking lot in his Camaro.
I trotted back to the Wild Tide and climbed aboard. I was about to cast off the lines and disconnect the shore power and water when I noticed a light still on in Mr. Miller's cabin. He had taken down the Bimini and removed anything else that could catch wind. I wondered if he was planning on riding out the storm here?
That didn't seem advisable to me. Coconut Key would take the worst of the storm.
I climbed onto the dock and jogged down to the sailboat and shouted, “Mr. Miller?"
There was no response.
"Mr. Miller?"
A moment later he opened the hatch to the cabin and poked his cranky head out. “What do you want?”
"You're not planning on staying through the storm, are you?"
"What's it to you?"
"A mandatory evacuation is in effect."
"Nobody can make me do anything I don't want to do."
"It might be in your best interest."
His eyes narrowed at me. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."
I frowned. "Suit yourself.”
I turned around and headed back toward the Wild Tide.
Then my conscience got the better of me.
I glanced over my shoulder and said, "I'm taking the boat up to a hurricane hole, then heading up to Orlando. It should be a lot safer there. You're welcome to join me.”
30
Mr. Miller wasn't having any of it.
I don't think he would have accepted my offer even if he liked me. I couldn't force him to leave.
I climbed back aboard the Wild Tide, disconnected the power and water, cast off the lines, and idled out of the marina. The sky was gray and angry, and the choppy seas rocked the vessel.
Once I cleared the marina, I brought the boat on plane, then headed toward the west side of the island and began the long journey north. The Gulf was a little less tumultuous than the Atlantic.
Rain smacked against the windows, blurring the glass. Visibility was decreasing. As bad as this trip was going to be, I couldn’t imagine trying to get out of the Keys with all the evacuation traffic. There was only one way in, and one way out. The road north would be packed. The airport was already closed, and commercial flights had been canceled.
With a Category 4 on the way, which was likely to become a Category 5, the entire island could be underwater with the storm surge. I shuddered to think of what the place would look like when I returned—if there was anything to return to.
I cruised up north along the west coast. I missed my 1st Mate, and the boat seemed empty without Buddy. The gray clouds overhead continued to pound the area with rain. Thunder boomed, and lightning flashed. The ominous clouds foreshadowed the approaching doom.
It had been so long since I’d been up to Dogfish Bay, I almost didn’t recognize the area. I nearly missed the entrance to the canal.
I snaked through the waterway, moving through the narrow passage. Mangrove trees lined the shore. They did a good job of blocking the high wind. With all the development, I wasn't sure if my spot would be as I remembered. For all I knew, the mangrove trees could have been cut down, and the area turned into an apartment complex, an old folks home, or a golf course.
It took half an hour of twisting through the inlet to reach my secret spot. A patch of hyacinth blocked the entrance. I plowed through it into a small cove.
Memories of my father came flooding back. We had made this journey quite a few times. It was just as I had remembered, though the trees seemed a little taller.
I had the spot all to myself.
I was sure that wouldn't last long.
I dropped anchor, then used the tender to navigate my way around the cove, tying off the Wild Tide to the mangrove trees at multiple points.
A crocodile slipped into the water and disappeared below.
I kept an eye out for him as I secured the boat, knowing he was probably looking to make me his next meal.
I set several anchors with the tender and attached them to the boat with a lengthy scope. Rain poured down, and by the time I was finished, I was soaking wet.
But the boat was secure.
I was pretty confident the Wild Tide wasn’t going anywhere. The only thing to do now was sit and wait.
The plan to rendezvous with JD and ride north with
him to Orlando got scuttled. The roads to Dogfish Bay were already flooded.
I was on my own.
The weather was messing with my satellite reception, but I still had cell service. I watched the storm radar on my phone, periodically. The angry red and orange blob in the Atlantic swirled, moving steadily closer. Landfall was projected for sometime late tomorrow night or early the next morning. In the meantime, I was bored out of my mind.
JD called when he reached Orlando. "Well, are you regretting your decision yet?"
