by Andrew Allan
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Thanks
Dedication
Your Free Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Your Free Book
About the Author
ANDREW ALLAN
Copyright © 2016 Andrew Allan
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
ISBN-10: 1537037587
ISBN-13: 978-1537037585
THANKS
To you, for reading this book.
To Sally Bosco, for editing this book.
To Lynne Hansen and Jeff Strand, for guidance, encouragement, and cover art.
To my friends and first draft readers:
Doug McDermott, Noah Belson, Eric Norman, Sean Pfile.
To Leslie, my Bsom, for whom I thank my lucky stars.
To Andrew, Lucy, and Creighton, for providing perfect purpose.
Cheers!
To my parents, Dan & Martie Allan.
The best in the biz.
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CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS LATE afternoon, golden hour sun cast orange across the pine trees, picture perfect. And, there I was pecking away at a script. Still. Not casually, a tap here, a tap-tap there. Hardcore, up-against-it writing and typing, trying to finish the job in short order. Not because of some cranky client deadline, though I have plenty of those. I just couldn’t stand being stuck inside when the conditions were so perfect outside. I needed to be in that river, the Rainbow River - crisp, cool, 72-degrees year-round. My preferred haunt, located just east of Dunnellon, Central Florida.
It taunted me, that river. Glistening, glowing, winking sunlight through my rear office window. Its proposition was clear: Would I like to use the valuable, ever-dwindling minutes of my life afloat and happy, or am I content to sit and type?
That’s when the typing stopped. And, I was gone in a blink. Dashing out the back door, across the lawn, my desk chair still spinning by the time I dove into the water. Impulsive, sure. But, I’ve been known to act fast on a hunch. Sometimes it works, sometimes well...
I broke the water’s surface and relaxed my body to let the current take me downstream. It was entirely relaxing. And, a clear reminder of why I do what I do. I make quite a fine living as a freelance infomercial scriptwriter. Yes, those infomercials. “But, wait! There’s more!” Yes, those commercials and programs you and your friends laugh about when they play on television in the middle of the night. Sure, they’re silly. But, they’re also cash cows. And, the more you see them, the more they’re working, the more someone is making a ton of money. And if those guys are making money, I’m making money. And, I like money. But, I don’t love it. There’s a big difference. I just want enough money to take care of my three kids, keep the ex off my back, and keep the miserable corporate world festering afar in the hot swamp of its deranged greed. Maybe that’s just my excuse for a lack of ambition. Some might say I just couldn’t hack it. Perhaps. All I know is, happiness is a big part of the life equation. The part those places habitually forget.
I served my time in the grind - Meetings, asshole bosses, dickhead co-workers, and sad, lost people making decisions driven by fear instead of sound ideas. That atmosphere isn’t just toxic, it’s insane. They’ll do fine without me. With infomercials, I set my schedule, work with who I like, balance work with pleasure, and do indeed make just enough. Great work if you can get it.
Problem is, once you get it, you gotta do it. And, here I was happy but slacking. The water felt too good to worry about it. My deadline wasn’t until the end of the week. I could always pick up the slack tonight after dinner. Best to enjoy the moment.
The cool water rejuvenated my skin. Long strands of river grass tickled between my toes. I dove under the water and made a grab at some passing fish. They darted away. I surfaced near a knotty cypress knee at the edge of the river. Two baby turtles were perched for their daily sunning. A third baby turtle struggled to get up, so I gave it a push. It immediately drew its head, legs, and tail into its shell, which I steadied on the wood before letting the current take me away.
I set my sights for Ken’s place.
“Those guys must have serious juice. Aren’t you worried they’ll find a way to smack you down, but good?” I said to Ken two weeks back.
He just smiled and shook his head. “Walt, you know the difference between me and ninety-nine percent of the activists out there trying to make a difference?”
“No, what?”
“I have the cash to back it up. And, you can bet I’ll put my money where my mouth is,” he said. “I could buy off the politicians and flip them to my cause just like the lobbyists did,” he said. His tone was more matter of fact than arrogant.
“Good idea. Why don’t you?” I said.
“It’s still corrupt, even if I do it. Besides, it’s more fun to turn their screws in public,” he said with a devilish grin.
