Vigilante Angels Trilogy

by Billy DeCarlo

  He recalled a peaceful, beautiful morning full of optimism and joy at his unexpected good health. A hike. Happiness. The rest came slowly. Tuna. Weed. Booze. Brand. Bobby. Anger. Gunshot. Stupid.

  He attempted to rise, but pain forced him back down. Pain—everywhere. He reached behind his head and found a knot, more blood, and the protruding layer of shale he must’ve hit when he fell. The urge for a drink came, to kill the pain, and he cursed it and then himself.

  He pulled himself up slowly—first on his elbows, then his hands. He resisted the urge to lie back down and sleep, instead pushing himself up to a seated position. Whitey circled him, whining and confused.

  His legs were scratched deeply from the briars, as were his arms. He could only imagine his face was the same or worse. He became conscious that he was itching all over, and looked closer to see the welts from insect bites, a few guests still feeding on him. He swatted them in frustration, and they swarmed noisily around him, seeming to realize he was weakened prey, taunting him.

  What kind of loser gets a second chance at life and fucks it up like this? What am I doing here? This isn’t paradise. It’s hell. All gone: Bobby, Moses, my wife, my life. I’m still on borrowed time. What do I have to live for, exactly?

  He wished he had kept one of the vials on him, as he’d planned to. Death with Dignity. Not so much, out here like this. He saw his gun lying nearby. His rib cage complained greatly as he reached for it, but he stretched, ignoring the pain, and pulled it into his grasp. He glared at it accusingly, looking for something else to blame for the circumstances he found himself in. Nobody’s fault but your own, pal. Loser.

  He swatted at the bugs again, waving the gun around, and felt himself spiral mentally out of control. Whitey had wandered off, leaving him all alone. All is lost. I have no home, no friends. I’ve lived a long life...Fuck it.

  Racking the gun to clear the chamber and load a fresh round, he popped the safety off. He laid back down with his head against the rock, again closing his eyes to everything but the pain in his mind and body, and pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of his head. His hand shook for want of a drink. This time, he held his trigger finger alongside, rather than around the trigger. If you’re going to do it, you better be sure.

  He let his hand fall to rest on the ground and thought of the irony of escaping the jungles of Vietnam to die alone in the swamps of the Florida Keys. The big, bad vigilante takes himself out like a coward. I’m my own next victim. By my own hand. A coward’s way out, as they say.

  He ran through the reasons for and against. He remembered the peace that Moses seemed to have after the last thread of hope disappeared for him in the doctor’s office that day. The man seemed to finally be at rest and excited to find the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. The idea of joining Moses and his son appealed to Tommy considerably—the idea of finding peace even more. They’re in heaven, but the Good Book says I can’t go if I kill myself...

  He fought off the excuses and again pushed the barrel of the gun against his head, this time with his finger wrapped around the trigger.

  Tears rolled from the corners of his eyes, down the side of his face, and into his ears as he gripped the gun and tried to find the courage to end his misery. Come on, it won’t even hurt unless you screw this up too. He decided to count it down.

  "Five...four...three...two...”

  Whitey bounded up between Tommy’s outspread legs and lay on his stomach, his face on Tommy’s chest. Tommy opened his eyes and looked at the dog’s sad eyes. Oh hell, who’s going to take care of you, Whitey? You’re gator-bait out here in the swamp.

  He thought maybe he’d wait, see if he could place Whitey with Tara first. Tara. Just thinking her name made him feel a little better. He felt beneath his shirt for the St. Michael medallion that Moses had given him and thought about how disappointed the man would be if he gave up here. And I’d have to put up with him nagging me about it for eternity. He was brave, he didn’t quit until the priest was dead, no matter how sick he was at the end. He was heroic. Like I want to be.

  He picked himself up, leaves and twigs falling away from him as he rose. The sun had also risen, and as his thinking cleared, his attitude became more confident. How can I find my way back? The solution came to him. He placed the dog on the ground and said, “Let’s go home, Whitey.”