"No. I think this was the right call." How was the traffic?"
"It was a nightmare. But, we are all here, and your fur babies are safe."
"Thanks for looking after them."
"You know, you didn't need to do this. The boat is insured."
"If this works, it's one less headache to worry about."
“And if it doesn’t work?”
I paused. “Then, it won’t be my headache.”
If it didn’t work, I wouldn’t be around.
“Take care of yourself,” JD said. “I’ll check in from time to time."
"Stay safe," I said.
Nightfall brought heavier storms. Rain pelted the hull, and gusts of wind rocked the boat against the mooring lines. The boat creaked and rattled.
I didn't have anything else to do at the moment, so I got into the bottle of whiskey that Denise had brought me. It was good stuff. Smooth and sweet.
I sipped more than I probably should have.
With my luck, I’d get up in the middle of the night to check the mooring lines and fall overboard in a drunken stupor.
It rained pretty heavy for most of the night, but the winds were rather mild. The heavy gusts would come later.
31
By the morning, the rain had died down. The sky remained gray, but there was an eerie stillness before the main storm. Not much wind or rain. There were no birds. No animals roaming around the shore. The place was deserted. They knew what was coming, and they were smart enough to get the hell out of there—unlike me.
It wasn't long before a sailboat pushed into the cove, trying to plow through the hyacinth.
My secret little hiding place wasn't so secret.
I stood on the deck in the cockpit and watched them as they entered. I smiled and waved, then climbed into the tender. I motored over to them and offered a hand.
They were a young couple, still in college. They were enjoying the summer aboard the Quicksilver—their 1983 SunRay 29’. Jennifer was a cute little strawberry blonde with adorable freckles. Mark was a thin, tall guy with brown hair and brown eyes.
With three of us, we made short work of securing the sailboat.
They were nice kids, and I didn't mind helping out. The last thing I needed was a poorly moored boat breaking free during the storm and crashing into the Wild Tide.
I asked them how they found the cove.
"A buddy of mine told me about it," Mark said. “I’ve never been here before, but he gave me the GPS coordinates."
"Yeah, we were really nervous coming up here sight unseen,” Jen said. “Thanks for helping us out.”
"No problem,” I replied. "But do me a favor. Don't tell anyone else about this place."
"Our lips are sealed," Jennifer said.
"I've been coming here since I was a kid, and I don't want to have to look for a new spot."
It wasn't long before another sailboat entered the cove. A 30’ SunRunner named the Slippery Kitty.
It belonged to a woman in her early 30s with dark hair, blue eyes, and a figure that wasn't difficult to look at. Her name was Sandra.
We helped her secure the boat, and when we were done, there wasn't much room for anyone else in the small cove.
And that was fine by me.
We all exchanged cell phone numbers so we could communicate, provided cell service held out. We all hung out in the cockpit of the Slippery Kitty. The rain had slacked off, and it was probably the last moment of calm before the onslaught.
"Can I offer you a beer," Sandra asked. "It's the least I can do."
"Sure," I said.
She slipped below deck and emerged with four long necks. The amber bottles clinked as we toasted.
"To good fortune," Sandra said.
"To good fortune,” we all replied.
We were uneasy about the coming storm. The gray sky loomed overhead, ready to dump unfathomable amounts of moisture.
"It's good to have other people around," Sandra said. "I was a little nervous coming up here by myself." Then she added, “I do have a gun to protect myself. But that’s not going to do much against a hurricane.”
“What kind of gun do you have?” Mark asked.
“Krüeger-Schmidt XKR 9mm.”
“That’s a nice pistol.”
Sandra smiled. “Thank you. It does the job.”
“I’ve got a Bösch-Hauer P277,” Mark said.
“A man after my own heart,” I said.
“You shoot?”
“Here and there,” I said.
We had a brief discussion about weapons.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “You boys and your toys.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. We all gazed at the ominous sky.
"No guarantees, but this little hole has never failed me in the past," I said. "But there's a first time for everything."
The others groaned.