Ken Kerenz was one of the good guys. A friend, a father, and a man thoroughly dedicated to fixing the world. Although he never disclosed the exact figure, I knew he had
made millions selling some bit of software that apparently impacted everyday lives, yours and mine. However much it was, Ken had retired by thirty-six. What a jerk, right? Well, get to know him and, like me, you’ll end up being happy for him.
How are you gonna begrudge a guy who spent his days finding every way he can to better our lives? Among other things, he promoted solar energy and off-grid living, worked to strengthen bee colonies, and campaigned against “climate neglect” (his words, not mine.) Maybe not something you care much about. Certainly something you might benefit from. Ken had his convictions.
But, nothing beat Ken’s yen for messing with the corrupt politicians, businessmen, and all around scumbags who are convinced they have a god given right to destroy Florida and screw over every Floridian. He didn’t just harass them. He shamed them with force. He threw down the gauntlet and dared them to fight back. Naturally, they did, for theirs is a complete contempt. So, Ken would respond in kind and make clear he’s no mosquito to simply be swatted away. He liked to ride right up to their high-rise front doors – with protests, lawsuits, newspaper exposes, and more to make his point. In one point-proving instance, he even rented a dump truck and had it deposit three tons of toxic sludge into the water fountain outside the stately Cargon Phosphate Company tower. And, that was after he’d had the CEO’s Bentley Continental parked in the fountain.
“If they can pollute our turf we can mess with theirs,” he said. I couldn’t drum up a suitable counter argument as we walked the humid streets of Downtown Tampa.
Ken did not fuck around. That brought him plenty of enemies. And, I couldn’t help thinking they’d be thrilled to hear the news: Ken’s dead.
CHAPTER TWO
ALL I COULD see on my approach was two gators ripping a man’s body apart. But then they flipped the limp body over and revealed Kens’ face. I froze in the water and almost sank, mesmerized. One gator gnawed a leg. The other had its jaws locked around the torso over the shoulder and was dragging Ken into the water. Right towards me.
I swam fast to the riverbank and took a wide approach through the neighbor’s yard. When I reached Ken’s backyard, I grabbed a paddle off the canoe parked on the dock.
My adrenaline surged and my heart pounded. Jesus, this sucker was huge. I choked up on the paddle handle and moved along the dock until I stood directly over the big beast. I didn’t want to mess with it. But, damn...I had to get it off Ken.
I hammered the paddle against its head. The gator roared and chomped and slid further down into the water, dragging Ken with him. I moved further down the dock and hit it several more times. The paddle didn’t make much of a dent, but it was becoming an irritation.
The big gator let go and floated back into the water. The smaller gator ripped Ken’s leg off. The sound of tearing flesh almost made me vomit. I had to hurry. I leapt off the dock onto the lawn and grabbed Ken’s arm. I pulled as hard and fast as I could, dragging his body up the lawn towards the house. Then, I ran back. Gators have a natural fear of humans. But, they’ll only back down so much. And, they’ll certainly fight for a free meal. Lucky for me, this gator seemed content with just a leg. When I swung the paddle in its direction it slunk back into the river and moved on.
I ran back to the body. He was shredded, mangled, and bloody. I dragged him up to the raised deck so the gators couldn’t return for the leftovers. But, it wasn’t going to save Ken. He was already gone. All I could do now was make the phone call.
By the time the cops and game officers arrived, the sun had dried me, and I had gotten past the initial shock of Ken’s death. From there it was all business, answering their questions, pointing out where I found him with the alligators, and speculating where they might have gone. Ken’s wife, Karen, hadn’t returned home by the time the clean up crew wheeled what was left of Ken out on a stretcher. I planned on sticking around to give her the news in person.
The Game Officer wandered up wiping his hands.
“Gators don’t usually mess with people,” I said to game officer who had just walked up.
“Unless they’re protecting their young,” he said. “But, that’s mostly in the Spring when they have a fresh litter.”
I looked at him. “Why do you think these two attacked?”
He shrugged, the said, “Couldn’t rightly tell you. First time I know of it happening. Sure is a shame.”
He shook his head as he wandered off to the front of the house.”
A shame indeed. I know I talked Ken up. But, if there was one thing to make you dislike the guy it’s how fit and athletic he is. Was. There’s no way the gators could have gotten to him unless he didn’t see them down low on the river bank.