  The dog glanced at him and then began to lead the way. Joy began to creep back into Tommy’s heart at the thought of being back in the cabin, safe. He still held some fear that the cops could be there waiting, though. I’ll take my chances, at this point. I want to go home.

  He struggled to keep pace with the dog, or at least keep him in sight. Whitey happily jumped over stumps and occasionally stopped to roll on the ground, allowing Tommy a chance to catch up. Finally, the surroundings became familiar to him. He called to the dog and picked him up.

  “You saved us, buddy. Thank you, Whitey. You saved me. You sure did.”

  He hugged Whitey, who happily licked his neck. They covered the last distance to the cabin cautiously, Tommy looking for any sign that someone might be present, or might’ve been there. He approached from the back, creeping at a crouch to the rear window, and peered in.

  It all looked the same as he had left it. He let the dog down went around to the front and entered. The bottle still lay on the floor in the paper bag. He went to it and picked it up.

  “I’m done with you. That’s it. No more. Time to suck it up; toughen up. You aren’t beating me,” he said to the crushed mess. He took it to the trash and threw it in. I want every day to be just like the first half of yesterday was. I’m going to make it happen. I’m a goddamn Marine.

  He fed the dog and refilled his water dish, then went to the bath and filled the tub with scalding water. He stopped to look at himself in the mirror. His face was scratched and caked with blood. White streaks were traced out from his eyes where the tears had washed the mess away. I’ll never get to this condition again. Ever.

  He removed his clothing and put the firearm away, then eased into the tub slowly. It was incredibly painful getting in, but as soon as he was immersed, it was heavenly. He lay still for a while to enjoy it and put his head back to think. Then he slowly began scrubbing himself clean.

  10 Tai Chi

  The days passed slowly. Not wanting to go back to the market until he had healed, Tommy stretched out their provisions as best he could. I look like a damn swamp monster—or something the swamp monster ate and spit out.

  He acknowledged the other reason he was avoiding the market. He knew that once there, he’d be tempted to visit Mrs. Park’s stall and pick up another bottle of rice wine. Or worse, find his way to a liquor store.

  He passed the time with his dog, shaking and trembling from the time he woke until he was able to finally drift off to sleep. He kept the TV off, its content too upsetting and in itself a reminder of that horrible night. He lay on the bed for long stretches, alternately closing his eyes and replaying his life, and staring at the ceiling above in thought about what his limited future could be.

  Whitey remained faithfully by his side. The warmth of another body, another loving form of life, was welcome to Tommy and a tremendous boost to his spirit. “You’re getting me through this, Whitey. I know you’re doing your best, my friend.”

  He found a few books of classic literature in the dusty drawers of the cabin’s furniture and read them. They were the first books he had read since his adolescence, and he welcomed the ability to lose himself in other worlds, to take his mind off his own problems and revel in the happy endings of others. There won’t be a happy ending for me, that much is for sure.

  They went for increasingly long walks each day, and he was sure to never miss a dose of the Forbaxatel. One morning he rose early and looked at his face in the bathroom mirror. The wounds had healed. Examining the rest of his body as he showered, he was pleased with the results.

  He dressed in loose, casual clothing and called to his compan
ion. “C’mon, Whitey. Let’s head to the beach for the sunrise.” He placed his Asian farmer’s hat on his head, and for the first time, he left his walking stick behind.

  They made their way down the path to the secluded beach. Tommy hummed and talked to the small dog, carrying a blanket and towel. As the beach came into view, he saw a small group standing in loose formation. A woman stood before them, looking elegant in a thin see-through coverup over a bikini. Tommy stopped to watch as she moved slowly, gracefully, arching her body and limbs as the group mimicked her. Tara. They were silent, accompanied only by the rush of waves and cheering gulls. It was an incredibly peaceful scene. They all seemed to have the kind of serenity he yearned for.