"I'm more worried about my cats than I am me," Sandra said. "A friend drove down from Jacksonville to pick them up and take care of them. I hope they’ll be okay.”
“That's some friend,” I said.
"College roommate. She owes me. I have pictures," Sandra smiled a devilish grin.
I was halfway through my beer when the rain started again.
"I guess that's our cue to get back to the boat," Jen said.
We thanked Sandra for the beer, then we loaded into my tender, and I ferried them back to the Quicksilver.
I returned to the Wild Tide, and pulled the small electric Barracuda motor from the tender, then deflated the boat and stowed it—once the wind picked up, it would become a flying object, no matter how well it was secured.
The weather models had Celeste making landfall between 2 AM and 3 AM. There was still a chance this thing could take a turn and miss us completely, but I wasn't holding my breath.
There was half a rotisserie chicken left in the fridge. It was best to get rid of the perishable food items first, so I heated it up and grilled some vegetables for dinner.
I grabbed another beer and twisted the top off with a hiss. I took a swig and stirred the vegetables and listened to the rain patter against the hull. The rain pelted down in sheets, and the wind picked up. The mooring lines creaked and groaned as the Wild Tide swayed slightly in the wind.
It felt pretty steady.
I ate dinner at the dining table and peered out the portal. Sheets of rain and water dripped across the polycarbonate, and I could barely make out the Slippery Kitty, even though it was only a few meters away.
My phone dinged with a text from Sandra. "I'm glad you're here. This would be scary alone."
"Don't worry. We'll be fine."
"It's too bad you didn't stay aboard with me. At least then I'd have some company."
"You should have asked."
"Actually, your boat’s bigger. It might be safer."
Was she fishing for an invitation? I just met this woman. She could be a crazed psychopath? But then again, she could be fun in the storm.
"I've got plenty of guest cabins," I texted back.
"Is that an offer?"
"I suppose it is."
"Maybe if we get another break in the storm I can find a way over to you?"
“I can re-inflate the tender and pick you up?”
“Don’t go to that much trouble. I’ve got a swim suit.”
I didn't necessarily recommend swimming in this water, knowing there were crocodiles around. I reminded her of that fact.
She was hea
ting up soup for dinner and said she’d text me if she got a wild hair and decide to brave the crocodiles.
32
Wind gusts of 30 to 40 MPH would soon become 50 to 60 MPH.
And that was the easy stuff!
Rain poured down, and the boat vibrated with the wind.
I crashed early, trying to get as much rest before the brunt of the storm hit. Not that I'd sleep through a Category 4 hurricane, but I wanted to be fresh and rested by the time it hit.
There was no telling what could go wrong, and I’d need my strength.
Wind whistled about the boat, swaying the trees, rustling leaves. The lines stretched and creaked. So far, nothing was leaking, and the lines were holding strong.
I heard a thump in the cockpit close to midnight.
There was nothing loose on the boat that could have flopped onto the deck. Perhaps a tree branch, or something from one of the neighboring boats?
I climbed out of bed, pulled on my clothes and slipped on my shoes. Then I made my way up to the salon. I figured it was a good time to check everything.
I grabbed a scuba mask and a windbreaker. With heavy wind, the rain could feel like needles pelting your skin.
I opened the hatch and stepped into the cockpit. The wind was heavy, but not enough to knock you overboard.
Not yet, at least.
The rain pelted my face, and I squinted to see through the goggles that were beginning to fog. They were blurry with droplets of water.
There was nothing in the cockpit.
I wasn't sure what the thump was.
I moved to the stern and checked the lines making sure they were taut and weren’t chafing.
A gust of wind knocked me off balance, and the boat swayed.
The unmistakable snap of a suppressed bullet zipped past my ear.
My reflexes took over.
I ducked and spun around to see a man on the port side, just forward of the salon. He angled his pistol toward me and squeezed off another round. I sprinted to the starboard side and dove over the gunwale as the man continued firing in my direction.
He wore black tactical gear, and his face was covered with grease paint.