I could hear the service vehicles driving off.Grey clouds blocked the sun, dimming the natural light. A breeze whispered through the Spanish moss. It rains every afternoon in Florida during the summer. It’s a glorious phenomenon that cools the air and tweaks the natural light, making everything easier to see. I looked to the river, focusing on nothing in particular, simply trying to process what had happened.
I turned to the large bungalow house just as the sun re-appeared from behind the clouds. Its light triggered a bright, white glint that caught my eye. Just under the porch deck near the narrow strip of white lattice fencing installed to keep critters from roaming into the crawlspace under the house. I walked over with my eyes locked on the glint. I reached down and picked up a small glass vial.
I sat on the patio deck and studied it. It was three inches long and an inch in diameter. A small label featured three sets of letter pairings. Code I couldn’t decipher. Amber tinged liquid residue inside, like diluted honey. It wasn’t sun bleached or dirty, so it couldn’t have been there long. I didn’t recall any of the crime scene techs injecting anything into Ken’s body. Not sure why they would. He wasn’t dying. He was reported dead. Now, this was weird.
I stood up and scanned the ground for more but found nothing. It was then I heard Ken’s wife’s car pull into the drive. I tucked the vial in my swimsuit pocket and walked up to the house. Things were about to get ugly.
When I reached the front of the house I saw Sheriff Baker hadn’t left. Karen glanced out her car window looking worried as she gathered her belongings. I trotted over to the Sheriff.
“Hey Sheriff, I found this in the backyard. Might be important,” I said.
He took the vial and looked at it with skepticism. “What does this have to do with alligators?”
“I don’t know. Seems an odd thing to find in the backyard of a family home.”
“Your friend dabble in this kind of stuff?” He sniffed it. “Smells like chemicals.”
“Not that I know of. But, he’s pretty diverse.”
A funny look.
“Was, I mean,” I said.
He drew a white, discolored handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped the vial with it. “I’ll take it to the office and see what they can find out about it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Karen walked our way.
“Walt, what is it?” she said.
The Sheriff lingered by his car. “I’m legally obliged to tell her. But, I can let it slide if you think it best.”
This sucked. But, I had to be the one to tell her. “I’ll do it.”
She walked towards the police car. “Is everything...what’s going on?” she said.
“Let’s go inside Karen,” I said as I took her by the arm.
CHAPTER THREE
KAREN DID NOT take the news well, as expected. I offered to stick around and help out. But, she wanted to absorb the blow in private. She also didn’t want anyone there when she told the kids. Understandable. I hugged her goodbye and hit the road. It was a rotten walk back to my place.
After I had poured my preferred drink, a boulevardier, and let it kick in, I called my significant other, Ilsa. She was managing her bars in Gainesville, an hour and a half north of here. She was shocked and dismayed by the sad news. We had spent plenty of good times with K
en. She asked me to give Karen her love, which I agreed to. Ilsa and I had plans to go to Melbourne on the Space Coast this weekend. It was to be the latest of our mandatory every-six-weeks mini vacations. But, she said we should wait. Do our natural grieving and we’ll go after Ken’s funeral, for which I promised to get the pertinent details.
Losing a friend makes you pull your loved ones closer. And, I was dying to see Ilsa. It had been almost two weeks. Nothing we weren’t used to. But, still...long distance relationships are tough and require work. And, these were strange circumstances.
I was about to hang up when a thought nagged me and interrupted my parting salutation.
“What?” she said.
“I found something strange at the house. Ken’s house,” I said. I paused a moment to collect my thoughts. “A little glass vial. Had copper liquid in it and some abbreviated markings on the label.”
“So?”
“Well, I don’t know. Just seemed out of place, you know?”
“Not really. I wasn’t there,” she said. Ilsa could be blunt at times. I blame her stoic Dutch heritage. “Was it for the lawn?’
“No. Looked like it came out of a lab. Maybe medical,” I said.
“Was Ken taking anything?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe. He didn’t update me on that.”
“But, it made you think something’s up?”
“Sounds funny. But, yes, that crossed my mind,” I said. I felt like a fool for mentioning it. “Anyway, I gave it to the Sheriff. Maybe he’ll figure out what it is and if it relates to Ken.”
“Hmmm. Well, I am proud of you, lover. You aided a friend in a desperate time and performed a civic duty. You should treat yourself to a cocktail. You’ve earned it,” she said.