  Tara bent at her waist and swooned sideways until she was facing him, and their eyes locked. She smiled and jerked her head at him to join them. He made a shrugging motion to her as if to say he didn’t know how to do this, and she worked a sweeping gesture into her routine to summon him to the back of the group. This isn’t exactly keeping a low profile, but what the hell.

  He walked toward them and they all silently smiled in welcome. Dropping his things, he took up a position in the rear of the group. He watched Tara move in graceful beauty, trying to copy the moves and feeling foolish, even as her smiles and nods encouraged him. His body was stiff and aching from the ordeal it had been through in the last two years, and particularly the last week.

  It got easier; he became less awkward, and he started to feel some of the peace he hoped it would bring to his soul. Whitey watched with interest, getting up occasionally to chase a gull that had come too close.

  The group finished the session and, surprisingly, didn’t socialize with each other. They seemed to give each other space, packing up their things and moving on silently, but Tommy sensed their spirit of camaraderie. Tight-knit locals, all minding their own business. I could get used to this.

  He spread out his blanket and sat. After the rest of the group had gone, Tara approached.

  “Mind if I join you, Just Tommy?”

  He patted the blanket next to him. “Sure thing. That was fun. Incredibly relaxing. Just my speed, too—slow-motion.”

  “Well then, we look forward to seeing more of you. Less than thirty minutes is all you really need. Gets the head in the right place to take on whatever else comes your way until it’s time to hit the sack.”

  “Wow,” Tommy replied. “Where were you the last sixty-three years of my life?”

  She responded to his flirting with another smile. “Don’t look back, Just Tommy. Only look forward. Learn from your mistakes to make the future a better place. Take those lessons forward, and always move on as a smarter and better person. You can’t change the past, you can only make the future better because of it. No matter how bad it was.”

  He took that as an invitation to open up, and tried to resist the temptation. She can’t help with anything that happened, but she’s right.

  “It’s not that easy with some things,” he said. “Take me, for example. I’ve been fighting the big C. It’s been a war. You always know it's right behind you and coming for you, no matter what you do. You do what you can—chemo, pills, throw furniture in the way to slow it down, but it's still coming, no matter what you do. It’s relentless.”

  He realized he was downbeat. “I got some new medicine though, a trial drug called Forbaxatel. It seems to have rejuvenated me, somehow. It feels like my cancer just disappeared.”

  “That’s great!” she exclaimed. “Where are you going for treatment around here, though? All the way back to Miami? Those clinical trials have to be monitored.”

  He knew he’d said too much, and didn’t want to lie to her. “I’d rather not talk about it, Tara. I don’t want to be rude. It can’t last forever—I’m kind of here to run out my time.”

  She put her arm around him and hugged him. She smelled earthy and clean, despite the thin layer of perspiration they both wore.

  “Let’s go for a swim,” she said. “Race you!”

  She stood and removed the cover-up, then the bikini top, trotting to the shoreline, and entering the blue water between waves. It seemed as if he were watching a movie. Bo Derek wishes she could look like that at her age. She’s amazing.

  She implored him to join her, swimming further out past the breakers.

  “Well, Whitey. I guess I’m going swimming,” Tommy said. He rolled up the legs of his drawstring linen pants and waded out until he was up to his knees, then dove into the next wave.

  The water running over his body as he swam below the surface invigorated him. He held his breath while his lungs fought for air, determined to reach Tara. As he did, he grabbed her calf and then let go, surfacing and calling out, “Shark!”

  She squealed, swam to him, and leaped into his arms. “Save me, big strong lifeguard! Save this old damsel in distress!”

  He cradled her at the waterline. She seemed weightless as they laughed together. He let her down, and they stood face to face in the water, smiling. She leaned forward and kissed him quickly. “Why, thank you, sir,” she said.

  Tommy blushed, embarrassed, and felt giddy inside. He avoided looking at her bare breasts, despite being more tempted and anxious to do that than to have a drink. “Well, anytime, my fair lady.”

  She took his hand, and they went back to the blanket as Whitey waited. They dried off, and he was taken aback by her lack of concern regarding her nudity. She picked up her top, placed it over her breasts, and turned, asking him to tie it off behind her.

  They sat down on the blanket, and she sighed deeply. “So, where ya been, stranger? You must be out of food by now. You been cheating on me with one of those chain stores?”

  He feigned shock. “My lady Tara. I would never... You’re right, though. Whitey and I are down to scraping the inside of cans and eating the grass outside the cabin like goats. We had a trip planned for later today to see you. I’ve actually been avoiding Mrs. Park, not you,” he said, laughing. “I’m doing good.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” she said.

  She understood immediately. That’s some intuition, Tommy thought.

  “Yeah. I think I’m past it. Just a rough patch, that’s all it was. I feel alright now.”

  He wanted to change the subject away from his weaknesses. “So, this beach is what, clothing optional?”

  “Pretty much everything around here is optional. People police themselves. They’re hippies, expats, old souls, artists, eclectic types. We’re a community of individuals who keep to ourselves, as far as the outside world goes. That can be a very good thing, especially in times like these.”

  “You’re talking about Brand, right?” he asked. “Yeah, I have a real problem with that guy.”

  “He scares me,” Tara said. “I try not to watch much, but I feel conflicted about ignoring it. I worry about the world my future grandchildren will grow up in if that sort of ideology is successful.”

  “Me too. Someone real close to me is—was—gay. I can’t stand to hear the hatred that Brand espouses, not to mention his followers.”

  She smiled at him. “The strong, sensitive, intelligent type, huh? I love that.”

  “Well,” he stammered. “Not me, though. It’s not me, I mean...”

  “I didn’t think so. It doesn’t matter, though. To each his or her own. There’s not enough love in the world, Just Tommy.”

  Her words left him confused about whether she was interested in him or not.

  She stood and brushed the sand from herself. “Alright, sir. Time to go and get the stall ready for business.”

  They picked up their things and walked back to the path together. Tara took his hand and swung it as she sang softly. He didn’t know the songs. I need to brush up on my sixties music.

  They reached the road and paused. Tommy wondered if he should kiss her. He tingled with anticipation, feeling like a nervous kid at a school dance. As he debated, she reached in and gave him a tight hug and kiss on the cheek.

/>   “See you at the market!” she said.

  He felt disappointed. I’ve never had the balls to be the aggressor—unless I was drunk. Maybe that was part of the problem. His spirits diminished somewhat as he watched her go down the road in her carefree gait. He was about to turn and go on his way when she twirled around and blew him a kiss.

  11 Company

  Tommy cleaned the cabin thoroughly and showered again. A picture now hung over the bullet hole in the wall. He picked out the best clothing he had from the limited selection he’d brought with him in his sea bag. Inspecting himself in the bathroom mirror, he briefly debated whether to shave the beard. Too risky. Don’t get any sloppier than you already have, you fool.

  “Come on, Whitey. Let’s head to the market and restock our depleted shelves.”

  He headed out, with the dog following him. His stamina now improved, he moved at a faster clip than he had on any of their walks so far. This Forbaxatel is a miracle drug. He remembered Tara standing in the water, a vision smiling in the sun, and couldn’t wait to get to her. The thought of it sent a thrill through him.

  They reached the market, and he was disappointed that she wasn’t in her stall. It was a little before closing time. He moved past it and walked along the row until he reached Mrs. Park’s booth. She sat inside, Buddha-like, eyeing him. He stopped, paused, then walked in.

  “You come back for more translation or more rice wine?” she asked. “I think I know.” She got up to go to the back, where she had retrieved the last bottle for him.

  He wanted to call out to stop her, but something prevented him. He struggled against it as if he were bound too tightly to breathe. I’m not strong enough yet. She came back, this time with two bottles wrapped in the same brown paper bags.

  “Two for one special, for my best customer. No license. Must buy something else in the store.”